Lumbercourt, who ever and anon dolefully complained, that

No curtain'd sleep had he, because

He had no curtain to his bed.

-while the wind whistled mournfully through the naked room, responsive to his lamentations. No carpet covered the dirty floor, and the smoke rolled in stifling columns down the gaping chimney.

His own hardships having been narrated and deplored, his Lordship at last successfully accomplished his object of explaining to Lindsay the suspicious appearances which had misled him with respect to Miss St. Clair, both in the inn at Cadenabbia and in the Casino of the Villa Montini. And now that the mystery was unravelled, and that Lindsay learnt that the supposed Count was Mrs. Cleveland, disguised in the first scene,-and that the rehearsal of acting a charade was all the love making in the second-he marvelled how he could have been so dull as not to have suspected the truth-just as one wonders how one could have missed finding out an enigma, when the solution is told. He blushed for himself in having even for a single moment, under any circumstances or appearances, believed her guilty of conduct so disgraceful-and now that incontestible proof was given of her innocence.-with that strong re-action which generous minds always feel-the consciousness of having done her injustice, and injured her even in thought, filled his heart with redoubled love and admiration for the idolized being whom his fancy painted-'scarcely a little lower than the angels !'

It is true that his heart had always secretly doubted her guilt-and that during the interview in the forest, he actually felt convinced of her innocence :-yet, when the witchery of her presence, the persuasion of her glance, and the magic of her voice, no longer exerted their irresistible influence over him, the scenes and the facts he had himself witnessed, returned upon his mind so forcibly, that he vibrated between the evidence of her guilt, which seemed indisputably confirmed by his own senses-and the secret innate persuasion he felt of her innocence. He was doomed alternately

To doubt, yet doat-suspect, yet fondly love.

Now, doubt and suspicion were for ever removed; but the higher she rose in his estimation, the more bitter was the sigh with which he reflected that she was lost to him for ever.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE MARRIAGE.

Sweet is the cup when at the lip,
And sweet the first or second sip;
But all the bitter's left below,
And sour it turns as deep we go;
This draught, it lasts a man a life-
O who would ever take a wife!

Domus et placens uxor.

ANONYMOUS.

A FEW days after Lindsay's arrival at Florence, he received, to his inexpressible astonishment, the following letter, forwarded to him from Milan :

JOHN HEATHCOTE, ESQ. TO THE HON. HORACE LINDSAY.

MY DEAR LINDSAY,

That man upon whom the intelligence unexpectedly bursts that the woman of his earliest affections-bound to him by the strongest vows of love -his long affianced bride-is the wife of the friend whom he most esteemed and trusted, and to whom he had confided every thought of his heart,-that man is surely deserving of pity, as the victim of perfidy; that man, Lindsay, is you!

I have to inform you that you have been jilted by your mistress, and supplanted by your friend.

Before this letter can reach you, Susan Hamilton will be the wife of John Heathcote.

You might at least have deemed yourself safe from the insulting expression of that false friend's triumph and happiness. But I dread not your resentment. And such is my opinion of your meekness and placability, that not only do I expect your free forgiveness, but even a declaration of your satisfaction at my success, and participation in my happiness. I call upon you to congratulate me on winning from you the woman who had pledged to you her faith.

Further, Lindsay, I have to confess that I have never treated you with confidence. Though you have had no reserve from me, never have I opened my heart to you. Now, for the first time, it shall be disclosed to you.

6

Before you ever saw Susan Hamilton, my heart was devoted to her. But you came, saw, and conquered.' Your talents and insinuating mannersyour ardour and eloquence, completely prevailed over my cold reserve and diffident, untold love. She had known me from a child, grown up to esteem me as a friend, was familiar with me as with her household gods ;'-but you came upon her a bright and sudden luminary, in the full blaze of talents and promise of manhood. You won her heart -or at least captivated her fancy. You were three years younger than herself, and this you may remember she always thought a strong objection to the match; but love triumphed over it. I was many years your senior, and mine was not a boyish passion which could be forgotten. It was the very habit of my soul.

During your absence in the Peninsula, the constant intercourse necessarily arising from our near

neighbourhood, strengthened her friendship for me; while time and absence, and the gradual diminution of your own love--which your short and unfrequent letters evinced-insensibly wore away her attachment to you. At first she loved to talk to me, because she could talk to me of you;-but at last I thought I perceived that I, by myself I--as noun substantive-no longer merely as adjective to you, was an object of considerable interest to her. I never at any time sought her society,-but what the devil can a man do? She used to come to stay with my sister, and I could not run away from her. She hunted too,-like all our Yorkshire girls of spirit and I could not give up hunting,and how could I help talking to her by the side of the cover? So I found at last there was nothing for it but to fly the country--which I did.

But when Lindsay,-I found this summer, that you despised the jewel which I would have purchased with my life,-then did I long to make it my own. Then, seeing that your love had turned into bondage; that indifference for her had been followed by attachment to another; that your heart was at last touched with a genuine passion, and tortured with bitter struggles between love and honour; then I resolved to do you and myself, the service to save you from misery, and secure to myself happiness,—and, if possible, to win from you the heart of Susan Hamilton.

On my return to England, I found her at Cheltenham. She was firmly convinced of your growing indifference; for you are a bad dissembler, Lindsay, you cannot feign what you do not feel, -your letters, and the whole of your conduct, betrayed the extinction of your attachment;-but she had too much sense to break her heart about it. In