replied, that, as she and her husband had not been disturbed during the latter part of the night, they conjectured that Nannette's exhausted nature must have sought refreshment in a tranquil sleep, from which they expected a favourable change.

"But how did you find her this morning, Madelene?" asked the husband,— " You of coursevisited our daughter 1"

"No, I did not;—I listened at her door, and hearing no sound whatever, and perceiving through the key-hole that the room was darkened, I thought it a pity to disturb Ike poor thing."

"Thank God!" exclaimed the father with clasped liands, " We may hope some change at last."

But an hour elapsed,—and another—, still Nannette fl'as absent.

"This is singular," said Monsieur Le Bonhomme, in ^roe alarm.

"Not at all," replied his wife. "It is not uncommon for sleep, when it falls upon persons in this condition, to TMt for many hours beyond the usual period."

"And what does my son think?" asked the father, .'timmg to me—whom he now always addressed by that ender appellation.

* **? sorry the question was put; for I felt very uny, and knew not what to thmk. However, I answered « I agreed with Madame.

"But," I added, "would it not be well for Madame to •,Cttter tne room, if she can do so without noise, and see Aether this sleep be altogether natural." My words beI rayed more uneasiness than I intended they should.

"^es, do go, Madelene!" said the good man, —and his rife left the room.

M',1 . ^ew ramutes she returned, with strong mar,ks of
I »tarmm her countenance.
P; ^'^ 11

"O, I don't know what to make of it!" she cried, almost in tears,—"the door is fastened, which I nevet knew it to be before."

"My God!—Did you call Madelene?" "Repeatedly; but I received no answer." The old man sprang from his chair, and, without a word, was making for the door.

"Stay, my dear sir," I said, detaining him, "you had better let me go,—perhaps I can persuade Mademoiselle to answer me. You must not be alarmed; she is probably fallen into one of those fits of abstraction which of late have been so frequent with her, and did not hear Madame Le Bonhomme."

"Go then, my son," said the old man. "God reward you for your kindnessj"

Although I had spoken so confidently, I was so alarmed I could scarcely drag my steps along the hall.—When I came to Nannette's door, I stooped my head and whispered at the keyhole, lest the parents should overhear me.

"Nannette!" There was no answer. "Dear Nannette!" I continued in a trembling voice, yet with a tone of tenderness,—" It is I that call you! I

am come to tell you that I am no longer the same.

Dearest Nannette, will you not answer me? You do not know how much you terrify me— and your poor father and mother !—O, do speak!" Still she did not answer. — Great God! what can be the matter ?—

"Nannette! Nannette!" I called aloud—at the same time knocking repeatedly and forcibly upon the door. I paused for some minutes: but there was not a sound to be heard from the apartment.

I did not dare to think, but ran back to the parlour,— retaining, however, a kind of mechanical presence of mind, which made me choose my words so as not to excite the worst fears in the breasts of the parents.

"My dear friends," I said, "be not alarmed—Nannette, I fear, has suddenly fallen into a fit. The door must be forced."

With a piercing shriek, both the parents rushed together to their daughter's room. I stood by the door of the parlour, and listened,—my breathing restrained, and the chills of death upon me. I heard the old man rush against the door of the room with the whole weight of his person :—The lock gave way to the blow—and the next instant, there was a loud and fearful cry, followed by the fall of some heavy body. I sprang to the scene. The mother lay in convulsions on the floor—the father was standing a statue, gazing, with stiff distended eyes, on the corse of Nannette, which hung, suspended by a ribbonj from the wall of the apartment.

ON the evening of that very day, the stupidity of the servants permitted an English carriage to drive up to the door of the cottage.

Miserable, I was seated with the miserable father. We were alone. And we sat in silence :—for the old man had not shed tear, nor spoken word, ever since the moment

when he discovered the melancholy fate of his only o

daughter, and even had it not been mockery to offer
him consolation, I was too much engrossed by my own
sad reflections to attempt the task.-The mother was in
another room, attended by two of her female friends, and
the honest surgeon mentioned on another occasion,-I,
fortunately, having had the thought to send for these three
individuals.
The instant I heard the wheels of the carriage, I sus.
pected the arrival of visiters, and ran out to prevent their
entrance—knowing I could explain the reasons for this
apparent inhospitality, more properly than a blundering
domestic. I repented of the step almost the moment after
I had taken it; for, in the occupants of the carriage, I be-
held the persons of Sir James Maitland, Lady Maitland
(our friend, Miss Paynthurnley that was, whose marriage

with the baronet I had seen announced, about three months before, in one of the London journals received at Paris), and Mary Arne. But it was now too late to retreat, as a cry of joyful surprise from Lady Maitland told me I was recognized. Sir James returned my formal salutation with a haughty bow; but her ladyship, forgetting in her singleness of heart that my conduct had ever given her cause to be ashamed of acknowledging me, extended her beautiful hand with all the friendliness which had once marked our acquaintance. Mary turned pale, and shrunk back on her seat to avoid my notice. It was the best acknowledgment of all.

"We were attracted by the appearance of this place, Mr. Levis," said Sir James; "and as a servant at the outer gate informed us that his master is always happy to see any strangers—and especially English—we have taken the liberty to examine it nearer;—but I assure you, sir, we did not expect to find it in the possession of an Englishman."

— And that Englishman Mr. Levis, you would say— I thought; —or our curiosity had never led us so near.—

"You are deceived, sir; this property does not belong to me," I answered.—" I assure you, my surprise equals yours—I as little expected to meet a former acquaintance *s you did, Sir James. I am merely come to express my regret that your party cannot view the place at present* owing to a most distressing calamity which has befallen its owner this day in the sudden death of his only child."

"Stay !" exclaimed a voice behind me, in French. I turned. What was my consternation to behold the old min himself coming towards us!

"My son, you do wrong," he said—then, addressing Sir James's party in English, added, "I have never yet suffered any stranger to pass so near my dwelling without receiving some attention from its owner, nor will I no\v. —Madam, will you permit me to assist you 1"—offering 'iis hand to Lady Maitland to help her from the carriage.