into Geraldine's fearful, timid heart, and banished all thoughts, save love for him who spoke, from her gentle bosom. She raised her blue eyes to her husband's face and cast on him a look of earthly tenderness and heavenly purity beautifully blended; her head then sank on his shoulder, and delicious peace spread a serene expression over her features. At this moment her nurse entered the room, and presenting Geraldine with a letter, left them again alone. At sight of her father's well-known, formal hand-writing, poor Geraldine's heart beat tumultuously, and the crimson blood rushed to her face, then retreating, left her of an ashy paleness. By a desperate effort she broke the seal, and her own luckless epistle dropped from the envelope to the ground. She gazed for some moments in silence on the blank paper in her hands, as though unable to comprehend the cruelty of the blow, then, suddenly starting up, she threw herself into her husband's arms and wept long and convulsively.

Antonio, as he pressed his weeping bride to

his heart, clenched his teeth in the bitterness of indignation; he thought with horror of the beings who could treat with inhumanity so gentle and fragile a creature as Geraldine; and as he felt the heavings of her wounded bosom, and listened to her deep sobs, he was convinced (and it was a terrible conviction) that she could never be happy, -that not all his love could ever console her for the cruel renunciation of her parents. Thus early did their punishment begin, and the seeds of sorrow were sown in their bosoms never to be eradicated.

But in these moments of silent grief their affection for each other burned with renewed ardour, and they secretly resolved to die rather than betray the sadness which had fallen on their spirits. Oh! love-true, virtuous love, thou sweetener of life's ills-thou staff of the fainting pilgrim-thou shower in the desertthou shelter in the tempest-how should our hearts adore the Giver of all good, for thee His most precious gift? Without thee how intolerable would seem the stern duties of life; how

irksome and how tasteless its paltry pleasures, how could the pinions of our spirits soar above the grovelling pursuits of humanity, were they not fanned and supported by thy warm breath?

What are the cold dark dungeon, the wretched hovel, the regions of eternal ice-the burning heat of the tropics, the tortures of disease-what are all these, and more than all these, if blessed with thy cheering smiles? What is the bed of death if thy tears bedew it? What is the gloom of the grave if thou hoverest over it? And without thee-oh! what avail wealth, pomp, glory, kin or country? Then thrice blessed be thou-spirit of love!

Geraldine was entitled to a few thousand pounds by the will of an aunt. The money had been left to her entirely beyond the control of her parents, and was to be paid to her on her marriage. Geraldine had quite forgotten this provision, and her heart swelled with gratitude to heaven when she received the deeds making over to her, what seemed now, positive wealth. Her father sent her the papers without a line or

word beyond the strict necessity of business. With fond delight, Geraldine placed her little fortune in the hands of her husband, and thus were they relieved from one source of anxiety. A few days after this occurrence, Geraldine and Antonio were returning from a long walk, when an English travelling carriage drove rapidly past them, but both husband and wife had recognized its occupants. In one corner sat Colonel Arbuthnot reading; Mrs. Arbuthnot and her son, both saw Geraldine, and their faces were instantly averted. Geraldine gazed on the carriage, which bore all former associations from her, till it had faded from sight, and then turning her beautiful eyes on Antonio, she exclaimed 'Dearest, I have nothing left but thee."

The family seat of the Arbuthnots was in Wales, and Geraldine felt, that to be near her relatives, even should they never meet, would be a great comfort to her. Illness might visit them, and then, perhaps, she might be pardoned, and allowed to watch over them. Antonio had no will but that of his sweet wife, and ac

cordingly as spring opened they left the shores of fair Italy, and bent their course towards proud England. They remained during a few days in London, whilst Antonio vested his wife's fortune in the manner suggested by Colonel Arbuthnot's solicitor, and then they proceeded to Geraldine's native county, and fixed upon a cottage, beautifully situated and about ten miles distant from the seat of her ancestors.

To Antonio all was new and strange, but with his loved Geraldine at his side all was beautiful. The rugged mountains of Wales, the keen, cutting winds on their heights, the rough and almost inaccessible paths, and the stern wildness of the whole scenery, formed a powerful contrast to his own sunny valley. But the spot on which their cottage stood was an exception to the grand barrenness around, a smile on the stern face of nature. It was morning when they first beheld it, a bright spring morning, and the sun laughed through a refreshing and soft April shower on the scenery beneath-and a gay rainbow threw its glittering arch over