confidence, knowing the comfort of sincere

sympathy, but Jessy had ever repelled her advances, and, though communicative on all other subjects, carefully avoided speaking of her own feelings; but Teresa felt convinced that her reason had at length given way under this hoarded grief, which had caused her late strange visit and manner.

Suspense became no longer endurable, and summoning her nurse and child, she walked out in the direction of Major Bently's, expecting every moment to meet Sir Edward St. John. To divert the anxiety of her thoughts, she walked beside the nurse, and amused herself by playing with her sweet infant, who was in truth

"A bud of beauty."

She strove to read in the child's blue bright eyes, some indications of its future character, but as yet the young soul had not written its emotions or deep meaning on their clear surfaces, and all that she could read, spoke of calm and innocent enjoyment.

Could evil passions ever darken those clear glances, or sorrow quench their mild light? As she thus mused, the infant, amused by her earnest gaze, stretched its little arms towards her, and smiled brightly, as if to reassure her.

Teresa took it from the nurse and pressed it in deep love to her bosom. To procure happiness for her child, she felt that she could endure all things, and to guard it from the evil of this world, which comes on us from our own passions, she determined to watch every turn of its character, and rather to see it perish than allow the weeds of sin to take root in its young heart.

Teresa had thought much on the subject of education, and had formed a theory of her own -it remained to be proved how it would succeed in practice. She had been admirably instructed by her father, and her own character was a beautiful model whereon to form that of her child.

The path to Major Bently's house led along the banks of the smooth lake-on this morning even more than usually smooth and bright,

the frantic gesticulations of an Italian under exciting circumstances but her child was not there.

The

Flying along the path with the rapidity of lightning, she attained the nurse's side, and, seizing hold of her arms, whilst agony convulsed her features, she inquired for her infant. nurse pointed towards the water, and Teresa, at some distance from the brink, saw her loved child rise to the surface, and then sink again! Almost frantic with grief, she would have rushed after it, but the nurse, a powerful, large woman, held her firmly back.

In the mean time, the little girl before mentioned had not been an idle spectator of this sad accident. With astonishing presence of mind, she had flown after Sedley, and attained him with ease. She pointed back to the lake, and made signs of extreme distress to him. In a moment Sedley comprehended that some danger threatened Teresa, and in another moment he was at her side. She conjured him for the love

of heaven to save her child, and Sedley needed not this powerful motive to risk his life in her service.

In a few seconds he was in the water, and as he looked around, bewildered where to direct his search, the infant rose again; he soon attained it, and returned to the shore with his precious burthen. Wonderful and mysterious is the power of maternal love, which can change the gentlest and mildest of beings into an infuriated and reckless creature!

Teresa's form and face had exhibited a striking picture of the force of such feelings during the interval of her child's danger, and she had struggled in the nurse's grasp with almost superhuman power.

Her usually calm, holy eyes had glared with frightful eagerness, and the convulsion of her features had been terrible to behold. But from the moment Sedley entered the water, and that she felt the crisis to be at hand, she awaited the sentence of life or death with the calmness and coldness of a statue. Her unshrinking

Teresa's attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of violent sobs and moans, which told of some great sorrow. With a heart ever alive to the voice of distress, she hurried round a sharp turn in the path, and saw lying on the ground, apparently in the utmost abandonment of sorrow, a little girl, of about twelve or fourteen. Teresa approached the child, and kneeling down beside her, attempted to raise her from the ground; but the young mourner resisted her efforts, and for some time refused to listen to her inquiries. At length the melody and tenderness of Teresa's voice made itself heard in the girl's heart, and, rising from the ground, she continued sobbing violently, and pointing in the direction of a poor, ruinous cottage, at some little distance from the spot. She attempted vainly to articulate, and Teresa was deeply affected at witnessing such despair in one on the very threshold of life.

Her ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps, and, on turning her head in the direction from which it came, she perceived Sir Herbert Sedley, running along the path, also in