"Preoccupied as were my thoughts, I was myself struck with the interesting appearance of Mrs. Brown's daughter, Louisa; she is the sort of being one would choose for a friend, and I am convinced you would love her immediately if you saw her. We all remarked the dejection of her countenance, and the extreme reserve of her manners; and none of the neighbours could assign any reason for her melancholy, since the widow and her daughter held no intercourse with any one.

"It seems that George Dallas was particularly interested by Louisa's appearance during his visits to inquire after Miss Grenfell, but when that young lady died, of course, he for a time lost sight of the mother and daughter.

"I received this morning a letter from Charles Annesly, inclosing one from George Dallas, and that inclosure contains the important intelligence which so materially affects you. Prepare yourself, dear Lady St. John, for a great surprise, I fear a great shock; but call all your resolution to your aid, and, for God's sake, do

not allow the crime of another to render you miserable. Your life has been pure and innocent; you have ever acted from the highest motives; and if you have been cruelly wronged and deceived, you have nothing wherewith to reproach yourself. No blame will fall on you, and you will find hearts and a home, true and peaceful, ever open to you. Your excellent sense will, I am sure, suggest sources of consolation far beyond what I can offer, though I would willingly endure any sorrow, if, by so doing, I could mitigate that which must fall upon your head.

"It appears from George Dallas's letter, that not long after the death of Miss Grenfell, Louisa's mother, Mrs. Brown, fell dangerously ill, and requested the attendance of Dallas to comfort her with spiritual advice. Dallas, in his holy office, had often been summoned to the sick beds of his parishioners, but never had he been so much edified as in listening to the remarks, and noting the Christian fortitude and resignation of the widow Brown. She believed herself

to be dying, and talked with rapture of the approaching hour which should free her from her earthly sufferings. Louisa loved her mother tenderly, and appeared absorbed in grief at witnessing the failing strength of her only parent.

"Dallas called daily at the cottage, and in the sick room, amid sorrow and religion, a love for Louisa grew up in his heart-a love far stronger than the light feeling, falsely so called, which is born in joy and gaiety, and which seldom can stand the test of tears and woe. It is true that he saw nothing in Louisa's manner to encourage the hope of a return to his affection; but under her circumstances he could not look for this, and he was content to pray with her openly and love her secretly.

"At length Mrs. Brown recovered, to the astonishment of every one, and then Dallas began to evince a tenderness of manner towards Louisa, which he now hoped would be approved by her. He still continued to call daily, and the old Lady, who had conceived quite an affection for him, did not for a moment suspect

the real cause of his assiduity. George soon perceived that Louisa's coldness of manner towards him, instead of diminishing, increased with every interview, till at last she was invariably absent from the room when he called at the cottage. He was of an impetuous character, and could not brook suspense; he therefore went to Mrs. Brown's one morning at an earlier hour than usual, hoping to surprise Louisa, nor was he disappointed. He found her alone, her mother not having yet come from her room; and fearful of her escaping him, he told her of his love and hopes with almost incoherent rapidity. Louisa's countenance betrayed considerable emotion during his confession, and tears ran down her cheeks. For some time she was silent, but at length she subdued her excited feelings, and calmly, though without her former coolness, told Dallas how much gratified she felt by the exalted opinion he had expressed of her, and that, in return, she would be candid with him in explaining her position.

She was

a married woman, she told him, though separated from her husband, and that husband is alas! Teresa, I tremble at the thought of your feelings at the announcementthat worthless husband is Sir Edward St. John, also the husband of the best and loveliest of women."

"And now, Teresa, you know the worst, and let not this knowledge affect you too powerfully. I can enter into your feelings, I can conceive the sufferings of your wounded delicacy, and above all, I can understand your grief on your innocent child's account. But you also are innocent, Teresa ; as pure as your sweet infant in thought and deed, and let this consideration comfort your heart-you are now free, Teresafree from a distressing cause, it is true: but I conjure you to use that freedom by seeking a home with my kind mother, who will receive you with open arms, and cherish you as a daughter.

"And dare I at this juncture speak of my deep devotion, the transport with which I