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home; and besides, his curiosity was not a little excited to see the part Eulalic would act on again meeting him.

They soon arrived at the house, and Charles found himself again in the presence of the being he had so fondly loved. When he looked upon her, and saw her enchanting face embellished, if possible, since he last gazed on it, he no longer marvelled at the intensity of his past feelings, and he was scarcely conscious what words he addressed to her.

Eulalic's first emotion at sight of him was embarrassment; but when she perceived his agitation, her breast glowed with triumph, and she received him with the utmost frankness and cordiality, as if to banish from his mind every recollection of her, save as the wife of his friend.

Her manner succeeded admirably, and Charles found it impossible to withstand the charm of her society. He felt secure in his love for Giulietta, and thought that there could be nothing reprehensible in listening to Eulalic's divine voice as she accompanied herself on the

harp, or else enjoying the sallies of her playful wit. The next day found him there, and the next, and the next.

The first thing that aroused him to a sense of his danger, was the indifference with which he received Giulietta's artless letters, and the difficulty he found in answering them. At first he reproached himself bitterly for this; but a few more days passed in the society of Eulalic lulled his remorse to sleep, and in the course of a few weeks, those letters filled with gentle affection were not only unanswered, but unread.

And what were the feelings of poor Giulietta during this long neglect? At first when the brevity and coldness of Charles Annesly's letters became apparent to her, she tried to frame a thousand excuses for him, and when he ceased to answer her affectionate inquiries, and a long dreary interval of silence ensued, she became convinced that he was seriously ill. Giulietta's invalid friend had a correspondent in Como, and to this friend did the poor girl fly

in her agonizing anxiety, and implore her to write instantly and inquire respecting the Anneslys. After some days of suspense an answer arrived, containing an account of the young Englishman's well-known devotion to the beautiful Comtesse de St. Pol. Giulietta then felt that all the world held no more joy for her. It is true she never complained or even uttered Annesly's name in a tone of reproach, but the thought of his estrangement never left her.

In the mean time every day and every hour added to Mrs. Bently's unhappiness, a new source of torment had arisen latterly in her mind. She had watched Sir Herbert Sedley narrowly, and every change of his expression, every turn of his countenance, was noted at the time, and remembered afterwards by her. She perceived that when he was, as he thought unobserved, he would contemplate Teresa's beautiful countenance with an expression of deep interest, which stung Jessy to the soul. She observed that when he addressed Lady

Sedley it was with a careless, indifferent air, so opposed to his usual earnest manner, that it was evidently assumed to conceal some strong

emotion.

She noted these, and many other trifling things, which, though difficult to describe, are unfailing evidences of a combated attachment. She very soon wrought herself up to believe that Sedley was devoted in secret to Teresa St. John, and the agonies of mind she suffered in consequence of this conviction were fearful. There is an immeasurable contrast between unhappiness in a well and ill-regulated mind. In the first case, all disappointments and mortifications, though severely felt at first, are borne with a calm resignation, and a fixed determination against sinful despondency, which very soon blunt the keen edge of sorrow. If they have been deceived by those they trusted, they can turn to think of Heaven, where there is no guile; if they meet with scorn and indifference from the fickle and worldly, they garner up the fragments of their hopes and affections in the

friendship of the few true and good hearts which remain to them.

But imagination recoils from the stormy agonies of such a mind as Jessy Bently's. Love-despair-remorse-hatred, raged by turns in her breast, and left their unfailing marks on her once smooth brow, and their dark shadows in her unfathomable eyes. A kind tone or word from Sedley would, in an instant, cause a blissful revulsion in her whole feelings; and hope, that arch deceiver, would creep into her heart. But, alas! even that hope was agony -she had irreVocably sealed her own fate, and nothing but the interposition of death could free her.

Sometimes she felt as though she could render herself worthy of Sedley's friendship, by rooting her unhappy love from her heart; and then she experienced fits of passionate, yet evanescent devotion, and believed that her prayers were accepted, her fervent prayers for indifference to the world, and to him her world.

But, alas! they were not answered; and her guardian angel, who still hovered near her with

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