etched, we must rank his amiable and repentant son, who,
languishing to cleanse his house from the foul stain of usurpation, had
long resolved to do justice to his injured uncle, and to relinquish his
surreptitious honours to Eustace, anticipating the friendship of that
noble youth, and the hand of Isabel as the best rewards he could
receive. No bridal transport, no yearnings of grateful friendship, no
cordial thrill of conscious integrity now cheered the gloom of his
future prospects. The father had sinned beyond all possibility of the
son's atoning for his crimes. Was it possible for Colonel Evellin or
Constantia to bear his sight? Could Isabel ever plight her faith to the
son of her brother's murderer? These agonizing forebodings were soon
confirmed by the receipt of the following letter:--

"Dear Arthur,

"It is impossible for me to leave the secret chamber to bid you
farewel. I can sometimes tranquillize my father. I trust in heaven
his life will be preserved, and his reason restored. I know you
are innocent, and I know too that I shall always love you; but my
heart forebodes we must meet no more in this world. I do not bid
you forget me--No; I will implore your daily prayers, for I have
great need of patience and fortitude. Solicit for me earnestly at
the throne of grace, and thus shew your affection to

Isabel Evellin."

"Our sweet Constantia looks like a virgin-martyr, beautiful and
resigned. She bids me say she shall always love her kind friend Arthur.
Surely you might write to her, and mention what course you mean to
pursue."

--------------------

It would be difficult to say, whether this letter gave De Vallance more
pain or pleasure. Hope seldom deserts the lover who knows he is beloved.
But why did he feel delight at hearing Isabel acknowledge her heart
would ever be devoted to him? Could affection burst the cinctures of the
grave, and re-animate the corpse which his father had prematurely sent
to that dark mansion? Should he not rather have wished her to determine
to tear his image from her heart, and be happy in a second choice? I aim
to recommend practical and praise-worthy self-denial, not that romantic
strain of extravagant sentiment which enjoins impossibilities and
commends absurdities. Arthur's reflections told him that in treasuring
the remembrance of Isabel, even in his heart-of-heart, he invaded no
one's right, and broke n