r own toils; she
could but feel the retribution just. Of all men, she knew, George
Graham to be one of the most fastidious, and that of all things he
held the most despicable, she well knew, was a coquette. She loved him
with passionate devotion, but knew, if the effort cost him his life,
he would cast her from his affections. She was almost maddened with
the thought. She did indeed feel that Mr. Barclay was amply revenged,
and in feeling every hope of happiness was lost, she could judge to
what she had nearly brought him; though she perhaps forgot that he had
a support in the hour of trial to which she could not look, for she
had wilfully erred. It had always been her practice to go daily to the
village post office, consequently, no suspicions could arise on the
part of Ethelind, as they would have done, had she seen the frequency
of her friend's receiving letters. She rose early, and went the
morning she was to leave. She started, as the well known writing met
her eye on the address: her limbs trembled, and she feared to open the
packet put into her hands. Her own letters were returned with the
accompanying note:--

"FAITHLESS, BUT STILL DEAR BEATRICE,

"Farewell, and for ever! May you never know the bitter pangs you
have inflicted! I may be too fastidious, but I could never unite my
fate with yours; the woman I marry I must respect, or I can never
be happy; and miserable as I shall be without you, I feel that I
should be still more wretched did I unite my fate with yours. My
whole heart was, and is yours only, and had your feelings been what
they ought, you would have spurned the paltry gratification of
winning the affection you could not return, I sail for India
to-morrow; to have seen you would be worse than useless; as we can
never now, be anything, to each other.--Once more, adieu!

"Your once devoted,

"GEORGE GRAHAM."

Beatrice's eyes were red with weeping when she returned from the
village. She hesitated whether or not to show Ethelind the letters;
but she well knew her disposition and that although she highly
disapproved her conduct, still she would feel for her, and she needed
consolation; accordingly, calling her into her bed room, she put both
epistles into the hand of her friend, begging her to try and read them
through before the carriage came that was to take her away. Ethelind
was little less astonished than Beatrice had been, and truly did she
feel for her mortificatio