arnate devil now! Love has turned to
hate--admiration to execration--and I curse myself for ever having
thought her wise or good."

He flung himself into a chair, and groaned like one in acute pain; and
I, thinking he wished to be alone, slipped away before he raised his
head from between his clasped hands.

"What could he mean by asking me so many questions?" I cried, as I
threw myself into an easy chair in my luxurious apartment. "Were they
instigated by the wine he had drank, or suggested by idle curiosity? or
were my answers intended to answer some sinister purpose? God knows! He
is a strange, inexplicable man, whose words and actions the most
profound lawyer could scarcely fathom. I think he endeavoured to make
me intoxicated in the hope of extracting some information regarding
poor George. If so, he has missed his mark."

I drew from my bosom the portraits he had given me, perhaps, as a bait
to win my confidence; but I was thankful to him for the inestimable
gift, whatever the motives were which led to its bestowal.

The first case contained the miniature of my father. The gay, careless,
happy countenance, full of spirit and intelligence, seemed to smile
upon his unfortunate son.

I raised my eyes to the mirror--the same features met my glance: but
ah, how different the expression of the two faces. Mine was saddened
and paled by early care, and close confinement to a dark unhealthy
office; at twenty, I was but a faded likeness of my father.

I sighed as I pressed the portrait to my heart. In the marked
difference between us I read distinctly the history of two lives.

But how shall I describe my feelings whilst gazing on the picture of my
mother? The fast falling tears for a long while hid the fondly
remembered features from my sight; but they still floated before the
eyes of my soul in all their original loveliness.

Yes, there was the sweet calm face, the large soft confiding blue eyes,
the small rosy mouth with its gentle winning smile, and the modest
truthful expression of the combined features which gave such a charm to
the whole.

Oh, my mother! my dear lost, angel mother! how that picture recalled
the far-off happy days of childhood, when I sat upon your knees, and
saw my own joyous face reflected in those dove-like eyes! when, ending
some nursery rhyme with a kiss, you bowed your velvet cheek upon my
clustering curls, and bade God bless and keep your darling boy! Would
that I could become a chil