m scene at Bereford Castle, the intended home for Lady
Rosamond Seymour.

Within this apartment are two occupants. Seated, or rather reclining,
near the lower window is Maude Bereford, a young girl, graceful and
intelligent, but possessing no claim to rare beauty. A second glance
increases your approbation. Goodness of heart is indelible upon that
face. The other occupant is a lady about sixty years of age. Time had
been generous in its demands by drawing small usury from his allotted
spoliations. Lady Bereford had been a beauty in her day, and, judging
from the skilful devices practised, wished yet to retain her passing
glories. Her fair complexion still showed a lingering bloom, the haughty
eye still preserved a kindling glance, while her countenance and mien
gave evidence of a stronger and more spirited cast of character than that
of the young girl here mentioned.

"Maude," said her ladyship, "what news from Lady Rosamond?"

"Here is the letter, mamma, which you can read," said the young girl, at
the same time placing a daintily folded letter in the lap of Lady
Bereford.

With elevated eyebrows her ladyship looked over the contents of the
letter. An occasional frown showed the displeasure which some sentences
gave to the reader.

"It does not seem to please you, mamma," ventured Maude.

"I cannot think that Lady Rosamond is very complimentary to her friends
in England. She makes no very kind allusions to her former companions
here. You certainly will admit that fact."

"Oh, mamma, I am inclined to believe that you have formed mistaken
opinions of dear Lady Rosamond. You see that she refers to scenes
wherein all took a part, and I am sure that she is still my friend now
as before she left us."

"Allow me, Maude," exclaimed Lady Bereford with impatient gesture, "you
have neither age nor experience on your side; but I feel convinced that
Rosamond has formed some attachment in New Brunswick, which she has
cleverly concealed. Throughout her whole letter there is a want of
earnestness that betrays her--an unsettled and vague uncertainty
dictates every sentence. Sir Thomas did a very foolish action when he
gave consent to his daughter's separation at a time when her nature is
most susceptible to the temptations and flatteries of society."

"Mamma, I do not like to hear you speak thus of dear Rosamond. I love
her dearly, and I could not bear the thought of her forming any
attachment outside our family."

"That i