d with me; he
thought it perfectly natural. 'It was hard upon her,' he said,
'and could no be defended on the ground of reason; but there
were instincts, impulses, more powerful than reason itself;
and unjust and cruel as it might seem, he could not wonder at
the change in Lorenzo's feelings.'"

"How strange!" said Henry Lovell; "how like Edward, too;
though not quite so moral and just, as he generally piques
himself upon being."

"Ay," said Sir Edmund, "I must do him the justice to say, that
he added, 'Had I been Lorenzo, I should have felt myself bound
to devote my life to Amina, to have made her happy at the
expense of my own happiness; but there is, to me, something so
dreadful in life destroyed, in death dealt by the hand of a
woman, under any circumstances whatever.'"--

As Sir Edmund was saying these last words, I felt the sick
faint sensation that had been coming over me during the last
few minutes, suddenly increase, and he was interrupted by Mrs.
Ernsley exclaiming, "Good Heavens, Miss Middleton, how pale
you look! are you ill?"

Mrs. Brandon, who heard her, rushed to me; by a strong effort,
I recovered myself, swallowed the glass of water she brought,
and walked to the piano-forte, where Rosa Moore was singing.

I laid my head on the comer of the instrument, and as my tears
fell fast, I breathed more freely. When, later, Sir Edmund
apologised to me for having made me ill with his horrid story,
and Henry whispered to me, "Mrs. Ernsley has just announced
that you are of the same species as Miss Farnley, who cannot
hear of death, or of wounds, without swooing, but that you are
only a somewhat better actress," I was able to smile, and
speak gaily. Soon after, I went to bed; as I undressed, I
thought of these lines of Scott:--

"O I many a shaft at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant
And many a word, at random spoken.
May soothe or wound a heart nigh broken."

That night I had little sleep, and when I woke in the morning,
my pillow was still wet with tears.

CHAPTER VI.

"Yes, deep within and deeper yet
The rankling shaft of conscience hide;
Quick let the melting eye forget
The tears that in the heart abide.
......................
Thus oft the mourner's wayward heart
Tempts him to hide his grief and die;
Too feeble for confession's smart--
Too proud to bear a pitying eye."

CHRISTIAN YEAR.

The following day was Sunday, and some of us