the habit of leaning. They were so faintly marked, and
had probably been so much effaced since, that he found great
difficulty in making them out. At last he succeeded in doing
so, and they were as follows:--

"My aching heart is breaking,
My burning brain is reeling,
My very soul is riven,
I feel myself forsaken.
And phantom forms of horror,
And shapeless dreams of terror.
And mocking tones of laughter,
About me seem to gather;
And death, and hell, and darkness
Are driving me to madness."

It would be difficult to describe the revulsion of feeling
which Mr. Lacy experience on reading the expression of a
despair that contrasted so strikingly with the joy and the
peace which had been filling his own heart. There was also
something which indicated a kind of reckless helplessness in
the fact of leaving that confession of mental agony to be
scanned, perhaps, by indifferent eyes. It must have been done
in one of those moments when the tortured heart would break if
it did not in some mode or other give vent to its anguish. Mr.
Lacy, after some minutes' consideration, took out of his
pocket a pencil and a bit of paper, and transcribed upon it
the lines he had found, and then carefully effaced them from
the pillar on which they had been written. As he slowly walked
out of the cathedral, and towards Mrs. Denley's house, he
revolved in his mind the means by which he would be most
likely to gain admission to Mrs. Rodney's presence. It struck
him that if she could be made aware that he had read the words
that were now in his possession, she would feel less
reluctance to enter into communication with him: but it was
difficult to convey this fact to her without wounding her
feelings. When he reached the house and knocked, he was still
undecided as to the course he should pursue. Mary Evans, the
girl who was in attendance upon Mrs. Rodney, came to the door;
and when Mr. Lacy inquired after Mrs. Rodney's health,
answered: "Why, Sir, she says as how she is wonderful better
to-day, and so strong that she's been a getting up and walking
about her room; but, I take it, her strength is fever
strength, for her cheeks are red as crimson, and she seems as
if she could not sit still."

"She should not be allowed to exert herself in that way,"
observed Mr. Lacy;--"she may do herself much harm."

"Indeed, and that's quite true, Sir; but there's no persuading
her when she's in one of her ways. She speak