tful week. The busy tide of life was at its height in the
streets, the noise was stunning, and the air close and
disagreeable, after what we had been used to at Hampstead.
Nobody had followed me into the drawing-room, and I sat there
for an hour or two absorbed in thought, and reviewing in my
mind the principal events of my past life. One by one they
passed before me; my aunt's first arrival at Elmsley, the day
of Julia's birth, when I was called from my drawing-lesson to
come and kiss my little cousin in her cradle; the happy time
of childhood and of early youth; my hours of study with Mrs.
Middleton; my walks and rides through the beautiful scenery
that surrounds Elmsley, sometimes with Edward and with Henry,
or only with old James behind me; my favourite chesnut wood,
where I used to throw the bridle over Selim's neck, and leave
him to follow his own fancy, unguided and unchecked, through
the winding paths and bushy dells; the sound of his hoofs on
the crushed leaves, and the murmur of the little waterfall,
were in my ears, as when I took Edward there on my fourteenth
birth-day, and as we were coming home, after much hesitation,
and with a beating heart, asked him if I might take care of
his Newfoundland dog, Hector, when he went back to town; and I
did not remember the events of the last week more distinctly
than I did his nod of acquiescence, and the gush of delight
with which I received that permission.

Then came in succession the recollections of Julia's
illness--of her recovery--of her death; of the acute and then
protracted anguish that followed it; of the delirious agony
that seized me on the day of her funeral. I lived over again
the time of Edward's departure, the feverish dream of
excitement which followed it; I visited again in fancy the
cottage at Bridman, and the cavern at the sea-side in
Dorsetshire. I thought of the day of Edward's return to
Elmsley, and of the Ash-Wednesday service in the village
church--that same church where Julia was buried, and where
Edward's lips had said _Amen!_ to the curse which had seemed
to light on my guilty and shrinking head; and _there_ they had
proposed that I should be married to him I--_there_, in sight
of the vault where _she_ lay! within the walls which had rung
with _that_ curse!

"O, no--no," I exclaimed; "not at Elmsley--not at Elmsley!"

A hand was gently laid on my shoulder, and Edward said--

"Why not at Elmsley?"

As I turned suddenly towards him,