he truth. The person of whom I am thinking, when
I write this, knows what I am going to do--and approves of it.

You will receive, with these lines, the most perfectly candid statement
that I can furnish, being extracts cut out of my own private Diary.
They are accompanied (where plain necessity seems to call for it) by the
written evidence of other persons.

There has never been much sympathy between us. But you have been brought
up like a gentleman--and, when you have read my narrative, I expect that
you will do justice to me, and to others--even though you think we acted
indiscreetly under trying and critical circumstances.

B. W.

II.

WINTERFIELD MAKES EXTRACTS.

First Extract.

April 11th, 1869.--Mrs. Eyrecourt and her daughter have left Beaupark
to-day for London. Have I really made any impression on the heart of the
beautiful Stella? In my miserable position--ignorant whether I am free
or not--I have shrunk from formally acknowledging that I love her.

12th.--I am becoming superstitious! In the Obituary of to-day's _Times_
the death is recorded of that unhappy woman whom I was mad enough to
marry. After hearing nothing of her for seven years--I am free! Surely
this is a good omen? Shall I follow the Eyrecourts to London, and
declare myself? I have not confidence enough in my own power of
attraction to run the risk. Better to write first, in strictest
confidence, to Mrs. Eyrecourt.

14th.--An enchanting answer from my angel's mother, written in great
haste. They are on the point of leaving for Paris. Stella is restless
and dissatisfied; she wants change of scene; and Mrs. Eyrecourt adds,
in so many words--"It is you who have upset her; why did you not speak
while we were at Beaupark?" I am to hear again from Paris. Good old
Father Newbliss said all along that she was fond of me, and wondered,
like Mrs. Eyrecourt, why I failed to declare myself. How could I tell
them of the hideous fetters which bound me in those days?

18th, Paris.--She has accepted me! Words are useless to express my
happiness.

19th.--A letter from my lawyer, full of professional subtleties and
delays. I have no patience to enumerate them. We move to Belgium
to-morrow. Not on our way back to England--Stella is so little desirous
of leaving the Continent that we are likely to be married abroad. But
she is weary of the perpetual gayety and glitter of Paris, and wants
to see the old Belgian cities. Her mother leaves Paris with regret