turned, when he entered Amabel's
chamber, accompanied by Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. A feeling of
misgiving crossed Amabel, as she beheld his companions.

"I have had some difficulty in finding a clergyman," said the earl, "for
the rector of Saint Saviour's has fled from the plague. His curate,
however, will officiate for him, and is now in the church."

Amabel fixed a searching look upon him. "Why are these gentlemen here?"
she asked.

"I have brought them with me," rejoined Rochester, "because, as they
were aware of the injury I once intended you, I wish them to be present
at its reparation."

"I am satisfied," she replied.

Taking her hand, the earl then led her to a carriage, which conveyed
them to Saint Saviour's. Just as they alighted, the dead-cart passed,
and several bodies were brought towards it. Eager to withdraw her
attention from the spectacle, Rochester hurried her into the old and
beautiful church. In another moment they were joined by Etherege and
Pillichody, and they proceeded to the altar, where the priest, a young
man, was standing. The ceremony was then performed, and the earl led his
bride back to the carriage. On their return they had to undergo another
ill-omened interruption. The dead-cart was stationed near the gateway,
and some delay occurred before it could be moved forward.

Amabel, however, suffered no further misgiving to take possession of
her. Deeming herself wedded to the earl, she put no constraint on her
affection for him, and her happiness, though short-lived, was deep and
full. A month passed away like a dream of delight. Nothing occurred in
the slightest degree to mar her felicity. Rochester seemed only to live
for her--to think only of her. At the end of this time, some
indifference began to manifest itself in his deportment to her, and he
evinced a disposition to return to the court and to its pleasures.

"I thought you had for ever abandoned them, my dear lord," said Amabel,
reproachfully.

"For awhile I have," he replied, carelessly.

"You must leave me, if you return to them," she rejoined.

"If I must, I must," said the earl.

"You cannot mean this, my lord," she cried, bursting into tears. "You
cannot be so changed."

"I have never changed since you first knew me," replied Rochester.

"Impossible!" she cried, in a tone of anguish; "you have not the
faults--the vices, you once had."

"I know not what you call faults and vices, madam," replied the earl