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obey her wish-rang the bell, and ordered his servant to put up a change of dress, and send for posthorses.

Levy then took him aside, and led him to the window.

"Look under yon trees. Do you see those men? They are bailiffs. This is the true reason why I come to you to-day. You cannot leave this house."

Egerton recoiled. "And this frantic foolish letter at such a time," he muttered, striking the open page, full of love in the midst of terror, with his clenched hand.

O Woman, Woman! if thy heart be deep, and its chords tender, beware how thou lovest the man with whom all that plucks him from the hard cares of the work-day world is a frenzy or a folly! He will break thy heart, he will shatter its chords, he will trample out from its delicate framework every sound that now makes musical the common air, and swells into unison with the harps of angels.

"She has before written to me," continued Audley, pacing the room with angry disordered strides, “asking me when our marriage can be proclaimed, and I thought my replies would have satisfied any reasonable woman. But now, now this is worse, immeasurably worse-she actually doubts my honour! I, who have made such sacrifices-actually doubts whether I, Audley Egerton, English gentleman, could have been base enough to "

an

"What?" interrupted Levy, "to deceive your friend L'Estrange? Did not she know that?"

"Sir," exclaimed Egerton, turning white.

"Don't be angry-all's fair in love as in war; and L'Estrange will live yet to thank you for saving him from such a mésalliance. But you are seriously angry; pray, forgive me."

With some difficulty, and much fawning, the usurer appeased the storm he had raised in Audley's conscience. And he then heard, as if with surprise, the true purport of Nora's letter.

"It is beneath me to answer, much less to satisfy, such a doubt," said Audley. "I could have seen her, and a look of reproach would have sufficed; but to put my hand to

paper, and condescend to write, 'I am not a villain, and I will give you the proofs that I am not,'-never."

"You are quite right; but let us see if we cannot reconcile matters between your pride and her feelings. Write simply this: All that you ask me to say or to explain, I have instructed Levy, as my solicitor, to say and explain for me; and you may believe him as you would myself."

"Well, the poor fool, she deserves to be punished; and I suppose that answer will punish her more than a lengthier rebuke. My mind is so distracted, I cannot judge of these trumpery woman-fears and whims; there, I have written as you suggest. Give her all the proof she needs, and tell her that in six months at farthest, come what will, she shall bear the name of Egerton, as henceforth she must share his fate."

"Why say six months?"

"Parliament must be dissolved before then. I shall either obtain a seat, be secure from a gaol, have won field for my energies, or-"

"Or what?"

"I shall renounce ambition altogether-ask my brother to assist me towards whatever debts remain when all my property is fairly sold-they cannot be much. He has a living in his gift-the incumbent is old, and, I hear, very ill. I can take orders."

"Sink into a country parson!"

"And learn content. I have tasted it already. She was then by by my side. Explain all to her. This letter, I fear, is too unkind-But to doubt me thus!"

Levy hastily placed the letter in his pocket-book; and, for fear it should be withdrawn, took his leave.

And of that letter he made such use, that the day after he had given it to Nora, she had left the housethe neighbourhood; fled, and not a trace! Of all the agonies in life, that which is most poignant and harrowing that which for the time most annihilates reason, and leaves our whole organisation one lacerated, mangled heart-is the conviction that we have been deceived where we placed all the trust of love. The moment the anchor snaps, the storm comes on-the stars vanish behind the cloud.

When Levy returned, filled with the infamous hope which had stimulated his revenge-the hope that if he could succeed in changing into scorn and indignation Nora's love for Audley, he might succeed also in replacing that broken and degraded idol-his amaze and dismay were great on hearing of her departure. For several days he sought her traces in vain. He went to Lady Jane Horton's-Nora had not been there. He trembled to go back to Egerton. Surely Nora would have written to her husband, and, in spite of her promise, revealed his own falsehood; but as days passed and not a clue was found, he had no option but to repair to Egerton Hall, taking care that the bailiffs still surrounded it. Audley had received no line from Nora. The young husband was surprised and perplexed, uneasy-but had no suspicion of the truth.

At length Levy was forced to break to Audley the intelligence of Nora's flight. He gave his own colour to it. Doubtless she had gone to seek her own relations, and take, by their advice, steps to make her marriage publicly known. This idea changed Audley's first shock into deep and stern resentment. His mind so little comprehended Nora's, and was ever so disposed to what is called the common-sense view of things, that he saw no other mode to account for her flight and her silence. Odious to Egerton as such a proceeding would be, he was far too proud to take any steps to guard against it. "Let her do her worst," said he coldly, masking emotion with his usual self-command; "it will be but a nine days' wonder to the world-a fiercer rush of my creditors on their haunted prey-" "And a challenge from Lord L'Estrange."

"So be it," answered Egerton, suddenly placing his hand at his heart.

"What is the matter? Are you ill ?"

"A strange sensation here. My father died of a complaint of the heart, and I myself was once told to guard, through life, against excess of emotion. I smiled at such a warning then. Let us sit down to business."

But when Levy had gone, and soli

tude reclosed round that Man of the Iron Mask, there grew upon him more and more the sense of a mighty loss. Nora's sweet loving face started from the shadows of the forlorn walls. Her docile, yielding temper - her generous, self-immolating spiritcame back to his memory, to refute the idea that wronged her. His love, that had been suspended for awhile by busy cares, but which, if without much refining sentiment, was still the master passion of his soul, flowed back into all his thoughts-circumfused the very atmosphere with a fearful softening charm. He escaped under cover of the night from the watch of the bailiffs. He arrived in London. He himself sought everywhere he could think of for his missing bride. Lady Jane Horton was confined to her bed, dying fast-incapable even to receive and reply to his letter. He secretly sent down to Lansmere to ascertain if Nora had gone to her parents. She was not there. The Avenels believed her still with Lady Jane Horton.

He now grew most seriously alarmed; and, in the midst of that alarm, Levy contrived that he should be arrested for debt; but he was not detained in confinement many days. Before the disgrace got wind, the writs were discharged-Levy baffled. He was free. Lord L'Estrange had learned from Audley's servant what Audley would have concealed from him out of all the world. And the generous boy—who, besides the munificent allowance he received from the Earl, was heir to an independent and considerable fortune of his own, when he should attain his majority-hastened to borrow the money and discharge all the obligations of his friend. The benefit was conferred before Audley knew of it, or could prevent. Then a new emotion, and perhaps scarce less stinging than the loss of Nora, tortured the man who had smiled at the warning of science; and the strange sensation at the heart was felt again and again.

And Harley, too, was still in search of Nora-would talk of nothing but her-and looked so haggard and griefworn. The bloom of the boy's youth was gone. Could Audley then have said, "She you seek is another's;

your love is razed out of your life. And, for consolation, learn that your friend has betrayed you?" Could Audley say this? He did not dare. Which of the two suffered the most?

And these two friends, of characters so different, were so singularly attached to each other. Inseparable at school-thrown together in the world, with a wealth of frank confidences between them, accumulated since childhood. And now, in the midst of all his own anxious sorrow, Harley still thought and planned for Egerton. And self-accusing remorse, and all the sense of painful gratitude, deepened Audley's affection for Harley into a devotion as to a superior, while softening it into a reverential pity that yearned to relieve, to atone ;-but how-oh, how?

A general election was now at hand, still no news of Nora. Levy kept aloof from Audley, pursuing his own silent search. A seat for the borough of Lansmere was pressed upon Audley, not only by Harley, but his parents, especially by the Countess, who tacitly ascribed to Audley's wise counsels Nora's mysterious disappearance.

Egerton at first resisted the thought of a new obligation to his injured friend; but he burned to have it some day in his power to repay at least his pecuniary debt: the sense of that debt humbled him more than all else. Parliamentary success might at last obtain for him some lucrative situation abroad, and thus enable him gradually to remove this load from his heart and his honour. No other chance of repayment appeared open to him. He accepted the offer, and went down to Lansmere. His brother, lately married, was asked to meet him; and there, also, was Miss Leslie the heiress, whom Lady Lansmere secretly hoped her son Harley would admire, but who had long since, no less secretly, given her heart to the unconscious Egerton.

Meanwhile, the miserable Nora, deceived by the arts and representations of Levy-acting on the natural impulse of a heart so susceptible to shame-flying from a home which she deemed dishonoured-flying from a lover whose power over her she knew to be so great, that she dreaded lest he might reconcile her to

dishonour itself—had no thought save to hide herself for ever from Audley's eye. She would not go to her relations-to Lady Jane; that were to give the clue, and invite the pursuit. An Italian lady of high rank had visited at Lady Jane's-taken a great fancy to Nora-and the lady's husband, having been obliged to precede her return to Italy, had suggested the notion of engaging some companionthe lady had spoken of this to Nora and to Lady Jane Horton, who had urged Nora to accept the offer, elude Harley's pursuit, and go abroad for a time. Nora then had refused;-for she then had seen Audley Egerton.

To this Italian lady she now went, and the offer was renewed with the most winning kindness, and grasped at in the passion of despair. But the Italian had accepted invitations to English country houses before she finally departed for the Continent. Meanwhile Nora took refuge in a quiet lodging in a sequestered suburb, which an English servant in the employment of the fair foreigner recommended. Thus had she first come to the cottage in which Burley died. Shortly afterwards she left England with her new companion, unknown to all-to Lady Jane as to her parents.

All this time the poor girl was under a moral delirium-a confused fever-haunted by dreams from which she sought to fly. Sound physiologists agree that madness is rarest amongst persons of the finest imagination. But those persons are, of all others, liable to a temporary state of mind in which judgment sleeps-imagination alone prevails with a dire and awful tyranny. A single idea gains ascendancy-expels all others— presents itself everywhere with an intolerable blinding glare. Nora was at that time under the dread one idea -to fly from shame!

But, when the seas rolled, and the dreary leagues interposed, between her and her lover-when new images presented themselves-when the fever slaked, and reason returned-Doubt broke upon the previous despair. Had she not been too credulous, too hasty? Fool, fool! Audley have been so poor a traitor! How guilty was she, if she had wronged him! And in the midst of this revulsion of feeling, there

stirred within her another life. She was destined to become a mother. At that thought her high nature bowed; the last struggle of pride gave way; she would return to England, see Audley, learn from his lips the truth, and even if the truth were what she had been taught to believe, plead not for herself, but for the false one's child.

Some delay occurred, in the then warlike state of affairs on the Continent, before she could put this purpose into execution; and on her journey back, various obstructions lengthened the way. But she returned at last, and resought the suburban cottage in which she had last lodged before quitting England. At night, she went to Audley's London house; there was only a woman in charge of it. Mr Egerton was absent-electioneering somewhere-Mr Levy, his lawyer, called every day for any letters to be forwarded to him. Nora shrank from seeing Levy, shrank from writing even a letter that would pass through his hands. If she had been deceived, it had been by him, and wilfully. But Parliament was already dissolved; the elections would soon be over, Mr Egerton was expected to return to town within a week. Nora went back to Mrs Goodyers' and resolved to wait, devouring her own heart in silence. But the newspapers might inform her where Audley really was; the newspapers were sent for, and conned daily.

And one morning this paragraph met her eye:

"The Earl and Countess of Lansmere are receiving a distinguished party at their country seat. Among the guests is Miss Leslie, whose wealth and beauty have excited such sensation in the fashionable world. To the disappointment of numerous aspirants amongst our aristocracy, we hear that this lady has, however, made her distinguished choice in Mr Audley Egerton. That gentleman is now contesting the borough of Lansmere, as a supporter of the government; his success is considered certain, and, according to the report of a large circle of friends, few new members will prove so valuable an addition to the Ministerial ranks; a great career may indeed be predicted for a young man so esteemed for talent and character, aided by a fortune so immense as that which he will shortly receive with the hand of the accomplished heiress."

Again the anchor snapt-again the storm descended - again the stars vanished. Nora now was once more under the dominion of a single thought, as she had been when she fled from her bridal home. Then, it was to escape from her lover - now, it was to see him. As the victim stretched on the rack implores to be led at once to death, so there are moments when the annihilation of hope seems more merciful than the torment of suspense.

ALPHONSE KARR.

FOR Some time past, it has been our intention to devote a few pages to the examination of twenty-five volumes of tales, essays, novels, and drolleries, which occupy, under the initial K, a corner of our French bookcase. We know not whether M. Alphonse Karr's works are as much read in England as those of some of his popular and mischievous cotemporaries; but we suspect that they are not. He is of a different school from those clever miscreants, whose glittering pages, vivid with attractive colours that conceal the most pernicious tendencies, make his writings appear, by contrast, pale and monotonous. Some time ago, when incidentally mentioning his very charming novel of La Famille Alain, we extolled the propriety of many of M. Karr's works; and, indeed, when compared with the poisonous doctrines of Eugene Sue, that reckless pander to the worst passions of the populace, with the profanity and impurity of most of Madame Sand's novels, and with the unclean and anti-social lucubrations of minor scribes too numerous to mention, there are few of his books but seem innocent and unoffending. Comparative praise must not, however, be mistaken for unqualified approval. Grave faults are to be found in some of his earlier works; and we fear it must be admitted that, with the exception of La Famille Alain, and of one or two others, the books upon which he has apparently bestowed most pains are, upon the whole, the least unobjectionable. Two of his longest works-written, it is true, fifteen or twenty years ago, when their author was a very young man, but over which he has evidently lingered with love and painstaking are not only unpleasant in tone and untrue to nature, but in parts immoral and licentious. Of his more recent writings, the shorter and slighter are generally the most exempt from anything likely to shock English readers. It is an unfortunate peculiarity of M. Karr's that he apparently goes out of his way to deface his fairest pages. In France he has a high reputation as a man of esprit ; but esprit

includes good taste as well as wit, and to the former quality he sometimes forfeits his claim. One feels vexed at the eccentricity or perverseness which lead him to blot, by license and triviality, the most interesting of his books. When he steers clear of these shoals, his delineations frequently possess both feeling and delicacy; whilst the shrewdness and knowledge of human nature he often exhibits, prevent our believing him the dupe of the sophistry and misanthropy that sometimes flow from his pen. Desiring to judge him as favourably as he will permit us to do, and at the same time to give an instance of the bad taste of which we complain, we turn to the set of novels included under the eccentric title of Ce qu'il y a dans une Bouteille d'Encre. We may here observe that M. Karr's books are generally remarkable by the oddity of their names. Some of these, such as Fort en Thème, Pour ne pas être Treize, Une Folle Histoire, although pithy enough in French, translate but lamely into English. Others are German, as Am Rauchen, "Whilst Smoking," or, more freely, "Over a Pipe ; "and Einerlei, the name given to a collection of tales, and touching whose appositeness, which is not very clear, M. Karr is perfectly inexplicit. The novels composing the Ink Bottle" set are plainer in their appellations. One of them, called Clotilde, is clever but disagreeable. It contains some welldrawn characters, but all the most prominent of these are either vicious or fools. Genevieve is another of this series, and one of the best of the author's productions. And yet the chances are that the reader throws it aside before he has got through the first fifty pages, and denounces it as one of the common run of loose French novels, in which morality is sneered at, or at least lost sight of. In reality, the chief fault of the book-almost its only one-lies in those first fifty pages.

Could we strike out or remodel them, Genevieve would be a very charming novel. As it is, it begins with a blemish: its commence

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