beloved Gertrude," said Mrs Bouverie, after a pause of several minutes duration, and in tones which still betrayed the emotion she had evidently striven to repress.

"It is better, dearest Constance, that you should hear from one who is acquainted with all the truth regarding them, circumstances which are too well known to the world, and of which you cannot long remain ignorant.

"It was at Naples, about three years ago, that Gertrude met Lord Granville, for the first time, at least, for many years. The vicinity of Wharncliffe Castle to Delamere, had rendered them companions in childhood, but❞—at this moment Mrs Bouverie was interrupted by Sydney riding up to the window of the carriage. "Can you make room for me," he said, "I would have met you at a greater distance from home, but I expected you to return by the other road, and had advanced some miles upon it, when I was informed by a groom from Montfort Abbey, that you had returned this way." He dismounted as he spoke, and giving his horse to the servant who attended him, took his place beside them, where his lively conversation soon banished the depression that for a time had saddened Constance's feelings.

It was so near the dinner hour when they reached Delamere Castle, that they had time only for a hurried toilet, and Constance descended to the drawing-room with her mind still full of the subject, which had formed the theme of conversation during their drive.

At dinner, Constance occupied her usual place opposite Gertrude. The undefined feelings which Mrs Bouverie's allusion to her history had called forth, increased the interest with which Constance had, from their first meeting, regarded her cousin, and at every pause of the conversation during dinner, her gaze, almost unconsciously to herself, rested upon those beautiful features, in which she strove to read the history that to her was yet shrouded in mystery. As Gertrude for a moment turned from Mr Vernon, with whom she had been conversing,

she at last met that gaze-she coloured slightly, but returned it with a smile so sweet, that the warm heart of Constance glowed with increased love towards one who had already attracted her in no common degree.

Contrary to her usual practice, Gertrude remained with them upon that evening, and seating herself beside Constance, engaged her in interesting conversation.

Mrs Bouverie soon joined their little party, and the conversation turning upon music, Constance repeated a few stanzas of a little Italian song, which she had once heard sung by a Genevese boy near Ulleswater, and had often, but vainly, wished to hear again.

"You have it, dear Isabella," said Gertrude, "will you sing it to us

now ?"

Mrs Bouverie glanced for one moment, with a somewhat anxious expression, on the countenance of her sisterin-law.

"Shall I place the music for you?" continued Gertrude, and rising, she drew Mrs Bouverie's harp from its recess, and selecting the song which Constance wished to hear, placed it on the music stand. Constance raised her eyes as the sweet gushing melody of Mrs Bouverie's voice breathed, in tones of the most plaintive softness, the touching words of the little song, but her attention was painfully arrested as her eye fell upon the countenance of Gertrude, who had not returned to her former place by her side, but was sitting upon an ottoman near Mrs Bouverie.

Her clasped hands rested upon her lap, her eyes were fixed unconsciously upon Mrs Bouverie's harp, and that expression of anguish, which Constance had once before marked upon her lovely features, was more deeply written there than ever. A slight movement at the other end of the room, suddenly attracted the attention of Constance, and turning, she saw Mr Vernon's gaze fixed upon Gertrude with an expression that sent an involuntary thrill of undefined emotion through her frame. She instinctively rose, and placed herself so as to intercept that gaze.

The movement startled Gertrude,

and suddenly appearing to become conscious of observation, she rose, and breaking, by a visible effort, the spell that had enchained her, she placed herself beside Mrs Bouverie.

Vernon also approached. "The melody of that song is beautifully touching, Mrs Bouverie," said he, " and recalls to me the time when I first heard it on the banks of the Lago Maggiore. I had accompanied my venerable friend to Italy, and his gifted mind and classical knowledge opened to me rich stores of information as we passed through that lovely country." He paused for a moment, and an expression of sadness shaded his brow. Constance's eye rested upon him with an awakened feeling of interest, for she thought that perhaps his memory, like her own, was dwelling on the time when a parent's affection had heightened every plea

sure.

"Have you resided much in Italy, Mr Vernon ?" she inquired in a softened tone.

"We spent two years in it at that time," replied he; "at the end of that time I returned to England with my adopted parent, and watched his declining years in the land that gave him birth. I have visited it once since then, but I did so as a solitary and almost friendless stranger." He again paused, as if unwilling longer to dwell upon his own history; and, after a brief silence, he opened a volume of Handel's Oratorios which lay near, and asked Mrs Bouverie to sing one of its sacred pieces.

"I shall, with pleasure, if you will assist me," she replied; "but we shall require more voices. Lucy, will you join us? and, Sydney, we shall need your assistance."

Lucy had been conversing with Sydney at a little distance, but they both drew near at her request, and took the parts assigned to them. A few lines had been sung ere Vernon's part commenced; when it did, Constance was entranced by the rich deep melody of his voice; and while she hung upon every tone, and her eye almost unconsciously rested upon his beautiful features, still shaded by a lingering expression of sadness, she forgot the un

defined emotion that he had so lately excited, and was conscious only of the singular fascination that he appeared to exercise over all who came within the sphere of his influence.

The music ceased, but its tones still seemed to vibrate on the ear of Constance, and she retired to a distant window, to indulge unobserved the emotions which it had called forth.

Vernon and Sydney joined Lord Delamere, and were soon engaged with him in an animated discussion on ancient literature.

"I shall not delay longer, my dear Catherine, to propose Mr Vernon's remaining with us," said Lord Delamere, as Sydney and his friend left the room together to procure from the library a volume about which they had been conversing. "I am sure he would be a blessing to this neighbourhood, and a most agreeable addition to our home circle."

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"He would indeed, my love," replied Lady Delamere; yet I almost hesitate to ask a man of Mr Vernon's talents and acquirements to bury himself in the country, when so many paths to preferment, I doubt not, must be open to him.”

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Lord Delamere looked disappointed. 'True," said he, "I had not thought of that; yet I am sure he would like to be with Sydney," added he, while his countenance brightened, " and we do not reside all the year in the country; it would be the greatest pleasure to me, while in London, to seek to extend his influence, and aid in obtaining for him the eminence his talents and piety so highly deserve."

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At this moment Mr Vernon and Sydney returned to the room. 'I find we have not got the volume we were in search of," said Sydney, "and we must procure it without delay."

"I believe that I have got two copies of it," said Vernon, "if Lord Delamere will do me the favour to accept of one of them, I shall have great pleasure in sending it when I return to town."

town is still a very distant event. I wish we could persuade you to look upon Delamere Castle as a home, at least until your presence be imperatively required elsewhere."

A flush of gratified emotion for a moment crossed Vernon's pale features. "I have truly found the kindness of a home here," he replied, in a tone of deep feeling," and doubly precious is it to one who now can hardly claim a kindred tie on earth."

"Then remain with us, my dear friend," said Lord Delamere warmly. "Let this be your home, and believe that you will find amongst us the affection at least of kindred ties; and whilst we try to minister to your happiness in this world, you will help us to prepare for a better one." He extended his hand to Vernon, who clasped his for a moment, but almost immediately relinquished it a deep flush mounted to his forehead and passed, leaving him paler than before. A brief but severe conflict seemed to be passing within, and for a few moments he remained silent.

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'I am not obliged to return to Oxford," replied Vernon, with restored calmness of voice and manner. "I had only a half-formed intention of doing so, but I need not tell you how much more congenial to my feelings is the plan you propose. I cannot decide upon my future plans, however, nor give to your truly kind offer," added he, turning to Lord Delamere, "the ready acceptance that I gladly would, until the arrival of letters from abroad, upon which my arrangements must depend."

"Meanwhile, then, let us enjoy the pleasure of your society," said Lord Delamere kindly, "whilst we shall cherish the hope that it may be given to us more permanently."

Vernon bowed in silence, and the

conversation soon assumed a more general tone; but though Vernon bore his part in it, with all his usual power of exciting the interest of his hearers, traces of strong and mingled emotions remained upon his countenance, and, pleading the excuse of having important letters to write for the morning post, he retired at an earlier hour than usual. "Are you

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Sydney followed him. well, Vernon,” he inquired anxiously. Quite well, my friend," replied Vernon, smiling sadly as they reached his room. "Good night." He extended his hand, and pressed that of Sydney for a moment in his, then abruptly turning from him, he entered his room and closed the door.

Sydney would fain have followed, but an habitual feeling of deference that mingled with his affection for Vernon withheld him; he felt saddened, however, and disinclined to return to the group he left, and, retiring to his room, he busied himself for some time in anxious conjecture regarding the cause of his friend's disquiet, and mingled hope and fear of the decision that awaited the arrival of his expected letters.

"You are very quiet, Isabella," said Lord Delamere, turning to Mrs Bouverie, a few moments after Sydney and his friend had left the room. "Do you not rejoice in the prospect of retaining Mr Vernon amongst us."

"I admire Mr Vernon's talents, and think his manners most fascinating," replied Mrs Bouverie; "but I have not yet known him long enough to judge beyond this of his character."

"It requires but a short time, I should think," said Gertrude, with a slight severity of tone, "to judge of and appreciate the deeply devotional spirit that seems to pervade Mr Vernon's mind."

A slight flush for a moment coloured Mrs Bouverie's cheek, but she remained silent.

"And what do you think, Constance?" said Lord Delamere, smiling, as he turned to his niece, who was the only one of the party who had not yet spoken.

"I can hardly tell, Uncle," replied Constance. "There is something irre

sistibly attractive about Mr Vernon ; yet I feel afraid of him; I am never quite at ease when he is in the room. In whatever he may be engaged, I always feel conscious that he knows everything that goes on around him, and as if it were impossible to escape from his observation."

Lord Delamere looked rather per

plexed, as if Constance had brought before him some ideas that were not altogether new to his mind, but which he had not before thought of analysing.

"However that may be," said he, after a silence of some duration," I am sure his influence is one that will only benefit us all, and I heartily trust that we may profit by it."

The next day was Friday.

Mr Vernon spent the early part of the day in his room, and did not join the rest of the party until after luncheon.

Constance was engaged to accompany Mrs Bouverie upon a visit to one of the neighbouring families, and Lucy declined going out; instead of their usual afternoon's excursion, therefore, Sydney joined his friend in one of his accustomed rambles, from which they did not return until a late hour.

"I hope you feel better to-day, Mr Vernon," said Lord Delamere, as Vernon entered the drawing-room, after a hasty toilet, "Was it prudent to take so long a walk to-day? You looked so unwell last night."

"This cold bracing air rather does me good," replied Vernon, "and I enjoy the opportunity of becoming acquainted with a country that is almost strange to me, though the land of my birth.'

"I hope it will soon be a familiar land to you," said Lord Delamere, as they passed into the dining-room, "And now I am sure you will be glad of some refreshment, for you have had no luncheon."

Vernon allowed the first course to be removed untasted, and then partook sparingly of fish, but to the surprise and disquiet of Lord Delamere, he declined taking any thing further.

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"Do let me send you some of this chicken, Mr Vernon," said Lady Delamere kindly, or persuade you to take a glass of wine. I am sure you require some refreshment after your fatiguing walk.”

Vernon declined, "I take only fish and bread on Friday," added he

quietly, "We are commanded to deny ourselves, and surely on no day is it so congenial to the Christian's heart to do so, as on that which commemorates the sacrifice of his Redeemer. These are but small exercises of self-denial, yet it is pleasing to the heart to make them on a day when they peculiarly testify our love to him.”

Gertrude raised her eyes for a moment to the countenance of Vernon as he spoke, but immediately withdrew them he did not appear to have observed the glance, but continued, addressing Lady Delamere, "Alas! how few and poor are the instances of our self-denial, compared with the devotion of the saints of the olden time."

"Indeed, I fear that we fall sadly short of what we ought to be, Mr Vernon," replied Lady Delamere gently. "Some of us, at least, I am sure do, but it is well when we are reminded by precept or example of what we ought to be."

"Yet does not true self-denial," said Mrs Bouverie, "consist rather in a readiness to follow the will of our Lord, than in rejecting the blessings which he freely gives, or marking out for ourselves paths of asceticism in which he has not called us to walk?"

"Yet is there not a peculiar charm to human love in a voluntary offering?" enquired Vernon. "Do we not prize the love which is ready to give over that which is not required; and must not the voluntary rejection for His sake, of the gifts of his bounty, be pleasing in his eyes?"

"It is esteemed, I think, the more natural effect of love," replied Mrs Bouverie gently, "to prize the gifts that the hand of affection has bestowed,

and value them tenfold when they have been obtained at the expense of fatigue and suffering by the friend who gives them."

"We may prize the gifts of our adorable Redeemer," said Vernon, and enjoy them with deep feelings of gratitude to the bountiful Giver, yet may we not also afford a proof of such love, by abstaining from them, in order that our mental powers may be left the more unfettered for the contemplation of the glorious mysteries of his sojourn upon earth; but pardon me," he added in a lower tone, "I did not mean thus to enter upon subjects which ought to be reserved for a place and time more sacred than the present."

Again Gertrude's eyes were raised to Mr Vernon's countenance, but his own were turned towards Mrs Bouverie, who replied in a low tone, heard only by Vernon, next whom she was seated, "I did not mean to undervalue such self-denial, I only think that caution is needed, lest its observance at stated times should lead to that superstition against which we are warned in the Word of God."

She then passed to other subjects, and Lady Delamere soon afterwards gave the signal to withdraw.

Sydney's departure was arranged for the close of the following week; before that period Vernon expected to receive the letters which were to determine his future movements, and according as their decision might be, to accompany Sydney to London, and from thence pass on to Oxford, or merely spending a few days in town to complete some necessary arrangements, return immediately to Delamere Castle.

Upon a beautiful afternoon a few days preceding that upon which Sydney was to leave home, Constance and Lucy, accompanied by Sydney and Mr Vernon, set out upon a riding excursion to the seat of a nobleman in the neighbourhood. Their road lay through a part of the neighbourhood which Vernon had not yet seen; Sydney was engaged in pointing out some of its beauties to his friend, when a woman in the dress of a gypsy, suddenly emerged from a plantation at the side of the road, and throwing herself imme

diately in front of his horse, by a supplicating gesture, besought their charity. Sydney's horse was young and spirited; he was startled, and suddenly reared; his master was holding the reins loosely, and in an instant was thrown to the ground. Vernon sprang from his horse to the side of his friend, and raising his head, supported it upon his arm, while he hastily called to the woman to procure assistance. He was relieved by finding that Sydney was not insensible, hardly even stunned by his fall, but his right arm, upon which he had fallen, was injured, and he felt extreme pain when he attempted to move.

The woman had now returned from a neighbouring cottage, bringing with her a lad of eighteen, who offered his assistance in raising the gentleman, and by his aid Vernon quickly conveyed him into the hut, and laid him upon the only bed which it afforded, while he despatched the boy upon his own horse to the nearest village to procure a surgeon.

As Vernon turned to bring Sydney a glass of water, his attention was arrested by Constance, who was standing pale and motionless as a statue at the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed upon Sydney. At this moment Sydney raised his eyes, they met those of Constance, her cheeks crimsoned, and she turned away.

A dark shade crossed Vernon's brow as he resumed his place by his friend, but with habitual self-command, he quickly dispelled it, and continued quietly watching by Sydney till the arrival of the surgeon.

He relieved their fears by assuring them that Sydney had sustained no injury beyond dislocation of the arm, which would probably render him a prisoner for some time to his couch.

The carriage, which had been sent for to Delamere Castle, now appeared, bringing Lady Delamere, who, with all a mother's anxiety, had hastened to her son, and with less suffering than they had expected, Sydney was conveyed thither.

When Mrs Bouverie, on her way to the breakfast-room on the following morning, entered her sister's dressingroom, she was alarmed by the paleness