"TO LORD FITZALLAN.

"More than three years since, I wrote that we must meet no more but on a dying bed. The hour of our meeting is nigh; come to me, for the sake of our child, though its wretched mother is no longer loved. I have tried to live for his sake; but the body can no longer bear the spirit's strife, and I have none to leave my child to but to you. Grahame, it is a sacred trust. The past may be forgiven; that it has been is my prayer; but for the future, wo! wo to you, Grahame, if your child should rise against you at the Judgment Day. Your name has never reached me in my solitude, and I know not if you grieved or joyed in my absence. I know not if time and thought, and Heaven's grace have changed your heart: but listen to the warning voice of the dying. The sins of the past, and the future, will rest on your head, if our child tread the paths of the wicked. Come! and take him from my hands! come and receive one last embrace! I would die in your arms. Come, Grahame, come! for life is waning fast, and the spirit lingers but for you. In death, as in life, your's and your's only, CECIL ELLIOTT."

"Thank Heaven, for such a mother!" burst from his lips; but he looked not round, and saw not de Roos's smile of derision. It was many minutes ere he again advanced to his cousin; and, when he did, the same stern manner, the same proud resolve to bear, was visible, softened-a very little softened by the perusal of these letters, which confirming as they did his shame, yet brought some relief, as proving his mother worthy of his love.

"Have you further proof, Mr. De Roos?" he asked, in the same stern tone as before, "How is it certain I am the

child mentioned ?"

"I think you do not doubt it; but I have proofs for every thing. Lend me that locket round your neck."

Elliott drew it from his bosom, but still held the chainthe last relic of a mother now doubly dear!-he could ill brook to see it in his hands. De Roos touched a secret spring, and gave to view the features of the late Lord Fitzallan. In the inside was traced "Grahame De Roos, to his own Cecil Elliott."

The son looked at it a moment, whilst a sterner expression came over his face.

"Who was present at the ceremony?"

De Roos hesitated a moment, and said in a kinder tone: "My valet was present, but why increase your pain, by the presence of a menial?"

"I have not shrunk yet; let him appear."

"As you please!" replied the other with a return of his mockery: "you shall hear every thing. I will call him." 'No; ring for him."

"What, do you dare suspect?" he asked in wrath, then added with a sneer: "but losers must be humoured."

There was nothing remarkable in the man's appearance, except that he never willingly met a look; but he had been uniformly civil and attentive to Elliott. As he entered the room, he was surprised at the looks of his summoner, and then with downcast eyes awaited his orders.

"Gilbert!" said De Roos, in rather an emphatical tone: "you will make Mr. Elliott understand his mother had no right to the name of Fitzallan."

"Gilbert, you will tell the truth!" said Elliott, sternly. "If I but imagine a falsehood, the Courts of my country shall decide: now answer, and be brief. Was Cecil Elliott

the wife of the late Lord Fitzallan ?"

The man hesitated, seemed distressed, and looked towards De Roos.

Speak cannot you?" said that gentleman, "and tell her son she was not since he will learn unpleasant truths." The man seemed to shrink at the tone, or the look which accompanied it, and Elliott again spoke sternly.

"No interruption or I question the man in private."

De Roos shrugged his shoulders, indulged in a sneering laugh, and made no reply; but sat with his eyes fixed on Gilbert.

"Again, I ask you, was Cecil Elliott the wife of Lord Fitzallan?" and he watched the man steadily and earnestly. "The service was read; but a man was hired to act as a clergyman, who was not one," answered the man in a perfectly steady voice, though without looking up.

It seemed as if Elliott had hitherto indulged some hope, which this answer destroyed, for he was silent a few moments, and his lips became more livid.

"Were you present at th ceremony ?"

"Yes, sir."

"By whom was the man hired?"

"By me, sir."

"Villian! What doom can you expect for betraying in

nocence? The curse of a broken heart will be upon you, the orphan and her child will plead against you."

The man trembled, turned pale, and looked at De Roos. "If you expect me to be silent, Elliott, you must control your passion, or you will frighten the poor man to death: he is trembling at your mother's ghost already. And remember who contrived the plan."

"Who?"

"Your own father, sir. I did what he told me!"

Elliott shuddered, looked down, then resumed the exami nation more calmly.

"You hired a man, who was not a clergyman, and saw him perform the ceremony?"

"My lord desired me to do so, sir; and I was present." "Is the man living or dead?"

"Dead, sir."

"Was there a child?"

"Yourself, sir!"

Elliott seemed to shrink at this answer, but continued. "Was there no other witness?"

"Yes, sir, Janet Douglas; but she is dead."

"The name is Scotch. Did my mother live there?" "Yes," replied De Roos, with a sneer; "but my uncle crossed the border ere the mock ceremony was performed." "Is this true, Gilbert?"

"l It is, sir."

"How know you I am Cecil Elliott's child."

"I had you in my arms soon after you were born, and know you by a peculiar mark on your left shoulder, and I placed you with Mr. Stanton by my lord's orders, after your mother's death, sir."

"Did you see my mother before her death?"

"No, sir; she was dead before my lord arrived ?”

"Did he grieve much?"

"A great deal at first, sir; but my lord was never sad long, and besides, he went abroad after as ambassador, and did not return for a long time."

"Why was I placed with Mr. Stanton ?"

"My lord said he heard he was a clever man, and it was better you should be brought up in quiet."

"Did Lord Fitzallan make no provision for me before his death?"

"My Lord destroyed a will a few days before his death, and never made another."

sir;

"Had he made any provison for me in that will ?"

"He told me he had, sir, but did not say how much." "You are certain he made no will afterwards." Certain, sir; he told me so himself."

"Did he speak of me on his death-bed?"

"Yes, sir; but he was delirious at last, and raved about you and your mother, and prayed you to forgive him; and then, at last, he said he had seen your mother, and she had forgiven him."

"Do you know anything of a bond for three thousand pounds, to Mr. Stanton?"

แ

"No, sir."

Why did you never tell me this before?"

"My lord and Mr. De Roos begged I never would, sir, as it would grieve you."

Elliott was silent: he had asked these hurried questions, and every answer served to confirm the story of his shame. Of what use was further inquiry? Even he could not doubt, at any rate, he felt he could bear no more with calm

ness.

"Let me have the name of the man who performed the ceremony, with place and date, ready within an hour. If your tale be true, I must bear my misery as I can; if false, look to it! You may go."

A The man bowed, and withdrew.

"Are there any more letters or proofs, Mr. De Roos?" "None! I should think these more than sufficient."

Elliott took no notice of the sneer.

"You have heard my words to Gilbert, and understand, if I can overturn your proofs, I will. 'T'here need be no show of courtesy between us, and I shall rid you of my presence shortly."

"Stay!" said De. Roos, "examine as you please; but when satisfied, let my father have the pleasure of assisting his nephew. The cadetship offers an honourable way to independence."

This was said with so much kindness, that Elliott was surprised, and fixed a penetrating look on the proposer. His own suspicions, or a something in the scrutiny neutralized the kindness.

"I am sorry if I wrong you in my thought, that you would have me leave the kingdom; but it matters not. I can receive nothing at your hands. These letters shall be returned, and without waiting a reply, he retired to his own room, double locking the door.

Two hours passed, and he had not left his chamber. Gilbert was alarmed, and showed much anxiety. He approached the door on tip-toe-no sound reached his ear-he ventured to look through the key-hole. Elliott was seated opposite, his head resting on his hand, with the Holy Book open before him. The man retired as silently as he had advanced; there was no cause longer for fear, whatever there might be for sympathy.

แ

His bell rang soon after, but Gilbert was particularly wanted by his master, and another answered the summons. Let my horse be saddled, and brought to the door directly! Desire some one to take my trunks to the village, to meet the mail; and bid Gilbert bring me the paper I ordered." "Yes, sir."

"I wonder what can be the matter!" said the man to his fellow-servants. "Mr. Elliott looks like a ghost that is let walk, and his voice sounds grave-like."

Helen

The sun was shining in all his mid-day splendour. fancied the house oppressive, and, leaving it, established herself in a bower shaded and bright with many a clinging plant. A book and her work lay beside her, but she made little use of either, for thought was too busy to allow of occupation. One while she seemed dreaming of the future; one while moralizing on the past. Now she plucked a flower beside her, and then she looked out on the stately trees around, her beautiful face showing, as in a mirror of the mind, each changing of her mood. There were wood and water, hill and dale, with glimpses of her childhood's home; a paradise of beauty round about her. The woods still rich in their summer verdure, with but here and there a fading lime, in its autumn beauty, like the first touch of sorrow on a warm young heart, with much of brightness, even in its melancholy. She stood at the entrance of her favourite bower, looking forth over all these beauties; her white garments fluttering in the breeze, and the bright curls playing over her fair and changing cheek.

A horseman appeared on a neighbouring hill, his dark figure seen distinctly against the clear blue sky behind. He paused a moment for breathing or for scrutiny, and then dashed on towards the maiden's bower. She stepped back and took up the book, but her hands trembled, and her mind knew not the meaning of the words over which her eye wandered. On came the horseman, unheeding fence or bar; then springing to the ground, entered the bower with a