"The earl of Leicester's, I think Mr. Dalton said."

Alford's laugh was louder than before, and even Helen and Miss Grey could not repress their smiles, so ludicrous were the lady's humility and mistakes; but the former checked herself instantly, and without glancing at Elliott, for fear of increasing his mortification, was on the point of putting an end to the scene, when he prevented her by joining in the laugh, and telling her he had acquired more selfpossession than when they first met.

Taking courage from his good humour, without ceasing her curtesies, Mrs. Jones poured forth her apologies, assuring him of her daughter's readiness to dance with him, amid the renewed laughter of the gentlemen, and the smiles of the ladies.

"I am sorry you should have had so much trouble in apologizing," said Elliot at length, when she paused for an instant, "I assure you I hold no exalted station, and Mr. Dalton must have been seeking his own amusement, when he told you so."

"Now do tell me, my lord, is this really true?" inquired she earnestly, completely mystified; "or does not he like to have it known?"

A glance from Helen made Alford answer fairly for once. "It is true, and you had better go to Mr. Dalton. Tell him we have had a good laugh, and that he must set you right. Always suspect him when civil."

"And for the future be less inclined to believe and relate," added Helen, in a tone that, though low and gentle, convinced the gossip her acquaintance with the heiress stood on rather a perilous footing. "We ought to apologize to you, Mr. Elliott," said Helen. "Alford forgot in Mrs. Jones's folly how much mischief her tattle may make."

"I need no apology, and was as much entertained as the rest of the party. Habit, and the delightful certainty that there are still some interested in my fate, will, in time I trust, make me a perfect hero in society, though I must expect a relapse or two."

"For my part," said Alford, "I consider it quite a treat to see Helen in a passion, and had been trying at it all the evening in vain.”

"How can you treat so lightly her conduct towards the unfortunate? but I believe I am in the wrong; a gossip will be a gossip as long as she meets encouragement. Is what she said true?"

"I fear part of her intelligence is correct, but I will learn if I can. As to Miss Mason, the quadrille had begun, so I dance with her the next, and come back to claim my reward. Miss Grey takes my other arm in to supper, and dances with me the one after, and you form one of my party, and honour me with your hand the second, No remonstrance! 'tis the fashion to-night to dance twice with those we like;" and leading Miss Grey to a seat, he took one beside her, and soon engaged all her attention.

CHAPTER II.

"I lived an unloved, solitary thing."

"The beings of the mind are not of clay.
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray

KIRKE WHITE.

And more beloved existence; that which fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state

Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied,

First exiles, then replaces what we hate,

Watering the heart whose early flowers have died,
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void.
Yet there are things whose strong reality

Outshines our fairy land in shape and hues
More beautiful than our fantastic sky."

BYRON.

As the conservatory was cool, sufficiently filled to make none particular, yet sufficiently empty to allow conversation without being overheard by your next neighbour, Helen preferred it to the ball-room.

"My womanly feelings will not permit me to understand the rapture and intoxication of gaming," remarked our heroine to Elliott, after hearing part of the report concerning Mr. Wilder confirmed in sorrow by a relative. "I can comprehend the enivrement of the hero and the statesman,—the thrill of glory and ambition, even unhallowed by nobler motives, than man's applause; nay, I can feel some sympathy for the exciting bustle of a man of business; but that a man of talent, an affectionate father and husband, should risk his all upon

a die, feel no remorse at ruining all loved by himself or another, is something too sublime, I suppose I must say, for my weak understanding to grapple with."

"I should have said the same in my days of youth and innocence, but I have felt there are times when such excitement, despicable as it is, can charm even to intoxication; and. never can I be sufficiently thankful for not having met with even a shadow of ill fortune. It is only in evil hour such things can charm, when the impatience of youth, and a habit of discontent and murmuring urged us on to snatch from fortune what we should seek humbly and patiently from Providence. Yet some have not even the poor excuse of want."

"Am I to believe you a gambler, then?" she inquired earnestly-what De Roos had said recurring to her mind. "Your speech favours the Manichean doctrine; a good and evil spirit seem to hold equal sway; for whilst you condemn the act, you rejoice in reaping its fruits. How could you, with your opinions, play at all?"

"Do we never act contrary to our better judgment? I fear I have forfeited your good opinion by the confession; yet was it a solitary error, with some rather palliating circumstances, and deeply deplored; but the tale is long and sad; and I hope and trust I have enacted the gambler for the last time."

"You must read me this riddle,

And tell me this tale.'

-I owe half my popularity to being a good listener."

"But the tale concerns myself, and has too little event to be interesting."

"That excuse will not hold good in these days of autobiographies, when the romances of chivalry, with their fays and their marvels, and their deeds of gallantry, have yielded place to the sometimes monstrously lengthened chain of thoughts and feelings. I can take no denial, for I have as much curiosity as Mrs. Jones, to know all about you. member, all autobiographers are wonderful children, marvellous boys, and extraordinary men-thinking before others possess the power of thought, and describing their feelings before they could distinguish 'a hawk from a handsaw.'"

Re

"Then my autobiography will be perfectly original," he said, answering her bright smile with one almost as bright, "for I can boast of nothing wonderful, marvellous, or extra

ordinary. I have only felt as others would have felt in my situation, and have such a horror of playing the egotist, that I shall deny all knowledge of my past life."

"No! no! no!" with a playful shake of the head.

"Cour

age! ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute. I am dying with curiosity, and must hear every thing, ay, from the very beginning."

"Well, then! Once upon a time, a raw simple youth came up to town."

She shook her head.

"You do not like this commencement? You are fastidious; and if you do not let me tell my story in my own way, I shall never be able to tell it at all. Once more, you must imagine me a little boy between four and five years of age, with bright curling locks, laughing eyes, and 'witching dimples; in short, a perfect picture—a subject for Lawrence-a Cupid in beauty and archness. Will that do?"

She nodded a laughing assent, and he continued with a countenance changing its expression every moment-now saddened by melancholy-now glowing with animated hope. Nor were the words and thoughts that occasioned these changes, less rapid than the changes themselves. There was no pause, no seeking for words, no studied antithesis. It was the cataract of a noble mind, pouring forth its waters from its own bright impulse. The lightning of a pent up heart, to one of kindred mould.

"I was half sitting, half reclining in a lady's lap, twining my fingers in her rich bright curls, that rested on my cheek as she bent over me. She looked down upon my laughing face, and, child as I was, I felt there was something painful in her smile as she returned my caress. She would have raised her head, but I bent it down with one arm round her neck, whilst the other hand twisted flowers in her long rich hair. When my flowers were exhausted, I let her go, that I might look at her. 'Now beautiful, mamma;' I said 'beautiful,' and she repeated the word in such a tone-it lingers on my memory still. 'Does not every body love what is beautiful, mamma? Nurse says so!' 'Love, child! no one loves me now!' 'Yes, mamma, I do, and nurse does, and Carlo does.' She tried to smile-she could not; but she clasped me to her heart with a wild pressure that almost made me shrink. Yes! yes!' she exclaimed, 'you alone are left me, and you I must leave. No father! no mother! Heaven shield my child!' and then she bent over me, kissing

my brow, my lips, my cheeks, with all a mother's passionate fondness. Tears mingling with her caresses, I had been used to; but there was a solemnity in her manner at that moment, that made me submit in silence, and without return. Once more she bent over me, kissed my forehead, murmured 'Bless you, my child!' and then leant back in the high chair in which she was sitting.

"It was a bright summer's day; the sun was shining full into the little room, and there were gay flowers without, and bees and birds and butterflies. My mother's eyes were not closed, yet I thought she slept; so I sat quite still, looking out upon the gay insects, and gayer flowers. It was my first effort at self-denial, for I longed to be out chasing those butterflies, and picking those flowers. I was tolerably quiet for some time, hoping my mother would waken, and when she did not, I became impatient. The flowers began to close, the bees became less numerous, and I grew more impatient still. I looked again at my mother; the bright blossoms I had twined in her hair were drooping and withering. I kissed her hand; it was cold, and her cheek was very, very pale; but then it was always so. I called mamma; there was no answer. I lost all patience; I climbed up, clasped my little arms round her neck, and pressed my lips to her's. I called her by every endearing name, and listened for an answer, but none came; my caresses grew more ardent, but they met with no return. In a passion of love, fear, and anger, I became more violent. The pale thin face fell forward, and the cold, cold cheek rested on my shoulder! Its chilling touch has never been forgotten.

"I did not move, but I believe I screamed, for nurse entered suddenly, uttered an exclamation of terror, replaced the drooping head, and took me from the room. There was

a great confusion in the house; the hasty tramp of horses' feet-strange people came and went-and they said I could not see my mother. My passion at the refusal became dangerous to myself; and a stranger taking me by the hand, led me into a darkened chamber. There were strange black things upon the bed, and a something low and long raised from the floor. He led me towards it, took me in his arms, and I looked down upon my mother, little altered for she was scarcely paler than in life. Awe at the strange sights I saw, had hushed my cries and tears as I entered the room; but when I looked down upon my mother, with a wild scream of joy, I sprang from the stranger's arms and