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"That's kindly said; and if I thought it would not too much disturb you, I have something to communicate.'

"Nay," interrupted Lady Ardent, “doubt not I can listen (and with composure I dare hope) to whatever it is."

"Still the same fond, complying goodness!" exclaimed Sir George, as he drew a chair and seated himself by her.

"You overrate my poor obedience to you, which is a pleasure, though a duty," she replied.

Sir George fancied there was something cold and distant in her manner-something unlike what he had ever before observed; and but that time was precious with him, and that he partly distrusted his own impressions, he would have sought to satisfy himself upon the subject. Taking her hand again, with an impressive seriousness which amounted almost to solemnity, he continued:

"Did I not know how full and perfect your confidence in me has always been," said he, "were you, what your sex too commonly are-prone to petty suspicions-the vice inseparable from meaner natures-I might justly fear the first effects of what I am about to mention. But such fears would as poorly suit with the proud disdain of censure which virtue inspires, and which looks abroad with calm fearlessness that will not stoop to palter with equivocations, as with your own generous bearing towards me, whose very error (as I could almost call it,) it is, to hold my course so blameless, that I might sin with gross frequency, and hardly shake your faith. And yet I must confess, this noble trust deserved better of me than it has found; for, what I am about to do, comes so tardily forth, that, to a mind less confiding than yours, my love, it would appear more like convenience than integrity."

In this way he strove to pacify himself; for all he had said was simply the self-apologies which forerun our conscious anticipation of a reproof we know we merit, whether we receive it or not. He could not disguise from his own mind, constituted as it was, that he had huddled from his wife an occurrence which needed no such artifice; and the unpalatable task he now had to perform (one never before demanded of him) was that of confessing a continued system of duplicity, which, however brief its duration, or guiltless its purpose, was still-and he felt it so-a lowering of that moral standard by which he adjusted all his actions. Hence his circumlocutory preparation, his studied and elaborate abstractions; which, divested of their specious trappings, and reduced to the essence of their meaning, amounted to no more than this-that he had been acting foolishly, was ashamed to acknowledge it, and yet he knew he must.

But Lady Ardent, all whose thoughts were of the bitter quality, which her brother's intelligence had imparted, put a corresponding construction upon these abstractions. Their ambiguity, and, with all their ambiguity, their too evident allusion to something which required so much preliminary softening, were, to her, a dreadful note of preparation. She wished the anticipated confession made; less that she might herself be relieved from a state of distressing doubt (if doubt it might now be called), than because it was grievous to her soul, to behold such a man as Sir George, and that man her husband, too, in what she could not but deem a situation of intense humiliation. Her reply, when he paused, as if one was expected, was framed to hasten this consummation.

"What can it be," said she, "you have to tell me, that needs such a preface-that demands such admissions?"

"Why nothing-” he replied, roused by the question to a sense of his indecision, and stung by the imputation of fear which it conveyed-"nothing! nothing! I am magnifying a trifle into a mystery-branding with imaginary indiscretion that at which a wiser world laughs-and so I think you will judge-”

"How I have always judged you, Sir George," interrupted Lady Ardent," let my whole life avouch. No wife, in the idolatry of her love, ever cherished a more unbounded faith in those virtues that endear and dignify the marriage union, than I have done; and I may truly add, the doing so has been, at once, my pride and duty."

"Nay, if this go on," said Sir George, smiling, "we shall grow sentimental, and fall to exchanging vows of affection and fidelity, as in the days of our young courtship. So, now listen to this mighty secret :-Miss Asper, you know, has been for several days a fugitive, concealed, nobody knows where-"

"Are you ignorant of her place of concealment?"

"Why, unfortunately-that is, in one sense of the word, I may say unfortunately—I am not ignorant of it," replied Sir George, a little embarrassed by the abruptness of the inquiry, and the agitated tone in which it was made.

"Unfortunately!" exclaimed Lady Ardent, bursting into tears. fears are realized, and I am the wretchedest creature that lives!"

"Then all my worst

"What is it you mean?"

"Oh God! oh God!" she continued, bursting into tears-"Would I had died ere this! that so I might have breathed my last in the blessed thought which has been my happiness so long."

"What strange error possesses you? Hear me-"

"Ah me! I've heard enough! And Heaven can bear me witness, how disdainfully I listened to the first rumours of this fatal business-with what a slow and torturing agony of heart I yielded to strong circumstances which vanquished each lingering doubt--and how, even to the last, I clung to the consoling hope that you were falsely accused."

"Accused!" exclaimed Sir George; and more scorn than words could express, sat on his pale and quivering lip.-" Accused! Is it from your tongue, Maria, I hear that bold word?-Accused, forsooth! Out upon it! Some dark and treacherous fiend has been at work bere."

Nay-do not upbraid me with those looks," said Lady Ardent, as she turned her streaming eyes upon him. "Indeed, indeed, I am not reproaching you. The fond dream I would fain continue in, vanishes, and leaves me to miserable desolation; but not one stern or indignant feeling supplies its place. I lament, I weep over, the transgression into which your noble nature has fallen. I mourn for yourself and me! A mind like yours could never stoop so low, without such severity after, as must more than atone for its error. Yet, as I am your wife, and the affianced partner of your honour or of your shame, I cannot calmly view the ruin that has overwhelmed us both!"

Self-delusion was at an end. He saw the net in which he was entangled. It was gross and palpable before him; and the recoil of his situation upon himself was appalling, for the moment. It was not alone that his pride was wounded to the very quick; that his self-estimation was humbled; that his sense of honour, of justice, of moral dignity, was outraged. He could ill brook any of these trials; but far less could he brook the indignity of Lady Ardent's suspicions, and the insult comprehended in the idea of the officious meddler, whoever he might be (for his indignation did not as yet point towards Mr. Pickthorne,) that had dared to pollute her mind with the calumnies which had given birth to those suspicions.

The noble pleading against himself, of which he had been capable in his interview with the General, was above his reach now. He could not summon to his aid those manly reasons to excuse his wife, which had come so promptly in defence of an acquaintance; probably, because he felt that she ought to have been as invulnerable to doubt, where his honour was concerned, as his honour itself was to all temptation; and also, because he could not dispassionately view her as the tool, and himself as the victim, of a vice he loathed to execration, the base and cowardly vice of secret defamation, practised by wretches who have every thing in common with the assassin, except the courage, such as it is, that braves the death which may follow the blow.

A prey to these thoughts, Sir George had been some time pacing up and down the library, while Lady Ardent sat weeping and silent, when he approached her—

"Will you," said he, sternly and contemptuously, "instruct me whom I may thank for this kind office? What serpent has crawled into your confidence, and left behind the slime of his filthy venom? That you have been abused by such a reptile, I know, as surely as that I live-but I would know, too, how to shun it."

"If I am abused," she replied, "it must at least have been with the strong similitude of truth. You asked me why my cheek looked pale-why my brow wore an air of sadness-and why my eyes were wet with tears? Alas! judge by what you see, how keenly my heart has suffered in the knowledge of your offence, when, in the short interval since that sad knowledge came to it, such effects are visible."

"Maria!" exclaimed Sir George, "when you speak of offences, of error, of vice, and identify them with me, you drive me from the gentleness of my nature, and force me to declare, that whatever your credulous fancy may have framed to my disparagement, I cannot look more meanly in your esteem than you do now in mine, the weak accuser of my integrity."

"I accuse you not it was yourself that would have done so. If I sought to spare you the ungracious task, by showing that I knew all you were about to tell, can you blame me?"

“Away with this ambiguity! What is it you know? What was it I was about to tell? I want no coy insinuations, that wound with double malice while they seem to spare their victim."

"It was in tenderness to your feelings-"

"Hear me," he interrupted-" hear me once and for all. It is not because I could give your thoughts words, and speak their meaning for you, that I will. I ask no ten

VOL. I.

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derness I disclaim your spurious generosity. What you have brought yourself to think of me, that bring your tongue to pronounce of me-or, by your silence, confess the shame you feel. Either do this-proclaim the heinous crime whereof I am guilty in your belief, or here let our undignified altercation end.”

"It is a cruel office you impose upon me," replied Lady Ardent, meekly; "but demanded by you, with the alternative you named, I should merit sharper censures than you have bestowed, if I could shrink from it. Yet, you are my husband-and wedded as we have been to each other's hearts, think what the agony of mine must be in dwelling on your infidelity!"

"My infidelity!" he exclaimed, with sarcastic bitterness: "go on-your task is only half-performed. Infidelity with whom? The lady's name, I pray you!"

"Need I pronounce that of Miss Asper?" said Lady Ardent, with a tremulous voice, and tears that flowed afresh.

"Ha! haha! And you, too, are coiled in the subtle web! You have deigned to lend a willing ear to the low calumnies of vulgar detraction! You, Maria, whom I thought so immeasurably elevated above the contagious atmosphere of scandal-so proudly dis criminated from the common herd of women, that I might have trusted any tale which spleen or malice could fabricate against my name and character, without one foreboding doubt of its reception! You, who have so long walked, hand in hand with me, along the bright paths of virtue and honour, to turn aside now, and from the dark corners and Heavens! how mire of polluted thoughts, point at me the finger of reproach and scorn! debased-how fallen!"

"Be merciful!" exclaimed LadyArdent, in a supplicating, almost broken-hearted tone, "be merciful, unless you would drive me mad!''

But her appeal was to one already mad; for by what other name can we call the wrought-up passions which now raged in the mind of Sir George? They had been tossing about there from the first moment of engaging in a business that placed him at odds with himself; and it only required a crowning vexation like the present (when, believing all vexation past, he found the greatest of all awaiting him), to concentrate, as it were, into one point, the mass of angry humour which had been fretting him so long. He was, indeed, more moved than Lady Ardent had ever seen him, under any of the trials to which his morbid sensibility exposed him; and she hardly knew whether to ascribe it to the goadings of conscious delinquency, or to the exacerbation produced by discovery. Strange to say, the thought which would have diffused serenity over her own feelings, never once suggested itself. It seemed as if the dreadful effort by which she had brought herself to consider him guilty, had destroyed those finer perceptions of his character, by which, at any other time, she would have traced his excitement to the indignation of falsely

accused honour.

The prayer for mercy was breathed in vain. He continued, in the same tone of vehement and bitter expostulation, at one moment to heap reproaches upon her for having yielded to such injurious suspicions; at another, denouncing the infamy of those who had been her informers; and then humbling her to the dust, by declaring she had forfeited every quality which had rendered her great and amiable in his estimation.

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Spare me!" she exclaimed, in an agony of tears—“ spare me, I beseech you, these terrific rebukes!"

"How have you spared me?" he replied. Was there no remaining virtue in your soul, to whisper to it I was aspersed, when you saw me clothed with infamy? Could you turn to no record in your own bosom, impressed with the character of what I am? No register of my deeds, that might give the instant lie to the monstrous accusation? Have you wit nessed my daily course of action so long, so very long, and could yet be credulous enough to believe me the thing your suspicions point at? I am lost in wonder, Maria, while now I look upon you, and think I have lived infamous in your imagination long enough to have produced that woe-worn aspect."

"Oh, Sir George. If I have erred-if I am wrong, say but ay; deign but to undeceive me, and make me the happiest creature your goodness ever blest!"

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If you have erred! If you are wrong," he repeated, gathering himself up into an attitude of lofty disdain. "No Maria! I will not deign to remove doubts which disgrace me in their origin, and dishonour you in their existence. But when next we meet, I shall have undergone the hard struggle of subduing feelings that now subdue me; and then, perhaps, I shall also have vanquished the pride which now dashes from my heart the pity that else might kindle there towards you!"

We have only as yet reached the latter part of the second volume. The third is pregnant with interest of a deeper kind. The plot thickens; the political interest

becomes more exciting; but where are we to stop? There is a demi-official account of ministerial diplomacy, which will confound the chief actors in the political tragedy which was performed at no distant date-an earnestness of purpose which could only cling to the pen of one of the leaders in that sad drama—a fearlessness of consequences that could only belong to one who was beyond the reach of political influence.

THE EDITOR'S ROOM.

Ix this our sanctum sanctorum we have, unhappily, no little confusion. The works on our table have accumulated beyond measure; yet, having devoted considerable space to the reviews of The Premier, and German Anthology, we can merely add a short list of those which lay uppermost, and promise our friends a longer one next month.

1.-The Achievements of the Knights of Malta. By Alexander Sutherland. 2 vols. Edinburgh: Constable and Co.

2.-Flora Conspicua, &c. By R. Morris, F. L. S. &c. Griffiths. 3.-American Stories, &c. By Mary Russell Mitford.

Whittaker and Co. 4.-The French Pupil's own Book, &c. By Louis Fenwick de Porquet. 5.-Agape, or the Sacred Love-pledye. By Mrs. Lachlan. Simpkin and

Marshall.

6.-The Siege of Constantinople, in three Cantos, with other Poems. By Nicholas Michell. Smith, Elder and Co.

7. The Olio for February. Shackle.

8.-A Series of Lines for mounting Prints for Albums and Scrap Books. By C. Ingrey. Ackermann.

1.-These volumes form parts sixty-three and sixty-four of Constable's Miscellany; the first of those numberless and endless "libraries" which have overrun the literature of the last few years, and which are never to stop. It is the first attempt to bring the history of the knights of St. John into a regular narrative; and it has been accomplished in a style of spirit-stirring brevity, without losing aught that would enrich the volumes.

2. We notice this work, not for its novelty, for it has been for some time before the public, but because it has been revived, and there is a conditional promise of a continuation. It is a well-arranged description of numerous curious "flowering, hardy, exotic and indigenous trees, shrubs, and herbaceous plants," &c. illustrated with sixty coloured plates, "drawn and engraved from living specimens, by William Clark." The work is cleverly and neatly got up, and forms a splendid volume.

3. These tales are avowedly selected for children; and although we have better, of native growth, they are admirably calculated to promote a taste for literature in the younger branches. Like the stories of American Life, published some months since, they are chosen with a discrimination which secured a deserved popularity; for although American Literature would supply subjects of greater novelty and power, and originality of style, Miss Mitford has selected only those which, besides being beautiful in their way, are unexceptionable in ours.

4.-The most industrious of teachers, the most persevering of authors, M. Fenwick de Porquet, has, under the title of The French Pupil's own Book, put forth a second and enlarged edition of his Traducteur Parisien; a useful and elegant little volume, comprising a French and English Lexicon of the most difficult words used in the book, and judicious selections from various authors, anecdotes, historical facts, letters, dramatic scenes, &c., arranged in such a manner that, as the pupil proceeds, he gradually encounters more difficult composition, and thus imperceptibly perfects himself in the "universal language."

5.—One of those sound and useful volumes, which work a beneficial influence wherever they are read. It contains the most beautiful passages in the Old and New Testament, selected with care and discrimination, and arranged in a manner which, for young persons, greatly enhances their value. Mrs. Lachlan is known as a sound writer upon education; and has, in this volume presented an admirable classification of sacred truths, which may form one of the principal works in the educational library.

6.—As a first attempt, this is a creditable poem; for although there is nothing lofty, there are passages which promise favourably.

7.-One of those unpretending works which take one by surprise; good paper, good printing, spirited wood engravings, and excellent matter. The chief of the periodicals are laid under contributions for some of their best articles; and it is besides a work of research, in which we find good things from other valuable

sources.

8. This title conveys but an imperfect idea of this extremely elegant device for mounting prints and drawings, which are intended for the decoration of Albums and Scrap-books. The lines, which are multiplied till they are of sufficient breadth, are formed into circles, ovals, sexagons, and almost every variety of angular figure, tastefully and uniformly dispersed on coloured paper. To scrap collectors, a book formed of these ornamented coloured sheets, must be a great acquisition; and a few of the leaves interspersed in Albums, would have a good effect.

NEW PUBLISHING COMPANY.-We delight in rivalry; we know that the public gain by it, and we feel that "the best man wins." A new Publishing Company is starting into light; but from the prospectus, which lies before us, we opine that its plan is too limited either to materially benefit the literary world, or to affect the large publishing houses.

MUSIC.

1.-Overture to Lulu. Composed and Arranged for the Pianoforte, by Friedrick Kuhlau, Director of the Opera to the King of Denmark.

2.-Repertoire pour les Dames. A Collection of Elegant and Brilliant Melodies. Arranged by Chaulieu, Czerney, Haydn, Herz, Hummel, Hünten (G.) Mozart, &c., for the Pianoforte. Nos. 1, 2, and 3. Cocks and Co.

3.-Songs for the Grave and Guy. The Poetry written, and Melodies selected, by Thomas Haynes Bayly, Esq. Z. T. Purday.

4.-Les Chernoises, Contredanses variées, pour le Pianoforte. Par Ch. Chaulieu. Cocks and Co.

5.-" I'm thine, e'en for ever." A Ballad. The Poetry and Melody by W. R. Hayward, Esq. The Symphonies and Accompaniments by J. R. M'Farlane. Z. G. Purday.

6.-Clarke's Instructions for the Pianoforte. Cocks and Co.

1.-This Danish overture is a novelty: it is full of striking effects and curious combinations. We have not heard it performed at Covent Garden Theatre, but as far as we can judge from a pianoforte copy, it appears to be scored by a clever musician. There are some well imagined sequences, particularly one in the second page, with a pedale in the upper part, which is again met with in another part of the overture. The first half of the composition is in D minor, though M. Kuhlau is soon tired of remaining in one key for any length of time together; accordingly we find him modulating into all sorts of keys, some of them rather remote, such as A sharp and G flat. The melody is not very connected, but there are some passages which are sufficiently pleasing. The second part of the overture, instead of being in the relative major key, as might be expected, is in D major, in which the author perseveres in his taste for extraneous modulations and transitions. The presto movement in the last page has some good passages for the bass. The over

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