upon her heart. Tears of bitter grief and shame filled her eyes.

The Colonel! she had believed him the beau ideal of the soldier and the gentleman; he stood revealed-cold, selfish, designing!

Lady Caroline, the gentle Lady Caroline! the type of graceful virtue, of womanly perfection! Puppet to a husband's threat-how had she fallen beneath contempt!

Augusta, the high-spirited, generous Augusta ! Alas, alas! she had lent herself to cold-blooded deception, to debasing stratagem! Loving one man passionately, she had stooped to listen to the addresses of another. Cowed by the violence of one parent, dejected by the lukewarmness of the other, she had not resisted unto the end; she had kept the word of promise to the ear to break it to the hope.

Florence hurried on, but she could not escape from the gloomy thoughts which chased each other through her brain. When she reached the castle, she looked so pale, that Mary asked in alarm whether she was ill?

"I am quite well," she said, in an irritable tone, very different to her usual gentle accents. "I will ride on to Hoel's Farm, to leave the pony."

"Better rest a bit, Miss Florence."

66 Has papa left any letters to be forwarded to the farm?" said the young lady, disregarding the hint.

Mary answered in the affirmative, and produced two letters, which Florence snatched out of her hand; and, shaking her head at her discomforted adviser, set off again at full gallop.

So far all was well. Augusta's letter slipped into the post-bag with Mr. Dudley's would excite no comment. And yet Florence trembled like a guilty thing, when she dropped the letters into the bag. For the first time, her conscience was burdened with a secret; for the first time! would it prove the last?

109

CHAPTER XII.

HER foot upon the mossy track,
The married maiden set:
That moment-I have heard her say-
She wished she could forget.

The shade o'erflushed her limbs with heat-
Then came a chill like death:
And when the merry bells rang out,
They seemed to stop her breath.

Beneath the foulest mother's curse
No child might ever thrive:
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

COLERIDGE.

FLORENCE DUDLEY absented herself from Seymour's Court for several weeks. The weather set in unusually wet, and our heroine, who had hitherto braved a mountain shower with impunity, and had frequently rallied Augusta Seymour upon her sensitiveness to cold, suddenly discovered that she, too, was delicate, and required care! The Seymours and their guests were prisoners at the Court, contre cœur; Florence confined herself to the valley at her own good will and pleasure.

Our heroine devoted herself to her studies with exemplary diligence. She resumed her visits to Hoel's Farm, where she was welcomed by Lucy Jones with the most lively demonstrations of joy. Poor Lucy had watched the growing friendship between Florence and Augusta,

with feelings of smothered jealousy. Painfully aware of her own humble position, she was keenly alive to the haughty coolness with which Miss Seymour treated her, whenever they were brought into accidental collision. Florence, ever gentle and affectionate, had never wavered in her friendship for Lucy, never slighted her by word, look, or deed; but Florence, l'enfant gátée of the gay circle at Seymour's Court, had small leisure to bestow upon her humble friends at Hoel's Farm.

One morning, Mr. Dudley received a summons to town, on business of importance, which admitted of no delay. He wrote a hasty line of apology to Lady Caroline Seymour-the pressure of business prevented his waiting upon her ladyship, and honouring himself with her commands, &c. &c. Mr. Dudley left his daughter in charge of Mary, and set out without loss of time.

Florence, seated in her chamber, in the Maiden's Tower, was hard at work, on the morning following her father's departure, when she was startled by a loud ring at the outer gate. She listened uneasily, but she did not run down the turret-stair or look out at the oriel window to solve her doubts. She was not kept in suspense. A light foot mounted the stair, and a familiar voice demanded admittance.

The door flew open, and Miss Seymour entered. Her eyes were unusually brilliant, and a lovely bloom mantled her cheeks.

"Ah, traitress!" she cried, throwing her arms round our heroine's neck, and giving her a cordial salute, "Why have you deserted your post? Once you have assisted

666 'Me, even me, a maid forlorn.'

A second time I come to throw myself on your puissant protection."

Any more letters to post?" suggested Florence, with an arch smile.

Augusta shook her head. the commands laid upon me.

"Let me acquit myself of Mamma begs that you

will make our house your home during Mr. Dudley's absence."

"Lady Caroline is very kind, but" Florence hesitated.

"But you had rather not! We will compromise the matter, anima mia. Come to us for a few days, and then allow me to share your solitude. I am dying to sleep in this grim old castle. Will you receive me as a guest, cara mia?"

Why did Augusta lavish these expressions of fondness upon her unsuspecting friend? She loved Florence passing well; but never before had such honeyed accents flowed from her lips. Augusta had not deceived her parents without learning to deceive her friends.

"Florence is so fresh, so innocent, I dare not trust her," was her secret thought. "Da cattiva donna

guardati, ed alla buona non fidar niente!”*

"I shall be delighted to receive you, Augusta," said Florence, in a tone which gave the lie to her words. "But what has happened to raise your spirits since I last saw you?"

"I have seen Frank; he forgives all."

"Your engagement to Mr. Beaumont ?" cried Florence, in astonishment.

Augusta blushed as deep a crimson as the red roses which adorned her black lace bonnet. She was silent; she played with the fringe of her mantle.

Florence watched her narrowly; at length she spoke, "I trust you have not taxed me with indifference or unkindness in absenting myself from Seymour's Court. Augusta, I could not come! I feel as if a veil were rent in twain; in the place of integrity, I find meanness and tyranny; in that of gentle virtue, pitiful weakness. Forgive me if I have said too much."

"Go on," said Augusta, in a low voice, "you are a stern censor."

* From the bad woman guard thyself; to the good woman trust nothing!

"I loved, I esteemed you, oh, how highly! My idol is fallen, shivered to atoms! Why, oh, why profane your truth by unworthy artifice; your love, by base truckling to expediency?"

"You are severe, Florence, you judge us harshly. Brought up as you have been, you can scarcely make allowances for our peculiar temptations."

"What temptations?"

My father is proud to a fault." "Not too proud to be mean!"

"Pride and meanness often march hand in hand,” returned Augusta, colouring high at her companion's sarcasm. "The Seymours have lived royally from generation to generation. Pride, false pride if you will, goaded my father on to profuse expenditure, when he, in his turn, succeeded to an encumbered estate. made a grand marriage, (my mother is the only daughter of a wealthy peer), and all went well for a time. I cannot enter into mere pecuniary details, but I know that my father must retrench, and in his eyes to retrench is dishonour."

He

"You are severe, Augusta," said Florence, reproachfully.

"But I am just. If my father had the courage, the honesty, to look the truth in the face; if he had thewhat term is strong enough to express my meaning?the magnanimity to live within his income, I should not now be affianced, bon gré, mal gré, to Greville Beaumont. A wealthy son-in-law is imperative to an embarrassed man!"

Miss Seymour smiled bitterly as she said this; Florence was too much shocked to make any reply.

"Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth!

Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth! Cursed be the sickly forms which err from honest Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold which gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool!"

Florence reluctantly accepted Lady Caroline's invita