in which I found Marian belongs to Sir David, and was lent by him to Mr. Holbrook.'

'I do not know every friend of Forster's. He is a man who picks up his acquaintance in the highways and byways, and drops them when he is tired of them.'

'Will you tell me, on your honour, that you know nothing of this Mr. Holbrook ?'

'Certainly.'

Gilbert Fenton gave a weary sigh, and then seated himself silently opposite Mr. Saltram. He could not afford to doubt this friend of his. The whole fabric of his life must have dropped to pieces if John Saltram had played him false. His single venture as a lover having ended in shipwreck, he seemed to have nothing left him but friendship; and that kind of hero-worship which had made his friend always appear to him something better than he really was, had grown stronger with him since Marian's desertion.

'O Jack,' he said presently, I could bear anything in this world better than the notion that you could betray me-that you could break faith with me for the sake of another man.'

'I am not likely to do that.

There is no man upon this earth I care for very much except you. I am not a man prone to friendship. In fact, I am a selfish worthless fellow at the best, Gilbert, and hardly merit your serious consideration. It would be wiser of you to think of me as I really am, and to think very little of me.'

'You did not show yourself remarkably selfish when you nursed me through that fever, at the hazard of your own life.'

Pshaw that was nothing. I could not have done less in the position in which we two were. Such sacrifices as those count for very little. It is when a man's own happiness is in the scale that the black spot shows itself. I tell you, Gilbert, I am not worth your friendship. It would be better for you to go your own way, and have nothing more to do with me.'

Mr. Saltram had said this kind of thing very often in the past, so that the words had no especial significance to Gilbert. He only thought that his friend was in one of those gloomy moods which were common to him at times.

'I could not do without your friendship, Jack,' he said. 'Remember how barren the world is to me now. I have nothing left but that.'

'A poor substitute for better things, Gilbert. I am never likely to be much good to you or to myself. By the way, have you seen anything lately of that old man you told me about-Miss Nowell's grandfather?'

'I saw him the other night. He is very ill-dying, I believe. I have written to Marian to tell her that if she does not come very quickly to see him, there is a chance of her not finding him alive.'

And she will come, of course.'

'I suppose so. She talked of waiting for her husband's consent; but she will scarcely do that when she knows her grandfather's precarious state. I shall go to Queen-Anne's-court after I leave you, to ascertain if there has been any letter from her to announce her coming. She is a complete stranger in London, and may be embarrassed if she arrives at the station alone. But I should imagine her husband would meet her there, supposing him to be in town.'

Mr. Fenton stayed with his friend about an hour after this; but John Saltram was not in a communicative mood to-night, and the talk lagged wearily. It was almost a relief to Gilbert when they had bidden each other good-night, and he was out in the noisy streets once more, making his way towards Queen-Anne's-court.

AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY OF THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

BY LADY ALICE HAY

EIGHTY-NINE years ago a wedding-party assembled in the chapel of the ducal palace at Brunswick. It was a royal wedding-a scene of much splendour and still more rejoicing, with no lack of outward show and true hearty feeling.

There was much to interest the spectators in the bride and bridegroom. They were both young, handsome, accomplished; the world lay before them with a fair promise of honour and prosperity, with no cloud to dim their horizon, no evil omen to shadow their future. But if the veil which mercifully concealed that future had been for one moment uplifted, it would have revealed a dark and terrible fate in store for the young girl whose life had hitherto seemed so bright and untroubled. Before many years had elapsed, that beautiful bride was destined to perish in a foreign land, far from her husband, her children, and her family, under circumstances of peculiar horror. The mystery that shrouds the fate of Augusta of Brunswick has never been explained, and her very name is now almost forgotten.

The first-born child of the gallant warrior, Duke of Brunswick, who had wooed and won the hand of an English princess, Augusta, daughter of Frederick Prince of Wales, and sister of George III. -the Princess Augusta was only in her sixteenth year at the time of her marriage to Frederick William, Prince of Würtemberg. She was beautiful, accomplished, gifted with warm affections, a generous heart, and peculiarly graceful and winning manners. The Duke of Brunswick was tenderly attached to his fair child, and it is said that he suffered deeply on parting with her. The marriage appears to have been dictated by political expediency rather than personal feeling; but for a time the young couple were not unhappy. The Prince was an attentive, a kind, if not a tender, husband, and the reputation of his beautiful consort had not yet been attacked by scandal.

In 1784 Frederick of Würtemberg (who, although nephew and heir to the reigning duke of that small domain, was at present possessed of a very limited patrimony) entered the Russian military service, and quitting Germany, took up his residence at St. Petersburg. He was accompanied by his wife and children. This illadvised step, which brought about the most fatal results, was undertaken against the wish of the Duke of Brunswick, who naturally dreaded and disliked the idea of his daughter being placed in so trying and dangerous a position. The Russian court was notorious,

even in those very easy-going days, for its inherent and unblushing licentiousness, and the favour and friendship which Catherine II. extended to the Princess was fraught with peril to a young, handsome, and inexperienced woman. At this distance of time it is impossible to decide as to the guilt or innocence of this unfortunate Princess, the more so as scarcely any reliable information can be obtained on this point. It is said by some writers that she occasioned the deepest shame and disgrace to her husband and her family; whilst others declare that, though imprudent and thoughtless, she nevertheless remained innocent at heart. However this may be, it is certain that the Prince treated his wife at this time with indifference, if not neglect, and that serious differences had arisen between them. At length the Duke of Brunswick wrote to his son-in-law, advising him to leave Russia without delay, and to rescue his consort from an atmosphere of so much danger. Frederick at once acted on this advice, and, relinquishing his appointment, prepared to quit Russia; but the Princess refused peremptorily to accompany him. She declared her intention of remaining at St. Petersburg under the protection of the Empress; and finding all remonstrance unavailing, Frederick was compelled to leave, followed only by his children.

Heart

A year elapsed, and then the news reached the Duke of Brunswick that his daughter had died suddenly. No details were given, no dates; nothing but the dry, curt, official announcement. broken by the tidings, the Duke wrote at once to Catherine, desiring to have some farther information on the subject, and also requesting that the body of the ill-fated Princess might be given up to him; but no answer was ever vouchsafed to this letter. The imperial autocrat of all the Russias could afford to turn a deaf ear to the threats and entreaties of a petty prince; whilst one more deed of treachery and bloodshed would not trouble the conscience of the woman who had planned and instigated the murder of her unfortunate husband.

It appears that, for a short time, the Princess of Würtemberg shone at court as one of Catherine's chief favourites, flattered, admired, and triumphant; but suddenly she was arrested one night, separated from her German attendants, and transported to the castle of Lhode, situate about two hundred miles from St. Petersburg. From that time Augusta of Brunswick was never seen alive; but the manner of her death remains a profound mystery. A few months later, it was announced that the Princess of Würtemberg had died from the breaking of a blood-vessel, but no farther details were given, and no inconvenient questions asked.

It has been said that jealousy of the Princess's superior beauty and youth aroused the enmity of Catherine II., and that she adopted this plan to rid herself of a dangerous rival. But the motive of

this dark tragedy remains a matter for speculation, and no clue to the real fate of Augusta of Brunswick has ever been obtained. Ten years rolled away, and Frederick of Würtemberg again sought a bride to share his fortunes.

This time he chose an English Princess, and, strange to say, the cousin-german of his first wife-Charlotte Augusta Matilda, eldest daughter of George III. It is well known that the King refused to sanction this alliance, until he received from the lips of his future son-in-law an explicit denial of his being in any way cognisant of the murder of his unhappy wife. The interview was strictly private, but the King declared subsequently that the result was satisfactory, and the marriage took place in 1797 at the chapel royal, St. James's. But it has been said that the consent was not cordially given, and it was noticed that Frederick of Würtemberg never revisited England.

Augusta of Brunswick was only in her twenty-fourth year at the time of her mysterious death. A few years later her family were overwhelmed by disaster and adversity, not one member escaping.

Her father perished at the battle of Jena, despoiled of his hereditary possessions; her mother died in exile and poverty; her brother, Brunswick's fated chieftain,' was killed at Waterloo; whilst the shame and degradation that clouded the life of her only sister, Queen Caroline, is still fresh, and but too well remembered.

Of the two children borne by Augusta of Brunswick, the eldest, a son, succeeded his father as King of Würtemberg, and died recently; whilst the daughter Catherine, who inherited her unhappy mother's beauty and amiability, became the wife of Jerome Buonaparte, King of Westphalia. Renowned for her conjugal virtues, this excellent princess died before she attained middle age, leaving one son, the Prince Napoleon Buonaparte, and a daughter, the Princess Mathilde Demidoff.