self, and only-tossed the entire contents of a cup of coffee into Lady Wentworth's lap.

"Good heavens, Florence! you are terribly distrait this evening--"

"I beg your ladyship's pardon. It was an accident

Lady Wentworth smiled maliciously,-" An accident, Miss Dudley? You absolutely forced the cup out of my hand by your sudden movement. Are you in love, child? You cannot rectify the blunder by wiping my dress with your own."

Miss Dudley shrank back, in terrible confusion. Lady Cecilia, good at need, laid half-a-dozen lace pocket-handkerchiefs under contribution, and speedily removed all traces of the accident; while Evelyn, who had a shrewd suspicion of the real state of the case, diverted the attention of the company by exhibiting her birthday presents.

Lady Wentworth retired early; and Florence, who appeared for the nonce to have identified herself with her ladyship's shadow, followed her out of the room. She lingered in the corridor until she heard her father's step; she was in his arms in a moment. "Dear papa, we shall be so happy, for he is very like you!"

Y2

CHAPTER XXIX.

FOR myself alone,

I would not be ambitious in my wish,

To wish myself much better; yet, for you,

I would be trebled twenty times myself;

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;
That only to stand high in your account,

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sum of nothing; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd;
Happy in this-she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this,
She is not bred so dull, but she can learn ;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.

Merchant of Venice.

HAPPY the bride who boasts, in addition to beauty, grace, and intellect, the sentiments which he, best skilled in the secrets of the female heart, has ascribed to the gracious Portia ! Thrice happy the bridegroom who rejoices over such a bride! Florence Dudley won golden opinions by the dignified humility, the winning gentleness, of her deportment towards her future husband. There were times, however, when the wilful spirit peeped out, to the dismay of her grave lover, and to the infinite amusement of the bystanders. As to Glenorme, he rushed off upon a yachting expedition to the Baltic, leaving the time of his return in the most edifying uncertainty.

One morning, Florence was rallying her lover upon his aversion to dancing; he defended himself with spirit, while Lord Wentworth joined in the dialogue from time to time.

"I admire the versatility of your genius, madonna,” said his lordship, gaily. "Two hours ago I found you in the library, immersed in politics, deep in statistics, looking 'wisest, discreetest, virtuousest, best "And now you find me a very votary of folly

"Such as his genius suits;

For since of universal scope it is,

All women's humour shall he find in me."

Mr. Temple was flattered by the indirect compliment; Florence detected it, and was not slow to play upon his vanity; but the arch glance in her eye, the sunny smile on her lip, disarmed anger. Mr. Temple bore his mistress's winsome ways like a philosopher-the rather, that she never arraigned his judgment in any question of taste (dancing always excepted), and appealed to his opinion in all matters of importance. Florence was rapidly transferring a portion-a portion only-of her allegiance from her father to her future husband.

Lord and Lady Wentworth agreed to defer their daughter's marriage until the following spring. Sir Charles Mortimer would gladly have named an earlier date, but he yielded to Lady Wentworth's wishes with tolerable equanimity. It was arranged that Miss Dudley should remain at the castle until her marriage, and that the two friends should be married on the same day. So far all was well; would Mr. Dudley leave Emrys Castle, and take up his abode at the Wilderness? Upon certain conditions, which militated strongly against Mr. Temple's plans. In vain, Florence urged him, with prayers and tears, to return to his old home, as lord and master thereof. He austerely rejected her petition. Lady Mary Temple suggested a scheme, which removed difficulties, existent only in a morbidly sensitive temperament.

"My son and his bride shall reside with me in town, with you in the country. Florence is too young and nexperienced to reign alone; perhaps she dreads maternal or paternal control; in that case " But Florence, who attached no ominous meaning to the dread term mother-in-law, and whose love for her father was in no wise diminished by any other sentiment, expressed the most unqualified delight at the suggestion.

Mr. Dudley agreed to return to the Wilderness, premising, that the gold he had coined by the labour of his brain, should be devoted to the thorough repair and replenishing of the ancient manor-house. To this arrangement Mr. Temple yielded a reluctant assent.

Lady Wentworth expressed a wish to order Miss Dudley's trousseau; she was determined that the fair young brides should shine with equal splendour. Mr. Dudley and Lady Mary Temple protested against the propriety of this arrangement-in vain. Her ladyship would not be dissuaded from her generous purpose; as usual, she carried her point. Diamonds excepted, Miss Dudley's trousseau was on a par with Lady Cecilia Percival's in every respect.

She

Florence Dudley never dreamed the bitter penance her presence inflicted upon Lady Wentworth. never guessed that she recalled daily, nay hourly, the memory of the lost Geraldine to her mother's aching heart. But so it was; the soft sunny hours which sped so lightly over the heads of the lovers, crushed the inmost soul of Lady Wentworth in their leaden flight.

Florence the Fair, and the Fair Geraldine! Day and night! Characters typical of their fate. The one. happy in the love of the man of her choice, lived in a sunny atmosphere of love and hope; the other, the bride of death, lay in "cold obstruction," "cribb'd, cabin'd, confined," in the stately vault of all the Wentworths.

In the long summer days, in the soft twilight hours, in the moonlight evenings, Geraldine, like "the shade

of night," crossed her mother's path: Geraldine's deathcry, "Mother, you have brought me to this !" rang in her mother's ears.

Lady Wentworth groaned, in anguish of spirit, "My punishment is greater than I can bear!"

She would sit for hours before the portrait of the Dark Ladie, which recalled too faithfully the shadowed countenance of Geraldine during the last few weeks of her life; and then turn, with morbid craving, to the contemplation of Florence Dudley's beautiful features, tenfold more beautiful now Love had set set his seal upon them. Lord Wentworth, who watched over his lady with jealous care, was not slow to discover the attraction which drew her steps to the picture-gallery. He moved the portrait with his own hands.

Lady Wentworth reproached him bitterly. She accused him of robbing her of her sole comfort. Lord Wentworth, with the most endearing expressions of affection, implored her, for the sake of those who remained, to struggle against her sorrow, to forget the past.

She looked at him with an expression which wrung his soul, as she cried, in a heartrending tone, "My child, my child, would God that I had died for thee!"

"Let us leave the castle," said his lordship, in dire perplexity. "Cecilia can be married in town or in -shire."

Lady Wentworth shook her head,-"I cannot leave home until the year of mourning be expired. After that time I will go wherever you please. As to the marriage-Cecilia shall be married with the pomp befitting the eldest daughter of our house."

The subject was dropped, and never resumed. But Lady Wentworth, from that hour, resolutely fought down the terrible fancies which assailed her. She read, walked, and talked with febrile energy. The stimulus to exertion was not wanting; she had a motive, and a powerful one, to all - engrossing employment. She prayed for strength to atone for the past; she prayed