I proudly struggled with my anguish, affecting a careless disbelief of my misfortune, and an easy scorn of the summer friendships which had fled from its very name. I even strove to jest upon Lord Frederick's premature desertion, bursting at times into wild hysterical laughter.

The duration of our journey seemed endless; yet when I came within sight of my father's house, I would have given a universe to delay the certainty of what I feared. Every breath became almost a sob,every movement convulsive, while, in the agony of suppressed emotion, I fixed my straining eyes upon my home, as if they could have penetrated into the souls of its inhabitants. The carriage stopped; and, scarcely hearing Lady St Edmunds' polite excuse for not entering the house of mourn ing, I sprang towards the door.

It was long ere my repeated summons was answered. "Has my father inquir ed for me?" I hastily demanded, as I entered.

"No Ma'am,-he never spoke." "Is he at home?"

"Mr Percy is-is in the house, Ma'am, but." The man paused, and his face wore a ghastly expression of horror. A dark and shapeless dread rushed across my mind; but the cup was already full, and I could bear no more. I sunk down in strong con

vulsions.

And must I recall those hours of horror? -Must I bare, one by one, the wounds which no time can heal?-Must I retrace, step by step, the fearful way which led me to the very verge of madness? Could I but escape one horrible picture, I would meet, without recoiling, the remembrance of the rest. But it must not be. To make my melancholy tale intelligible, the arrow must once more enter into my soul, and the truth be told, though it palsy the hand that writes it.

A long forgetfulness was varied only by dim recollections, which came and went like the fitful dreams of delirium. My first distinct impression of the past was formed, when, awaking as if from a deep sleep, I found myself alone in my chamber. My flight,—the humiliation which it had brought upon me,—the treachery of my friend,—the

prospect of ruin, all stood at once before me. My soul, already wounded by affection abused, felt the deserted loneliness in which I was left as a confirmation of the dreaded evil. Juliet Arnold, the companion of my pleasures, came to my thoughts, and her absence stung me like neglect. "All, all have forsaken me," thought I. "Yet there is one heart still open to me: My father will love me still.-My father will take me to his breast. And if I must hear the worst, I will hear it from him who has never betrayed me,-who will never cast me off."

With thoughts like these I quitted my bed, and stole feebly towards my father's apartment, The lights which were wont to blaze cheerfully, the attendants who used to crowd the halls,-were vanished. A dark twilight faintly shewed my way. A strange and dreary silence reigned around me. I entered my father's chamber. A red glare from the sky gave it a dismal increase of light. Upon a couch lay a form that seemed my father's. The face I saw not. A cloth frightfully stained with blood No!-It cannot be told.

CHAP. XV.

and yet I breathed,

But not the breath of human life.

A serpent round my heart was wreathed,
And stung my every thought to strife.
Alike all time! Abhorred all piace!
Shuddering, I shrunk from nature's face,
Where every line that charmed before,
The blackness of my bosom wore.

LORD BYRON.

FROM long and dangerous faintings, I revived almost to frenzy. I shed no tears. These are the expression of a milder form of suffering. One horrible image filled my soul; one sense of anguish so strong, so terrible, that every other feeling,—every faculty of mind and body was benumbed in its grasp. Vainly did my awful duties summon me to their performance. I was incapable of action,-almost of thought.

My eye wandered over surrounding objects, but saw them not. The words that were spoken to me conveyed no meaning to my mind.

ness.

At length the form of my early friend seemed to flit before me. She spoke, and though I could not follow the meaning of her words, the sounds were those of kindThe familiar voice, long associated with so many kindly thoughts, reached the heart, waking a milder tone of feeling; and resting my throbbing head upon her breast, I found relief in a passionate burst of tears. Little did I think how small was the share which friendship or compassion could claim in this visit of my friend to the house of mourning. Little did I guess that its chief motive was to rescue the gifts of my prodiga. lity from being confounded with the property of a bankrupt.

She did not long remain with me; for friends more sympathizing than she are soon weary of witnessing the unrestrained indulgence of grief. Yet she did not leave me abruptly. She was so much accustomed to follow the smooth path of concilia