heart must be very desolate. Yet, though this might have been the cause of her fainting, it could not explain the silence and absence of which Alicia had spoken as occurring before they parted. There must have been something else that had disturbed her, but as none but myself seemed to have penetrated the secret of Sulma's love, and I could not betray her, I dared not ask any questions. I felt for the poor heart-stricken girl, obliged to bear her grief in silence, even though it should destroy her. I had often fancied that I had detected an occasional glance or tone from Charles that indicated a more tender regard for Sulma than he felt towards other women, and that his love for his delicate little cousin Ulla was but that of a brother; but it now seemed that I had been mistaken, and that my favourite had nothing to look for but sorrow. One glance that had been exchanged between Charles and Ulla at the dinner-table had struck me with surprise. It was when Sulma's illness was spoken of; Charles's countenance expressed a mixture of pain and pleasure, whilst Ulla's exhibited something so like a look of triumph, that I was quite startled. PART II. After the events I have described, poor Sulma continued very ill. Medical advice was called in, and the doctor's report was that she was suffering from some powerful affection of the nervous system, accompanied by fever, and would require most perfect quiet and freedom from excitement. He inquired if she had sustained any shock that might account for such an attack; and, being answered in the negative, seemed to look gravely on the case. A heavy cloud, therefore, hung over the household, and the pleasure of Charles's visit was greatly marred. He and Ulla were much together, and for the first time I began to feel some degree of distrust concerning her. I had always fancied that she and Vernon Lestock were attached to each other, and how it was expected that he would soon return to England for a time, and I had fully settled that he would take Ulla back with him; but it seemed I had been mistaken in this also. Charles seemed much depressed, and Ulla was much engaged in nursing Sulma; but though she treated her with the tenderest care, there was at times a sort of arch triumph in her manner for which it puzzled her to account. Charles's leave of absence terminated long before Sulma was recovered, and when he left the Grange she was still in too weak a state to see him. She blushed, and hesitated, and then added, "your poor Sulma was so ill when he left us!" Mrs. Despard looked, and seemed displeased. "My dear child" said she, "I do not wish to force your confidence if you do not give it voluntarily; but beware of disingenuousness; do not try to throw a false colouring over your actions." "Indeed, dear Aunt Despard, I did not mean to do so," said Ulla, colouring painfully, and looking distressd; "but wait a little-there is a little mystery afloat I own, but it is Charley's secret. Soon you will know all!" and, throwing her arms round her aunt, she hid her blushing face on her shoulder. Sulma was present at this little scene, and I watched her earnestly. An intense flush rose on her cheek as Ulla hinted that Charles had been anxious to hear of her, but it as suddenly died away, leaving her face of a dull ashy hue, and an expression, I thought, of almost scorn, flickered on her lips, as if she felt that Ulla was offering a false excuse. She spoke not; but presently rose and left the room, to which she did not return, sending word that she felt weak, and would remain in her own room during the rest of the day. After the young people had withdrawn to their several occupations, Mrs. Despard and I had some conversation on the present aspect of affairs. She expressed herself as anxious about Sulma, and said she feared that, whilst she had been visiting some friends in Staffordshire, she had become attached to some one, and possibly entangled in some awkward and uncomfortable position. "I have vainly tried,” she said, "to obtain her confidence; but although affectionate as ever, and as open on all other points, the moment I attempt to penetrate the secret cause of her too evident depression, both of health and spirit, she becomes agitated, and entreats me to desist, assuring me she is quite well, and that nothing serious or new distresses her; nor can I elicit from her any information that may throw the least light on the cause of her sudden illness. I am satisfied that there must have been some especial cause for that attack of fainting, but cannot find out from anyone what it was." More satisfied than ever that I had a clue to the cause, I nevertheless could not feel it advisable to express my thoughts. I was now satisfied that I had been mistaken in thinking Charles loved Sulma, and when I remembered that the orphan girl had no other home to which she could be sent, I dared not make that which she now enjoyed unbearable to her by telling Charles's mother that her love had, unsought, been won by him. The next day I set out early to walk to the Grange, but, before I could reach the house, I met a servant coming from thence to beg me to hasten to his mistress, as something had occurred which made her wish to see me im "Another letter to Charlie, Ulla!" said Mrs.mediately. As I journeyed on, I gathered from Despard, one day: "why I scarcely know what to make of the daily correspondence, dear!" 66 Oh, do not think any evil, Auntie," replied Ulla: "Charles begged me to write every day." him that Sulma was missing! They had gone to her room to seek her when they found that she did not appear at breakfast; but she was not there, nor could they find her in any of Ꮓ right for him to do so. His steady principle the usual sitting-rooms, and concluding that the development of Sulma's character; now In the twilight hour a letter was left at the door by a strange lad, who hastened away, say-going to write to her, by this same mail, to ask ing that there was no answer. It was from her to accept his hand, as he now had obtained Sulma, and to the purport that she was gone! a valuable appointment, which would enable him fled from the home where she had been so to give her the comforts to which she had been happy, so beloved! She said that "she be used; but urging Charles to prepare the way lieved, did her aunt but know the reasons that for him. Now it so happened that poor Verhad moved her to take a step which she felt non wrote a somewhat illegible hand, and would distress them as it did her, that she Charlie's thoughts being full of Sulma, he read would approve them; or, at any rate, would pity the scribbled name of Vernon's beloved amiss, and forgive her for the grief she was constrained consequently conceived that his duty was to to bring on those whom she so dearly loved." persuade Sulma to accept Vernon's proposals. She added that her plan had been long decided Pursuant of this design, the very morning after on, and that she had secured a safe and his arrival at the Grange, he had sought Sulma, respectable asylum where under an assumed and opened to her what he conceived to be Vername, she hoped to live and die; that no pur-non's wishes, and, as might be expected, received suit would be availing-they would never again hear of her! She concluded her touching epistle with many and earnest thanks and bless ings to those who had been such dear and precious friends to the orphan half-caste. And, now the seal was taken from my lips, I told Mrs. Despard what I felt assured was the cause of Sulma's distress and of her flight. I told her of the scene that I had witnessed in the grounds, and recalled to her mind the circumstances of Sulma's fainting; and, as I spoke, a thousand remembrances arose in the mother's mind to convince her my ideas were wellgrounded. Charles was hastily summoned, and soon arrived. His love, his anguish, when he heard of Sulma's flight, at once shewed to us all that there had been a fatal mistake. He had loved Sulma for years, passionately, fondly; loved her with all the strength of his strong nature, but had forborne to speak to her of that love, or by word or look to seek her affections, until he could feel assured that it was a decided refusal, with an assurance that Sulma 1 Ulla assured Charles that she had long believed | blished in different parts of his parish. Mr. that Sulma had loved him, and only him from Fraser was a man of some private fortune, which a child; and it was agreed that all his long was chiefly expended in benefiting his people; cherished hopes and fears should be laid before he had schools, libraries, and other useful inher that very evening. This had been the sub-stitutions for their mental and spiritual instrucject of the colloquy which I had witnessed and which it was probable had led to such sad effects for poor Sulma. The intended disclosure had, of course, been prevented by the poor girl's illness, and Charles had been obliged to leave Stoke Tacey without having had the opportunity of explanation. There was nothing to be done. It had been a chapter of mistakes from the beginning to the end-natural enough, for hope could have foreseen the results of Charles's wise decision-to wait until he saw what it was right to do; but, sadly destructive of the happiness of all. I could not but admire his conduct, although its consequences had been thus sorrowful. And oh! how did I long to find poor Sulma, and raise her broken spirits, by telling her the truth. But this was not to be; vain and fruitless search was made, advertisements, the intervention of police agents, everything that promised a hope of success was tried; but Sulma was not to be found. Several times our hopes were raised, by information first from one place then from another, of dark young girls, who might possibly prove to be our lost one; but, after many a long and useless journey had been taken, and great expenses incurred, our yearning, anxious hopes all ending in disappointment, the search was at last relinquished: yet still hope was not extinct. Charles, mourning, broken down as he was, seemed still to have hope. Poor Ulla's grief was deep. She had flattered herself she should serve the two she so dearly loved, and had, instead, though unconsciously, been the means of separating them! Soon after the time of Sulma's flight, Vernon Lestock returned from India, and, after about ten years spent in England, he bore Ulla as his bride to his eastern home; and Gracile a lovely girl of about seventeen accompanied them. Charles, who had been lately appointed to a valuable living, was earnestly engaged in the duties of his office, and striving to forget his own sorrows in alleviating those of others. Whilst Mrs. Despard and Alicia remained sole tenants of the Grange, that house which had been so full of life and hope and enjoyment. It was a glorious summer, about seven years after the departure of dear Sulma, that circumstances led me to visit some friends not far from Inverness. My friend, Mr. Fraser, was the minister for the secluded country parish of Ardersier, and he, with his wife and daughters, were worthy occupants of the romantic and pretty manse in which I found them. The parish consisted in great part of scattered hamlets amongst the hills, and day by day might the good pastor be seen on his shaggy pony visiting his flock, seeking them out in their cottages, and visiting some or other of the schools which he and his good wife had esta tion, and spared no pains in personally forwarding their usefulness by every means in his power; and well did they repay him, for certainly I have never been acquainted with a more intelligent and well-conducted a peasantry than those over whose education my friend had thus presided. "You must visit our school on the hills," said Gertrude Fraser to me, one day. "And see dear Grace Cole, Miss Graham," added Lucy. "Oh yes, indeed," said Mrs. Fraser, "I shall like you to see our nice young governess. We were very lucky to get such a person. She has done such wonders for the school!" "And her garden is so beautiful, Miss Grahain," broke in little Janet. "She has made it so pretty: she does it all herself. Could not we all go this afternoon, mamma? Miss Graham could ride "Shag," and we could all walk." Janet's suggestion was warmly seconded by all, and early in the afternoon we set out to the hill-hamlet a distance of between two and three miles. As we proceeded much was said in praise of the young governess. "Where did you get this rara avis?” I said. "Whence did she come?" "Somewhere south, I know not where," said Mrs. Fraser. "She came some six or seven years ago to live with our former mistress, and soon made herself so useful in the schools, that, when Mrs. Scott died some three years ago, we thought we could not do better than put Grace Cole into her situation; and certainly no one could possibly have been better suited for it. There is some mystery about her I suspect, for I am sure she was not educated for the kind of life she now leads. She is very lovely, and her beauty and sweetness of demeanour proved so attractive to one of our young lairds that he would fain have married Gracie, but she would not have him, neither his really valuable qualities nor his good looks (for he was a very fine young man) would avail him aught; she rejected him and his broad lands without demur or hesitation. I should like to know a little more about her," added good Mrs. Fraser; "for she greatly interests me. whole mind and heart seems devoted to her work, and her conduct is most exemplary; so, that I am sure whatever have been her antecedents, there can be no evil to come out." Her As we passed the school-house I was greatly struck with its romantic and beautiful situation. It was placed at the head of a little green strath between the mountains, which rose on every side; and a rapid brook brawled along its rocky channel, close by the house. A richly-cultured flower-garden encircled the little domain, which consisted of a neat school-house connected with a pretty little dwelling-house. Flowers were : turn to them, Sulma; for your presence will be dearly prized-more now than ever." meant to speak, "are they married?" everywhere--the porch, the railings, the walls, and very chimneys of the house were covered with roses and honeysuckles, whilst the beds A thrill passed through the slight frame that and borders were glowing with the most rested on my knee; but she had bent her face gorgeous-tinted blossoms, and the whole air down so that I could not see her countenance. was redolent of their scented breath. Just as "It may not be," she sighed: "the_cause we arrived at the gate of the garden the house- which sent me from them still exists, and I must door opened, and the motley group of boys and not, cannot return. Tell me of them all-of girls, who were just released from school, burst Ulla, and-all," she said, as if she could not forth in merry glee. There were the neat, well-frame her lips to the name which I saw she had clad children of the better class of persons, and the little cottars from the mountains in their rougher garb there were big and little girls and boys, all associated together, and all pouring forth, in a steady stream, saluting the ladies as they passed, and many of them stopping to answer questions and exchange words of friendly and affectionate greeting with the "minister's wife and leddies." Seeing the girls busy chatting with their favourites, Mrs. Fraser and I passed on to the cottage-door, where stood the young school-mistress ready to welcome her kind friends.. I looked up. My eyes met hers, and, greatly to the surprise of my companion (who little expected such a scene), in an instant we were in each other's arms. It was our lost child-our Sulma! A meeting such as this brooks not description. It was almost too much of joy for me, and to her the feelings which the sight of me awakened were of so mixed and overwhelming a nature as to issue in one of her old attacks, and we were obliged to convey her to her bed. A few words explained to Mrs. Fraser, not the whole history of our separation, but enough to satisfy her that I must be allowed to remain at the school-house until the next morning; and after an hour or two had passed, and Sulma was in some degree restored, it was agreed that one of the neighbours should be suminoned and prepare for me the little chamber that had been Mrs. Scott's, and that I should remain with my recovered treasure; whilst the party returned to the manse, promising that old Donald should ride over on Shag," and bring me such matters as were necessary for my comfort. When they had departed, and I was seated in Sulma's little room with her, on a low seat by me, as we used to sit of old, she ventured to inquire for her beloved aunt, and all the dear ones at the Grange. "What have you heard of us, Sulma, since you left us?" I asked. "Nothing, Auntie (they all called me auntie); not one word since I left the Grange. That which compelled me to flight made it necessary that I should leave no trace of whither I was gone, for I knew my dearest aunt would seek to recall me, and I dared not return, therefore I had no means of obtaining information." "Well then, dearest," I replied, "it seems I have a good deal to tell you. Your aunt is well; but she misses all her young flock sadly; she and Alicia now live alone. You must re "Yes, my child," I replied, "Ulla has been married about five years, and has two sweet children, I hear. Vernon returned for a year to England, and took back Ulla as his bride, and Gracile went with them." 66 "Vernon!” she exclaimed; "Vernon married to Ulla! then what has become of him?-of poor Charles, who loved her so fondly, I mean!" She spoke slowly, with a forced calmness; but I could feel the violent beating of her heart as she rested against me. "You mistook in this matter, dearest," I said, gently; "Charlie loved his 'little sister Ulla,' as he used to call her, most fondly indeed; but it was as a sister. He never sought her for his wife. He has sought none as such, Sulma. Charles is single, and, if I mistake not, will remain so, unless he can get one whom he has loved for many a year, but who has forsaken him!" I spoke to ears that heard me not. The facts that Ullla had married another, and that Charles was free, had been more than her long-tried spirit could bear, and poor Sulma had relapsed into the fainting from which we had so lately had to restore her, and I was obliged, with the assistance of the woman whom Mrs. Fraser had sent to us to undress her, to put her into her bed. It was long before she recovered from this second attack, and she then seemed as one just awakened from a blissful dream. The last words she had heard rang in her ears, and the look of joy and hope which shone on her pale face gave it quite a new expression. I, however, forbade further excitement for the night, and, administering a little quieting medicine which I luckily found in a closet to which she directed me, I left my precious charge, and retired to the little room allotted to me, blessing and praising God for his great mercy in thus providentially bringing me to the retreat of our beloved child. The next morning I induced Sulma to allow me to receive and dismiss all her little scholars as they appeared, and to keep herself still for a few hours, giving up that one day to quiet intercourse with me; and I promised her that on the morrow she should be free to perform the duties to which she felt herself bound, and which she was most unwilling to intermit. When the little pupils were all sent away, Sulma and I settled down for an uninterrupted talk. "I will not ask you your motives for leaving your home, my child," I said; "although I think I, in some measure, guess them; but how did you effect your purpose, and how find this safe and quiet retreat?" "I had long feared I should be obliged to leave my home, dear auntie," replied Sulma. "I saw that a cloud hung over me, and that in its bursting I should be overwhelmed did I not seek shelter. You remember dear Mrs. Scott, the former schoolmistress of Stoke-Tracey?" "Perfectly well," I said; "and how fond she was of you, and you of her!" | Mrs. Scott's surprise and dismay when she found that it was I, and that my aunt did not know whither I had filed! It was with the greatest difficulty that I induced her to refrain from writing to her; and it was only on the assurance that, if she did not give me a solemn promise that she would take no steps to inform those whom I had left of my retreat, and would keep my secret inviolable, I would leave her that very hour, and go where none should trace me; that I at length drew from her a reluctant promise that she would conceal all. At first I am afraid she thought I had done some wrong, and had fled from fear and shame; but I trust from guilt that I had sought refuge with her; and she consented to my taking on me the office of assistant in the school, which office I held until her death, when dear Mrs. Fraser kindly appointed me to the sole charge of it; and here I have lived, as happily and peacefully as I could hope or expect to do under the circumstanceshappily, because I hope useful to the dear children: peacefully, because, dearest auntie, I trust I have here learnt to cease from man,' and trust only in God." "May not I even yet ask, dear child, what sorrow could have reached you, so heavy, as to lead you to this step, to nerve you thus to make yourself an outcast from those who so dearly loved you, and thus to crush them under the weight of such suspense as they have had to endure?" I spoke seriously, perhaps a little reprovingly; yet, though I felt that she had been wrong, I could not bear to say much on the subject, in these our first hours of réunion. "Well, when I was in Staffordshire I met with a sister of hers, who told me that she was then in charge of a school in the south of Scotland, and gave me her address. As soon as I was able to do so, after that illness, which II succeeded in convincing her that it was not daresay you remember, I wrote to Mrs. Scott, asking if she could arrange to receive a young person, a friend of mine, as boarder-one who required to work for her living, but who, I doubted not, would be able to maintain herself, and pay for her board and lodging in some way or other. Her answer was favourable, and she added that she thought she could find employment for the young person of whom I spoke, and that she should be very glad of a companion. I received this information a fortnight before I had strength to avail myself of it. At last the dreaded hour came in which I was to part from all I loved on earth, and to part from them without a word of farewell, without one parting caress. I now greatly doubt whether I did right in thus taking matters into my own hands, and flying from trials and difficulties that it would have been better to meet and bear; but at the moment I fancied myself right; I thought that it was my duty to fly, and I went. I had but lately received my half-year's allowance, which was a liberal one, and I had also a few pounds left in store; so that I had sufficient money to meet the exigencies of the journey-for which I had received from Mrs. Scott all necessary directions-and to support me until I could get proper employment. Taking with me a little bundle of clothes, I left the Grange early in the morning, so early as to escape observation, and reached the next village unnoticed. Just at its entrance, and whilst I was pausing to consider what must be my next step, a chaise returning to Exeter passed, and, stopping it, I agreed with the driver to convey me to the Exeter station, and consequently no trace of my course was left. A letter, which I had prepared before I left home, I entrusted to a country-lad, whom I met a few miles from the Grange, and who said he should pass it in the evening on his way home, and would then leave it. Thus far all succeeded beyond my expectations. I bore up well, throughout that day and the next; but grief, excitement, and so much fatigue, soon did their work, and I became so seriously ill as to be obliged to remain at one of the little inns on the northern road, and it was long before I could proceed. At length, broken in health and spirits, and my money nearly all spent, I arrived at this sweet place. You may fancy "Do not ask me: I cannot-dare not tell you!" she replied, hurriedly. "It was, indeed, cutting off my right hand, plucking out my right eye, destroying every spring of earthly joy: but I saw no other way before me, and, though I may have been mistaken, yet, believe me, I at the time thought I was doing right." Such was Sulma's story. I did not tell her that I had despatched by Mrs. Fraser a few lines to Mrs. Despard, telling her that I had found our lost child, and urging her to come without delay, and to bring Charles with her. I was sure that Sulma would not return with me-that nothing but Charles's own expressed love would bring her back to the Grange. She now, humbled in mind, readily assented to my informing them as to where she was, and how employed: but she assured me that she could not agree to return to the Grange. She could not do so without involving herself in trials and difficulties which she would fain avoid, and that it was her earnest wish to retain her present position, and remain in her quiet solitude, where, if not enjoying the blessings which once were hers, she was, at any rate, leading a useful life; and, as she said, "I would fain be allowed to preserve the peaceful calm which I have so long struggled to attain." I did not oppose her, for I well knew how the |