"Ah! then your lover is dead," he replied, "and perhaps time may reconcile you to

I stopped Colonel D'Arcy by saying, “He is dead to me, and let me implore you, dear, kind Colonel D'Arcy, never to speak on this subject again to one who can only feel the deepest gratitude for him who has honoured her as you have done me."

Saying this, I rose to leave the room. He seemed much affected, and following me to the door, said, "God bless you, dear Theresa, and believe me, you can never find a truer friend than myself. I will not trouble you with my own feelings, for I see, my poor girl, you also have, and indeed are acutely suffering; but let me entreat that, if you ever require assistance or advice, you will show your confidence by applying to or employing me. I will act as a father by you, though I may not be permitted to be your husband.

"Once more, God bless you." Saying this, he pressed my hand, and allowed me to depart, completely bewildered by all that had passed.

I hastened to my own room to endeavour to compose myself, and there had ample time to luckless fate.

think over my

Two generous and good men, Colonel D'Arcy and Mr. Willoughby, had made me unexceptionable offers, either of whom, probably, would have made me happy for life; certainly, each would have given me a delightful home. And yet, here I was, a menial, a friendless menial still.

Mr. Willoughby's offer I had refused while in the very bloom of youth, and in unbroken spirits, because, though he had every thing to recommend him, I did not fancy myself in love with him: the commonest mistake in the world with very young girls. They fancy, they are not over head and ears in love, as it is called, it is quite absurd to listen to the offers of a man, however good and amiable he may be.

As to Colonel D'Arcy, it would have been infamous in me to have accepted him, without first telling him every thing that had passed between the Marquis of St. George and my

self; and was it likely, after that explanation, (which I do not believe I ever could have ventured to give him,) he would himself have wished to make me his wife?

When I met Lady Eustace again, she informed me, as I suspected, that she knew beforehand of the colonel's intentions, but she did not wish me to be made acquainted with them but through himself. She embraced me very kindly, and assured me she respected me more than ever for the part I had taken, as she joined me in thinking it would have been as dishonourable to have withheld my confidence from, as it would have been painful to me to have enlightened Colonel D'Arcy on the subject of my fatal and early entanglement.

She mentioned that Colonel D'Arcy, disliking company, and long accustomed to the delightful companionship of his amiable wife, felt her loss more than he might otherwise have done, and his heart yearning for the affectionate attentions so agreeable to one of his reserved, yet gentle manners, his first wish and thought had been (as he confessed to Lady

Eustace) to induce me, whom he had been so long accustomed to, as the faithful companion of her whom he had lost, to supply her place.

While I was in Grosvenor Square I often ardently wished, without however even hinting it, that Lady Eustace would keep me as her companion, as I really loved her more than I can express, and would have served her night and day with unceasing fidelity; and I sometimes fancied she would not dislike it, for she would often say, "I wish I had a daughter like you, my dear girl, what a companion she would be to me." I, however, accidentally discovered why she did not propose it.

Her favourite and attached servant, Mrs. Kelly, when speaking one day of her lady's affection for me, said, "She would like to have you always living with her, but my lord don't like to have anybody always staying in the house, not even his own nieces."

I now saw why I was almost always invited during his absence.

One day, while sitting with Lady Eustace, a letter was brought to me, which, on removing

the envelope, I found was directed on the inside to "Mrs. Decourcy."

I need not say that the sight of a name which I had borne during some months of exquisite happiness, and many weeks of misery, almost overset me, and the letter fell from my hands, while I felt. as if turned to

stone.

My kind friend, who saw my distress, hastened to me and inquired the cause of my agitation. I could only point to the fallen letter, which she instantly picked up, saying, " Compose yourself, my poor Theresa, and read this when you feel better."

After a time I was sufficiently recovered to open the packet, which contained a letter from a well-known barrister. He informed me of the death of his friend, the Duke of Beaulieu, who had bequeathed me five hundred pounds, as a small token (so his grace kindly expressed it) of my disinterested and generous conduct, with an earnest request that his friend and executor would see that it was paid to me as soon after his death as possible, and adding that it was