or answer her, and was relieved beyond expression when her rapid toilette was completed.

Once more in the retirement of my own chamber, I resolved not to leave it unless obliged to attend my lady; for with all my weakness, I had courage and firmness enough to know that I ought to avoid encountering the duke, whom I knew it was my first duty to shun.

The next morning a letter was put into my hand. I did not recognize the writing, and the post mark was the neighbouring country town. I listlessly opened it. My consternation may be conceived when I found it was from the Duke of Beaulieu. I hesitated for a moment whether I should read it. I did not resist the temptation. It was as follows:

"Forgive me, Theresa, that I venture to address you, but the sight of you has revived in my heart the feelings of bitter remorse which have never been extinguished, and I hasten to implore and beseech you not to punish me more by allowing me to see you

still a dependent, and upon a woman so every way unworthy of you. Why have you so long and cruelly refused to receive the pension, (unworthy indeed of your merits and your wrongs,) which my lamented father settled upon you, and which would, at any rate, release you from the pain which I know you feel in being still in a state of servitude? I do not ask you from any latent feelings of affection to me, but from pity to my distress, to grant this request. Leave the person with whom you are now residing and accept the means of independence, which are now, and have been for so many years, at your disposal. Till you do that, I cannot believe that you have forgiven me. I know I do not deserve it.

"Ah! Theresa, you little know how I was tempted yesterday to speak to you once more. As I left my dressing-room I passed close to you as you sat asleep in the picture gallery. Though years have fled since we last met, I knew you at once, and as I gazed on your features I thought you looked happy though so pale. I ventured to take your hand, to

breathe your name in a whisper.

Dare I tell you that you named St. George. You were perhaps dreaming of me, your cowardly, guilty betrayer. I tore myself away, despising, hating myself more than ever. God bless you. Try and forgive the unhappy

"BEAULIEU."

When I recovered in some degree from the effect which this epistle had upon me, I had a hard matter to subdue the feelings of love and compassion which filled my breast. The crime I was nearly committing of pressing this letter to my lips and my bosom, I, with a strong effort, avoided, by at once destroying it. But the words, alas! were engraven on my heart. I conjured up all my former good resolutions, all the advice I had received from my invaluable friend, Lady Eustace, and above all I implored for strength and help where alone it could be effectually obtained, and in consequence I became more calm.

I had fully intended to quit the marchioness, and was glad that I could, without a crime,

comply with that wish of the duke. As to receiving the pension, I was firm in my resolves never to touch it. Towards evening

I became more composed. I did not encounter the duke again, as he left the mansion early on the Tuesday morning.

I found from the marchioness, who was always very communicative, that the Duke of Beaulieu had arrived on the Saturday morning, without his duchess, who was unwell in the Isle of Wight. Her ladyship then said, "I hope you are a good sailor, as I have asked the Duke of Beaulieu to give me a cruize in his yacht which is stationed off Cowes. I shall start for that place on Thursday instead of Tunbridge Wells."

I now exerted myself to inform her ladyship that I should be useless on the water, as I was always ill, and that I found my health would not allow of my remaining any longer with her ladyship.

"You must go with me to Cowes at any rate," said the marchioness, "and remain there till I can suit myself with another attendant."

"Indeed, madam," I replied, "it will be quite impossible for me to attend your ladyship there."

"Nonsense, child, it is absolutely ridiculous to hear a waiting woman talking of impossibilities, fears, and intentions. I can see plainly enough, that the Duchess of Lavandale spoilt you. Why your head is turned, child. You must go with me to Cowes, so there's an end of it."

As I resolved that no power on earth should induce me to take so improper and painful a step, as that of accompanying the marchioness to a place where it appeared the Duke and Duchess of Beaulieu were sojourning, I exhibited a courage I was far from feeling, and positively said I must leave her service the morning she quitted the Earl of 's mansion.

Her ladyship became exceedingly angry, and we at length parted in mutual ill-humour.

The evening before my intended departure for London, (having had a place secured for me in a coach which passed the park gates,) I