plored him to reveal to him what he now felt convinced pressed so heavily on his heart.

It was some time before the duke could be prevailed upon to touch upon a subject which had evidently bowed him to the earth. At last he yielded to the entreaties of, and opened his whole heart to, his excellent son. His grace imparted to him all that had passed between himself and me from the first moment of our acquaintance, his determination after the birth of our little boy to do me justice by making me his lawful wife, when he was stunned by the intelligence of the cruel deceit which had been practised upon him with respect to Lady Emily Loran.

The duke described the remorse which had preyed upon him for years at the part he had acted towards me. After the first shock, consequent upon the death of his duchess, was over, his first thought was of me, and his first wish to do me justice at last. This he felt he could not do without explanations to his son, which would overwhelm him with shame. It

was the struggle caused by these contending emotions which brought the duke to the state which he was now in. It was this disclosure, and the respect and gratitude, (as Lord St. George was pleased to express it,) which he himself felt for my conduct in sparing his beloved mother the anguish of knowing of the unfortunate false marriage with me, that induced him to be the bearer of his father's wishes.

I could not, at the time the marquis was relating all this, take in at once the full meaning of all he said, for my head was bewildered and my heart in a tumult. That he whom I had never forgotten, whom I loved with a constancy and fervour that no change nor time could subdue, that he was now free, and that I might, without a crime, think of him, see him once more, completely upset me; and after striving in vain to control my emotions, that I might hear and comprehend all the marquis had to communicate, my senses failed me and I sunk back insensible.

When I recovered I found myself supported

by Lady Eustace and Mrs. Kelly. The former seeing me revive, left me to the care of her kind attendant, and quitted the room; and when she returned, dismissing Mrs. Kelly, her ladyship said, "I have been, my dear Theresa, with Lord St. George, I know all that has passed, and guess your feelings. He is gone, and

"Gone? ah! dearest lady, you will let me go and see the duke before he dies? Lord St. George offered to take me to his father. My heart will break if I should be too late."

"Compose yourself, my dear Theresa," replied my best friend. "Do not imagine that I wished to oppose your going-on the contrary, I mean to accompany you. You have ever conducted yourself with strict propriety, and you shall not now, in this most trying moment, be deserted and led by your naturally agitated and excited feelings to take any step which the most delicate can cavil at. I have ordered the carriage, and the moment you feel yourself well enough, I will go with you to the duke."

I assured Lady Eustace that I was able to

start immediately, though I trembled to such a degree that I could scarcely stand. I was, also, almost overcome by the unwearying generosity and kindness of her who was more to me than a mother.

We entered the carriage, and in order to divert my thoughts, my dear friend explained that she had long known of the death of the Duchess of Beaulieu, but, unwilling to disturb the placid state of my mind, had concealed the intelligence, and studiously kept out of my way the newspapers which had announced, or contained any allusion to, the sad event.

We reached Beaulieu House in Square. Never shall I forget the sensations with which I entered it, and mounted the great staircase, which in my days of careless, happy, youthful confidence and love, I had so often ascended with joyous steps. We were ushered into the saloon. There hung the paintings on which I had so often gazed, there were the statues, the deep windows in which I sat reading to the artful duchess, while my thoughts were wandering to the hope of a hurried, happy

meeting in the evening with my noble lover. All this, and a thousand other recollections, rushed into my mind, while my heart was beating to a degree that almost choked me, as I listened intently for an approaching footstep.

Lady Eustace had given only her own name, and had inquired for the marquis. While we were waiting she never spoke one word, as kindly, as wisely judging it best to leave me to my own thoughts.

At last the door opened, and Lord St. George appeared, and after thanking Lady Eustace for her kind consideration, he turned to me, and asked if I were prepared to accompany him to his father. I took his offered arm without speaking, while Lady Eustace told me that she would remain in the saloon till my return.

I can scarcely tell how I reached the duke's dressing-room, nor how I found myself by his side. He was lying on a sofa, pale and haggard, and in a pitiable state of agitation. He just breathed my name, and stretching out his arms, pressed me to his heart. Nothing