teem your character, II" he raised his eyes, and the death-like hue of Margaret's features seemed, for the first time, to give him the idea that he spoke to a being endowed with feeling: "Good God, Miss Sunderland, I was not prepared for this-I had hoped matters had not gone so far-I-then you really love Ernest."

"Whatever my sentiments, Sir, may be towards your son," she replied, all the proud woman roused within her, "I would never entail beggary on him."

"Well spoken, 'faith; and I am sure, Miss Sunderland, that had you-in short you must be aware this is a very delicate subject,-but had you fortune equal to my hopes for Ernest, I would prefer you, upon my soul I would, though I never saw you till this moment, to any woman in England. You see," he persisted, assuming the tone of low-bred confidence, "I have, as a mercantile man, had many losses, perhaps you know that?" he paused for a reply, which Margaret could not give. "These losses must be repaired, and there is only one way to do so; if I had not the station to support which I have, it would not signify; but as a man of title, the truth is, I require, and must have ten or twenty thousand pounds within a very little time; there is but one way to obtain it; you would not-" (and here the man of rank forgot himself in the husband and father,) "you would not, I am sure, by persisting in this love affair, entail ruin upon me and mine. Ernest has two sisters and a mother, Miss Sunderland."

Margaret's breath came short and thick, the room reeled round, and, as she endeavoured to move to the open window, she must have fallen, but for the support which Sir Thomas Heathwood afforded her. "I will never bring ruin on any one," she said, at last: "what is it you require of me?"

"To write and reject, fully and entirely, my son's addresses, and never, never, see him more."

"This, Sir, I cannot do; I will see him once more for the last time, this evening. I will practise no deceit, but I will tell him what is necessary: there, Sir, you have my word, and may the Almighty ever preserve you and yours from the bitter sin of poverty!"

Well might the old Baronet dread the effects of another interview between Margaret and his son, when he himself experienced such a sensation of awe and love towards this self-denying girl; yet such was the holy truth of her resolve, that he had not power to dispute it, and he left the cottage, after various awkward attempts to give utterance to his contending feelings.

The evening of that eventful day was clear and balmy; the flowers of early spring disseminated their fragrance over every little weed and blade of grass, till they were all impregnated with a most sweet odour; the few insects which the April sun calls into existence, clung wearily to the young tendrils for support, and the oak leaves of the past Autumn still rustled beneath the tread of the creeping hedge-hog, or swift-footed hare. It was a tranquil hour, and Margaret Sunderland repined at its tranquillity. "I could have better parted from him in storm and tempest, than amid such a scene as this," she said, as she leaned against the gnarled trunk of a withered beech-tree for support; the next moment, Ernest was at her side.

"And thus, to please the avarice of my father, Margaret, you cast

me off for ever: you turn me adrift, you consent to my union with another, though you have often said, that a union unhallowed by affection, was indeed unholy; is this consistency?"

"I came not here to reason, but to part from you; to say, Ernest Heathwood, what I never said before, that so true is my affection for you, that I will kneel to my Maker, and fervently and earnestly implore him to bless you, to bless your bride, to multiply happiness and prosperity to your house, and to increase exceedingly your riches and good name."

"Riches!" repeated her lover, (like all lovers,) contemptuously; "with you, I should not need them."

"But your family; you can save them from the misery of poverty, from the plague spot which marks, and blights, and curses, all whom it approaches. I should have remembered," she added with unwonted asperity," that it rested upon us, and not have suffered you to be contaminated by its influence."

Many were the arguments he used, and the reasons he adopted, to shake what he called her mad resolve; he appealed to her affections, but they were too strongly enlisted on the side of duty to heed his arguments, and after some reproaches on the score of caprice and inconsistency, which she bore with more patience than women so circumstanced generally possess, he left her under feelings of strong excitement and displeasure. He had not given himself time to consider the sacrifice she made; he felt as if she deserted him from a feeling of overstrained pride, and bitterly hinted, (though he knew it to be untrue at the time,) that it might be she had suddenly formed some other attachment. When she found herself indeed alone, in the dim twilight, at their old trysting spot, though while he was present she had repelled the last charge with true womanly contempt; yet she would fain have recalled him to reiterate her blessing, and assure him that though her resolve was unchangeable, she loved him with a pure and unsullied faith. Had he turned on his path, he would have seen her waving him back; and the tears which deluged her pale cheeks would have told but too truly of the suppressed agony she had en

dured.

A few days only had elapsed, and she had outwardly recovered her tranquillity, though but ill fitted to go through her daily labours as before, when Rose so unexpectedly mentioned his name. When the two girls entered the little cottage, it was evident that something was necessary to dispel Mrs. Sunderland's ill temper.

"Yes, it's a pretty little thing; what loves of eyes it has, and such nice long ears! but really, Margaret, you must not go out and leave me at home without a sixpence; there was no silver in your purse and the post-boy came here, and refused to leave a London letter without the money; how impudent these fellows are-so—”

Margaret interrupted her mother, by saying, that she left ten or twelve shillings in her purse.

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"Ay, very true, so you did, but a woman called with such an assortment of sweet collars, and it is so seldom I have an opportunity now of treating myself to any little article of dress; that I used them, it was so cheap, only eleven and sixpence, with so lovely a border of double-hem stitch, and the corners worked in the most delicate bunches of fusia-here it is!"

“And did the letter really go back, mother?"

“I wish you would not call me mother; it is so vulgar! every one says inamma, even married women. No, it did not go back; I sent Mary into the little grocer's to borrow half-a-crown. You need not get so red, child: I said you were out, had my purse, and would repay it to-morrow morning."

Degradation on degradation, thought poor Margaret, as she took the letter, and withdrew to her chamber. "I cannot repay it to-morrow; that was the last silver in the house ;-I know not where to get a shilling till next week."

"Rose," said Margaret, a short time after, as the former entered their bed-room, "come hither: Sit here, and look over the communication I received this night from London."

} "What a vulgar looking letter!-such coarse paper, and such a scribbely-scrabbely hand!" Whatever the hand or paper might be, after she had fairly commenced, she did not again speak until she had finished the perusal from beginning to end, and then, with one loud cry of joy, she threw herself into her sister's arms. "Margaret, dear Margaret, to think of your taking this so quietly, when I-My dear sister, I shall certainly lose my senses. We shall be rich,-more rich than ever, and you can marry Ernest-dear, kind Ernest,-and we can live in London, and keep our carriage, and, Oh, Margaret, I am so happy! let us tell our mother,-mamma,-I beg her pardon; and you shall give up your pupils :-dear, beautiful letter !-let me read it again!" and the second perusal threw her into greater raptures than the first.

"It is better not to mention this to our mother, I think," said Margaret, when her sister's ecstasies had in some degree subsided: "and yet she is our parent, and has therefore a right to our confidence, though I know she will endeavour to thwart my resolves-yet-"

"Thwart your resolves!" repeated Rose in astonishment; "why what resolves can you have, except to marry Ernest, and be as happy as the day is long?"

"I shall never marry Ernest Heathwood," replied her sister in a trembling voice, "though I certainly shall be more happy than I ever anticipated in this world."

"I cannot pretend to understand you," said Rose; "but do let me go and make mamma acquainted with our unlooked-for prosperity and she accordingly explained that a brother of her father's, one who had ever been on decidedly bad terms with all his relatives, and their family more particularly, had died lately in Calcutta, bequeathing by will a very large sum to his eldest niece Margaret, who, in the words of his singular testament, "had never offended him by word or deed, and must ever be considered a credit to her sex." There is no necessity to recapitulate the ecstasies and arrangements which succeeded, and in which Margaret took no part.

The next morning she granted her pupils a holiday, and when her mother went out, doubtless for the purpose of spreading the account of their good fortune, Margaret told her sister that she wished to be alone for some time to arrange her plans. She had been so occupied for about two hours, when Rose Sunderland, accompanied by a gentleman, passed the beechen tree where Margaret and her lover had last met.

"I am sure she will not be angry, it will be an agreeable surprize, and mamma won't be home for a long time," said Rose: ""I will open the parlour door, and-"

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"There I shall find her forming plans for future happiness, in which, perhaps, I am not included," interrupted Ernest Heathwood.

"You are unjust, Sir," replied her sister, as they entered the cottage; and in another instant Margaret, with a flushed cheek and a burning brow had returned the salutation of him she loved. There was more coldness in her manner than he deemed necessary, and with the impetuosity of a high and ardent spirit, he asked her "if she attributed his visit to interested motives. "No," she replied, "not so; I hold myself incapable of such feelings, and why should I attribute them to you! I tell you now, as I told you when last we met, that my constant prayer is that God might exceedingly bless you and yours, and save you from poverty, which, in the world's eyes, is the perfection of sin."

"But, Margaret," interrupted Rose, as was her wont, "there is no fear of poverty now; and Sir Thomas himself said that with even a moderate fortune he should prefer you to all other women."

"I have not even a moderate fortune," replied the noble-minded girl, rising from her seat, and at the same time laying her hand on a pile of account-books which she had been examining; "you, Mr. Heathwood, will understand me if I say that when I first breathed the air of existence, I became a partaker of my family's fortunes, as they might be, for good or evil.”

"And you shared in both, Margaret, and supported both with dignity," said Ernest eagerly.

"I believe you think so, and I thank you," she replied, while the flush of gratified feeling passed over her fine features. "And now bear with me for a little, while I explain my future intentions. My poor father's unfortunate failure worked misery for many who trusted in him with a confidence which he deserved, and yet betrayed, I meant not that," she added hastily; "he did not betray; but the waves, the winds, and the misfortunes or ill principles of others, conspired against him, and he fell, overwhelmed in his own and others' ruin. Lips that before had blessed, now cursed him they had so fatally trusted, and every curse seemed to accumulate sufferings which only I was witness to. To the very uttermost, even the ring from his finger, he gave cheerfully to his creditors: there was no reserve on his part, all, all was sacrificed. Yet, like the daughters of the Horseleech, the cry was still give! give!' and," she added, with a trembling voice, "at last he did give even his existence !And I, who knew so well the honour of his noble nature, at the very time when his cold corpse lingered in the house, because I lacked the means of decent burial, was doomed to receive letters, and hear complaints of his injustice.

"In the silent hour of night, I at last knelt by his coffin-decay had been merciful; it had spared his features to the last-and I could count and kiss the furrows which disappointment and the scornings of a selfish world had graven on his brow-but, oh God! how perfectly did I feel in that melancholy hour, that his spirit was indeed departed, and that my lips rested on nought but cold and senseless clay; yet I clung

with almost childish infatuation to the dwelling it had so sweetly inhabited for such a length of years. The hours rolled on, and the grey mist of morning found me in the same spot; it was then, as the light mingled with, and overcame the departing darkness, that I entered into a compact with the living spirit of my dead father, that as long as I possessed power to think or act, I would entirely devote my exertions to the fulfilment of those engagements, which his necessities compelled him to leave unsatisfied. I am ashamed to say, I nearly forgot my promise, and though a portion of my hard earnings was regularly devoted to the darling prospect of winning back for my father his unspotted reputation, yet I did form plans of happiness in which his memory had no share.

"Ernest, for this I have suffered and must suffer more.-I have gone over these books, and find, that after devoting the entire of the many, many thousands now my own, to the cherished object, only a few hundreds will remain at my disposal. This is enough-again, I say, may you be happy with your dowered bride, and remember that the one consolation-the only one that can support me under this separation is, that I have done my duty." Strange as it may appear, young Heathwood did not seem as much distressed at this resolution, as Rose, or, to say the truth, as Margaret thought he would have been. No matter how heroic, how disinterested the feeling which compels a woman to resign her lover, she naturally expects that the lover will evince a proper quantity of despair at the circumstance: Ernest, after a pause of a few minutes, during which time he seemed more affected by Margaret's noble-mindedness than his own bereavement, entered cordially into her views, and praised the sacrifice (if, with her feelings, so it might be called) with an energy, which left no room to doubt its sincerity.

After his departure, she pondered these things in her heart; and poor Rose, who in so little time had been twice disappointed-in her hopes both of a fortune, and a wedding, was reproved with some asperity for conducting Ernest Heathwood under any circumstances to their cottage. It is needless to add, that her mother's tears and remonstrances had no effect upon Margaret's purpose; her lawyer received instructions to remit forthwith to all the creditors of the late Maurice Sunderland, the full amount of their demands, with the › interest due thereon from the day of his failure!

It required all her firmness to bear up against her mother's complainings and above all, against the painful truth established in her mind, that Ernest had ceased to regard her with any thing bordering on affection.-Strange! that at the very moment we are endeavouring to repress the unavailing passion of the one we love, we secretly unknowingly, it may be-hope for its continuance! Not that Margaret would have ever swerved from her noble purpose, but she could not support the idea, that she was no longer thought of. And he had left her too, without the sort of farewell she felt she had deserved.

All" business affairs" were arranged according to her desire; but she was fast sinking under the outward tranquillity which, under such circumstances, is more fatal than exertion. Listlessly she wandered amidst the flowers which Rose loved to cultivate, when the unusual