incredible misery she would bring upon him by such a step, she was completely silenced. She could do nothing but weep, and lament her own folly, in ever having accepted him. Then Mr. Gardner laid before her the injury she would do herself, by giving up an engagement which had been so long publicly known; and told her that she must never hope to marry any one else; for no one would ever think of a girl who had behaved so shamefully to another man, and one so devoted to her too. All this had its effect. It is true she said to herself, Morton had told her to act for herself, and to examine her own conscience; but then Morton did not know how long she had been engaged; he did not know how kind Lord Montgomery had been to her, and how much he loved her. She really thought it would kill the poor man, if she were to give him up; and cousin William seemed to think so too. Surely, Morton would be the last person to advise a step which would be the death of any one. Cousin William was convinced too that she did love Lord Montgomery, and she had always thought so much of his opinion. It was true, she ought not to go by the opinion of any one in such a matter; but she really did think so herself, sometimes; and the blushing was certainly very like it. In this

manner she endeavoured to deceive herself, and she did deceive herself to a certain degree; but still Morton's letter was there; still his words constantly recurred to her mind, and she felt their force and their truth. Principle led one way; inclination the other; and gratitude bent down the scale on the side of the latter.

She

spent a wretched day, and a still more wretched night; and the next morning she went down stairs to breakfast with pale cheeks and an aching head. The first thing that met her sight was a splendid dressing-case, fitted up in the most costly manner, with every convenience that art could invent. This was a present from Lord Montgomery. She had one day expressed a wish in his presence for a dressing-case, and he had immediately ordered one from London, without saying any thing to her. It was accompanied by a little note, begging her acceptance of it, as a small proof of his love. She was touched by his remembering her wish in this manner, even more than by the splendour of the present itself; and she felt positively ashamed, when she looked up and met Mr. Gardner's eyes fixed upon her, with an expression which seemed to imply "This is the man

whom you would treat so ill!

whom you would wound to the

This is the man very soul !"

Lady Douglas had inquired what was the cause of her looking so ill, and Mr. Gardner had let her into the secret. In this lady he found a most able and willing coadjutor. He had tried appealing to Helen's feelings of gratitude; she appealed to her fear of ridicule. She told her she would be the laughingstock of the whole place; that those who did not severely condemn, would utterly despise her, as a changeable, spoilt child, who did not know her own mind; and that if her best friends and relations could not take her part, the rest of the world were very sure to have no mercy. In short, they both said so much, that Helen, if not convinced, was at least silenced; and though her conscience still whispered that Morton was right, she endeavoured to lull it to rest, by the reflection that she certainly was not justified in giving pain to all those who had been so kind to her, and acting in opposition to the wishes of her nearest relations. The next day she wrote a letter to Morton, full of feeling, gratitude, and inconsistency; and many were the tears shed over the task. At one moment, she acknowledged the truth of all he said; the next, she declared that she did love Lord Montgomery; and the next, she confessed that she married him simply from motives of gratitude, and to please

her friends. Mr. Gardner saw the letter, and (though he took care not to say so) it had the effect of convincing him more than ever, that she was one of the oddest girls he had ever met with in his life-as capricious and changeable as a weathercock; and that she had, without knowing it, nursed up a very considerable penchant for Morton; in consequence of which, it would be highly prudent and advisable to have her married as soon as possible, and, at all events, before another epistle could arrive from him, or, what was even more to be dreaded, before he could make his appearance himself.

Accordingly, nothing was left undone that could expedite matters. In vain she entreated to have a little more time; to hear again from Morton before her fate was finally sealed. Her cousin argued with her; Lady Douglas laughed at her; and even Mrs. Gardner said she was averse to delay. "It was foolish; men were not to be trusted; and it might end in a disappointment."

Weak in this, as she had been throughout, and easily led, Helen in the end reluctantly yielded, and the fatal day was at length fixed. As it approached, she became more and more nervous; and the night before her wedding was passed in tears. But it was now too late to

retract. "Oh! that she had never yielded; or that she could persist now without fear or hesitation."

The morning dawned. The sun rose bright and unclouded, and every thing looked joyous. Helen rose early from her sleepless bed, and opening her window, looked out upon the beautiful sky. The fresh air revived her, as it played over her flushed cheeks; and she felt more tranquil than she had done for many days. Strange! the doubts and agitations that had lately disturbed one who, till now, had hardly known a care. She turned in the direction of Ashton, and the tears sprang to her eyes as she pictured it to herself. "Shall I ever be so happy in any other home, as I have been there?" thought she;-and something whispered, "No." Then memory brought her childhood again before her ;-those joyous years which had slipped by so pleasantly and fast. They were gone, never to return! but a new period was commencing; and she must look forward with hope to the future. "Perhaps," thought she, "this cloudless sky may be a happy augury!" and the idea gave her more comfort than she could well account for. The anxiety she had lately suffered, had made her fearful and superstitious to a remarkable degree.