awful-gazing with melancholy eyes, and hand that beckoned to the glittering river— shrieking for water-water-water-to relieve his maddening thirst, yet striking wildly at the hand that brought it-starting up, ever and anon, with glazed and distended eyeballs, to look over-over-at something huddled, and heavy, and sinking, that was being swept past-sucked down by the strong current, yet ever returning there-back to that same glittering spot never still-never silent-never conscious, for one brief, welcome moment. such was the death-bed scene poor Marie was now called upon to witnessin the midst of which it was her melancholy lot to watch and pray.

And in that watch she never failed-her faith-her patience faltered not. Earnest and unceasing, her prayers uprose beside the bed of death, and the voice of love and supplication mingled with the delirious accents of the dying.

It was a scene that none who witnessed, ever could forget-startling-wonderful in its contrasts. The nameless horror of that burdened conscience, standing forth bodily, as it were, like an evil demon, loathsome and

malignant, side by side with the bright presence of her angelic spirit, breathing forth words of hope and of redemption-patiently watching through the long hours for some gleam of reason and consciousness, through which those words might reach his soulpouring out her own in earnest prayer for him.

At length, the struggle ceased. Worn out with the violence of his disorder, and the torments from which he never knew one moment's intermission, his strength gave way, and Death, the breathless angel that opens even prisondoors, passed through the hushed and darkened chamber where one faithful heart was praying, and, with icy fingers, loosed the clenched hands-quenched the fever's fireand stilled the beating of the guilty breast!

'He died-and made no sign.'

CHAPTER VIII.

'God has had one son without sin, but none without

That binds the conqueror's wreath upon thy brow,
And faint not though the tears of anguish flow,
And though upon thy head the angry vial

Of fate be poured; but with the conscious glow

Of honorable thought and deed below

Look to that Power who watched thy self-denial.'

'Rouge et noir-hazard-short whist-écarté,

-These, and a few less defensible fancies, Brought the Knight to the end of his slender finances.' SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS.

THE real circumstances attending Mr. Edgecumbe's death were never known but to fewthose few who had been necessarily made acquainted with them at the first, and in whose keeping they were perfectly safe. He was believed by the world to have died abroad.

Had he lived, indeed, to stand his trial, it is possible his identity might have been suspected, if not actually proved; as it was, circumstances had singularly aided the mystery that surrounded every part of the melancholy transaction in which he had borne so prominent and guilty a part. His protracted residence abroad-his dismissal of all the servants at once-his sudden fancy for going to Ireland -his lengthened wanderings there-his change of name-his humble mode of travelling, and more especially, his remarkable alteration of appearance, and sordid attire-all combined to prevent his being traced or identified, and tended to destroy any suspicion which, if such existed at all, never certainly assumed anything like a definite shape that he was other than he seemed.

Marie crossed over privately to Paris, at which place he had exchanged a letter of credit but a short time before, and where their baggage still remained; and, taking up her abode in the same hotel they had previously occupied, hired an attendant, and resumed her proper name. Her object in removing there, was to create the impression that he had died abroad.

It had been judged better that Lord Henry should not actually accompany her on this journey-privacy being her object; but he contrived to have business at Paris just at that time, and he was in her vicinity, ready to render any assistance she might require. There was not much to do. He wrote by her desire to Mr. Edgecumbe's solicitor in London, simply announcing the fact of his death, and requesting him to have it inserted in the principal English newspapers. He also desired that his Will, which had been drawn up immediately previously to his marriage, and of the contents of which his wife was cognisant, should be opened. Mr. Somerset's legacy had, of course, been secured to her, and Mr. Edgecumbe had left her everything in his power; but there was certain landed property, which, in the event of her having no son, was entailed on a distant relation, who-poor, and overburthened with children, resided in the north of Scotland. To this gentleman, Lord Henry wrote in her name, informing him that it was her intention to relinquish in his favour the very handsome jointure her late husband had settled upon her, as her own resources more than sufficed for her simple requirements; and