doubt if he has been heard from at all since he went north, and when last she was here, she looked almost as miserably unhappy as she did last winter, the day that unfeeling man forced her away from her children to go abroad.

"I forgot to say that the baby is a girl; a miserable little creature, as might be expected; but I hear Ellen herself is doing well.

"Yours in great haste,

"HARRIET VINCENT."

Mrs. Vincent little knew what serpents she should wake in Gertrude's breast by the words "last winter," going abroad," &c.; as little did Lady Derwent guess the secret spring of the deep emotion with which her sister-in-law put the letter into her hands, and told her she must set off instantly. She simply thought that" dear Gertrude," was a most warm-hearted creature, most sincerely grieved at the prospect of losing her aged relative, and very amiably indifferent to leaving all that seemed to have delighted her so much. Indifferent she truly was; for those few words had brought back the past with sudden and overwhelming violence, and her strongest desire now was to fly from

everything that bore the semblance of pleasure, and to give herself up to her gloomy melancholy-to her hatred of Ralph Stapylton.

She left Wyvil Park that very morning, reached Burfield Lodge in time to see her grandmother once more, and by the speed with which she had obeyed the summons, as well as by the kindness of heart and sympathy she showed on her arrival, gave sincere pleasure to her brother; who, always disposed to see and value what was good in her, now thought he perceived some tokens of that sobriety and steadiness of mind he had so long looked for in vain. She listened to all his plans for the future, and surprised him by admitting at once the wisdom of his following Ellen's advice in not sueing again for Barbara's hand on the strength of his improved circumstances; (for in former days she would, he knew, have been inconvinceable on such a point) and, as soon as Mrs. Mansell's funeral was over, she accompanied him to London, where she spent some time with him in what was, for a woman of her habits at least, very strict retirement. Nobody at Burfield Lodge had been able to form an idea as to "whether Mr. Stapylton

would come home now," (as Mrs. Vincent had expressed it) and it was this uncertainty, and the consequent supposed possibility of meeting him, which alone deterred Mrs. Mowbray from rushing over to Woodthorpe.

It was a fortunate piece of ignorance; for the bare sight of her cousin might at that moment, have been sufficient to deprive Ellen of her life, or of her reason. As things were, the extremity of bodily weakness had produced its usual effect of calming the mind and disposing it to receive none but images of peace. All her anxieties, too, were for a while concentrated on the little frail being whose existence seemed at first to hang by a thread; but as its powers of life grew firmer and more secure, and as her own strength increased, the doubts and fears which had formerly oppressed her, gradually regained their ground.

She heard nothing from her husband. Mrs. Hardinge, the clergyman's wife, who had written to inform him of the birth of his daughter, and of his wife's safety, received a polite and somewhat formal letter, thanking her for her kindness; but that was all the notice he took of the event. There was no more allusion to his

returning to Woodthorpe than if he had been in India! It was Ellen's marvellous patience and mildness of temper which alone enabled her under such circumstances to make any progress towards recovery; and that she did make such progress was the astonishment of all around her.

A few days before her confinement, she had so far yielded to the restless desire of knowing her fate at any price, that she had written to Barbara, partially unfolding the distress of her mind, and imploring her to tell without reserve "whatever she knew of Ralph!" and "whether she could form any conjecture as to the cause of his absence, or of his silence." An answer came an answer of affection and sympathy, at least; but Barbara knew nothing—had heard nothing had not even a suspicion on the subject; she could only promise to do all in her power to learn if there were cause for any, and hoped, she said, "to discover that Ellen's uneasiness was groundless."

And now, just as her trouble of mind had anew reached that point when it seemed that nature must have given way under it, anothera second letter came, which gave her some re

lief, albeit it contained little positive information, beyond the fact that Stapylton was no longer in the Highlands, but in London; and that General Thorold had seen him there within the last few days. Barbara's own idea was, "that the singularity of her brother's conduct would most probably turn out to have been caused by neither more nor less than money matters." "Her uncle had always thought he had been imprudently lavish in his buildings, &c., at Woodthorpe ;" and certain enigmatical phrases which had dropped from him "since his interview with Ralph," about "unpleasant business," "business he was not at liberty to speak of, as yet, to any one," seemed to point. to something of that nature. She added, "that her aunt had evidently been given the same impression as herself.”

"I write this to you at once," continued Barbara," because I know that the fear of misfortunes of that sort will weigh but little on your mind, compared with doubts of Ralph's affection. But when I tell you that I feel sure this will prove to be the interpretation of his strange silence and cold letters, I do not mean to exculpate him; for I think him much mis