ties of the present; and what did that present now offer to his contemplation?

In the severity of his great and absorbing happiness, in the joy of loving, and feeling that he was beloved, he had wilfully put from him all the uncertainties of the future; like the unwary traveller who, engrossed by the glorious landscape around him, forgets the sure progress of time, and finds himself suddenly benighted without refuge or shelter, he had sauntered on in the pleasant path which spread itself before him, without taking one precaution against the hour when it might become tangled and hard to tread; and thus he found himself unable to cope with the difficulties by which he was surrounded.

Had he been less devoted to his wife, all would have been comparatively easy, as, in the event of a reconciliation, he might have consoled himself under the miserable conviction of her weakness by once more courting the smiles of a world ever ready to bestow

them upon the young and gifted who can bring appropriate incense to its shrine; or even-were this reconciliation impossible, it would still have been in his power to commence a new career, trammelled indeed by bitter memories, but still open to a sanguine and energetic nature. Now, however, it was far otherwise, for, young as he was, Sydney Elphinstone had staked his all of happiness on his love for Ida, and he loved her still, even in this hour of agony when he could not conceal from himself that she had forfeited a portion of his respect. He probed his heart unshrinkingly, but no accusing voice came from its depths not a thought, not a wish, had wandered from her; and the blow fell with corresponding weight.

What was to be the end? what hope, what trust, could he ever again rest upon her affection after she had thus so cruelly misjudged him? He felt that henceforward he should be perpetually standing on the brink of a pre

cipice down which he might be hurled at any moment, without having himself made one onward step. It was a harrowing reflection; he was as yet only on the threshold of manhood; he had barely entered his twentysecond year; and already he had experienced one of the most bitter trials of life.

Hot tears flooded his heart, and stagnated there-his burning eyeballs were dry. He had become an object of suspicion to the woman whom he would himself have trusted even to the death. True, she had evidently repented her ungenerous want of confidence, while it was equally certain that she still loved him-there was no mistaking the cry of anguish with which she had thrown herself upon his bosom; but what, to such a nature as his, was love without faith? Nothing; less than nothing: a perpetual mockery which must wear away not only her existence, but his own also.

There could be no return of the halcyon

days, when heart met heart without misgiving; henceforward, every word and action must be weighed; and a never-ceasing restraint, like a mortal coat of mail, never to be put off, must exist between them.

Not once, during his long and painful vigil, had it occurred to Elphinstone to summon assistance. The dead silence which had succeeded to the storm of passion appeared so natural a consequence of the previous excitement, that he continued helplessly engrossed by his own miserable thoughts, until a deep sigh from Ida recalled him to a sense of her situation. Slowly, then, and with a sigh whose intensity formed a fitting echo to her own, he rose from his knees, and pillowing her head upon his shoulder, deluged her pale face with an essence which he found upon her table.

His hand shook, and his lip quivered as he looked upon her, so lovely and so helpless in her unconsciousness; and when, as he almost

frantically pressed a kiss upon her forehead, she at length opened her eyes with a wild and inquiring expression, a convulsive sob which he could not repress, replied to the appeal.

"Ha!" murmured Ida, as she swept her hand across her brow; "now I remember all -all-but you will not abandon me, Sydney? you will not make our child motherless?"

"Be calm, Ida, be calm ;" he answered in a voice so changed that it sounded strange even to his own ears; "have we not already decided that we must endeavour to forget the past? Let us fulfil the pledge. I have lived too long for myself; for the past I will substitute the future. There are duties hitherto neglected which henceforth shall be performed: indulgences which henceforth shall be abandoned; you shall have no further cause of complaint against me."

"Sydney, what mean you?"

"I will no longer be a mere man of pleasure, forgetting all my home-happiness, the