nor should she ever become the vile thing that could marry for money. She was happy, and proud to think that he too was above those considerations. She knew him to be quite incapable of speculating on the worldly means of the woman he loved. But she felt in all sincerity, she was not fitted to make him happy. She thought he knew her better than to think worldly considerations would interfere with her love. She felt that she could not exculpate herself; that he must think her heartless and deceiteful; for she could not account for the sudden change which had come over her feelings. She did love him still; but she felt that for her happiness and his, she must give up that love. She could not think of it without great pain; a thousand times that day she had felt inclined to call on him. She could not give her uncle's address. She knew he would not further his (Ernest's) wishes, and she did not wish him to be in any suspense. Painful as it was to her to give up all the golden dreams, she had indulged of becoming the wife

VOI. I.

♦

of a Poet, and an artist-of one whom she had such reason to love and admire, still she must say she would rather do that, than hold out to him hopes which could never be realised. Did he think he could be happy with one who wanted exactly the same qualities as he didself-control, perseverance, and energy. She had no right to speak to him her mind; but she did think he wanted those qualities, and so did she. But she could not dilate on this painful subject. She begged him to think anything of her rather than that she wished to trifle with his feelings. All her faults had originated in having so low an opinion of herself, as to think it impossible that he could love her. She begged him not to hate hernot to think her heartless. She might be foolish and mis-guided. She might be in error even-but she had conscientiously striven to do her duty to him and to herself. Did he think it no sacrifice on her part to give up having a share in the affections of a man whose genius and talent, not to speak of the humane

and charitable disposition he possessed, she admired so much, and whose love she would accept if she dared as the richest jewel the earth could bestow? Would he forgive her? Would he say that he would not cherish feelings of resentment against her-that he would nerve himself to meet her as a friend-that he would try and overcome the disappointment for her sake? Would he not think harshly of her? It was hard that all was past between them. She dared not write more. She must say good bye to him for a very long time. They must not meet till they could meet as friends. The servant would call in case he had anything more to say, because she must not write again. Did he wish her to return everything? If so, the girl would leave the parcel and bring back anything from him. He would not think it mockery if she bade him seek to be happy. Good bye again; would he allow her to sign herself once (the word more scratched out), his very loving friend, Constance Fairweather.

Across the letter was written-I will write once more if you wish it.

Thus ended this precious piece of verbiage. And for this woman, whose inconstancy and capriciousness was fully displayed in the glaring inconsistencies of her letter, a man of intellect and generosity felt a deep seated passion. Far was Ernest from being able to bring to bear his usual keeness of comprehension on this letter. He did not even read it all through. He only saw enough in it to prove death to his hopes; that he and Constance Fairweather were devided that the prop on which he had leant was stricken from under him-that the shrine "where he had garnered up his heart" existed to him no longer. He had been suffering for some time past under severe physical illness; and this mental blow brought on an attack of his malady. He lay down on the sofa, impressed with the idea that his sorrows were about to terminate speedily with his life. While he lay in this state, Aggy, the servant

from Miss Fairweather's, was admitted. She brought a package which was to be left in case Mr. Basil had anything to return to Miss Fairweather, and could not suppress a sigh as she looked wondering and half terrified at the prostrate figure so different from the gay lover she had last seen, no later than Saturday, accompanyng her young mistress.

“Tell Miss Fairweather there is no message -no parcel," was all Ernest could utter; and Aggy quitted the room, taking her parcel with

her.