others, my thoughts are always with Clarence. I often wished that Herbert had been other than he was often and often, when he was grave, I wished he would smile, and be more gay. Now, though I know that Clarence is not perfect, he is perfect to me. Whatever he says, or looks, or does, I would not have him otherwise than he is. If Herbert had left me, and had loved another, I should have been indignant, proud, angry; I should have had power to be so. Now, if Clarence ever should love another..." she paused, and closed her eyes, and the sentence was not finished. "I sometimes think," she continued, and she raised her eyes, and a crimson blush covered her whole face, "that it is not love, but idolatry."

"But Isabel, my child..." Miss Shepherd began.

"I know what you would say," she interrupted, in the same unusual, excited manner; "I know how wrong it is to feel, to speak, as I do-you cannot blame me more than I blame myself. It is not to boast of it that I have

told you this, but only that you may know that it is in vain to plead, in vain to speakit is impossible that I can love Herbert again. I know how wrong it is," and her manner changed to one of deep sadness; " and now the time is come to overcome it, and to suffer for it;" and, as she spoke, a single tear fell slowly down her cheek.

Rachel made no remark-no reproachoffered no advice. She sighed deeply, such a sigh as persons of a calm, strong nature, who have no experience in, who perhaps are not capable of, the more violent emotions, heave for those whom they behold suffering under the mysterious agitations of passions unknown to themselves.

At length she took up her candle, and kissed Isabel with unusual tenderness. "Sleep, my dearest child," she said; "I will pray for you."

CHAPTER XVII.

None can deem harshlier of me than I deem.

Si tu savais comme je t'aime,

Bien sur toi-même tu m'aimerais.

Better trust all and be deceived,

BYRON.

Romance.

And weep that trust, and that deceiving,
Than doubt one heart that, if believed,

Had blessed one's life with that believing.

MRS. BUTLER.

Early on the following morning, Isabel sent to announce her arrival to Herbert Grey, and begged that he would come to see her at twelve o'clock.

It is not to be supposed that the news of her coming had reached him then for the first time. He had heard of it the night before, with wonder and instinctive fear; but he waited he would not, by seeking her un

summoned, seem to remind her of the rights which he had renounced.

She closed the shutters of the little drawingroom, and sate down on the sofa to await him. As the clock struck twelve, he was in the room; and, after a separation of nine months, they who had parted, free indeed, and yet as plighted, promised lovers, met again.

Isabel got up to receive him, as he advanced to take her hand; but she made no step forward-the hand he took on that burning summer-day was cold as ice-it seemed to chill him to the heart. He dropped it, and sate down in silence at the table opposite to her. The silence continued: what words of common intercourse, what events of common life, could interest hearts occupied like these?

But, though in silence, Herbert perused the pale and suffering countenance of her he loved so truly; and while the feelings he read there made his own heart beat with fear and anguish, his thought was only of her.

He spoke at last. "You have come back

to Ellerton in sorrow, dearest Isabel. Will you not speak to me? You are unhappywill you not let me comfort you?"

The gentle, earnest tones of his voice thrilled through her soul, and she could not answer him-she could not break his heart.

He saw her increasing agitation; and though every moment added to the turmoil in his own breast-though the voice of selfish fear called upon him louder and louder, still his thought, his anxiety, was for her. He got up, and sate on the sofa beside her.

"What is it, dearest Isabel? Will you not speak to me?" He paused." Do not fear; I am prepared for everything you can tell

me."

"Are you prepared, Herbert," she said, looking suddenly up-" are you prepared to know that I am false, false-that I have forgotten you that I love another?"

The confession was made-she had forced herself to meet the eyes of him whom she had forsaken; now, burying her face in her hands, she laid her head upon the table, while a sigh