marriage were to take place - which, please God, it never, never shall it would be a miserable one."

"You cannot be so mad; don't talk in this way. Nonsense! Wrong Randal by just doing what he so earnestly begs of you to do! Indeed, Eleanor, your notions are perfectly insane; I don't know what to do with you. I declare I shall be obliged to apply to your father and brother to bring you to your senses. "Mamma! Mamma! Mamma!"

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"Oh! dear, dear love, do not bleat forth that name in such a piteous manner, like a poor lost lamb. No, no; if you will only be reasonable . . . I would not haste or hurry you for the world, Eleanor, and you will be quite ill, I declare. No, I will promise to say nothing as yet to bring your father upon you, upon one condition, however

"What is that, Mamma? any everything."

"Promise, then, that you will faithfully attend to my advice in one single respect, and I will not say a word to your father about your state of mind.” "I promise What is it?"

"That you will keep this distressing secret from Randal Langford. You have promised, Eleanor, you must keep your word."

"Ah, mother! you have betrayed me into promising that which I had no right to promise . . . . Release me from that promise, mother, I beseech you."

"No, I shall do no such thing. Nothing but misery and mischief can in any case arise from your breaking it. In the present state of Randal's mind, if he knew that history, I do not know what he might not do. Randal is capable of anything when enraged, and his resentments are terrible. I do not know what

he might do if he heard this story; what revenge he might take upon Lord Lisburn, in the first place, or what upon your father, and his own father, in the second, for deceiving him and drawing him into this trap. Your father, most especially, Eleanor, whose conduct, though meant for the best, was not quite loyal and above board, perhaps. You can have no idea of the mischief you might do, and for no possible good on earth for the thing is over for ever, and what can be the use of recurring to it? However, use or not, I have your promise, Eleanor, and you will not break it."

"I cannot break it; but I must speak to Randal, myself."

well, it is no matter,

"Why, I suppose in due time," said the mother, laughing, "you must speak to Randal yourself." Oh! how that laugh, slight as it was, grated upon the poor girl's nerves. "But I cannot possibly, Eleanor, allow of an interview with Randal till you have given your consent to be his. Indeed I can't, child; it would only be to draw you into terrible temptation. I know, in the present state of your nerves, you could not possibly help saying or doing something which ought not to be done or said. No, you cannot, shall not, see Randal till you have had time to get over this foolish flurry, and to become reasonable; as I am quite sure you will when you have reflected a little. So La! there is the dressing bell, I declare must go and dress; I shall say you have a bad headache, and beg to be excused coming down to-night; so you will be left here quite undisturbed, to think of what I have said. And as soon as we come out of the dining-room I will be with you again."

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"Come," she added, going up to the chair, and taking the pale and tear-stained face of her daughter between both hands, she kissed her on the forehead, "my dear, dear child, don't put yourself into such an agitation; don't fret yourself to death. You look quite ill, indeed you do, Eleanor. I will send Cary with your draughts. I wish to heaven you would not make yourself so unhappy, it makes one so very uncomfortable; pray let me find you better when I come up again. And what will you have for dinner? There are snipes; I know you can fancy a snipe." Eleanor shook her head.

"Oh! now don't begin to imagine you can't eat, or there'll be an end of you. It is quite fancy you had a very good appetite yesterday. Well, well, I shall send you something up; and mind, I shall be quite in a passion if I do not find it devoured but I really must go. Do wash your eyes with a little rose-water, they are quite inflamed."

And again taking the pale, downcast face between her hands, she lifted it up, gave her daughter a loving kiss, and went away, as utterly callous to her child's sufferings as she was utterly incapable of comprehending them.

And this it is to have a good-natured, worldly woman for a mother.

standing.

One who is without under

CHAPTER VIII.

Oh Death! no more, no more delay,
My spirit longs to flee away,
And be at rest-

LONGFELLOW.

ELEANOR was left alone, still in the same attitude. Thrown back in her chair, and her eyes covered with her handkerchief but as soon as the door closed upon her mother, she rose from her seat, and wringing her hands, began to pace up and down the room in the extremity of distress.

It was the agony of despair.

Her soft eyes, in a sort of wild distraction, were cast up towards the ceiling, as if imploring the help she could not hope from man; her beautiful fair hair had fallen from the comb that fastened it, and streamed floating behind her; her fingers were convulsively twisted together, and her arms rigidly extended before her. Thus she kept walking up and down, breathing hard, and looking as one bewildered by the ecstacy of suffering.

Terrible situation for a creature so timid, of a nature so gentle and yielding, to find herself thus called upon, alone and unsupported, to encounter the fierce struggle she anticipated with her family, and not one friend on earth to council or support her; for Randal

dal

Ran

ah! that was the worst of all was in league with her enemies. She kept walking hurriedly up and

down the room, in a paroxysm of distress, unable to calm her spirits, or even think; all was a wild storm and confusion of terror and anguish, increased by that frightful agitation of the nerves which renders resistance impossible.

Ay, there it was, altogether, all against her! And Randal Randal Langford! her friend, her brother! he, upon whom her poor heart had lately reposed in such confidence, assured of his support and

A lover seemed to her tortured feelings but another name for the cruellest of enemies. A suitor was to her imagination one only bent upon securing his own happiness at the expense of hers, at the expense of oh! what a sum of misery something more hateful, more to be dreaded, than death itself. Death was death; Why might she not die, and escape from this cruel world at once, and find rest in the bosom of the All-pitying. But, ah!

"Is there no pity sitting in the skies

Which looks into the bottom of my grief?"

exclaimed the unhappy Juliet, in her despair.

yes, there

Poor Eleanor cast up those imploring eyes of hers in vain. The need was so near, so urgent, the help seemed so distant, so far off. Thus it will too often prove in the days of distress to those who have not cultivated their higher relations in those of peace and tranquillity. When the terrible hour arrives, there is no help to be found on earth no refuge to be found but in the mercy of Him, the Author of their being. Oh, He seems so far off, and their affliction so near! Ravenscliffe. I.

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