that some powerful feeling was called dominating over her mind and heart. observe it, and feared it presaged ill.

into action and preMatilda was sorry to Yet there was much

of tenderness and softness in her voice as she asked, “Does he wish it ?"

"I think he does, my dear Jeannette, provided you persist in not seeing him.'

وو

"Oh! Matilda, that is not the reason."

"Believe me, yes.'

"Matilda, you are deceived, and Lindsay is himself deceived if he for one moment thinks this. Should I, would you, would any one, leave creatures they love for such an idle reason? Matilda, it is a subterfuge-but it is well—" "You have only to say, Jeannette, that you wish it other wise, and I am certain Lindsay will forego this intention." "No, never, never, now he must go. I wished it before-I told him so. I am thankful, most thankful, that I felt so powerfully, and instinctively said to him, 'We part!' But--but

Her quivering lip betrayed a strong inward struggle with her feelings; yet her eye gleamed with a still stronger determination to conquer it. She clenched her hands convulsively, and drew in a very long breath, as to Matilda's gentle inquiry of "What would you say, my love?" she replied, in the desperate tone of a newly acquired energy,

"That I will see my husband before he goes.'

Matilda exclaimed, in uncontrolled joyfulness, "When, oh! when ?"

“Now, Matilda, on the instant !”

Matilda hoped all things from the interview, because she was ignorant of what was passing in her sister's heart. She saw that her affections were more fully in play than they had been for a long time past, and she knew not that this activity, born of pain and wretchedness, could only be deadened by stupor or subside into despair. In Jeannette's mind the miserable idea had arisen that Lindsay repented of his union with her. And perhaps if it were possible to give to any of the sad sensations of the human heart the bad eminence of precedency, it would be to that which springs from the suspicion that the tie which bound us to an adored being is felt by him who twined it as a galling chain. Yet this was the VOL. I.-15

feeling that now occupied Jeannette's heart, only that with her the bitter doubt had instantly changed to conviction.

“I shall see him-I shall see him," she repeated mechanically: "he shall be free as air-free as I can make him :— the chain shall not fret because it may never be brokenthat I will take from him and keep, keep-yes, till I die!"

It was in this excited state of mind she saw her husband; but her excitement was so deep-rooted as to impart to her manner tranquillity rather than emotion, for it gave her mental power. She took no notice of Lindsay's pale and altered looks, possibly because her heart was too full for observation. She herself at this moment was not looking ill. Her mind was too full of life for her countenance to betray indisposition. All perhaps have observed the superiority in this respect of moral influences over physical. In Jeannette now it was fully illustrated, and Lindsay was hurt to see that she looked well. There was a glow on her cheek, and a lustre in her eye, that made her beauty appear almost supernatural. The effect was probably heightened to him by his not having seen her for four long and miserable weeks. He sighed deeply, and from the union of many painful feelings, as he approached her, and faintly articulated,

66

My dear Jeannette.”

"You are come, Lindsay, to bid me farewell. Matilda tells me it is your wish to leave me."

"Only my conditional wish, Jeannette-you cannot suppose it any other?"

"No. I thoroughly understand your motives-at least, I think I do."

"And you are of opinion that I had better go?''

"Yes."

"That is, you think my absence necessary to the restoration of your health,-to the tranquillity of your mind?” "It will, I trust, Lindsay, do much for us both."

"Oh! Jeannette-think beforehand, what we may both suffer in the interim !"

"I do, I do."

"Whisper then this one word to me, 'Remain.' "Never, Lindsay,--never!"

"Do you then part from me in displeasure?—I deserve that

you should do so--but it is not like you to feel it.”

"Displeasure!-No-no-I love you, Lindsay! and oh! love me, love me always,-that I make my parting prayer." She threw her arms around her husband, and wept. When she regained composure, she added" All I ask is, that you should leave me.

"Will it make you better?"

"Much-much-yes, Lindsay, you must go."

"My beloved Jeannette, what is it that you feel?" "Wretchedness, unremitting wretchedness-a wailing of my heart within me, like that of an orphan babe for the mother it has lost."

Lindsay's conscience smote him to the quick, and doubled the anguish of his remorse. He strove in vain to speak, but contrition and humiliation were spread over every feature. Her quick eye caught the change in a moment. She seized his hands impulsively, and bending her knees to the ground, exclaimed-Oh! forgive me! I meant not to wound,believe me, that I did not! It is I only who should feel humbled, and I do!"

A fresh burst of sorrow overcame her as she uttered these words, and she lay couched at Lindsay's feet the image of desolation. She looked as she felt, abandoned by happiness, bereaved of hope.

Lindsay gently raised her, and placing her on a sofa near them, silently watched her till she again grew calm. When she again spoke, it was only to urge yet more imploringly that he would leave her.

Our self-love seldom sleeps long together. Lindsay was hurt by the iteration of this one request. It almost inspired him with the wish to go, but he made one more effort to induce her to change her purpose.

"Nothing," he said, "ought to separate us."

"Oh! I know nothing ought: but yet, Lindsay, we must separate!"

She spoke with the determination that was inseparable from her, when her mind was fully resolved. He saw that neither argument nor entreaty would avail to move her. He fetched his child, and showering a thousand kisses on her, took leave of her in her mother's presence. Jeannette looked at them as if by stealth; but whenever they approached her, she moved away as if afraid of the ascendency her child might have over her.

This was the last experiment Lindsay attempted to make, and some displeasure was mingled with the melancholy feel. ings that came over him as he ordered his travelling chariot to be at the door on the following morning. These orders were given in the presence of Jeannette; and Lindsay, as he gave them, was not perhaps quite without hope, that even then Jeannette would not be able to see him leave her.

But when the morning came, he found her pale, silent, calm, and apparently indifferent. Yet she had stationed herself at a window, from which she could see him depart ; and when he impressed one long, fervent kiss on her marble brow, a slight tremor in her frame was perceptible to him; and her arms, which she had raised to embrace him, sank suddenly, as if lifeless, by her side.

Neither of them spoke to the other; and Matilda was as much the interpreter of each, as if they had had no language in common between them.

"You will write to Jeannette by to-night's post, Lindsay?"

"Oh! surely!"

"And if you should finally determine to leave England for a time, you will return to us once before your depar ture?"

66 Yes, if Jeannette should wish it ?"

And you would, you do wish it, Jeannette!" Jeannette made no answer, and Matilda continued " At least, you would not oppose it?"

"No, no, I would not oppose it !"—and it seemed a relief to her to have words given her that she could utter. We are all glad of similar relief, when silence is a pain, and when the thoughts of our hearts will not be broken into words.

It was in indirect communications of this nature, that the parting moments of two beings who had been all the world to each other, were passed. The interval, distressing, almost insupportable, to all, was unnecessarily lengthened (he scarcely knew wherefore) by Lindsay. As long as he was in that room, and near Jeannette, something like hope clung to him. He trusted that some word would be spoken, which without the appearance of infirmity of purpose on his part, would do away with the necessity of his going at all. And when at length he felt that the moment of his departure could

be delayed no longer, it was with the melancholy reflection, that one feeling, adverse to confidence,--one cloud (though but a passing one) veiling the affections, may raise as strong a barrier between heart and heart as distance, time, or death

CHAPTER XLIX.

Though the past haunt me as a spirit; yet,
I ask not to forget.-MRS. HEMANS.

THERE had been so much suddenness in this hasty and violent separation, that when Jeannette first felt herself alone, she seemed either to know not what had happened, or not to believe it. The tumult of her feelings had spread a mist over her mental perceptions, clothing all things in indistinctness, as the large tears which slowly and successively arose to her eyes dimmed her powers of sight. But by degrees those slow tears ceased to come, and the confusion of her mind abated. She then, as if fresh strength had been given to her memory, recalled with painful exactitude every word that had been spoken, every emotion that had visited her heart. Some self-upbraidings mingled at first with these recollections, and "Why did I send him from me?---Why did I not go with him?" were the first words she had power to utter. But who may mark, or who explain, the changes of the spirit? In another instant she exclaimed--" He should not have left me: I asked him to do so, but he should not have done it."

Matilda did not fail to report these words to Lindsay, justly concluding that he would consider them as a summons to return. He did so but long before his arrival Jeannette had relapsed into indifference to all things save her mother. Her feelings, all concentrated in one point, were sometimes displayed in reproaching the memory of that mother, sometimes in a bitterness of grief which surpasses words, and occasionally in expressions of affection so tender and moving as to melt the hearts of all who heard her.

From the picture which had been to her so great a source