to one's own conscience. Although, therefore,
she may have told you much, her womanly
dignity would not let her dwell on these
circumstances, explanatory of much, and palliative
of all that passed between us. To you, a man
of the world, I owe this part declaration, less,
however, for your sake or for mine, than for
her, for whom either of us ought to make any
sacrifice in our power.

"The letters she wrote me are still in my
possession. I own they are very dear to me;
they are all that remain of a past, to which
nothing in my future life can recal the equal.
I feel, however, that your right to them is
greater than my own, but I do not know how
to part with them. I pray you advise me in
this. Say how you would act in a like
circumstance, knowing all that has occurred, and be
assured that your voice will be a command to
your very devoted servant,
"H. C.

"P.S.—When I began this letter, I was
minded to say my cousin should see it; on
second thoughts, I incline to say not, decidedly
not."

When this base writer had finished writing
he flung down the pen, and said to himself, half
aloud, "I'd give something to see him read
this!"

With a restless impatience to do something—
anything, he left the house, walking with
hurried steps to the little jetty where the boats lay.
"Where's my boat, Onofrio?" said he, asking
for the skiff he generally selected.

"The other signor has taken her across the
lake."

"This is too much," muttered he. "The
fellow fancies that because he skulks a satisfaction,
he is free to practise an impertinence. He
knew I preferred this boat, and therefore he took
her."

"Jump in, and row me across to La Rocca,"
said he to the boatman. As they skimmed
across the lake, his mind dwelt only on vengeance,
and fifty different ways of exacting it passed and
repassed before him. All, however, concentrating
on the one idea that to pass some insult
upon Loyd in presence of the ladies would be
the most fatal injury he could inflict, but how
to do this without a compromise of himself was
the difficulty.

"Though no woman will ever forgive a
coward," thought he, "I must take care that
the provocation I offer be such as will not
exclude myself from sympathy."  And, with all his
craft and all his cunning, he could not hit upon
a way to this. He fancied, too, that Loyd had
gone over to prejudice the ladies against him by
his own version of what had occurred in the
morning. He knew well how, of late, he himself
had not occupied the highest place in their esteem
—it was not alone the insolent and overbearing
tone he assumed, but a levity in talking of things
which others treated with deference, alike offensive
to morals and manners—these had greatly
lowered him in their esteem, especially of the
girls, for old Miss Grainger, with a traditional
respect for his name and family, held to him far
more than the others.

"What a fool I was ever to have brought the
fellow here! What downright folly it was in
me to have let them ever know him. Is it too
late, however, to remedy this? Can I not yet
undo some of this mischief?" This was a new
thought, and it filled his mind till he landed.
As he drew quite close to the shore he saw that
the little awning-covered boat, in which the
ladies occasionally made excursions on the lake,
was now anchored under a large drooping ash,
and that Loyd and the girls were on board of
her. Loyd was reading to them; at least so the
continuous and equable tone of his voice
indicated, as it rose in the thin and silent air. Miss
Grainger was not there—and this was a fortunate
thing—for now he should have his opportunity
to talk with her alone, and probably ascertain
to what extent Loyd's representations had
damaged him.

He walked up to the villa, and entered the
drawing-room, as he was wont, by one of the
windows that opened on the green sward without.
There was no one in the room, but a half-
written letter, on which the ink was still fresh,
showed that the writer had only left it at the
instant. His eye caught the words, " Dear and
Reverend Sir," and in the line beneath the name
Loyd. The temptation was too strong, and he
read on:

"Dear and "Reverend Sir,—I hasten to express
my entire satisfaction with the contents of your
letter. Your son, Mr. Loyd, has most faithfully
represented his position and his prospects, and,
although my niece might possibly have placed
her chances of happiness in the hands of a
wealthier suitor, I am fully assured she never
could have met with one whose tastes, pursuits,
and general disposition—"

A sound of coming feet startled him, and he
had but time to throw himself on a sofa, when
Miss Grainger entered. Her manner was
cordial—fully as cordial as usual—perhaps a
little more so, since, in the absence of her
nieces, she was free to express the instinctive
regard she felt towards all that bore his
name.

"How was it that you did not come with
Loyd?" asked she.

"I was busy, writing letters I believe—
congratulations on Sophy's approaching marriage;
but what did Loyd say—was that the reason he
gave?"

"He gave none. He said he took a whim
into his head to row himself across the lake;
and, indeed, I half suspect the exertion was too
much for him. He has been coughing again, and
the pain in the side has returned."

"He's a wretched creature—I mean as
regards health and strength. Of course he always
must have been so; but the lives these fellows
lead in London would breach the constitution
of a really strong man."