that she had faith in me, and for my sake
assumed this repulsive manner to her suitors.
Knowing her trustful tenderness, and abundant
affection, this seemed to me nothing but
a veil with which she sought to hide the
sufferings of her heart. I panted for the
moment when I should see her once more, face
to face, and tell her all I had endured and
hoped.

"My uncle, Sir George, met us on our arrival
in London. We were to stay at a house which
he then occupied in Grosvenor Street; my
aunt and my cousin Grace were also there,
and George Mildmay, a fine boy of seventeen,
just returned from Eton. After the first
emotions of meeting were over, the ladies
withdrew together; my uncle retired to his
library; and George and I were left to
ourselves. I could not help looking with
admiration at the handsome intelligent face, and
listening with surprise to the masterly
manner in which my cousin, whom I had never
thought of but as rather a spoilt boy, dealt
out the news of the town.

"'You'll like to see what's doing at the
theatres, I dare say,' said he, when a pause
in the conversation suggested the introduction
of a new subject, ' we'll run down to
Drury Lane by-and-by, if you like; not that
there's anything worth looking at in the way
of women. It was a monstrous shame of
Woodhouse to run off with our little
Sultana.'

"' With whom?' inquired I, mechanically.

"' Why, the very princess and fairy queen
of actresses, the brightest eyes—the loveliest
hair—such a glorious laugh—and a foot and
ancle that were delightful to look at. It's a
splendid thing for her. Woodhouse has
somewhere about four thousand a year in esse,
and double as much in posse; though to be
sure so he ought, for he's a slap and dash
fellow. They say he's growing tired of his
prize already, and she's so confoundedly cold
and proud; but you know her; you were at
Warwick when she came out.'

"Yes, I did know her. I had known ever
since he began to speak, of whom he was
talking, but the sudden and unexpected blow
had stunned me, and I was glad to let him
rattle on. Violet, my Violet—she whom I
had never for one moment ceased to love—
she, my own tender Violet—married, and
married to such a man!

"The boy talked on, retailing all the little
town gossip respecting her who dwelt in my
heart's-core. An irrepressible desire to see
her, to assure myself of the extent of my
misery, came over me. I asked the boy where
she lived; he rephed by mentioning a street
not far distant. How I broke from him,
I don't know, nor does it matter now; I only
know that I hurried to the street which he
had named, and almost by instinct found
the house.

"I must have inquired for Violet by her
name, for I was admitted—in a minute I
found myself in her presence. The room
was luxuriously furnished; Violet sat
beside a lady, probably a visitor, on a sofa.
She looked eminently handsome, but with
a beauty different to that which I had loved;
her carriage was more stately, and there
was something haughty in her expression;
her dress, too, had lost the girlish simplicity
which was familiar to me. It was but for
a brief space that I could gaze upon her
unobserved—and at the time I was conscious
of none of these things; but all, even to the
minutest details of her dress, were stamped
on my recollection with the truth and vigour
of a daguerreotype picture. Oh how often
have I wept over that vision, so gloriously
lovely, but even then marred and sullied by
the world!

"Violet looked up and perceived me. The
rich colour fled from her cheeks, the pupils
of her eyes dilated, her whole countenance
assumed an expression of horror and despair,
her lips trembled with the attempt to form a
sound, and she half stretched out her arms
towards me. The sight of her emotion
overwhelmed me. I trembled from head to foot;
something I believe I said, or strove to say,
and hurried from the house. In that gaze I
had read her soul and she mine! in the electric
shock of spirits hers had revealed its
depths to me as clearly and as truly as a
landscape is shown in the instantaneous flood
of lightning. I knew her story then, as truly
by instinct as afterwards I knew it by facts;
yet, in all the heart-struggle of that dreadful
time, it was a comfort, it was a triumph to
me to feel that even as I had loved Violet,
Violet had loved me.

"I forced from my mother a confession of
her interference; I compelled her to acknowledge
the means she had employed to keep
us apart; I extracted from my uncle an
account of his interview with Violet; I saw
how his heart had almost softened to her
youth and tender love; in short, I gained
such comfort as was left me—the memory of
Violet, in all her innocent beauty and trusting
affection; but I never sought to see her
again.

"Years went on; her husband's fortune was
dissipated by his lavish expenditure. Violet
was compelled to return to the stage; her
beauty drew upon her the misery of many
admirers; her actions did not escape censure.
Her husband died, and she married a second
time. Her children—for she had two whom
she must have loved with all the ardour of
her nature—turned out badly; they were
both boys. Sorrow and even poverty
darkened her declining days; bodily suffering was
added to mental disquietude; but I have
heard, from those on whom I can depend,
that she learned the lesson sorrow and trial
are sent to teach—that she put away the
world from her heart, that she died in hope,
and rests in peace.

"Since the winter when I last beheld her,