but began to talk of other things. Aware
of the extreme danger of awakening his
suspicions, she did her best to simulate an
interest she did not feel. But when she
became aware that some one was moving in
the room above, which was Frank's, her
excitement became uncontrollable. At length,
shaking her hair over her face, so as almost
to conceal her features, she said, with a
desperate attempt at playfulness,

"Come Edward, I shall quarrel with you,
if you do not go quickly. Here I have kept
poor Agnese for half-an-hour over my hair.
Remember we must be up betimes in the
morning."

As she spoke there was a slight tumult over
head, and a sound as of something falling.

"Frank is noisy," said Sir Edward, with a
smile. "I suppose he doesn't feel particularly
sleepy. I didn't know he was come home."
And so saying, he took up his candle and
went into the bedroom.

When he was gone, Lady Irwin closed the
door, and turned her face towards Agnese.
The two guilty creatures looked at each other
in speechless but eager inquiry. They listened
breathlessly, but there was nothing more to
break the stillness above. The great clock
ticked, the wind wailed among the trees, and
the rain came in heavy drops, splashing on the
terrace and ploughing up the earth. With
these sounds, mingled the peaceful movements
of Sir Edward as he prepared for repose. The
lightning flashed across the windows in fierce
succession, disclosing the ruffled landscape
and the pale eager faces of the wicked
women.

All at once there was a noise of opening
and shutting doors; a quick step mounted
the stairs; it passed Lady Irwin's door, and
ascended to the room above. The women
looked at each other in an agony of expectation;
who can imagine the inexpressible
terror of that moment!

Who was it that came so swiftly?—who
had fallen a few minutes before? The steps in
the chamber above went rapidly to and fro.
Then there were a momentary pause—a great
cry of surprise or terror—hasty movements—
the flinging open of a window—the violent
ringing of a bell—the heavy step of one
carrying a burden; then a hasty running
down stairs, and a pause at Sir Edward's
door.

"For God's sake, get up, sir!" cried
Frank's voice, in a whisper, a whisper terribly
audible to Lady Irwin. "Don't alarm my
mother: Edward is ill."

"Where? What is the matter?" cried
Sir Edward, starting up in alarm.

"I don't know—he seems to have fainted.
He is in my room. I'll go——"

But here he was interrupted by a shriek
so loud, so terrible, that it seemed like the
rending asunder of soul and body, and Lady
Irwin rushed in with fierce desperate eyes,
demanding the truth.

Wildly raving, and followed by Sir
Edward and his son, who strove in vain to
restrain her, and wondered at her strange
and terrible words, she rushed to the chamber
where the awful punishment of her crime
awaited her. Little wonder that the sight
which there blasted her vision overthrew her
reason; for there he lay, the gallant boy just
on the verge of manhood, not half an hour ago
so full of joy and promise, dead on a couch
beside the opened window, the stormy wind
blowing his long hair wildly to and fro.

On the table stood the glass, and by it lay
the copy of verses which had been the
occasion of his visit to his brother's room. He
had gone to rest early, as his mother thought,
but he had set his heart on finishing his
poem, and having succeeded beyond his
expectation, had taken it to read to his brother:
entering his room by a study common to
the two. The wine which was to ensure
the destruction of his brother had tempted
the boy, weary with excitement, and he had
drunk.

Consternation and dismay spread through
the house and village. The facts of the case
were too notorious to be concealed. Lady
Irwin's reason was destroyed by the frightful
catastrophe; and she now bemoaned her
child—now demanded vengeance on his
murderess. Agnese, overwhelmed by her
reproaches, attempted neither escape nor
defence. With a curious self-devotion, she
found some solace in her misery by arrogating
to herself the guilt which she shared with
her mistress; and in her shameful death felt
a glow of triumph in the thought that she
suffered for the only being she loved.

Sir Edward, overwhelmed by the loss of
his child and by the crime of his wife,
humbled himself at the foot of the cross,
and in the depth of his misery learnt to
prize the light which, if he had not despised,
he had disregarded. The marriage between
Frank and Catherine was solemnised by his
desire, when a year had passed; and they
retired to Devonshire, where, in works of
active benevolence, and in a fervent but
humble spirit, they endeavoured to live by
the precepts of the great Master, whose
kingdom is yet to come.

CHIP.

BRIMSTONE.

IN stating, in the article on Electric Light,*
that there are no deposits of sulphur in this
country, and that it derives its supplies
wholly from Sicily, a correspondent is good
enough to inform us that we overlooked the
produce of the Irish mines.
*At page 253 of the present Volume.

It appears, from his statement, that the
Wicklow mines have, for the last fifteen years,
produced a large quantity of iron pyrites