owning no ties; enjoying no resources or
occupations beyond those afforded by a rooted
love for, and an ingenious practice of economy;
having no future—life became to them a
dreary penance. To each other they were
indeed all in all; but the bond was rather
that of partners in guilt than of partners in
affection. It was less love than a worrying
impulse for each other's society.

At length this sort of life became insupportable.
The only mitigation of it was derived
from any little good they had done, or could
do. It got to be a great relief to them, that
having basely intended to conceal their
brother's child, they had written to George
to apprise him of its existence, and to assure
him that every care should be taken of it.
They also administered to the wife as
frequently and liberally as her unhappy state
would permit.

It was not, however, until Mrs. Calder
Dornule had herself lingered and sunk under
an hereditary disease which had already
extinguished the Stonard baronetcy, that the
widower, now reduced to the condition of a
second Cain—doubting the legality of his
father's proceedings in barring the entail—
deriving no moment of pleasure from his
wealth, and hating his position—determined
to repair the wrong he had done. By this
time Eusta had so far recovered that, under
the advice of the good old Doctor Bole,
an experiment could be safely tried for her
return to the world. It was at the time
when emancipation was granted to the West
India slaves, and George Dornley's services
on Lord Wordley's plantations were no longer
needed. He was, in fact, on his way to
England.

Miss Pirn, the latest object of Mrs. Calder's
relenting good deeds, had been granted free
residence in Corner Cottage. She had
scrupulously preserved, not only every article of
furniture, but the arrangement of it. Eusta
was successfully removed from the asylum;
and, for several days, fell into the routine
of home duties she had been accustomed to,
before tlie fatal ninth of June.

Dr. Bole had always dreaded the first
meeting of Eusta with her son; but when on
her return to the cottage she saw a fine,
frank-looking boy reading at the parlour table
she at once accepted him as her son; kissing
him affectionately, as if they had never been
parted. It would appear that she had never
doubted his having been preserved to her,
and her facility of creating mind-pictures,
had followed him in imagination from infancy
to his present stature and appearance, during
the whole of her seclusion.

Years had set no mark upon her; for her
malady had left her mind calm and unexcited,
Except that her figure was rounder and her
manner more reserved and grave, she
appeared to be as young, and was, in reality,
handsomer than formerly. She spoke of her
husband's absence, as of something neither
strange nor inexplicable. Only she was apt
to confound Italy with the West Indies.

At length Dr. Bole had the courage to allude
to the events of the terrible Ninth of June.
To his mortification, he found that the
impression that her husband had stood beside her
on that unfortunate night, seemed ineffaceable.
It happened that, unless the ship was delayed,
her husband would arrive very near its
anniversary; and the good old physician
determined to turn the coincidence to account. He
wrote a letter to George Dornley, which
reached him on landing; giving a full and
cheering account of his wife's health, and
detailing his plan for completing her cure.

On this later Ninth of June, Crookston
Withers glowed with sunshine. Eusta sat
at her parlour-window. The palace of the
Sleeping Beauty could not have remained so
exactly the same as of old, as Corner Cottage
did. Eusta was again engaged in lace-
making. Her longing heart again bounded with
the old hope that The Expected was coming
before his time; then sank with disappointment
when some strange horseman passed.
Dr. Bole had arranged that her son should
spend that day at Crookston Hall; but that
his uncle (who had, at the doctor's earnest
entreaty hitherto kept from Mrs. George's
sight) should call towards the end of the day.
There was no Mrs. Calder left to make the
dramatis personse of the former drama
complete.

Eusta received Mr. Calder Dornley as she
had received her son; precisely as if their
intercourse had never been broken off; but
impatiently. She expressed—but not in
words—that his presence was an intrusion.
Nine o'clock approached. Dr. Bole, in the
little kitchen—the temporary guest of dear
old Miss Pim—watched the crisis with an
anxiety almost insupportable. Presently a
horse's canter was heard. It ceased. The
door opened suddenly; some one rushed into
the little parlour; there was an hysterical
scream of joy; George Dornley and his
wife were locked in a close, passionate
embrace.

"I cannot describe to you" (it was the
good old physician himself who told me this
part of the story) " the anguish of dread
which I felt to hear what words Mrs. George
would first speak, after her emotions had
subsided. It was worse than waiting to hear
a sentence of life or death. Thank God, what
she did say proved that the experiment had
succeeded!"

"Was the old delusion thoroughly
expelled? " I asked.

"Yes; or rather, it is now confused
with the real meeting on this last ninth of
June. George Dornley, his wife, and their
son, are now travelling in Italy."

"But how comes it that Mr. Calder is still
in possession of the Crookston estate?"

"George Dornley would not dispossess his