ishment to her, for not having always given

him her whole heart.

The intensity of her misery broke down all the barriers of reserve, and she confessed all.

Harriet was much pained, but still more puzzled, for her matter-of-fact and unsentimental nature could not comprehend Lucy's self-accusation and reproach; for she saw her sister's devotion to her husband and children, the affection with which she evidently regarded Mr. Mandeville, and her unceasing exertions to make him happy.

And this incapacity on Harriet's part to understand her was an additional trial to Lucy at this bitter moment; for instead of entering into her feelings, and shewing that, after all, it was more Lucy's misfortune than her fault, and that she had always been to Mr. Mandeville as much or more than he expected, -Harriet shut her eyes to Lucy's confessions, and endeavoured to prove to her that the feel

ings she had suffered from, did not exist at all.

"I tell you, dear Lucy," she continued, "your very misery shows how much you love him. I am convinced it is all fancy, and that you have nothing to reproach yourself with."

"Dear, dear Reuben, I will go to him at once, and confess all."

"What nonsense! Lucy; that you must not indeed, for it would agitate him fearfully, and Dr. Short says that all agitation is particularly bad. Besides, what possible good could it do to tell him you did not love him so much as Augustus?-a person who may be dead and buried for all you know, and doubtless is, or else more likely still is utterly depraved and wicked, or he would have written long ago to his old friends. You say I don't understand you, and I am certain Reuben would still less. Besides, I know you love him, and I did quite

right to persuade you to marry him; quite

right. It is all nonsense.'

"Yes, dear Harriet," sobbed Lucy, “I do love him, but not in the manner you suppose."

"Oh! well, you love him quite enough for anybody," replied Harriet, pettishly; but Lucy did not seem to heed her, for her thoughts were absorbed by the sad news she had heard, and she would, at that. moment, have given worlds to throw herself at her husband's feet, and confess all the discontent and wayward feelings which an hour before she had dreaded to be obliged to reveal.

She could not, at any rate, feel easy without seeing him at once, and giving vent to the tenderness and affection she really felt. So, drying her tears, she hastily inquired of Harriet whether Mr. Mandeville knew that she was going to tell her.

"Yes, he spoke to me on the subject, and

that is why I saw the doctor, and then Reuben told me that I had better tell you the truth."

Lucy did not even wait to wish her sister good night, but rushed into her husband's dressing-room.

She found him reading the Bible, his usual habit before retiring to rest, and throwing herself into his arms, endeavoured, with as little emotion or agitation as possible, to express her sorrow, and the anxiety she felt for his health.

It was dreadful to feel that she must not pour forth the pent-up torrent of her selfreproach; but Harriet had said it would agitate him too much, and Lucy felt this compulsory reserve was a just retribution for having so lately dreaded to confide in him.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MEETING.

AFTER that evening, all Lucy's feelings were absorbed in anxiety about her husband's health, and in efforts, for his sake, to appear calm and cheerful. For his great fear seemed to be lest she should be unhappy; and she saw that whenever she evinced any sadness, it had the effect of depressing him.

But she watched all his movements with feverish anxiety whenever he was longer out than usual, she waited at the window with . straining eyes and a beating heart, while a cold