The Fieldens received her gladly, but though by no word or open sign she gave them to understand any thing of the truth, though she busied herself just as actively as ever amongst the poor, and was still the light, and strength, and good genius of the house, that some change had come over the spirit of their free, clear-hearted boarder, it was impossible not to discern. Mr. Fielden thought its perceptibly softening and subduing influence only made her doubly interesting and attractive; and as for Mrs. Fielden, suspect what she might, she was too content in any way to keep her, looking forward ever fearfully to the termination of the stipulated twelve months, which would complete the rebuilding of the Rectory, probably bring back the Gibsons, and perhaps separate them all. For Mr. Fielden

-should Bona's Maltese prospect fail him, which she had no shadow of doubt now that it would domust then look out for other employment; and when once the spell was broken of their present calm retreat, could she hope but that this angel of strength and comfort at their hearth would vanish, leaving them like shipwrecked mariners, once again to breast the tremulous waves of poverty, and reckless improvidence on her husband's part, feebly and uncomfortably alone. Edgar Campbell was not heard of; and in a letter containing remittances, Gwendoline received from her uncle no manner of allusion to any thing particular having occurred, was made. Silence upon this perilous subject seemed the wisest and safest course for this crafty man to pursue.

As far as relates to the unfortunate Countess Paoli-for we believe whatever her husband otherwise. might be, to that empty foreign title she really might lay claim the less we attempt to treat of the narrative of her married history in detail, the nearer we shall approach in verisimilating this case of real life, so veiled in mystery, from which her unhappy career is taken; for never was the now hackneyed saying that truth is stranger than fiction better demonstrated than by the one on which her over-true story is strictly founded; and though invention might inflame sensation," it could hardly increase the tragic force, which there are those alive to attest, of the painfulness

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with which every circumstance of the story was really invested.

Some slight review of the time she passed in London may however be given, as well as subsequent incidents, bearing on the other principal features and actors in our narrative.

The first fortnight after her marriage, had been, for the most part, one of more utter prostration of mind and body than positive mental misery. But a confused, almost paralyzed sense of driving out in a cab with her husband, being taken to strange places, and seeing strange people, for the first few days after her arrival in London, was realized; then came a time of half unconscious torpor, she

scarcely knew of how long duration, with one of her peculiar attacks of nervous indisposition, during which occasionally, Paoli's face, like a dark dream, bent over her; but otherwise, excepting the strange maid's necessary ministra tions, a feeling of being left in comparative peace and enjoyment.

On one occasion, indeed, on opening her eyes suddenly, she had been vaguely surprised to see her husband from between her closed bed-curtains his inspection of her white, fixed countenance having previously assured him of her unconsciousness-kneeling over her yet undisturbed travelling-boxes, in the apparent careful examination and selection of some of its contents; but she would have been too frightened, even had she been in a less impassive condition at the time, to have betrayed her watchfulness, by remark or inquiry; and afterwards, when she was sufficiently recovered, and saw the boxes, the keys of which Paoli, as she told Mr. Fielden, had taken possession, standing apparently as she had left them, what she had witnessed recurred to her more as a confused dream than a dark reality.

A new horror, too, had started up to harden her against any such intangible perplexity, one which had finally roused her to a renewed estimation of reality-had driven her from her bed almost as if galvanized. One afternoon on awaking from one of her dreamy slumbers, roused by her little dog's low growling he had been so kicked by Paoli for barking, that he dared not venture on more-she found Tina Ramus coiled like a snake in her old fashion upon the bed beside her, who, together with old fawning, false caresses and blandishing words of endearment, bestowed on her shrinking, startled victim the affectionate name of cousin.

Yes, she was Paoli's cousin ; how stupid Bona had been never to guess it all along, and what a sly girl to pretend such aversion and contempt for the "dirty foreigner!" But didn't she find it a grand thing now to be a Countess better than drudging at old Mallory's, or mawkish, sentimental woman's friendship, with great, overbearing Gwen. And how nice it would be !-she, Tina, had come to live with them whilst they stayed in London; indeed, she hoped Paoli would take her to Malta with them, for he was very fond of her, and ' had put his dear little wife under her charge, whilst he attended to his own concerns and business; for Paoli was dreadfully jealous, and thought-"she would want a companion," she playfully added, "to keep her out of mischief."

And from that hour Bona's life had been a torment; never scarcely left to herself a moment, the girl Tina's ears and eyes ever open and upon her, watching her every movement, catching up her every word, every impatient or unhappy expression wrung from her, to retail it to her husband; for Paoli became after Tina's arrival, not only sinister as he had been from the first day of their marriage, in his looks and words towards her if she in any way excited his displeasure, but at times, as he had been seen at Seacombe, absolutely violent; and not only this, but when Tina took herself out of the way, as she was not content to refrain entirely from doing, for her own amusement, the man called Carlo, acting ostensibly as a servant, but being treated both by Tina and his master on the most familiar and equal terms, was set on guard.

As for letters, she soon gave over writing them; those she wrote or received being always read she knew, and she had no means or opportunity, if she had dared so far,

as to despatch any missives privately. Her desk, indeed, within the first few days of her marriage, had been carefully examined by Paoli, and rifled of most of its contents, and the key-on the plea that he, as he half playfully asserted, was a jealous husband, and would have no receptacle for secrets or love tokens-had been taken from her.

The latter terms applied to an old ⚫ letter or two of Gwendoline's, a note of Mr. Fielden's, written by him in some brief absence, fortunately in terms of very paternal affection the only communication of the sort ever received from him—and, perhaps, only too tenderly preserved; some few other insignificant mementoes to which none but the eye of jealous suspicion could attach blame or suspicion, but fondly associated with her old friendship, and later great infatuation, all were committed to the flames by the same inexorable hand. One thing only, though she wept bitterly at the immolation of the others, moved her to expostulate and revolt.

In the same desk, in Mr. Fielden's handwriting-the reason, probably, why it had not been, as she intended, long ago destroyed-Paoli pounced upon the receipt for the £200 we have before mentioned. Of this, with an expressive grin, he also possessed himself. Bona, alarmed at the significance of his look, wept and entreated for the destruction of this paper also. It had been a present, she said, not a loan.

"I told him at the time I did not intend it to be kept," she pleaded.

"It is kept, however," Paoli answered coolly, "and some day it may be convenient to come down with it upon the worthy predicator."

And then by a glare of his terrifying eyes warning her she had

better have done, he quietly transferred the document to his own safety box.

But it was after Fielden's visit, in a scene which ensued on her husband's return, after learning from Tina of his wife's vehement grief, that his violence most furiously broke out. He had then called her opprobrious names, even struck her, and though he had showed some misgivings after as to the consequences of his conduct, and had begged her pardon-for the trampled worm had then turned and showed symptoms of spirit which appeared not entirely without power to excite the foreigner's alarm-and as the best way of reconciling her, had revived his old promises of benefiting her Seacombe friends, yet it may be supposed that the poor wife's condition became still more wretched from that period, and that she hailed even with relief, the bare prospect of any sort of change such as a move to Malta might bring, the more so as Paoli showed no wish to gratify Tina's expectation of being taken to Malta, nay, showed instead an evident anxiety to get rid of her; so she was to be dropped in Brussels, and only Carlo to follow in their train.

As may be supposed, Bona never heard of the call of Gwendoline-it was well indeed she was spared that suffering. She concluded her faithful friend had despaired of attempting any interference with her fate,-a course which even the poor girl herself, after the effect of Fielden's visit, was but too relieved that she should take; and thus Bona had left London that darksome, wintry morning, a self-immolated victim, crushed and subdued almost to a dulled indifference as to the new fate closing round her, whatever it might be, in that faroff Mediterranean island.

man, he had envied once so much as Gwendoline's protégée and cherished friend, seemed to read something of her story in her whole aspect.

me.

"Perhaps you will not be allowed," he said, despondingly; "my father has probably given his orders to those to whom he has committed It is his interest to keep my real condition a secret from her. He has told her most likely I am mad, and then nothing can be done. But I am not mad. If you have an opportunity, tell her this; I am quite sane and ready to do her behest, and declare our marriage ceremony what it really is. If I die before she hears it, well and good."

They did not see, whilst they were talking, the small female figure which had crawled up on deck; but Bona, happening suddenly to look up, beheld Tina, lying on a bench opposite, evidently suffering greatly, but watching them very curiously nevertheless.

She turned therefore from poor Jaspar, saying, "You had better not speak to me any more just now;" and he, taking the hint, left her, to recommence his miserable perambulations-left her in wondering bewilderment at what she had heard.

Was there any truth in the young man's strange allusion? Was this the explanation of that secret in Gwendoline's history, she had vaguely understood existed, though unacknowledged by her friend even to herself. But by what strange coincidence did she find young Lawson under her husband's care? Yet might not it also have occurred to her to ask, whether the favor

which the lawyer had all along shown to her marriage with Paoli, might not be explained by the services in which she now found him employed, with reference to the lawyer's son? But poor Bona was too crushed, too absorbed in her own present fate, to have much intelligence to bestow on such considerations.

When Paoli next appeared, be questioned her angrily, as to what she had been talking to that young idiot about.

"I knew him before, you know," she faltered evasively; "it is Jaspar Lawson."

"Diavolo !" was his reply, "and what is that to you?-what was be saying, I asked ?"

"Something which surprised me --but I suppose it is not true, about a marriage with Gwendoline."

"Ah!" with an insulting laugh; "you thought that big paragon of yours told you every thing, and you are mistaken."

And without vouchsafing her any other elucidation, and leaving the girl with her senses only more troubled and confused by this new mystery, he took care to stop all chances of further communication between the two. Indeed, Bona almost lost sight of her fellow-victim during the rest of the long journey by sea and land, except at necessary intervals, whenever it was unavoidable, he being made to travel in different carriages under the special charge of the man, Carlo; whilst on the sea voyage from Marseilles, Bona was ill, and kept almost entirely to her cabin.