CHAPTER XIX.

THE principal variation in Matilda's life for the next two years, arose from the circumstance of her mother's removing, upon the loss of her husband, with her whole establishment into foreign parts. Her first point of destination had of course been Paris, that city being considered by her as a becoming sphere in which to exhibit charms, which though now somewhat in the wane, were still of a kind to occasion their possessor a great portion of vanity and vexation of spirit. In fact, there is scarcely any period in the life of a woman who has been handsome, and whose chief claims to distinction have been built upon the foundation of her beauty, in which her rage for admiration is more insatiate than when admirers first begin to disappear, consequently there is no era in her life so fraught with disappointment and dismay.

was a happy circumstance in Mrs. Belgrave's case-and she was a woman, as we have before had occasion to remark, who covered her actions with the best motives she could find for them-it was a happy circumstance for her that Mr. Belgrave's departure occurred at a time when she had so much cause to grieve for the death of her beauty, inasmuch as it furnished her with an ostensible and very ami

able cause for the dejection of spirits, and restlessness of mind, which every day increased upon her.

"England was no longer England to her," she told Matilda," since dear Mr. Belgrave was gone!" and so, after many heavy sighs and lamentations, she decided upon betaking herself into another land; the malevolent did say, not without hopes of finding another Mr. Belgrave there.

No such person, however, appeared. She passed through the south of France, Switzerland, Rome, Naples, Florence, retraced her route, and at the end of two years of discontent and rambling, landed at Dover-the same vain, unhappy, selfish woman she had been thirty years before.

It may well be supposed that with the fretfulness of advancing life, added to her original faults, Mrs. Belgrave conducted herself to her daughter, with no improved demeanor. She was, as she had ever been to her a trial; but Matilda was now sustained to support it. The improvement in the children was a strong tie to keep her with them.

The wandering, unsettled life which Mrs. Belgrave led on the Continent, had almost precluded the possibility of Matilda's retaining any friendship that was to be kept up by correspondence. Mrs. St. Aubyn's letters seldom reached her, till they were many weeks old, in consequence of being forwarded after her from place to place.

The last she had received from her, was dated three months previous to the present period. It contained intelligence of a painful character; so painful indeed, that only the hope it imparted of St. Aubyn's return to England ameliorated the grief it occasioned

her. Catherine, though stili animated with the same religious feelings, and speaking of herself as generally happy, acknowledged that her health was much impaired, and that her spirits at times were greatly depressed by uncertainty as to the fate of her son; who, in his last letter, had represented the climate of India as so inimical to his constitution, as to render him fearful whether he should be able to continue there; and prepared her for the possibility of seeing him at no very distant period.

"In this state of anxious suspense, I cannot always find the peace I seek," she said; "and if you should return to England, while it is permitted me to see you, I will not now request you to delay a visit to me, my Matilda."

The town of C, at which Mrs. St. Aubyn continued to reside with her friend Ann, was but a short distance out of their direct road: and Matilda, on landing in England, had obtained her mother's acquiescence in her wish of making Mrs. St. Aubyn the visit she was now willing to receive.

She took leave of Mrs. Belgrave, therefore, within a few miles of C; and while her mother proceeded with her family to London, Matilda with an anxious heart was hastening to meet her long absent friend.

It was a beautiful autumnal evening, and as she travelled along through a rich and charming country, her thoughts, though tinged with melancholy, derived something soothing from the objects around her. The charm of retirement, the simplicity of rural manners, the nature, the truth that surrounded the scene, presented pleasing images for fancy to

work upon. To a contemplative mind, there is a pleasure in the most simple objects. The busy team passing to and fro, the song of the harvest-man, the sound of the sportsman's gun as he returns home, the blue smoke curling up from the cottage in the vale, all these vestiges of the declining year assimilated well with what was passing in the mind of Matilda. The remembrance of bright hopes and busy expectations; the dreams of youth, once to her imagination as bright and glowing as the sensible objects her eye now rested upon" but fading as these must fade," she thought," into a scene of wintry desolation,"

Her reveries were checked by her approach to the town; and on inquiry they were directed to a lowly dwelling in the suburbs, as the residence of Mrs. Morton.

Arrived there, Matilda's palpitating heart began to throb with renewed anxiety, as she anticipated the fond welcome, the more than maternal love with which her arrival would be greeted: and she cast a longing glance at the window, in expectation of seeing at it the well-known form she longed to clasp to her heart.

But no one appeared; she descended from her chaise, and having knocked at the door, it was answered by a female servant, of whom she made a hurried inquiry respecting Mrs. St. Aubyn.

"She is still alive, ma'am," she replied, with the calmness of one who supposed her acquainted with the present situation of her she inquired after.

"Alive!" Matilda repeated, turning pale with surprise and alarm.

"Did you not know, ma'am, how very ill she has been the last two months ?"

"No, I knew nothing!" and she trembled with agitation; which the servant perceiving, requested her to walk in, and she would call her mistress.

Matilda announcing the name she was to take to Mrs. Morton, followed her into the parlour; and throwing herself into a chair, she gave unrestrained indulgence to the tears which this heavy disappointment wrung from her.

"Yet am I thankful," she said, "that she yet lives; that it is permitted me to see her once again!" Her head was bent down upon her hand, and she still was weeping, when the door opened, and an aged lady of the most benignant and prepossessing aspect made her appearance, and whom Matilda had no difficulty in concluding to be Mrs. Morton. She approached with extended hand, and a smile upon her counte

nance.

You are

"Your arrival, Mrs. Harcourt," she said, "brings to us great comfort. The sight of you, and one other, person, is all the lingering after human consolation which still clings to our beloved friend. here, and we look for the possibility of Edmund's coming every hour. His last letter spoke of his intention to sail with the very next opportunity; and ships, we are told, are daily expected. But we do not dwell upon this."

"I had anticipated a far happier meeting with my dear"-Matilda was impeded by her tears from proceeding.

"You could not have a happier than you will find," said Ann; "all is ready. Her soul is at peace, and