boiled when, with tears in her eyes, she asked most affectionately after you, and requested me to beg your forgiveness for the manner in which she parted from you."

"O," said Edith, "I must see her once again. Papa will surely allow me to spend one half-hour with her; I will go this minute and ask him."

"You will have some difficulty in finding her,' said her brother, with a bitter laugh; "by this time she is far away from Ferncliffe, never to return."

"Herbert!" said Edith, turning as pale as death, "what do you mean? where has she gone to ?"

"It was impossible for her to stay here any longer; her prospects were destroyed, as the whole tale about the will was made public, I suppose through the medium of the servants, and was of course very much exaggerated. One after another, those who had promised to employ her gave notice that they should not require her services; she was therefore compelled to leave, and has, I believe, taken refuge among those who she knows will prove her faithful friends in her adversity; I mean the nuns in the convent where she was educated, and whither she has just taken her sister to school. She will probably seek some situation."

Edith was inexpressibly grieved.

"O, if I could only write to her!" she exclaimed; "but I know papa would not allow it, and would be very angry if he found that I had done so without his knowledge."

Herbert said nothing; but walked away, leaving his sister to her own reflections.

Reader, picture to yourself the agony of one who, secreted in her little nook beside the stream, flung herself upon the grass, and wished a thousand times that she were deaf, yet could not refrain from listening with intense eagerness to every word that passed between the brother and sister.

"O," she moaned, "when will the effects of my folly cease? All whom I know seem to suffer by it! Now I find that I have deeply injured poor Herbert, for Agnes Falkland might in time have become his happy wife. What madness possessed me, that I concealed what was at first so easy to confess, but has now become impossibleyes, impossible!"

CHAPTER XV.

FAREWELL.

"The spousal rites were ended soon;
'Twas now the merry hour of noon,
And in the lofty arched hall
Was spread the gorgeous festival."

"O, think not my spirits are always as light

SCOTT.

And as free from a pang as they seem to you now,
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to lighten my brow."

MOORE.

It is nearly a year since the events recorded in the last chapter. It is a festive day at Ferncliffe, and the villagers in their best attire are rejoicing in a general holiday. The little Catholic churchyard is thronged with people, and on each side of the pathway, from the church-door to the gate, stands a row of little girls, the children of the tenantry, dressed in white, each with a basket full of lovely flowers, and with her eyes intently fixed on the entrance to the church. They had not long to wait, for in a few minutes the bride and bridegroom appeared; and, as the children flung the contents of their baskets to form a flowery carpet, a joyous cry rose from the crowd, "Long life and happiness to Sir Charles and Lady Errington!"

Amid the smiles and tears of those who had known and loved her from her childhood, Edith, leaning on the arm of the happy bridegroom, passed swiftly to the carriage, graciously bowing to all. Deep and fervent were the blessings invoked by the aged on the youthful pair as they drove off to the Hall, the bells of the old church ringing a merry peal as the bridal carriage passed its gates.

First and fairest among the bridesmaids was the still lovely Frances, again gay and brilliant as once we knew her; for time had somewhat softened the bitterness of her first remorse, and on this occasion particularly her powers of fascination were called into full play. It is true the memory of her great fault at times came upon her with so much force, that she more than once feared her mind would give way under it. But these fits of depression were carefully concealed, and no one suspected the secret grief which must sooner or later tell upon a constitution naturally delicate.

She had, unknown to Edith, discovered Agnes's address; but what use she made of this knowledge remains a secret for the present. A numerous company was assembled at the wedding-breakfast, and the dining-hall resounded with their cheerful merriment. Mrs. Percival, though of course she had been unable to attend the ceremony, presided at the head of the table on this memorable occasion for the first time for many years. During the past twelve months she had become stronger, and hopes of her ultimate recovery were now entertained.

After breakfast the bridal party adjourned to the courtyard, where a not less jovial and more noisy assembly were regaled with a substantial meal.

No sooner did the bride make her appearance than all rose and greeted her with a shout of applause. In an instant all their glasses were filled, and the health of the newly-married couple was drunk. Sir Charles stepped forward and thanked them heartily and kindly for their good wishes. Edith spoke to those of the tenants who were personally known to her; and then, smiling and bidding a general adieu, she retired to equip for her journey.

As she drove down the noble avenue, the bride turned to give a last look at her ancestral home. We sympathise in her feelings, for there are few such lovely spots, and we as well as Edith must now bid farewell to Ferncliffe.