At this period Lord Lindore arrived on a visit, and the daily, hourly, contrast that occurred, betwixt the elegant, impassioned lover, and the dull, phlegmatic husband, could not fail of producing the usual effects on an unprincipled mind. Rousseau and Goëthe were studied, French and German sentiments were exchanged, till criminal passion was exalted into the purest of all earthly emotions. It were tedious to dwell upon the minute, the almost imperceptible occurrences, that tended to heighten the illusion of passion, and throw an air of false dignity around the degrading spells of vice; but so it was, that in something less than a year from the time of her marriage, this victim of self-indulgence again. sought her happiness in the gratification of her own headstrong passions, and eloped with Lord Lindore, vainly hoping to find peace and joy amid guilt and infainy.

N 2

CHAPTER XIX.

"On n'est guères obligé aux gens qui ne nous viennent voir, que pour nous quereller, qui pendant toute une visite, ne nous disent pas une seule parole obligeante, et qui se font un plaisir malin d'attaquer notre conduite, et de nous faire entrevoir nos défauts."

L'ABBE DE Bellegarde.

THE Duke, although not possessed of the most delicate feelings, it may be supposed,

was not insensible to his dishonour. He immediately set about taking the legal measures for avenging it; and damages were awarded, which would have the ef fect of rendering Lord Lindore for ever an alien to his country. Lady Juliana raved, and had hysterics, and seemed to consider herself as the only sufferer by her daughter's misconduct. At one time, Ade

laide's ingratitude was all her theme: at another, it was Lord Lindore's treachery, and poor Adelaide was every thing that was amiable and injured: then it was the Duke's obstinacy; for, had Adelaide got leave to do as she liked, this never would have happened; had she only got leave to give balls, and to go to masquerades, she would have made the best wife in the world, &c. &c. &c.

All this was warmly resented by Lady Matilda, supported by Mrs. Finch and General Carver, till open hostilities were declared between the ladies, and Lady Juliana was compelled to quit the house she had looked upon as next to her own, and became once more a denizen of Beech Park.

Mary's grief and horror at her sister's misconduct, was proportioned to the nature of the offence. She considered it not as how it might affect herself, or would be viewed by the world, but as a crime committed against the law of God; yet, while

she the more deeply deplored it on that account, no bitter words of condemnation passed her lips. She thought, with humility, of the superior advantages she had enjoyed, in having principles of religion early and deeply engrafted in her soul; and that, but for these, such as her sister's fate was, her's might have been.

She felt for her mother, undeserving as she was of commiseration; and strove, by every means in her power, to promote her comfort and happiness. But that was no easy task: Lady Juliana's notions of comfort and happiness differed as widely from those of her daughter, as reason and folly could possibly do. She was, indeed, "than folly more a fool-a melancholy fool without her bells." She still clung to low earth-born vanities, with as much avidity as though she had never experienced their insecurity: still rung the same changes on the joys of wealth and grandeur, as if she had had actual proof of their unfading

felicity. Then she recurred to the Duke's obstinacy, and Lord Lindore's artifices, till, after having exhausted herself in invective against them, she concluded by comforting herself with the hope that Lord Lindore and Adelaide would marry; and although it would be a prodigious degradation to her, and she could not be received at court, she might yet get into very good society in town there were many women of high rank exactly in the same situation, who had been driven to elope from their husbands, and who married the men they liked, and made the best wives in the world.

Mary heard all this in shame and silence; but Lady Emily, wearied and provoked by her folly and want of principle, was often led to express her indignation and contempt, in terms which drew tears from her cousin's eyes. Mary was, indeed, the only person in the world who felt her sister's dereliction with the keenest feelings of shame and sorrow. All Adelaide's cold