piness-Eliza's happiness at least-was almost without alloy during that period; but sorrow came at last, and a sorrow the most agonizing that could have touched the heart of the unfortunate wife.

During the first two years of their establishment at Burn Cottage, Captain Lorraine had scarcely ever gone from home, occupying himself with angling, and shooting, and other rural sports. Latterly he had been in the habit of going more frequently to Edinburgh, which his his wife rather encouraged, as it was evident he had not much relish for country amusements; but only engaged in them as a method of disposing of a surplus quantity of time.

His visits to the town were at first short and rare. Gradually they became more frequent and of longer duration, till at last by far the larger proportion of his time was spent from home. In other respects, also, he was an altered being; a secret evil seemed to weigh on his mind and cast a gloom over his spirits. The mental anxiety expressed in his countenance was strongly reflected in that of his wife; and yet she

dared not ask its cause. Dared not! was this possible? Dared not ask its cause of him whose heart and mind she had once fondly believed to be but a part of her own? Yes, all was completely changed; his manners, though seldom positively unkind, had become cold and formal; and occasionally even the tone of his voice, though never the words, when he replied to her questions, was harsh and irritable.

At last there was a partial confidence between them. He wanted money; and it was then that Eliza discovered, with astonishment and dismay, that not only, as she had feared, had they greatly exceeded their income, but that ten thousand pounds which had not been settled on herself were entirely dissipated. She gave him the money he required; and as she did so, insinuated the necessity of greater economy for the future. He seemed touched by her words and her ready acquiescence, he pressed her hand to his lips, thanked her for all her unmerited goodness, and gave the promise which was rather wished than required.

Eliza wept tears of joy. A happier understanding seemed to spring up between them, and she would not have thought it dearly purchased at far more than half her fortune. She forbore to ask the reason of his temporary alienation: she did not wish to know it. She was contented to see all things restored to their former footing. But alas! this renovation of happiness was but short lived. Captain Lorraine soon relapsed into his former bad habits, and the hopes which his poor wife had begun to form were blighted almost in their birth. Often during the long dark nights would she hold her lonely watch by the couches of her sleeping children, anxiously expecting, longing for, and yet dreading his return. Every variation of sound caused by the wind as it swept through the trees, or whistled round the corners of the building, seemed to her to announce what she most wished and yet most dreaded; and it was seldom till morning dawned, and he had not come, that her mind and body, alike exhausted, obtained by a hurried sleep a brief respite from their toils and care.

It was one morning after a more than usually sleepless night as Mrs. Lorraine sat, with feelings compounded of anguish and envy, listening to the joyous prattle of her little ones, that a strange-looking letter was delivered to her. The address was in handwriting with which she was not acquainted; and it had an Edinburgh post-mark. A strange foreboding seized her mind; she feared she knew not what; and as she opened the letter with the greatest precipitation, her anxiety was so great as almost to deprive her of the power of collecting its purport. And happy for her would it have been had it done so entirely; for her imagination had come far short of the horrible truth which now dawned upon her.

Some real or imaginary insult from the guilty husband had induced the writer to revenge himself by sending an insulting epistle to his innocent and injured wife, accusing him of lavishing her money in play and on his favourites, and ascribing to him a long series of misdemeanours, which it paralysed her every faculty to

read. It was by an instinctive and tremendous effort, which the dread of discovery alone would have produced, that she prevented herself from fainting. When at last she recovered from the mental stupor into which she had fallen, her first impulse was to disbelieve every assertion; but alas! too soon she became painfully aware that every circumstance conspired to declare that though there might be many exaggerations in the particulars, the substance of the whole must be correct.

The unfortunate woman was yet sitting motionless with the fatal paper in her hand, when she heard her husband's step at the door. She looked wildly round the room; but there was no means of exit. They confronted each other, and the first glance made her aware that he looked more moody and irritable than he had ever done before. He also seemed to perceive some change in her; for he said abruptly and almost angrily :

"What is the matter with you, Eliza ?" "Nothing, that is to say not much," she replied with hesitation, and scarcely know