No time was allowed them to struggle with this embarrassment. The young duchess rose to retire, requesting Richmond to accompany her. He knew that the hour for his heavy task, of revealing to his mother her father's danger, was come, and it required, at the present moment, great self-control to bring his mind into that state of prudence which the affair demanded. He succeeded better than he had expected. He seemed, to-day, to have acquired a new talentthat of being able easily to comprehend the most entangled circumstances. He also perceived that his mother was in good spirits, her anxiety respecting his brother being considerably alleviated; for she had received an affectionate letter from Robert, who had spoken of his union with Anna Dorset with the quiet dignity of decision.

The duchess looked forward with joy to the arrival of her father, and her trust in his high character was so great, that she could not believe he could be harmed by any accusations. Perhaps Richmond ought to have lessened this proud security; but he could not afflict his mother's heart, when she had just been freed from her uneasiness respecting her eldest son. He daily expected further tidings from his uncle, and therefore resolved to leave her in peace a little longer.

His attempt to induce his mother to give him some information respecting Lady Melville was unsuccessful. She answered quietly, that she had reserved to herself some considerations on the subject, and probibited all endeavours to penetrate the mystery of her former life, since the success of these would be little advantageous to her honour and happiness. She preferred giving her protection without explanation; for the fear which affected the honour of her family had been removed by Robert's good sense and correct principles.

The duchess then mentioned her future daughter-in-law with pleasure, and also talked of the lovely Olonia. She easily perceived that Lord Archibald's views were not shared by Richmond, for he spoke of the blooming girl as of a plaything; and, with that indifference which can be neither praised nor blamed, he listened to the assurances which his mother gave him, of her remarkable qualities of mind and heart.

The duchess was soon silent on this topic, for she regarded this

indifference to a girl, whom she had intended for a daughter-in-law, as an affront to herself and to Olonia, and she could not readily forgive him. She did not take leave of him so kindly as usual; but he did not observe her coldness, and went away sunk in deep thought, and asking himself why the mention of Lady Melville, who was no longer the cause of her anxiety, should put her so much out humour.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The old duchess wished to retain her guests with her until she could return with the family to Godway Castle, and she was therefore unwearied in providing for them an agreeable variety of pleasure and amusement. This could not fail, for she had the surest means at her command: her cheerfulness animated all, and her smile of approbation rewarded those who had in any way contributed to the amusement of the others. In spite of this banner of joy waving over the party, there were some hearts that did not beat in unison; and many, oppressed by their own reflections, only preserved that skilful bearing which seeks not to obtrude its own affairs on others.

Lord Ormond was one of the latter class. His feelings had been awakened, and he confessed to himself that Lady Melville had made him familiar with love, which, only a short time before, he had thought could never again have found access to his heart. Now, however, this feeling was seconded by respect and sympathy, which had not been the case in his earlier and unhappy attachment. He had, from the first, pondered upon the difficulties which interpose themselves to a union between one of his own high rank and situation, and an unknown creature, about whose former life hung so much that was doubtful and mysterious.

But there was one difficulty which appeared to him still more formidable it was whether he, so much her senior, could win the heart of this beautiful young angel; and he prepared himself for

any sacrifice which such a union might require. If his wife should not be received at court, he resolved to leave London, and reside on his own estate, which he would render worthy of her presence by means of all that cultivation and art could accomplish. But he dreaded to hasten the decisive moment: a thousand scruples, a thousand fears, led him to delay it. He watched her closely, and soon perceived that her childlike repose and her noble equanimity began to give way, and that a melancholy took possession of her, which seemed to indicate some secret grief.

He tried in every way to soothe her, and, without reference to himself, to impart to his expressions a consoling tone. He endeavoured to guard her from the obtrusiveness of others, and to protect her against any misinterpretation to which her sorrowful looks and manner might give rise. On the other hand, she appeared to regard him as a faithful friend; and it seemed to him as if it was only in his presence that she succeeded in regaining that repose which she sought among all around her. How, therefore, could Ormond avoid reliance on these indications for the fulfilment of those hopes which animated him? And yet he dared not lead her to the important conversation. Every trial to obtain her confidence was without success, and especially when he attempted to penetrate the secret of her acquaintance with Lord Membroke, the slightest allusion to which seemed not only to cause her great disquiet, but so much pain that he had no desire to increase it.

But however strong were his feelings, he had been too long accustomed to self-control, and sympathy with others, not to participate in all around him; and his attention was attracted by Olonia, who gave him cause for uneasiness. This sweet impassioned girl appeared agitated beyond all bounds: she seemed in a continual struggle between laughter and tears; and here, too, was he disappointed. He had formerly possessed her entire confidence ; but now he was repulsed: at the conclusion of his grave fatherly exhortations to control her excited nature, she would fall weeping, as if in despair, at his feet, and for many days afterwards a look from him was all that was requisite to bring tears into her eyes.

Ever indulging the idea of a union between Richmond and Olonia,

he began to think that her agitation was caused by a feeling of attachment for him; and assured that this feeling would be important for her whole life, he prayed to heaven that she might be happy in her love, for the misfortune of unrequited affection appeared to him especially dangerous to one of her disposition. But regarding Richmond's feelings he was more and more uncertain, as the former had become grave in his demeanour, and held more than usually aloof from all intercourse with the young lady. Ormond's earlier supposition, that Richmond had been penetrated by Lady Mary's charms, did not seem to be correct, for he apparently avoided, her, and, burying himself in his own room, spent a great portion of his time in reading and writing. Ormond therefore concluded that his melancholy was to be imputed to the situation of the Earl of Bristol, which became every day more threatening.

A striking event at last led Ormond to take the decisive step towards Lady Melville. The younger part of the company had one morning reached the court of the castle, on their return from their ride, when Lord Membroke, hastening forward, addressed a young man in a travelling dress, who stood waiting among the servants, and who, seizing the earl's bridle, gave him a packet. Lady Melville, who was riding between Ormond and Lady Arabella, now entered the court. As she alighted from her horse, Lord Membroke approached her with a triumphant look, and holding the packet high in the air, called out, significantly,

"I have the honour, my lady, to announce to you, that my page is returned from his journey."

Lady Mary's face became suddenly pale, and when Membroke approached her, with a sudden shriek she fell fainting upon the ground. All was now confusion and alarm. Richmond pushed aside Lord Membroke, who wanted to assist her, and raising her up, he ordered a chair to be brought. She opened her eyes, and saw Richmond; but they immediately closed again, and she seemed deprived of the power of utterance. brought, Richmond placed her upon it, of the women, be mounted his horse, direction which the party had just quitted.

As soon as the chair was and leaving her to the care and rode off slowly in the

Lord Ormond passed several hours in his room, in the most violent agitation. He could no longer suffer this beloved being to remain subject to the persecutions of a man, who appeared to exercise some unknown power over her, which she felt her self compelled to acknowledge, although at the same time it filled her mind with dread. He would at once offer her his protection, and, as her betrothed, secure the right to share her sorrows, and to remove from her whatever oppressed her. To be reserved any longer appeared to him cowardly weakness, and, resolute in his purpose, he hastened to inquire after her health.

Meanwhile, Lord Membroke, followed by his page, retired to his apartment. To his unspeakable joy he found enclosed in Bucking ham's packet a second letter, sealed with the prince's signet ring, and addressed," To the Lady Mary Melville." This gave him so much pleasure, that he had nearly forgotten Buckingham's letter, while he gave his page directions which the cunning boy knew indicated a sudden departure. We will, meanwhile, examine the contents of Buckingham's epistle :—

"You have again proved," he wrote, "that you are good for nothing but what lies within the scope of a senseless intrigue with a woman; and could I find another of my creatures to do my business in that old owl's nest, and with those paragons of virtue, the Nottinghams, I would command you to quit the field. For, as you relate the affair, it is only to clear too me that you have intimidated the girl before you have made sure of her. You have forgotten that I not only commanded you to carry her off, but also to remember that she is my niece, who is somewhat too far above you to risk your neck by your usual plans. Enough. You have but one merit--that you, as a degenerate relation of the house of Nottingham, can remain longer among them, and therefore I do not remove you from your office. Hence you are permitted to give me some further proofs of your behaviour, and of your hitherto inexperienced wit.

"Your idea of the letter is not amiss, and if she follows you with her free will, you will thus be protected in case of pursuit; although I acknowledge that it would avail her little in the eyes of the world if she were known to have fled with you. Besides, be