answered the duchess; "and your proofs will be closely examined. The clever arts and persuasive tears of a beautiful maiden will not convince me; nor will whatever means she may have invoked to her aid succeed so easily with me, as they seem to have done with you."

Lady Melville," said Richmond, gravely, "has never made her unhappy fate a subject of conversation with me; she scarcely knows the existence of the arts at which you have hinted, and has left all her affairs in the hands of her tutor, Master Brixton, whom she found with me; and to whom she related all that she had passed through, in order that we might be able to decide what steps we should take. The history of her former life-the mystery which hangs over it—why she was withdrawn from our protection-why she was of such importance, that her persecutors would rather take her life than allow her to be brought forward;—all this is partly Brixton's secret, and is as yet unexplained."

“Truly,” said the duchess, who was torn by conflicting emotions, "there are so many exceptions to the explanations which you offer mc, that my mistrust of their validity is strongly excited; and I cannot thank you for bringing this mysterious maiden into a circle which ought to keep itself free from every person of doubtful character."

And it will remain free from this," said Richmond.

"Do not

reject the evidence of an honourable clergyman, or that of your own son, whose testimony is borne witness to by the most heavenly innocence, merely because you are unwilling to relinquish a preconceived opinion."

The duchess had never until now heard so harsh a speech from her son, She was alarmed; and, feeling that she must choose between anger and generous compliance, she yielded at last, saying, in a gentle tone,

"I leave the words you have just spoken to your own consideration; and I shall show you that I can act with the same moderation and self-control that I expect from all those belonging You demand much of me, in asking me to receive a young lady whose character has been rendered dubious by her actions, and

to me.

whose friends refuse to give me any explanations; preferring to wrap all concerning her in impenetrable darkness."

"You will consent to see Brixton ?" said Richmond, keeping his object in view: "may I bring him to you, dear mother?"

"Is that necessary?" said she, coldly. "My son, the duke, has already given his consent to their reception; I have, therefore, nothing further to say, and am not now in the mood to listen patiently to a mysterious narration."

"Neither Master Brixton nor Lady Melville will enter this house without the consent of my honoured mother," said Richmond.

"Lady Melville! Lady Melville ! Do you not know, my son, that Lord Melville, whom she calls her father, died childless.”

"I know it," answered Richmond, firmly; "but Brixton assures me that she must bear this name until he is absolved from his oath of silence."

"Well," said the duchess, with that peculiar smile which wounds more than any words can do, "I cannot deny that much is expected by me, and also that much depends upon Master Brixton's communication."

Nothing, my dear mother, can disturb my confidence that these explanations will be satisfactory to us."

"Enough, enough. I will perform what is required of me, and soon; for I wish to turn my thoughts from this affair.

Lord Archibald and Richmond both felt that it would be better to put an end to a conversation which tempted the latter to forget the respect which he owed to his mother, which was one of the deepest feelings of his heart. Both gentlemen therefore withdrew; and the duchess passed the remainder of the day in her apartment, excusing herself from joining the company on the plea of indisposition.

The conversation which the lady held the next morning with Master Brixton was satisfactory to neither party. The partial information which this worthy man gave was but little calculated to overcome his opponent's harshness; and he was obliged to content himself with relating the history of Lord Membroke's deception, and what had afterwards taken place in the castle of the Lady Somerset

This story was not unheeded, and the good effect which it produced was strengthened by his account of Richmond's conduct during the journey to Godway Castle; for it relieved the duchess from her fear of any engagement existing between him and the Lady Mary. She consented at last to see her guest, and to allow her to remain at the castle during Brixton's visit to London, whither he intended to hasten immediately. She received Mary with a pride and coldness which wounded the unfortunate lady deeply, but which she bore with resignation, since she bitterly repented of having, by her carelessness, forfeited the confidence of her benefactress.

Lady Mary had long since lost the happy thoughtlessness of youth: she knew that her name, birth, and situation were doubtful; and it did not escape her penetration that Brixton was full of anxiety respecting the next step which duty required of him. She endeavoured, at the same time, to win the favour of those from whom she was separated by so much mystery, and among whom she was denied an honourable position. With deep shame she saw herself thrust upon the family of Nottingham, to which she consented only in compliance with the united request of Richmond and Brixton, neither of whom knew of any other safe abode, though the latter unceasingly encouraged the hope that she would soon be released with honour from her unpleasant situation.

Except the duchess, all in the house showed Mary confidence and affection, seeming to consider her unhappiness only as a further claim upon their kindness. During her journey, while receiving daily proofs of the polite attention and devotion of Lord Richmond in protecting her from every accident, Lady Mary still conducted herself with distant respect towards him. This reserve was now increased; for the security of her situation, and the perfect order which reigned in the castle, rendered this attention unnecessary ; and an estrangement appeared between them which seemed to indicate that no greater intimacy had ever existed. By degrees, Mary suffered a melancholy to steal over her, which seemed to others to arise from the circumstances of her situation, known to all; but which she could not but attribute to another cause; and this began to usurp her heart to such an extent as to deprive her of all strength

one feeling.

to resist other troubles, or to suffer them to be overpowered by this She was too pious, too resigned, to wish for death; but she was shocked to find herself indifferent as to the future; while the only subject which called forth her sympathy was the thought of her uncle, of whose existence Brixton was certain, as also of his being worthy of her high remembrance of his virtues.

Olonia took her accustomed place by her dear Lady Mary, of whose friendship she might be said to have become well deserving by the recent development of her character. They read each other's melancholy eyes, but the holiest seal was on their lips; and the acknowledgment of a common feeling was seen only in the pleasure which they experienced in each other's society. Lady Anna was too exclusively devoted to her husband to be accessible to the feeling of friendship in the same degree: she fully acknowledged Mary's worth, while the fine tact of a woman in love forced upon her the conclusion that such a being was not unworthy to bave been chosen by her husband.

The demeanour of the duke towards the Lady Mary was so quiet and firm, that not the slightest uneasiness was excited in the minds of those around him. He was, as formerly, kind and considerate, and used every effort to make Godway Castle a home to her, in which he was assisted by his young wife and his sisters. The clder duchess could not suppress her affection for her and even Lord Archibald could not conceal his predilection in her favour.

Mary felt all this, and endeavoured to evince her gratitude; but there was a continual struggle in her mind which made her spirits unequal, and which instilled feelings of the most bitter anguish into her hours of joy. She remembered the moment when she had first acknowledged to herself her attachment to Richmond, and when she looked upon this feeling as a source of future happiness and joy. His devotion to her interests had formerly filled her mind with joyful anticipations; but now this hope was destroyed, and she sought for a reason for the reserve with which he treated her It could not escape her penetration, that the duchess disapproved of his efforts in her behalf; and she concluded that he wished, by maintaining a coldness of manner towards her to remove this

displeasure, and also any suspicion that might have been excited in the minds of those around him.

But true love rarely is content with seeking, apart from itself, for the cause of the estrangement of the beloved object: it attributes this to its own unworthiness, and refuses to win what it thinks denied to itself on account of its worthlessness. Thus it was with Mary. The melancholy which now took possession of her mind threw a pall over all her hopes for the future; her only wish was to die within sight of him she loved, and she dreaded lest any change in her situation should deprive her of this consolation.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

The beautiful warm spring days had now arrived, and the young duke made unceasing efforts to procure amusement for the guests assembled at Godway Castle. They explored the adjacent country on horseback or in carriages; and scarcely a day passed without an excursion to some favourite spot, either among the hills, or in the woods. On these occasions Lord Ormond always conducted Lady Mary and Olonia Dorset ; while Richmond rode beside his mother's carriage, or gave his whole attention to the stranger guests.

A little dispute concerning the boundaries of some land, which had been settled by the obliging disposition of the duke, had led to an invitation from Master Allincroft, who owned the ground, to the inhabitants of the castle, to spend a day upon the disputed spot, where tents were to be erected for their reception. Master Allincroft urged his request so strongly, that all except the elder duchess and Lady Dorset agreed to be present.

The way to the place of meeting lay along a stony road, which, descending the hill, led to a pass so narrow, that the carriage, in which were the duchess and Lucy, could only drive through with difficulty. Lady Mary had quitted her usual companions, and had