turned, after some time, Evelyn ingeniously led the conversation to other subjects, carefully avoiding any allusion to the narration in which she had been so much interested, and determined to avoid the subject till Mrs. Manvers should recur to it herself.

Sorrow - Mrs. Manvers sails Ship strikes on a Rock - Arrives in Ireland Goes to Mr. Stepney - Her Son sent to School — Illness of Mr. Stepney, and Death.

SOME time passed without any allusion to Mrs. Manvers' narrative, when, one evening, she said,—

"I feel your kindness, my dear Evelyn, in avoiding all mention of my little history; but do not imagine me so weak as to have any reluctance to finish it. If you wish to hear what yet remains untold, I am ready."

"Indeed I do," exclaimed Evelyn; "I feel great interest in it; but I had resolved not to be again so selfish as to inflict on you the pain of recalling the past."

"I understood your motive," replied Mrs. Manvers, "and thank you; but I will not disappoint you. I must not yield too much to unavailing regret; besides, I can say, with overflowing gratitude, that my son is still granted to me, and that my sister, though far from me, is happy in the midst of her family. I am still blessed with the affection of a few kind friends; and I flatter myself that perhaps your warm heart, Evelyn, may place you, young as you are, among those few. I am so romantic as to think friendship may exist between young and old."

"Dear Mrs. Manvers, you are kind indeed! Oh! how much more kind than I have deserved! But if the time ever come that I may really deserve your friendship, I shall owe it to your example and advice."

66

"When

Well, I will begin at once," said Mrs. Manvers. our dear little thriving boy Stepney was about eight years of age, and just when we were beginning to be comfortable, after our long struggles through distress and difficulty, and when we thought independence was within our grasp, just then

It

my poor husband's health began to fail. A cough, apparently trifling at first, gradually increased, notwithstanding all the prescriptions of our physician, who lived at some distance, and all the care with which my sister and myself administered them and daily watched the fatal progress of the disease. was probably brought on by too much hard work at the harvest, which was uncommonly fine that summer, and then by sitting in the verandah, or strolling out to enjoy the treacherous, though refreshing, coolness of the evenings. Whatever was the cause, it was, alas! unconquerable; the lungs rapidly became diseased, his strength failed, and, after some months of agonising suspense, it was but too evident that there was no longer a hope of his recovery. I wished that he should know his danger, but it was so painful to me to put it into words, that each time I attempted to awaken his mind to the dreadful truth I was so agitated that I could not proceed. It happened unfortunately that my brother-in-law was at that time visiting a distant part of his district, so that I could not avail myself of his assistance in the awful task, and yet, as my husband's bodily weakness daily increased, I felt more and more unhappy at my inability to do what I knew was my duty. At length one morning, after I had finished some Scripture reading which he and I always had with our dear child, he sent him out to play; and after a silence of some minutes he pressed my hand, and, fixing his eyes on me intently, he said in a strong voice, which seemed as if he had been trying to collect strength for the effort, I have for some time felt a conviction that I could not recoverr-I know that you, my love, have felt the same; I perceived it in your countenance. I have seen your struggle and your failure in attempting to make my danger known to me; and I felt so much for you that I could not command myself till now to open my mind. I am aware of my real state, and fully resigned to that Divine will which orders all in wisdom, and I trust that I am prepared to appear in his presence with that hope which rests on earnest faith in Christ. But I wish now, while my mind is still clear, and time yet allowed me, to finish my worldly cares by giving you some directions.' He paused -I could hardly speak, but urged him not to exhaust him

self. Do not interrupt me, dearest,' said he; then taking a small packet from his bosom, and with a faint smile, he continued: Now, Lucy, I am going to confide to you the mystery which once excited your curiosity so much, and about which you have so completely ceased to inquire, that I might think you had forgotten it, but that I attribute your silence to that high principle which always actuates you.' He stopped for a few moments; and, sad as those moments were, the words he had just uttered were like a soothing balm to my heart. 'This packet,' he continued, 'contains the deed of which my cousin was so jealous, and which, if I had not kept it about my person, he would have found. By this deed my uncle makes over his chief property to me; and also in remainder to you and any children we might have. He insisted on my promise not to divulge this transaction to any one, not even to you, unless I was dying; he believed no woman could keep a secret—if he had known you better, dearest, he would have trusted you. Believe me, it was painful to withhold my confidence from you, the faithful and beloved companion and friend of my heart; but having promised, and knowing as I did the artful disposition of Tallon, I felt that I was right to save you from the persecution you would have suffered.'

"He then added, in a few words, that his uncle considered this deed more secure than a will; and he desired me, when he was gone—after I had made such arrangements as I thought best in regard to our Canadian property-to return home and place myself and our dear boy under his uncle's protection. 'Let him feel,' said he, 'that you and little Stepney will be a comfort to him while he lives, as well as his heirs after his death. I have written to prepare him for my death, and for your return to Ireland. If he wish you to reside with him, pray do; it will be a kindness due to such an attached parent as he has been to me. Now know all, my you mind is much lighter. Be careful of the deed; you know not when some other attempt may be made to obtain it either by force or fraud; and that is the last thing I shall say to you, my love, on the business of this world.'

"To my great comfort and relief my sister and Mr. Hope

VOL. I.

Y

at length arrived. Their conversation with my beloved Frederick, which was full of cheering and pious views, their reading to him, and their prayers, were all most consolatory to us both, and soothed the bitterness of our approaching separation. I must pass over the details," continued Mrs. Manvers, with a faltering voice, "of the sad and painful weeks that followed.

"When I was able to turn my thoughts to business I settled my affairs as well as I could, with the assistance of my brotherin-law, and in compliance with the injunction I had received I sailed for Ireland. For my own part, I should have preferred remaining in the place where we had been together to the last; but my son was now my only object, and I resolved to make every effort for his sake. On first setting out, several trifling obstacles occurred; and before we finally quitted the St. Lawrence the ship was in great danger. We were roused in the middle of the night by the shock of its striking on a sunken rock; the captain, too confident in his own experience, had neglected to take a pilot, and too late learned his ignorance. In the darkness of night we had to quit the vessel at a moment's warning. In the scramble, and bustle, and danger, I could not expect people to be ready to help me when every one was in such a state of alarm for themselves; and though my maid and I made every possible effort to collect our trunks and to have them rapidly put into the boats, and then to keep all together, I lost one of them, besides other small things which I valued particularly. Those efforts, however, were of use to me, for in one of those moments of despair, which often follow extreme danger, I confess that I wished that we had gone down when we struck, so much was my heart filled with the wish to rejoin my lost Frederick; but when I looked at my fine boy, beautiful, amiable, and promising in every way, I felt that it was a tie to this world that I could not forego. It was then that my heart expanded with gratitude for our escape, and that my thanksgivings burst forth towards the Almighty protector of all who trust in Him.

"I was obliged to take my passage in another ship, though she was uncomfortable in every way, and not quite safe, as I