and supposing him returned to his feelings for me, it would thenceforward be impossible that you and I could ever meet, even as common acquaintances. No; pride and prudence equally ensured my silence at the time you speak of. I went to the utmost limit of the lengths I should have gone, in vaguely alluding to my recent disappointments, and in repeatedly warning you to remain faithful to the first inclinations of your heart. And now, Eliza, I must in turn say, that if you had but profited by my warning, then, indeed, much had been spared to us both. Much to your father, and much to the true-hearted lover whom-before your meeting with the murderer of my mother and my baby-you had led to reckon upon your favour, and with whom you, my friend, may yet be happy. But for me there is not a hope on earth but-first-quick and fierce revenge-and then the repose of the long sleep."

In these last words there was much to startle Eliza from her hitherto single and entire reliance upon all Belinda's assertions. The notion of regarding Talbot in a favourable light had not occurred to her, even while she irresistibly yielded full credit to her gloomy visitor,—although, could she have paused to reason, conclusions of his honesty and worthiness ought to have gone hand-in-hand with that trusting state of mind. Now it suddenly occurred as strange and questionable that Belinda should so positively become his advocate; and the rapid doubt soon assumed a more distinct shape"What! could he and Belinda be in league together? he, to secure his views upon herself-she yet to secure the homage of Sir William Judkin? Could the excited passions of both have led them to combine in a story of Sir William's baseness, which, if credited by her, might, assisted by those favourable representations of Talbot, ensure their common hopes ?" Again, again came the blessed thought, that Sir William was guiltless of all but a transfer of his love from a woman whose vehement and wild character, when once known, it seemed but natural he should dislike! Her father's death, too! Could Eliza credit the wild tale of its having been prevented? He came not!—night deepened, and he came not. If free to visit her, as was pretended, would her anxious parent dally so long? Then, what indeed was Sir William's present fate? Here appeared a discrepancy in Belinda's aroused feelings towards him, compared with some of her former assertions.

"You told me, Belinda," said Eliza, suddenly looking up, and boldly meeting her glance-" you told me, upon the night I accompanied you to meet my father, that you returned into Enniscorthy to free Sir William also from prison ?"

"Yes. And I did free him."

"Why? If your only present views towards him are those of vengeance, why need you, why should you have done so? He was in the hands of those who, upon your evidence, well supported, would have punished him as he merited."

"I know not what means your changed manner, Eliza.—Is it necessary that I should answer you ?—that I should repeat the nature of the oath I swore, anew, with my dying mother, over the disfigured corpse of my child? Talbot thought as you think, and urged me to leave him to the laws of the land. But while I seemed to comply, I snatched him from their probable sentence, to dispose him for my own doom and punishment. At the moment of his deliverance, he again sought to become my murderer, and breaking from me, and from the lure which I hoped would keep him by my side, at least for a short distance, avoided the hands which lay in wait to compel him to my will.”

"Have you seen him since, Belinda ?"

"I have. And at the moment he was about to perpetrate another murder, which you would have lived to weep for. And a second time I hoped to make him my manacled captive, and a second time he escaped me."

Belinda, all this may be true;-hear me! Do not be surprised at the first show of a vehemence akin to your own. You say that your friend has saved my father; if so, was it not from a fate which he first took the basest or the most unaccountable measures to ensure? Had Talbot permitted the witnesses to appear upon my father's trial—”

"Girl

"The witnesses !" interrupted Belinda, scoffingly. child! -for child your words still prove you-if upon that day an angel had come down to arraign the perjury brought against your father, his judges might have been moved;-no other testimony would have moved them. This Talbot knew, as indeed any one of observation must have known. So that while his refusal to admit Sir Thomas's servants had no influence upon the result of the trial, the ostentatious zeal with which he repulsed them had much inAuence in inducing the order which left the execution of his friend in his own hands." 99

"He knew that Nale was a perjurer-knew it from the man himself Why not step forward and declare so ?"

66 Spare me, Eliza Hartley, spare an unhappy woman doomed to ignominy and wretchedness in every connexion of life! Yet I will still answer you. In not attempting this, Talbot was governed by

more than one motive. When he learned, secretly as it had been arranged, that you were indeed to become the nominal wife of the blackest-hearted man that ever wore a beautiful form, your old friend could only meet the exigency, by acting on Nale's depositions and Whaley's warrant. Afterwards, it appeared but a chance that his accusation of my miserable parent would be effective. And in that case, Talbot himself becoming an object of suspicion, your father was really lost to you. And, Eliza, respect Talbot for an additional motive—that is, if you have any generous feeling left. He was willing to screen, at my kneeling request, the degraded being to whom I owe my accursed existence !"

Eliza, spite of the taunts of her unhappy friend, yet clung to the hopes that Sir William Judkin would somehow clear himself of charges so black that her girlish mind shrank from contemplating them. She could not believe him guilty, could not realize that his own crimes had built a barrier between him and her. The black brow of Belinda St. John told that she read her thoughts.

"Sir William yet lives?" asked Eliza, suddenly awaking from the reverie into which she had fallen.

66

66

66

He does but neither for you nor for me."

Saved, then, from his perilous situation in the streets of Ross ?"
Ay, saved!"

"Thank God!" Eliza cried, as she sprang up.

"And you dare to doubt the truth of what I have told you?" "I do!" answered Eliza, carried away by her sudden energy, never before assumed in Belinda's presence-" I do! Nothing but his own admissions, or a repetition of your charges to his face, and his tacit acquiesence under them, shall make me discard my doubt."

"Come, then!" cried Belinda, exhibiting to excess the impetuosity that in her father's house had terrified Eliza,-" Come then, and you shall have the proof you demand. I did not intend to expose you to a scene that must harrow your puny nature, perhaps kill you-a scene, that I alone, of all woman-kind, have nerve because I have cause, to encounter! But I see that to vindicate myself, and ensure your future quiet-if, as I premised, you survive it—it is now necessary you should listen, ay, and look on. Follow me, dare you follow?"

"Whither would you lead me?" demanded Eliza, impressively but resolutely.

"Into the presence of Sir William Judkin."

"Swear to that!"

"I swear it by Him who is to judge me for all I shall dó, by all

that has been done upon me!"

"Lead the way, then!"

In something like her own frenzy of manner, Eliza trod in the quick steps of Belinda.

CHAPTER XLIII.

A PERSON startled out of sleep, will suddenly rush to grapple, as it were, with the uncomprehended sound that has scared away his slumbers, his limbs and body vehemently active, while his mind is yet incapable of watching their motions. There are perfectly waking moments, too, though not often encountered in life, when urged by overpowering excitement, we yield to an undefined, wild impulse, as little understood as that of the half-aroused sleeper, and hurry to grasp at some vague object, with all the ardour of unreasoning desire. Under such an impetus, Eliza followed what, if she had reasoned, ought to have appeared to her, the very doubtful guidance of Belinda St. John. Prompt as was her action, she could not, indeed, have accounted satisfactorily for it. Her continued doubts did not really arise from close consideration of the case before her. She wished to doubt, rather than doubted. Were her heart analyzed at the instant, a desperate resolution to attain the certainty which must go near to destroy her, and not a buoyant hope of any contrary demonstration, would have been found to inspire her, as she hastened to see realized her conductor's promise of an immediate interview with Sir William Judkin.

They descended to the hall.

66

This lady returns shortly," said Belinda, quickly, to Mistress Nelly and Robert, who, notwithstanding their continued civilities, seemed disposed to refuse egress. But to this brief explanation, if so it might be called, they bowed and curtsied anew, and allowed both the ladies to pass out instantly.

Eliza and Belinda gained the avenue, side by side, walking quickly over the dancing patches of white light which the moon shed through the interstices of the trees and of their foliage. They passed the outward gate, and Belinda advanced swiftly towards the ruins of Dunbrody Abbey, which, on its gentle elevation, not

far distant, was partly silvered by the unclouded luminary, partly wrapped in impenetrable shadow, while a vivid inversion of the whole effect appeared in the broad, smooth water beneath.

Suddenly, a chilling fancy seized upon Eliza. The mysterious view of the ruin, the scenery of its crumbled walls and nameless graves, became connected with Belinda's wild and dark character, and with the thought of probable injury intended to herself. She had before now suspected her wretched companion to be of unsound mind. Nay, allowing her claims to sanity, Eliza could not infer from their late conversation, that Belinda, all her uncurbed passions and vehemence brought into account, might mean her well. And just in such a place, and at such an hour, either madness or hatred might easily and fitly indulge its promptings. Arrested by these imaginings, she abruptly stood still.

66 Do you

falter in your resolution ?" questioned Belinda, at her side, after having for a moment closely regarded her.

"Whither would you guide me, Belinda?" Eliza asked, her tones betraying the alarm she felt.

"To yonder ruins.”

"Why? Did you not say we were to meet Sir William Judkin?" the girl cried, shrinking back.

“And there you are to meet him.”

"In that frightful place?"

"Yes-it is the fittest for the interview."

"I cannot go with you, Belinda! I will rather return to the house I have left, and under its roof await, as best I may, what is to come."

"It is not now a matter of choice with you," Belinda cried, with an impatient stamp of her foot.-Your wavering-your childishness leaves me no patience! After what has occurred, your petty terrors are not to be considered. You must come with me, Eliza." "Must! My God! for what purpose ?"

"For your own-For the indulgence of a wish you have yourself expressed.-Hasten, the time presses."

"You would not force me, Belinda ?"

"I would not; yet must, if 'tis necessary: as I have said, I did not intend to expose you to the scene you are doomed to witness. But you defied, dared me, insulted, and doubted me! Long, long ago, I cautioned you against all the consequences of your indulging a wayward fancy. You laughed at my counsel, and braved them all, like a self-willed girl.-Face one of them now like a woman.' "Pity me, Belinda-allow me to return to the house!"