CHAPTER III.

LADY LYDIA'S DEATH.-WHO MARIA WAS.

"He who hath bent him o'er the dead,

Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,

The last of danger and distress,
(Before decay's offensive fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,)

And mark'd the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there,

The fix'd yet tender tints that streak

The languor of the placid cheek,
And-but for that sad shrouded eye

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold obstruction's apathy

Appals the gazing mourner's heart,

As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon:

Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power.

BYRON.

“SHE's no more!"—was the commencement

of the letter.

"We are too much affected to

give you farther particulars. You shall hear from me again in a few days; and as I am on the eve of my return to England, it will be right to repose in your bosom some secret information respecting my dear Maria. Your difficulties have reached the gossiping circle of English at Florence, with two rival lords at their head. I hope they will not be such as to drive you from your natale solum; and if we

can be of any comfort or use to you, you may

command us.

"Your sincerest friend,

66

"B."

It seemed an age until the next letter arrived, and yet the subject harrowed up his soul: his own difficulties at the same time distracted him. Villeroi went down to Greenlaw-hall, charged with a packet to Emma, and with the double embassy of raising the wind amongst the tenantry; but in this he failed. Young Greenlaw's haughty conduct had disgusted them. although Villeroi stated his change of manners,

And

his determination to come down and keep a pack of hounds, and reside amongst them, they were not to be won over, and the envoy extraordinary returned unsuccessful. Shortly after his return, a second letter arrived: every line of it was a dagger to the breast of young Greenlaw. Although Lady Lydia certainly was selfdevoted, yet, was it honourable, or correct in him, when actually engaged to another woman, or at least so far so as to be under promise of keeping himself single during his mother's life, whose consent could not be asked, and whose refusal alone was an obstacle to his unionwas it delicate, or consistent with honour, to play with another lady's affections, and to carry appearances so far, as to render a final explanation necessary? And although she had long been casting her net for a fortune, what right had he to obstruct the legitimate and honest advance of any one else to sue for her hand? much less' to turn jealous and tò expect to engross her society, her marked attentions, and, in a word,

her heart. This trial of skill is too often practised in a very exalted sphere; but it is not the less criminal, for it must lead to one of these terminations loss of honour and reputation, or desertion and broken heart. Although fame may have been half preserved, and innocence be inviolate, there are seasoned male coquets who coldly and deliberately practise their arts in this way: in many instances the law cannot reach them, but they deserve not less the visitation of retributive justice. Young Herbert Greenlaw was a mitoyen in this state of guilt: half indeliberate, half the blame-worthy slave of inexcusable vanity; and many a heart-ache it cost him. But to the letter.

It contained details too gloomy and too dejecting to bear repetition. The self-accusing sufferer pardoned, but attributed all her sufferings and premature decay to the one sad irrevocable, irreparable, and irrecoverable cause. Her parting advice to Maria was affecting in the extreme: she rejoiced in her having given her

hand and heart to a meritorious object. "Had I done the same," said she, bathed in tears, "I might still be prosperous and happy; but I allowed interest to bias my first choice, and made my second where ingratitude spurned my affection. I might have married richly, and well, as Maria knows-title and fortune; but I hung out for something still more decisive and attractive, because mon cœur n'y était pour rien in the flattering offers: I thought I had found it in Herbert-mais-" Here she broke off-here Herbert could read no more. The reader must fancy the rest. The succeeding article in the letter contained an account of the settlement of her Ladyship's affairs. The most of her incumbrances (and they were very heavy) were annuities: these were paid off by the insuranceoffices. Her other debts were liquidated by her brother; for although his Lordship had been offended at her imprudences, still was she his sister. The once gay, the beautiful and bienaimés scenes of childhood flashed on his recollec