"Woman!" exclaimed Percy, hoarsely, "name her not. Lips like yours are unfit to name that angel of purity and gentleness. Oh my God! what fearful blindness has been mine. And now it is too late! I have lost her for ever."

He leant against a marble cabinet, and buried his face in his quivering hands.

"And now it is too late!" she repeated with bitter emphasis. "One pang alone has crossed my heart. It was for her. I did not anticipate-what has happened," she continued in a gentler voice," it has cost me many wretched thoughts. She is gone now. She can never more cross my path, and I will do her full justice. It was no easy task to mould her to my designs; she loved you, Percy, and for a long time she trusted you too; her heart was all yours."

"Florence! Florence! do not kill me!" gasped Percy. "You say you are revenged; oh, in mercy be satisfied! torture me not in this frightful manner."

She smiled a fiendish smile.

"I have little more to say. She had to contend with a stronger mind, a fiercer nature than her own; with one who was resolved she should yield, and at last she did yield. You know the rest. One last desperate stake I risked; if I succeeded, my revenge was accomplished; if I failed, then should I have departed from Ireland for ever, as I am about to do now."

She turned to me as I stood a silent spectator of this scene of guilt and passion. "I wished for your presence, too, Mr. Nugent, that you might hear my confession; that from my own lips you might know my provocation and my revenge. I have no ill-feeling towards you, though you have never been my friend; there may be that about me that is repellant to a

nature true and guileless as yours; and, though every semblance of goodness has long since forsaken my seared heart, I can yet see and respect it in others open and honourable as yourself. To you I must ever be a painful memory; but I shall think of you sometimes, and not unkindly. Fare you well; and may future happiness console you for all the sorrow I have caused you."

She bent her proud head in parting salutation, glanced for an instant at the spot where Percy stood, his face still concealed by his hands, and slowly and haughtily she quitted the apartment, leaving Percy and me alone.

I never saw her again.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE CRIMEA.

NEARLY a year has passed since the events recorded in the last few chapters.

Great quarrels have convulsed Europe, and the red banner of war has been unfurled by more than one powerful nation. Regiment after regiment has been despatched by England to take part in the glorious struggle, and the day came when the 144th received its route for the battle-ground of the Crimea; and a loud cheer rent the air when its brave soldiers heard the mandate that sent them forth to win honour in the noble fight for a country's liberties.

How that gallant corps added many fresh laurels to those it already possessed is known to all-commanders, officers, men, all seemed inspired with one common ardour, and many a deed of daring called down thunders of applause and merited the warm encomiums bestowed on them alike by friend and foe.

We landed in time to join in the desperate passage of the Alma; and as I pressed onwards beneath that murderous fire that rattled like hailstones on the

water, I saw many a gallant fellow fall around me, and heard the deep groans of agony that told of fearful and mortal wounds.

The 144th lost several brave soldiers, and one poor young ensign, Mr. Graham, was wounded while crossing that fatal river, the grave of many a noble and manly heart. He pressed his hand on his breast when he felt that he was struck, and staggering blindly forwards, he would have fallen into the stream, but Percy Lascelles, who was close to him at the time, seized him in his powerful arms and carried him across to the opposite side. Here he had assistance rendered him as soon as possible, but all in vain; the bullet had lodged in a vital part, and soon death mercifully released him from his sufferings. He was the first gap in our hitherto unbroken band of comrades; and as we gathered together in the evening of that day of carnage, we spoke in low and mournful tones of the gay young boy who had so soon finished his career of gallant promise.

Ah, war! thou art a fearful thing, a fearful and a terrible.

It is not amid the roar of cannon, the clamour of trumpets, the hoarse cries and swelling cheer of battle, that thou art seen even in thy most dreadful phase; for then the fever and excitement of action blinds the eye and closes the ear to much that is both mournful and revolting; there is little time for reflection or regret, little opportunity for the mind to dwell on aught but the desperate onslaught and fierce conflict of the moment.

But then comes the reaction! The missing of the kind familiar face, an anxious inquiry eliciting the sad information that the man whose voice is even yet

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE CRIMEA.

NEARLY a year has passed since the events recorded. in the last few chapters.

Great quarrels have convulsed Europe, and the red banner of war has been unfurled by more than one powerful nation. Regiment after regiment has been despatched by England to take part in the glorious struggle, and the day came when the 144th received its route for the battle-ground of the Crimea; and a loud cheer rent the air when its brave soldiers heard the mandate that sent them forth to win honour in the noble fight for a country's liberties.

How that gallant corps added many fresh laurels to those it already possessed is known to all-commanders, officers, men, all seemed inspired with one common ardour, and many a deed of daring called down thunders of applause and merited the warm encomiums bestowed on them alike by friend and foe.

We landed in time to join in the desperate passage of the Alma; and as I pressed onwards beneath that murderous fire that rattled like hailstones on the