nature. Vaughan unconsciously stooped, and taking up a pebble from the ground, threw it into the brook. Half soliloquizing, he drew the moral with a smile. "How smooth and clear was the surface of that stream; what an atom had been enough to disturb its tranquillity-how rapidly the circle spreads and ripples. Is it not, Don Ferdinand, some trifle, immaterial as this, that has been the original disturber of your peace; and how wide, how lamentably wide, is the disturbance that it has made between

us."

Velasquez appeared struck by the comparison. He stood silent and thoughtful; and Vaughan was encouraged to make one effort more. "Don Ferdinand, the Lady Leonora is worthy of all your confidence. In the sentiment which you have just now thrown out, you do that gentle lady, and, permit me to add, myself, much injustice. From my heart I feel for you; and so much do I esteem you' both, that if it be necessary to secure your mutual peace of mind, I will pledge myself never voluntarily to cross your path again.

The Spaniard's stern countenance soften ed, and he stood in the attitude of deep at tention. Vaughan approached him, "Senor, I have memories and attachments in my own Country that must make me insensible to all beauty here." "You love!" interrupted the

"Most

Spaniard with a brightening face. faithfully, most fervently!" was the reply; "but I am not selfish enough to wish the woman I love to share my uncertain fortunes."

"This looks like truth-this must be truth," said Velasquez, in deep emotion, "of what a weight have you relieved my mind! Answer me but one question. How long is it since your first acquaintance with Leonora? Was it begun in England ?”—“ No,” was of course the answer. "Pardon me, one question more; when did you next meet her?" said the Spaniard. "On the night after the surprise of the French; I conducted her to the cottage in which you lay, nor ever saw her more till the day on which she was introduced to me as your bride."

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Gallant, generous friend," said Velasquez, extending his hand, and his handsome features resuming their original expression, "I fully believe all; and, as the best proof I can give of my conviction, will return your confidence with mine. You shall see the bitter workings of my rash heart. Leonora's hand had been long promised to me, when the ruin of her brother's fortunes, and some personal danger to which she had been herself exposed, induced him to fly with her to England. I remonstrated against this step,my beart misgave me,-woman is fickle,and man (myself, at least) prone to suspicion.

I trembled lest this parting should prove the prelude to a lasting separation. I bade her remember Velasquez, and suffer no flattering stranger to drive me from her thoughts. She gave the promise; but promises may be broken. I was ill at ease; I counted the days of her absence, and dreamt what might be.

"When next we met," continued Velasquez, "she was in deep affliction; her brother had fallen; she refused all consolation. Will you believe it? I was jealous even of her tears. I had witnessed the desolation of our house, sorrow and death by my side. But when Leonora returned, hope and joy appeared suddenly to bud and blossom around me. I expected the same feelings from her. She wept so long, that I began to fear her grief had some other cause, that her heart was in a stranger's land. I told her my fears; she repelled them loftily. I claimed her promise; she became my bride. She forbore the signs of woe in my presence; but she wept in secret."

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Lovely and noble woman," cried Vaughan, "she ought to have been rewarded by your undying confidence." "My suspicions found an object," said Velasquez; "I will own, that from the hour we met in the villa of the Count de Alameda, they fell upon you. It was plain that she had an English friend till now never named in my

hearing. It was plain that the meeting gave her pleasure. My unfortunate fancy filled up the blank; her past grief, her present joy, were traced to the same cause."

Vaughan was affected by the manly, yet melancholy, confidence of the Spaniard. "I am a man of few words, Senor," said he, as he offered his hand; "but I can feel for the disturbance of an honourable mind. The Lady Leonora is beautiful, of eminent and most impressive beauty; yet my mind is so much filled by the image of another, that if she were this hour without a tie on earth, I should not dream of interesting her feelings. Let us henceforth be friends."

Velasquez grasped his hand. "Now and for ever," were the only words he uttered as he turned away. "Remember me to the Donna," said Vaughan, in a lighter tone, as he parted. "As her friend in life and death," said the noble Spaniard, in a voice broken with emotion; and, casting his eyes on Heaven, as if to register a vow, he plunged into the depths of the grove.

CHAPTER XI.

Of comfort no man speak;
Let's talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth;
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills.

Shakspeare.

THE story of the locket was simply told. It had been found by the peasant in the cottage to which Velasquez had been carried by Vaughan. Leonora had kept it, in the idea that it belonged to the stranger to whom her husband was indebted for the preservation of his life; and as a means of discovering one who had rendered a service so worthy of all her gratitude. Vaughan's slight and accidental mention, drawn from him by the strong excitement of Leonora's despair, had thrown sudden light upon the transaction. The only proof wanting was his acknowledg ment of the locket. She trembled as she drew it from her bosom; but her doubts were delightfully closed by his recognising this little memorial of his "ladye love."

Leonora flew to her husband with the intelligence. His haughty spirit resisted re8 *

VOL. II.