the wan, death-like hue of his features, repeated, 'Yes! she is to come again to-morrow night! So beautiful! so happy!' I thought my heart would burst. And yet, it was a consolation to hear him speak at all; and to see him released from that state of voiceless sorrow, which had in it something far more terrible than even the wanderings of confirmed insanity."

Here General Neville ceased. But it was long before anything approaching to what might be considered general conversation could take the place of pity, indignation, and horror, as successive portions of his narrative were recalled. Gradually, however, other topics crept

in; and among them, the General's account of the hardships and dangers they encountered after the pirates had abandoned the Flora. For several days she was tossing about upon the ocean, at the mercy of winds and waves, destitute nearly of all means of navigation, besides being plundered of the greater part of the provisions which were on board. Fortunately, however, they fell in with a Portuguese

frigate, and received from the captain such supplies of nautical implements, and food, as enabled them to make a port on the coast of South America, whence in a few weeks they sailed for England.

The General also gave a deeply interesting description of the progress of his son's malady, till it assumed that state of tranquil lunacy, in which he appeared when the memorable meeting took place between him, Cameron, and Aston. In fact, it was found alike impossible to talk upon any other subject during the remainder of the evening, or to rally their spirits from the depression produced by the

narrative.

CHAPTER XXIV.

We are not parallels; but, like lines divided,
Can ne'er meet in one centre. Your birth, sir,
Without addition, were an ample dowry
For one of fairer fortunes.

MASSINGER'S Maid of Honour.

GENERAL NEVILLE left Azledine Hall early the next morning, attended by his aide-decamp, the faithful Humphrey. Many fruitless entreaties were employed to prevail upon him to prolong his visit, though he willingly promised to return very soon, and stay a week. His departure was regretted by all, but by none more than Caroline, towards whom he had manifested a tenderness which her heart recognised as parental almost in its character.

Some recent circumstances, indeed, had tended to create a painful sense of the too probable

value of this tenderness, as regarded her future happiness; for she fancied she perceived a less cordial manner in the deportment of Lady Azledine, and a growing reserve on the part of Sir Everton. Fain would she have persuaded herself that her own suspicions, and not their altered conduct, produced this feeling; suspicions natural to a mind delicately conscious, if not of dependance, at least of intrusion, and apt to make her try their actions by the standard of a morbid sensibility. But it was impossible to disguise the truth; so impossible, that more than once she had been upon the point of disclosing her apprehensions to Arabella, and was restrained only lest the affectionate zeal of her friend should prompt her to mention the circumstance either to Lady Frances or Sir Everton. She shrunk from the imputation of ingratitude, if her fears were unfounded; she shrunk still more from the constrained kindness, the studied civilities that would necessarily follow, if, unhappily, they were just.

Thus situated, all she could do was, to be

silent; to watch (but with feverish jealousy) the progress of symptoms that seemed already too apparent, and to look forward to her uncle's protection, should her continuance at Azledine Hall cease to have the charm it had hitherto possessed.

Caroline was not mistaken. There had been, for some time, " a less cordial manner in the deportment of Lady Azledine, and a growing reserve on the part of Sir Everton;" though wherefore, she was most innocent as to all knowledge. Yet the cause was obvious enough to every one except herself, and, perhaps, one other person; a cause, the probable occurrence of which had not been unforeseen, nor its actual existence undiscerned, by the penetrating mind of Lady Frances, who saw that Cameron was deeply enamoured of Miss Bagot.

The extreme probability of such an event (danger, she called it) had suggested itself very soon after Caroline became an inmate. But against this danger she balanced her influence over her son; her confidence in his character; and, more than either, the remedy