ONCE more seated by the bedside of her mother, who, on this morning, was too much indisposed to be able to leave it, Rosalie listened in silence to the continuation of a narrative in which she was so deeply interested.

     "While Helene was gone, (said Mrs. Vyvian), I collected strength enough to rise and go to the window of my bed chamber. It was now night, but there was light enough to enable me to discern every object on the lawn round the house. I gazed, however, without knowing why, or on what:—the thought of Ormsby gone—lost to me for ever—perhaps destroyed—filled me with such undescribable horror, that my power of reflection

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 seemed to be annihilated. Impressed with that one idea, my heart seemed petrified; the certainty of instant death would have been received as a matter of indifference. All that I wished was, to be assured of the fate of Ormsby——I thought that if I knew what was become of him, I could brave the severest anger of my father, and die content, since I believed my death inevitable.....How dismal every object that I surveyed from my window appeared!—not a human being appeared round the house: the woods that you may recollect terminate the lawn on one side were almost half stripped of their leaves; but they looked black, dreary, and fit for deeds of horror.——Yet do not, my dear Rosalie, believe, that however cruel I at that moment thought my father, I could suppose him capable of so dreadful a crime as that of directing the death of Ormsby; but I figured to myself, that, rendered desperate by the force that had been used to tear him away, he had resisted, and sunk

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 under the numbers of unfeeling men who were ready at every hazard to obey my father's orders—no otherwise could I account, in the present confused state of my mind, for his having disappeared without sending me one line—one last adieu!——or having made any attempt to give me notice of the scene that awaited me, or to arm me with the courage it required to pass through it.

     "I cannot discriminate the various emotions that agitated my mind during the absence of Helene, who, on her return in about an hour, found me still sitting at the window, as if I expected to see Ormsby pass, as he sometimes used to do under it of an evening, when he used to tell me he had peculiar delight in watching the light in my room, and seeing me pass across it, long before he dared to tell me he loved me.

     "But now, alas! he was to appear there no more—and when Helene returned and came into my apartment, carefully lock-

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 ing the door after her, the expression of fear and dismay which her countenance wore renewed all my terrors......I flew towards her, and, though unable to speak, she saw that I anticipated the worst news she could relate to me.

     "She tried to command herself, that she might prevail upon me to be tranquil enough to attend to my own safety. It was, however, some time before I was in a condition to listen to her.

     "Helene at length related to me that the house was now apparently quiet, but that an air of amazement and consternation was perceivable on the faces of all its inhabitants; all of whom seemed afraid to speak or even to look at each other.—The Abbé Hayward, she said had been alone with my father the whole day, and none of the servants had been permitted to wait but the old butler; that, on her applying to him for intelligence, he said he had orders to tell her, when she came down from her young lady, that Mr. Montalbert ordered her attendance.

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     'Ah, Madam, (said Helene in French), how I trembled when I heard this......I went, however, and my master ordering me to approach the place where he sat, said—Helene, it is my express orders, as well to you as to every other servant in my house, that no gossiping, no conversation, not even a word, shall be uttered as to any circumstance that has happened, or that you may suppose has happened in this family. The slightest failure in this respect will be attended with ill consequences—the least of which will be the loss of your place.....I ask you no questions as to your past discretion——As to your lady, tell her from me that I expect she will to-morrow appear before me as my daughter ought to appear; on which condition only, the folly, or the affectation of this day, for I know not which to call it, shall be forgotten. You will tell her, as I have already caused it to be intimated to my people, that from this hour the name of Ormsby is never to be mentioned within these walls——go—

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 and remember what I say to you——Your father, Madam, (continued Helene), looked more stern than ever, as he said this; and indeed I trembled so, that I thought I must have fallen down as you did. That dear good man, the Abbé Hayward, looked at me as if he wished, but dared not, say any thing to comfort me. I got out of the room as well as I could, and went, looking I believe more white than a ghost, into the servants' hall, where I saw no person but the coachman and the gardener; neither of them spoke to me—they seem even afraid of speaking to each other. I passed into the housekeeper's room, under the pretence of asking for something for you: Mrs. Nelson was there, with the two house-maids and the laundry-maid; but instead of asking me any questions about you, as Mrs. Nelson almost always does if you are at any time the least ill, she never inquired after you, though she knew you had been confined to your room ill the whole day; as to the

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 maids, they seemed like statues, and while I stayed on one pretence or other, in hopes of gaining some intelligence, Mrs. Nelson would have sent one of them to the store-room, but she turned as pale as death, and said it was impossible to go unless one of the other maids went with her. Mrs. Nelson gave her a strange look, but said nothing, and they went away together.'

     "All of this, so strangely obscure and unaccountable, redoubled my inquietude.—Something very unusual then had happened in the house, which had impressed terror on the minds of its inhabitants—What could this be but some violence that had been offered to Ormsby, which was known to all the servants, but which none of them dared to speak of?—There were few events, the certainty of which could be so dreadful as the state of horrible suspence I was now it. I think that my intellects, unable to sustain, sunk under it, and that the artificial calm that followed was the effect of the agonies in

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 which I passed this melancholy day, and the night that followed it.

     "Still placed in the window, with my eyes fixed on the lawn and woods that surrounded it, I heard the incoherent narrative of Helene, and continued to torment myself with every terrific idea that my sickening brain could raise....Hideous shadows seemed to flit before me—I almost imagined that, in the murmurs of the wind, I heard the dying groans of Ormsby—that I heard him call upon me, and bid me adieu.—From the indulgence of waking dreams so horrible, I was startled by the rapping at the door of the anteroom that led from the staircase to my bedchamber. Helene, fearing she knew not what, hesitated, and dared not open it; she asked me what she should do, but I was utterly incapable of answering, and we were at length relieved from our terrors by hearing the voice of Mr. Hayward, who desired to be admitted.

     "He spoke to me with so much soothing kindness, and reasoned so properly with

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 me, that tears, which had been for so many hours denied me, flowed from my eyes: I dared not, however, ask—for I yet knew but very little of Mr. Hayward—I dared not ask what was become of the unfortunate Ormsby; but, as if this worthy man had read the thoughts, I had not courage to express—he gradually managed his conversation so as to bring it to the point he wanted to speak upon.—'I was extremely concerned, (said he), that the precipitancy of Mr. Montalbert's manner alarmed you as it did....Indeed I have told him, that I greatly blame his needless harshness, produced only by an anonymous letter, and certainly unfounded. I can easily imagine how the abrupt manner in which he spoke to you might have the effect it had, and I have at length persuaded him to believe, that without any improper attachment to Mr. Ormsby, you might be affected in the manner you were. He is become more reasonable since his passion has subsided, which was raised to a degree of frenzy by

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 that infamous letter, and he seems concerned for the terror he inflicted upon you, and willing to forget it upon one positive condition.'

     "Having no courage to ask what that condition was, I remained silent. Mr. Hayward thus proceeded——

     'As Mr. Montalbert cannot subdue his displeasure, when he thinks it possible that Mr. Ormsby had or could be supposed to have been guilty of the presumption of pretending to you, he has thought it proper to remove him from hence immediately, and, to put an end at once to the very recollection of such a report, he insists upon it that the name of Ormsby is not mentioned in the house.'

     "I sighed, but dared not ask what was the fate of this unfortunate Ormsby....I felt, however, considerable relief from the manner in which Mr. Hayward spoke of him; for I was persuaded, that had my father taken any very cruel measures in regard to him, such a man as Mr. Hayward would neither have tolerated such

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 conduct, or, if he could not have checked it, would have spoken of it so calmly.

     "Still, however, the sad uncertainty of what was become of him seemed so heavily to press on my heart, that it was ready to burst......I could not speak; but Mr. Hayward, who appeared to be well acquainted with the painful sensations which were probably pictured on my countenance, went on, in the most soothing manner, to tell me what was, he thought, the best part I could take for my peace of mind, and for the general tranquility of the family.

     'What I wish you to consider of, my dear Miss Montalbert, (said he), is, whether it would not contribute much to your future ease and comfort, could you determine, in compliance with your father's commands, not only to mention no more of this unfortunate young man, but to resolve on appearing before your father tomorrow, at the hour he has appointed, to

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 hear mass, with a calm and even cheerful countenace. Let him not suppose that the observance of his commands is a greater sacrifice than it ought to be—appear to think, that whatever is his pleasure ought not to be disputed, and, I think, I can venture to say, that whatever uneasiness this wicked letter has raised in the breast of your father will be at an end, as your behaviour will prove to him that the charges in it were entirely unfounded:—you will be restored to his confidence and to your own peace.'

     "I was still incapable of answering; but, as I remained quiet, and shed not a tear, Mr. Hayward thought he might venture to proceed.

     'I am convinced, (continued he), that you feel the force of all I have urged; but, I believe, it is better to state to you what are my apprehensions of the consequences, if you fail of acquiring this command over yourself........It will, I fear, make your father suspect, that this malicious informer had some ground for

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 the assertions he or she had dared to make. It is much to apprehended, that Mr. Ormsby, who is wholly, I believe, in his power, will suffer if such an imagination predominats in your father's mind; and I should doubt whether the extreme indignation which he suffers himself to feel might not so far annihilate his tenderness for you, as to urge him even to so harsh a measure as that of sending you to a convent in Italy, and compelling you to take the veil.'

     "Mr. Hayward stopped, expecting that I might by this time have so far recovered my spirits, as to be able to promise that I would attempt at least to regulate my behaviour by his advice—but I remained silent....Rendered desperate by what I had heard, I became incapable of attending to the consequences of the step I was about to take: the moment, however, I could find voice and words, I related in a slow and solemn tone, the dreadful truth; but before I had entirely finished my melancholy narrative, the room turned

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 round with me, my eyes became dim, and my senses forsook me.

     "When I recovered, Helene was chafing my temples, and taking other means to bring me to myself; the Abbé Hayward was traversing the room in the agitated manner of a person who had received some alarming intelligence, and knows not how to act. When he saw that I was a little restored, he approached me, and, in a voice hardly inarticulate, said, 'Most unhappy young woman, this is no time to flatter—destruction hangs over you, and it is only in your own power to escape it; for without your own efforts, nobody can save you. I will not decieve you, Miss Montalbert—I will tell you what I really believe, that if your father was assured of what you have now entrusted me with, the life of Mr. Ormsby would be insufficient to satisfy his vengeance—though he would be the first victim......Heaven direct me for the best! (cried the good man). Heaven direct me!—What can I do?'

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     "He again traversed the room in silent anguish; but what were his feelings compared to mine!

     "At length he recovered himself enough to speak again with composure.

     'Something must be done, (said he); but till I have more time to consider what, let me once more ask you, if you cannot, my dear Miss Montalbert, command resolution enough to appear before your father to-morrow with some degree of serenity?—Relfect a moment how much depends on this exertion on your part:—no otherwise than by this necessary dissimulation can you hope to avert the impending danger—danger that may so fatally affect more lives than one.'

     "I now acquired steadiness of voice enought to say, 'Let Ormsby live—let him but escape the vengeance which ought not to fall on him, and let me, who alone am to blame, perish under the indignation of my incensed father......One victim will perhaps satisfy him——I desire to die—and

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 when I am dead, the resentment raised by injured honour may surely be appeased.'

     "That I spoke at all, and spoke calmly, though it was with the sudden sadness of despair, seemed to Mr. Hayward to be a favourable symptom. He pursued his argument, therefore, and endeavoured to convince me whatever hope remained of concealing this fatal secret, must rest entirely upon my own resolution and discretion.

     "The life of Ormsby, he said, was in my hands:—he recalled to my mind the temper of my father—the fierceness of his anger—the steadiness of his resentment....I listened and shuddered.

     'If, (said he), the mere information that the suspicion of such an affection between you and Mr. Ormsby was entertained in a neighbourhood, where he cares nothing about the people, has so enraged Mr. Montalbert as to induce him to act as he has done in regard to Mr. Ormsby—what would there not be to dread from

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 the fury of his resentment, were he to know what you have to-night related to me - - - - - - -'

     "I took advantage of a pause Mr. Hayward made to repeat some of the words he had used.—'Acted as he had done, (cried I, in regard to Ormsby); tell me then—I conjure you to tell me—how has my father acted?—By what stratagem, or force, could he tear away that unhappy young man, even before he knew that there was the least ground for the charge that was made against him?—Oh, Mr. Hayward!—if you are capable of mercy—if you really pity the agonies that rend my heart, tell me, I conjure you tell me, what is become of Ormsby?—I think, that if I once knew, I should become calm—I think I could summon resolution enough to consult my own safety; but, indeed, the misery of this uncertainty is such.....All my thoughts are so full of horror, that the death with which I am threatened would be a welcome release from such intolerable torture.'

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     'I solemnly assure you, (replied Mr. Hayward), that I do not know what is become of our unfortunate friend, nor, perhaps, shall I ever know......I dare not make any inquiry; and all I have been able to learn is, that, on receiveing the infamous scrawl last night, your father ordered every body out of his room, and remained alone, or only with Ormsby, for some time. He then directed two of the grooms to be sent to him, and that the steward might also attend.....Mr. Ormsby appeared no more. These two men, the grooms, have never been seen since; but there is no track of a carriage around the house, nor has any body been seen to leave it. The steward observes the most profound silence, and all that is known in the house is, that something has happened which has obliged Mr. Ormsby suddenly to leave it; that he has deeply offended Mr. Montalbert; and that it is required of all who would not enrage their master, and be dismissed from the family, never to men-

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 tion the name of Ormsby even to each other.'

     'My father did see him? (inquired I)—had they any conversation which urged on this precipitate violence?'

     'I believe they had, but I know nothing certainly—any attempt on my part to draw from Mr. Montalbert more than he chooses to entrust me with, would not only be abortive, but would, in all probability, deprive me of every future opportunity of softening the asperity of his resentment. Let me conjure you, my dearest Madam, if you would not hearafter reproach youself with the fatal effects of this resentment, to exert your utmost resolution—endeavour to command yourself so as to appear to-morrow before your father....The second attempt will be more easy, and I trust, in a day or two, your spirits wil be so much calmed, that you will be able to consider of taking the measures so necesary to be thought of for the preservation of your reputation, perhaps of your life.'

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     'You believe then, (said I), that the life of poor Ormsby is safe?'

     'Believe it!—(exclaimed Mr. Hayward)—surely I believe it.....To whatever extremities the unhappy prejudices or violent passions of Mr. Montalbert may drive him, and none can have greater apprehensions on that subject than I have, hitherto I hope and believe that Mr. Montalbert has taken no unjustifiable measures in regard to this luckless young man.—(Then deeply sighing, Mr. Hayward added)—In my opinion his future fate depends entirely upon you——it is in your power to save or to destroy him.'

     'Gracious Heaven!—(exclaimed I)—what right has my fahter over this ill-starred young man?—My life may be in his power—he gave it me, and most willingly would I resign it; but Ormsby surely ought not to suffer.'

     'Mr. Montalbert, (interrupted Mr. Hayward), will consider but little what he ought to do, or what he has a right to

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 do, when vengeance is in question; but surley I need urge this subject no further—you are perfectly acquainted with his temper—you know that he is master of the country around for some miles. His servants, his dependents, his tenants, are in such habits of obeying him, that he is in some measure capable of exercising a sort of despotism, which, though frequent enough in other countries, is seldom seen in this......I will now leave you, my dear Miss Montalbert—again beseeching you to consider what I have said, and to command yourself as much as possible to-morrow.'

     "Mr. Hayward then left me, and sent to my faithful Helene to attend me, who had been absent during our conversation; but my senses were yet stunned by the violence of the shock I had receieved—I could not shed a tear, and sat like a statue repeating almost unconciously to myself——'Ormsby is gone!—he is lost for ever—he is condemned to ignominy and disgrace, and it is I who have un-

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 done him, who may perhaps occasion his death!'

     "I know not now by what arguments Helene at length prevailed upon me to take some refreshement, and to undress myself......I believe that by the contrivance of Mr. Hayward, who, as I afterwards found, kept a small dispensary of medicines in his own room, Helene gave me some remedy that assisted in quieting my spirits—for after passing some time in a state of mind which I cannot even at this distance of time reflect upon without horror, I sank into insensibility, from which I was suddenly startled by a fancied noise, and awoke only to recollect all the bitterness of my destiny."

     The narrative of Mrs. Vyvian, which became every moment more interesting to Rosalie, was now interrupted by a letter which announced the arrival of Mr. Vyvian, Mrs. Bosworth, and her sister, in London. Her spirits were already agitated by recollecting scenes in which she had formerly suffered so much, and this in-

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 telligence contributed to overwhelm them. The visit from her family was not to be made till the second or third day after the present; there was yet, therefore, time enough for her to relate the sequel of her story; which, at the request of Rosalie, who sacrificed her own impatience to consideration for her mother's health, was postponed to the following morning.