CHAPTER X.

If 'twere well done when it were done; then 'twere well 'twere done quickly."

DON'T let the assertion startle your credulity! It certainly did occupy Mrs. Smith for three whole days,— the composing of this epistle-and when she actually saw it, not drawn up merely, but written and folded, and sealed with her own seal, which was inscribed with the pretty name of Fanny, so distrustful was she of her own judgment, that because she could not shew it to Mr. Smith, she retained it in her desk for the three succeeding days.

The letter was destined to see the light, however,— whether for weal or for woe we will not determine;—and on the following Sunday evening, when Mrs. Arnold happened to be at church alone, Mrs. Smith,-who it would appear, had carried the epistle about her own person, contrived to meet her friend at the church gates, after the service was concluded, and putting it into her hand, she said, with an air of much mystery, "Read it when you are quite alone!"

Now Agnes,-poor, innocent girl, judged at once that the neatly folded epistle, in Mrs. Smith's handwriting, was no other than a receipt for some family medicine, which her friend, with proper caution designed that she should keep under her own eye; and she thought

little more about it, until, having retired to her room to put off her shawl and bonnet, the letter fell from her bag. On taking it up, with the intention of laying it aside somewhere, she naturally broke the seal, and proceeded to read its contents. In consideration of your curiosity, we subjoin the epistle.

Clifton Rectory,

“I have been thinking of you the whole day, dear Agnes, and I have at last succeeded in making myself perfectly miserable about you; indeed, I cannot attend to anything else, until as good Mr. Nehemiah used to say, I have delivered my soul.'

The fact is, there is one amongst your friends, your acquaintances, at least, whom both Leonard and I heartily dislike,-no other, in short, than that heartless and flippant young foreigner, who never leaves you if he can help it, and is for ever paying you his execrable compliments, and doing his very best to look irresistible. Now, don't start with indignant astonishment. I know that you have not observed it. Your heart is too full of love for another, and he dare as soon die by his own cowardly hand as breathe one disrespectful word in your ear; but he may not the less surely succeed in ruining your peace. I have watched Mr. Arnold for some time, and am pretty confident that he is annoyed by Montarre's attention to you; and it is because I am sure that you have not noticed it, and will continue to treat this intriguing young man as kindly as we always do treat people when we are very happy ourselves, that I venture to mention the subject to you. The circumstances of

your husband's early life, acting upon a somewhat suspicious temper, and strengthened by the fearful principles he has imbibed, have made him diffident of his own powers of inspiring affection; and groundless though his fears may be, I verily believe that he already thinks that he is losing you.

Do, my dear Agnes, act cautiously; and make Mr. Arnold tell you all that is in his heart, and tell him all that is in yours; for I am convinced, that the only hope for happiness with our friends of his disposition, lies in the most transparent confidence. Listen to my advice for this once; and whatever may be the changes of this uncertain world, always believe in the love of

Your affectionate

FANNY SMITH."

Before Agnes had finished the letter her breast heaved convulsively, and her cheeks were crimson with burning indignation and surprise. She reached the last line and read it; and then, letting the paper fall from her hand, she threw herself back in her chair, and would have given way at once to a burst of passionate feeling, but raising her eyes in the same moment, she met the enquiring glance of Wallace, riveted upon her, with an expression of the most fervent affection. He had followed her to her room a few seconds before,-entered unobserved, and surprised to find her employed in reading a letter, evidently of so much interest, had stood for some time a silent witness of her agitation.

Without uttering a syllable Agnes threw herself into his arms, sobbing as if her heart would break.

"Agnes! my adored Agnes-what can have happened?" said Wallace, passionately, "Speak for heaven's sake."

But Agnes could not speak; she only buried her face more closely against him and struggled to repress her feelings.

"What's that cursed letter about?" exclaimed the Unbeliever, glancing for a single moment at the epistle, as it lay upon the carpet. He stooped and took it into his hands, in the instant his eye fell upon the name of Montarre. Without reading another word he threw the letter into the fire, and watched the flame, and the sparkling embers that consumed it, with gloomy exultation.

"Wallace, Read it," faltered Agnes.

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"I would not,-it was not intended for me," was the

answer.

"Oh Wallace, did you ever distrust me?" enquired Agnes, rousing herself.

"No, no,-no, my love," he answered, bending over her and gazing on her face with a lover's fondness. "Never ?" said Agnes

"Never,―by heaven," said the Unbeliever, firmly; and the demon in his soul mocked at the deception he was practising upon the confiding girl, and told him that he distrusted her at that very moment.

"Then we are one," said Agnes; "no,-lay your hand upon mine again, and let us feel that there is not a grain of dust between us,-that we can see into each other's hearts and be happy. I cannot go down to sup

per just yet; but do not leave me, Wallace. I had a strange, fearful dream, last night, and since I read that letter I had almost fancied it fulfilled. I thought that you and I were walking side by side; but the world was dark, and the way was lonely; and as we were going on through life together, suddenly, you stopped, and told me that I should be happier without you; and then, with one hurried embrace you left me; and though I tried to call you back, and to follow you, I was paralised,-I could not move or speak to say that you were deceived, for my voice was stifled, and I awoke, and it was only a dream."

"Silly, superstitious Agnes," said Wallace, coaxingly; for he imagined that the dream was only the reflection of her feelings during the day, and something like selfreproach rose in his heart. "Yes, it was a dream, for I am here in the reality of life and affection. Come, don't spoil those divine eyes with crying, but let me brush your hair,-and do doff that divinity colored dress, for it looks as if it had been made at the Rectory-now, tell me what the letter was about, and whom it was from".

"From Mrs. Smith"-Agnes began.

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take the Rector and all his family!" said Wallace, angrily, "You must not go to the Rectory, Agnes. Do you understand me? you must not go even into the parsonage,-Rectory lane or whatever it is," he added, laughing, "you must not go near the Smiths for this week or the next,-now, promise me that you won't: -but I had quite forgotten that Louisa was waiting