Had Lord Albert D'Esterre been himself at the time, and not the victim of contending passions, he would have left the fÊte at Avington Priory the moment he had seen Lady Adeline depart. As it was, he remained; it cannot be supposed from any entertainment or delight that he derived from the scene, but from that species of suffering which renders all scenes alike; and in the bitterness of his heart he even affected a gaiety such as the poor maniac feels,

How many hearts are there in similar situations, whose gangrene wounds are festering at the core while the mask of pleasure is painted on the face! But there are few persons in the world who know us sufficiently, or think of us enough, to detect the assumed disguise; and thus the wretched are numbered with the happy. Some few, however, there are, who, mingling in this cheating crowd, have yet their hopes and hearts anchored in a far different sphere, and pass through the infected mass, themselves unspotted, like Milton's personification of Purity amid the crew of Comus.

These, with deep commiseration of spirit, penetrate the paint and varnish of deceptive pleasure, and, shuddering, see what waste they make of life who never look beyond it—losing, for its shadow, the sum and substance of true happiness. But such as these were not to be found in the circle in which Lord Albert moved. He had often, since his entrainement in that delusive scheme of existence in which he was involved, exclaimed, "I was not made for this!" The nobler, truer purposes of existence were still the inmates of his breast, but they were under a spell which he had no power to break: they were dead letter, and were in peril of becoming obsolete.

In this state of moral danger, had he confided to Lord Glenmore's ear the contradictory feelings by which he was alternately swayed, in him Lord Albert would have found a true friend; for he was not one of the many who pass by exultingly, in the ride, or indifference, or selfishness of their nature, and say, "You, too, are happy," careless of the reality, so long as the sunshine of their own amusement is not darkened by the sorrow they see another wear. No: Lord Glenmore would have not only commiserated, but counselled; not only counselled, but aided. Alas! we may suspect, that when we shrink from confiding our sorrows to a friend whom we know to be good and true, we are ourselves under some fatal delusion.

Lord Albert sought not to unbosom himself to Lord Glenmore, from a latent feeling that he was himself in error; and he had not had, for many a day, the courage, or rather the virtue, to probe his own conduct, but suffered the blindness of self-deception to gather like a cataract over his mental vision; he acted under the consciousness that he was to blame, yet without sufficient energy to attempt to dispel the film, and look on things as they really were. It may seem matter of surprise that Lord Glenmore, who lacked not penetration, had not openly spoken to his friend on the subject of his engagement with Lady Adeline: but while Lord Glenmore was happy himself, in that deep sense of the word in which it most imports us to be happy, the mazes of entanglement which gather around those who swerve from the path of rectitude entered not into his imagination. He had always pursued a straight-forward path, and truth and sincerity had given him a clue to pass through life without entering on any of those tortuous ways, such as now distracted his unhappy friend.

This clear moral light of action rendered him, in the present instance, blind to the conduct of Lord Albert; and though the rumour was prevalent amongst the circle in which they lived, that his engagement with Lady Adeline was at an end, yet it had not reached Lord Glenmore's ear; and even had it done so, perhaps, from ignorance of Lady Adeline's merits, he might have thought that his friend's affections would be better bestowed elsewhere; but, at all events, he would have felt, that to mention the subject, while Lord Albert had made no allusion to it himself, would have been an indelicacy on his part.

Thus was the former, from his own want of confidence, deprived of the only counsellor who might, by a word, have dispelled the mist of error which surrounded him; and by assisting Lord Albert to recover his self-esteem, have restored him to a happiness which was now eluding his grasp, if it had not already done so. Experience, however, must be bought. There is an ordeal to be passed through by every one. Happy are those who are purified seven times in the fire, and come forth humbled and ameliorated!

However much Lord Albert's sufferings might have been unnoticed by the general eye, there was one who read his soul's secret but too plainly. Lady Hamlet Vernon saw through the veil of the false gaiety and forced spirits which he assumed; and again and again felt, with an impassioned woman's feelings, that the hour was come which was to decide her fate.

On the night, or rather morning, when the festivities of Avington Park were ended—when the last lingering footsteps of the votaries of pleasure passed away, satiated but not satisfied with the very continuance of that diversion which for ever demands fresh food to feed its sickly appetite, although it palls upon the aliment it craves—Lord Albert could no longer drown his senses in the hum and glitter of the gay crowd; and having handed Lady Hamlet Vernon to her carriage, sought his own. And there once more alone, with a perfect abstraction of mind he threw himself back, and, covering his face with his hands, shuddered at the broad blue light of day, which seemed, in its pure serenity, to mock the dark turbulence of his stormy thoughts; but he could not shut out the beam of conscience, before whose searching ray the light and darkness are both alike.

His pillow brought no repose, and he felt glad when the hour came which called him to attend the routine of his official situation. Distasteful as the occupation was become, harassed and preoccupied as were his thoughts, he went through the duties it imposed with his usual precision and power; and found, what every one will find, that duties, however dry, when they are strictly fulfilled bring a palliative to suffering, and act as correctives of evil. It must be allowed, however, that it is a great prerogative which men enjoy over women, in experiencing, from the very nature of the employments which generally devolve on them, a relief that strengthens and invigorates, while those of women bear them invariably back to the very source and centre of their sorrows, and awaken all the enfeebling tenderness of the heart. But neither should this create a spirit of repining. Doubtless, every one who seeks for strength where alone it can be found will not seek in vain; and the feeble may become strong when they place their trust aright.

Lord Albert D'Esterre, having finished the business of the day, was enabled with more calmness to meet the pain which he expected would attend his visit in South Audley-street, whither he went to seek an explanation from Lady Dunmelraise and Lady Adeline. As he crossed Piccadilly from St. James's, with the intention of avoiding the throng of Hyde Park, and as he was turning into a street leading more directly to the point whither he was going, Lady Hamlet Vernon's carriage passed him. She looked out of the window, at the same time kissing her hand as though she wished him to stop; but returning her salute, he passed on. Still there was something peculiar in her expression which did not escape his observation. It spoke a triumph, of which, had he known the cause, it would have proved an antidote to the misery that was in store for him; for in that case he would, under every circumstance, have persevered in his determination of obtaining an explanation from Lady Adeline in person.

When arrived at the well-known door of Lady Dunmelraise, he waited with impatience for its opening, but no one came. He desired his servant to knock again; and looking up, he perceived the windows were open, and maid-servants passing to and fro in the rooms with an air of unusual bustle, which made him shudder, although he knew not why. At the same moment, the porter opened the door, and informed him that Lady Dunmelraise and Lady Adeline had left town a few hours before. He was for a minute mute with astonishment.—"Left town!" he exclaimed; "for how long?"

"I really do not know, my lord."

"When do you expect their return?"

"Not this year," was the reply: "at least, we have received no orders to lead us to suppose my lady is coming back; but, on the contrary, we have directions to take down the furniture."

"This is unaccountable!" ejaculated Lord Albert, with a movement of mingled indignation and grief. "Where is Lady Dunmelraise gone?" he asked, after another pause.

"To Dunmelraise, I believe, my lord."

Lord Albert continued to sit on his horse mechanically for some minutes, as if wholly unable to collect his thoughts, or to believe the truth of what the servant said. Again and again he asked the same questions, and invariably received the same answers, till there was no longer any doubt of the fact; and then in broken sentences he said, unconscious that he spoke aloud,—"It is too true, too evident—unnecessary!—unworthy!"

"My lord?" said his groom, thinking he addressed him.

"Nothing, James, nothing," he said, starting from his reverie; and suffering his horse to choose its own direction, he allowed the reins to lie heedlessly on its neck; and then, again, actuated by a change of impulse, he urged it to its speed, dashing rapidly through the streets; when some of his acquaintance, who saw him as he passed, observed, "D'Esterre is certainly quite mad; I always thought so." And thus he continued his way homeward, now riding furiously, now creeping along, as the wayward mood of the moment directed, till he found himself at his own door; and then, flinging himself from his horse, he rushed to his apartment, forbidding all interruption. Lord Albert's servants, who were exceedingly attached to him, looked aghast at his altered demeanour, and marvelled what had befallen their master.

No sooner was he alone, than he paced the room in all directions, uttering broken sentences of, "Gone—gone—not to return!—without one word of farewell!"—Then he cast himself first into one chair, then into another; then arose abruptly, and striking his forehead, cried, "It is so. The die is cast, and all is over. But I will write to Lady Dunmelraise.—No; rather I will go myself to her. I will upbraid her duplicity, and shame Adeline for this unworthy conduct." Then again, sinking into a calmer mood, but one of deeper anguish, he said, "It is too plain, it is too evident. Why should I seek that which I know already? No, no," he added, with a bitter smile, "Adeline shall not have it in her power to say that I was the first to break our engagement. Lady Dunmelraise shall not avail herself of any precipitation on my part, to dissolve a tie which she wishes broken, but knows not how to break. Adeline shall herself give me my dismissal; for it is Adeline who has coldly, cruelly, and shamelessly cast me off." Here he felt a check. There was a sort of echo that gave back the sentence in mockery to his ear. "Adeline has cast me off," seemed repeated in bitter derision. There are words and circumstances which occur in the life of every one, when something more than the usual meaning of the one, or the common import of the other, appears to attach a consequence to them beyond their own individual value. So strongly did this feeling come over Lord Albert at the present moment, as he referred all blame to Lady Adeline, that a sudden revulsion of sensation rendered his mind a chaos. Still his unwillingness to acknowledge himself in fault made him recall every trivial occurrence which could confirm his jealous doubts, and dwell on these till he again persuaded himself that he was the innocent and aggrieved person.

Mastered by this false impression, he determined to remain silent, and await his expected dismissal. "Then," he said, "then will be the time for me to speak of my wrongs." His mind was turbulent and gloomy all that day; but when the evening came, he habitually sought the circle in which he had been too much accustomed of late to pass his time, and which had become necessary to him. As Lady Tilney had a soirÉe, he drove to her house; and in this routine of what is termed pleasure he courted and found that torpor of reflection which it is its peculiar and baneful property to produce.

Lady Hamlet Vernon, who had heard from Mr. Foley of Lady Dunmelraise's sudden departure, and who felt like one snatched from the perilous brink of an abyss on receiving the intelligence, was now once more enabled to put forth all her fascinations; and on that evening devoted herself, with successful ardour, to the task of engaging Lord Albert's attention, and diverting his mind from painful retrospection. With all a woman's wiles, she suited her discourse to his taste; and, without too much or too little display, brought her varied talents into view, not as though they were her own, but merely the reflection caught from Lord Albert's; existing but through him and for him; by him to be fostered and improved, or by him to be crushed and dissolved, at pleasure.

Who but a woman can enter into this refinement of enchantment? Who but a woman can glory in being a slave? The effect Lady Hamlet Vernon produced on Lord Albert this evening was that of a lulling spell; an influence which she always possessed in greater degree, in proportion to the racking doubts and anxieties under which he laboured, and which rendered him the easier prey to her seducing arts. When he parted from her, accordingly, on that evening, he felt grateful for the solace which her friendship and devotion seemed invariably to afford. False and unstable as was its basis, he leant on it with mistaken confidence; for he had plunged into the deceptive sea of error, and was doomed to be the sport of every incidental circumstance that floated on the surface of his affections.

On the following morning, his cruel, unjust opinions of Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter were confirmed, upon reading in the newspapers an announcement of Lady Dunmelraise's having left town, accompanied by a remark, in the usual language of similar information, that it was understood the lovely Lady Adeline was soon to be led to the hymeneal altar by Mr. George Foley. He cast down the paper with a feeling of sickness at his heart, which again gave way to a sense of deep injury; and then once more was renewed the determination to clear up the question by a direct application to Lady Dunmelraise: but the false pride of wounded feelings, offended honour, indignation at being deceived, and all the minor concomitants of self-love, brought back the tide of error which swept his thoughts into another channel, and with the sullen gloom of despair he finally said, "No; the issue of this strife must soon come of itself: let it come: it shall neither be retarded nor hastened by me."

While Lord Albert was thus suffering the penalty of his own mistaken, erring conduct, Lady Adeline's sufferings had not been less painfully acute; with this only difference, that self-reproach had never torn her breast; and agonizing as were her feelings on the morning when she returned from Avington Priory, they were enviable in comparison with those which racked his heart. Lady Dunmelraise had given orders, the previous evening, that her daughter should not be disturbed on the following day; concluding that the fatigue of the fÊte would be to her doubly trying, and that she would require a long and complete rest. She was much surprised, therefore, when she came to breakfast, to find Lady Adeline awaiting her. Her countenance and air at once told a melancholy truth to Lady Dunmelraise; and she felt not only that rest had been a stranger to her, but that some more decided event, and more painful than any which had yet befallen her, must have occurred, to have, in so brief a space, effected such ravages on her youth and bloom. Nor did she remain long in ignorance of this so sudden change; for Lady Adeline, meeting her mother's embrace, with many convulsive sobs breathed out her entreaty to be taken immediately from London, and to be spared her being called upon to witness any more of those agonizing scenes, such as she had been exposed to at Avington Priory.

"I have done enough, I have done enough, dearest mamma," she exclaimed, "to show Albert an indifference which I never can really feel towards him; and you will not, I am sure, condemn your poor child to any more similar trials." She then detailed to Lady Dunmelraise the particulars of the last night's occurrences, who saw too plainly, and shuddered as she saw, that this strife of suppressed feeling had shaken the frame of her child, and not only blighted her happiness, but endangered her very existence.

"My sweet Adeline," said Lady Dunmelraise with the tenderest earnestness, "would that I could as easily take all sorrow from you as I can now comply with this your request! You shall no longer endure a protracted stay here: we will leave town directly."

Lady Adeline knew her mother's heart, and doubted not of her acquiescence in her wishes; but there was a manner of feeling with her at the moment, which was grateful to her wounded heart beyond the mere act of compliance; and as she wept on her mother's shoulder, she said,

"I am an unthankful being to feel unhappy when I have such a parent." Lady Dunmelraise kissed away her tears; and having done all in her power to soothe, left her with the secret intention to arrange their immediate departure. Scarcely was Lady Adeline alone, than she looked fearfully around, as though the very precincts of the room upbraided her for going away, and as though she had voluntarily sought to take a step which was for ever to part her from Lord Albert.

An icy coldness clung round her heart, as she gazed again and again at the walls of the apartment, and in every article of their decoration recognized some trace of him she loved. She murmured inwardly, "Even where his shadow fell, the senseless wall recalls all my grief; for though it left no trace upon the spot on which it passed, what can efface the reflection of his image from my heart?

"Can it be," she went on to say, "that so short a time ago I entered this house, elated with hope and delight at the idea of meeting him? can it be that he should have appeared inspired with the same feelings as myself, and then, without any reason, so cruelly, so heartlessly desert me? I think I could have better borne this sorrow, had he only confided in me as a friend. Yes, had he but told me the truth, I might have mourned in secret; but I never should have wept for him as I do now in bitterness of heart, to think that I have so loved an object unworthy of my esteem."

Alas! when we are in sorrow, we fancy any other grief would be easier endured than that which weighs us down; but we judge erroneously. Sorrows spring not out of the ground; and it is knowing how to suffer the scourge under which we smart that can alone bring us any alleviation. There are few persons, so young as Lady Adeline, with feelings as finely strung, who are so well prepared to meet with trial; yet still poor human nature is in its best estate a mart for sorrows; and those are happiest who soonest learn to barter the bright, delusive hopes of youth for the sober, subdued views of real life, which, without producing a distaste for this world's enjoyments, despoil them of that vivid colouring which cannot last, and detaches them from considering it as their abiding place.

Such was the lesson now taught to Lady Adeline, as she was called, with unexpected haste, to quit South Audley-street; and she cast a last hurried glance at the chair where he had sat, who was still her heart's idol, at the carpet on which he had trod, the book he had opened, and, lastly, the picture, the image dearer than all except himself, which she now left for the first and last time, as no longer worthy to be her companion. Notwithstanding the abruptness with which she was snatched from these melancholy contemplations, and the revulsion of feelings which her sudden farewell to these cherished objects occasioned, Lady Adeline, after a few hours' reflection, acknowledged that the promptness of Lady Dunmelraise's decision had been made in kindness, and that the blow which was to sever her from him she most loved, if it were inevitable, were best to fall suddenly.