While events thus intimately connected with Lady Glenmore's happiness were silently progressing, Lord Albert D'Esterre's mind was engrossed and torn by a thousand contending feelings of a nature wholly different, but not less fatally destructive of his peace. After recovering from the violence of the first shock which Lady Dunmelraise's sudden departure had occasioned, he had remained torpid and incapable of action: then again, inwardly harassed by the most lively anxiety, he had awaited, with an agony of suspense which none can know save those who have experienced how "hope deferred maketh the heart sick," the communication which he felt Lady Dunmelraise could not possibly long delay, relative to Lady Adeline.

During each of the four and twenty hours which had passed since the blow had fallen on him, Lord Albert had thus been the victim of one contradictory passion or other: but still, in the alternate storm or lull of his emotions, he had mechanically sought the society of the only person in the world whom he now believed entered into his feelings, or took any real interest in his fate. It may be readily supposed that Lady Hamlet Vernon did not lose the advantage which this undivided share of his time afforded her; and she found means, even in the state of apathy in which Lord Albert seemed plunged, and during the lengthened silence to which, at intervals, he gave way even in her presence, to impress him, by a thousand attentions, with a sense of the deep sympathy she felt in all his sufferings. At the same time, she knew the wound that rankled at his heart was yet too recent to be rudely touched, and the paroxysm of his malady too violent to bear those remedies which, with the skilful and tender solicitude of one who watches a patient on the bed of sickness, she awaited a favourable moment to administer, but forced not injudiciously upon his acceptance.

With one exception only, no event occurred, no word was spoken, no circumstance had been alluded to, that could in the remotest degree bring forward the dreaded name of Lady Adeline. When, however, Lord Albert heard, accidentally, at Lady Hamlet Vernon's, that Mr. Foley had also left town a few days after Lady Dunmelraise, his feelings were roused to a pitch that nearly decided him on hastening to Dunmelraise in person. Nor is it probable, notwithstanding Lord Albert's former resolves, that he would longer have hesitated to take this step, had he not been assured, in the most pointed and positive manner, by Lady Hamlet herself (who foresaw and dreaded the effect of this natural impulse), that Mr. Foley had not followed Lady Adeline, but was gone on a visit to some other part of the country.

This intelligence again changed the current of his feelings, and for the moment he was lulled into a security, that while his rival appeared not in Adeline's presence, she would have leisure and freedom of mind to reflect and repent of the cruelty of her behaviour towards himself; and vainly imagined that there was better hope in leaving her to the workings of her own heart, than by giving way to any reproaches which he might have made.

Thus he lost the only chance that remained to him, of avoiding the blow which was so soon to annihilate all hope. It was a fortnight after Lady Adeline's leaving London, that the post brought him a letter, at sight of the well-known characters of which he trembled; for with one glance he recognized them to be the hand-writing of Lady Dunmelraise. He knew that that letter must be the arbiter of his fate, that it must lead to an explanation; and he felt that no explanations were likely to prove happy ones. For a few moments he held the letter in his hand, dreading to break the seal, for he was aware that it was the messenger which was either to condemn him to the loss of Adeline, or give him the power to seek her as his wife; and, of the latter, something within his breast forbade the hope. At length he slowly tore open the paper, and, with a gasping eagerness, read as follows:

"My dear Lord Albert D'Esterre,

"The period which was to decide the fulfilment of the wishes entertained by Lord Tresyllian and the late Lord Dunmelraise respecting yourself and Lady Adeline has at length arrived. Wishes of this kind, however, are unfortunately too often subject to the same changes which attend on every thing earthly; and it would be weak, therefore, as well as wrong, to lament over them when unrealized: still less should we do so, when their accomplishment no longer appears to hold out that prospect of felicity which, in the present instance, I am certain, was the only motive for their first indulgence. I need not, my lord, enter upon the reasons which have induced my daughter to resign the honour of an alliance with your house: they will naturally suggest themselves to your own heart; and if they do not do this, I consider an explanation of them would be an intrusion on my part, of which I should be sorry to be guilty.

"I remain, my dear Lord Albert D'Esterre,

"Your very faithful and obedient

"Eliza Dunmelraise."

"P. S. I forward a copy of my letter to Lord Tresyllian by this post."

"It is then as I thought," exclaimed Lord Albert. "Faithless, treacherous, cold-hearted Adeline! why did I ever love you? Why place my happiness on so frail, so unworthy a tenure? But it is well; it is better thus. Since I have now no cause to mourn your loss, I will not suffer grief for such an object to master me. It is well that you are lost to me. Lost!"—he started at the sound, as he repeated, "Yes, lost to me for ever!" and his lip trembled, while a sense of suffocation oppressed and overpowered him, and tears, burning tears, burst from his eyes. Not softly, not refreshingly, did they flow, but like the lava's flood, which scathes the path down which it courses. For two days and two nights Lord Albert remained in the most pitiable state of mind. He would see no one, for to whom could he unburthen his griefs? and not to speak of them was impossible: to whom would he deign to show his lacerated heart? yet to what other subject than that by which it was torn could he give utterance?

The necessity of replying to Lady Dunmelraise's letter was the first thing that aroused him from this lethargy of sorrow; but when he essayed the task, he found it one of no easy nature. He read and re-read the letter; he endeavoured to extract from it some gleam of hope, some opening of possible change; but it was so calm, so cuttingly and despairingly reasonable, so dignified yet so decided in its tone, so meek yet so authoritative, that he felt it pronounced a verdict which admitted of no appeal.

"Be it so," he said, with the composure of despair; "but, at least, I too will speak my mind. Yet how? In a brief answer embody a world of thought? How can words convey the sense of a broken heart? No! language cannot do that. And if it could paint my feelings, why should I humble myself before those who have thus sported with and spurned them? why lay bare the weakness of my heart to those who have proved themselves incapable of compassion? What can I expect to gain by so doing? Nothing."

Blinded by this false reasoning, he felt, at that moment, that he would have rejected Lady Adeline's hand, could he have gained it; convinced, as he was, that her affections were no longer his own. Besides, who ever reclaimed or regained a heart by reproaches? And then again relapsing into tenderness, he mourned over the defalcation of that purity and truth which he had worshipped even more than her charms. All these, and more than these, were the thoughts which checked the flow of Lord Albert's pen as he wrote copy after copy in answer to the letter, and tore each, in despair of ever writing one which could in any degree comprise or convey his mixed and agonized feelings.

But again the necessity of some answer pressed upon him; and, although with the conviction that none which he could write at that moment would be adequate to express what he felt, or prove a faithful interpreter of the thousand tortures that possessed him, he finally traced and folded up a few brief sentences, sealing the envelope immediately, as if to preclude the possibility of further delay. Yet once more he hesitated, once more a wish arose to write altogether in a different tone and strain; but then he rapidly recalled to his aid all his late reasonings and feelings on the subject, and finally despatched the following letter:

"Dear Lady Dunmelraise,

"It would be doing injustice to my own feelings, if I did not state that they alone have prevented my answering your letter sooner; the purpose and tenor of which made me too plainly feel, that any development of the sufferings called forth by its contents would be equally misplaced and obtrusive to you, as well as to Lady Adeline.

"To say that any emotion of surprise has mingled with my sorrow would be contrary to truth, because I had felt the sudden and unexpected departure of your ladyship from London (not even communicated to me till your present letter) announced some decided change in your opinion and determinations in regard to myself. There is one point, however, for which, in the midst of all my sufferings, I must feel grateful: it is, that the letter which announces to me the forfeiture of that happiness which for years I have been taught to cherish and consider as my own, leaves me no doubt that the future welfare of Lady Adeline now centres in some other object, in the attainment of which it will be more surely realized, than had it continued to rest on me. That that welfare may be realized in every sense of the word will ever be the prayer of,

"Dear Lady Dunmelraise,

"Your faithful and affectionate servant,

"D'Esterre."

"P. S. I shall of course communicate your letter, accompanied by my answer, to my father, Lord Tresyllian."

No sooner was this letter beyond the power of Lord Albert's recall, and actually on the way to Dunmelraise, than he would have given every thing he possessed could he have changed its tenor: but this was only one of those fluctuations of passion, of which he had of late been so cruelly the sport; and the impulse of the moment, had its object been attained, would as readily have given place to some other of a quite different tendency. When the mind is once suffered to float about without a guiding principle of action, it is a mercy and a miracle if the being thus actuated does not become the prey of destruction.

As Lord Albert perused over and over again the copy of his answer, he imagined he read in it sufficient ground to call forth an explanation, on the part of Lady Dunmelraise, of the causes which had led to her sudden abandonment of Lady Adeline's engagement with himself. But then he speculated upon objects which like a blind man he could not see; for never admitting, nor indeed feeling conscious, that it was his own errors which had wrought the change in Lady Adeline, he never could rightly apprehend the line of conduct which of necessity she must pursue. If he had done so, had he taken the beam from his own eye, then would he clearly have seen to take the mote from hers; and it would not have required a second perusal of his answer to Lady Dunmelraise to have acknowledged that it afforded no opening whatever, whether from its tone or its contents, to induce herself or Lady Adeline to swerve from the course they had adopted, or lead them to any other determination than that which they had already avowed.

He however endeavoured to make himself think otherwise, and in some degree he succeeded in this object; for what distortion will the imagination not assume when warped by passion? In this delusive hope he continued for some days, vainly expecting every post to bring him some communication from Dunmelraise. How little he knew Lady Dunmelraise's feelings! how falsely he judged of his own! As soon as she perused his letter, she did not for a moment think of replying to it. She had indeed not doubted, for weeks past, that Lord Albert's heart and affections were totally alienated from her child; but the degree of cold indifference with which, in her reading of his answer, he seemed to cast her off, exceeded what she could have thought possible. It may be that, in her interpretation of the letter, Lady Dunmelraise yielded in some degree to her previously-formed prejudices; and, as is ever the case when we yield to prejudice, saw through them as through a glass darkly, and pronounced the being who could thus coldly renounce such a treasure as Adeline wholly unworthy of further thought. Far from feeling, therefore, that Lord Albert's reply required any further notice, or that it contained any thing which could raise an after-regret if passed by in silence, or reanimate a dying spark of hope in Lady Adeline's breast, she considered it final and definitive, and without hesitation placed the letter in her daughter's hands.

Lady Adeline's sentiments, on having perused it, were in accordance with Lady Dunmelraise's; but as soon as the first brief flush of indignation had passed away, the bitterness of sorrow that was rooted in her heart claimed its full power, and grief, not anger, preyed like a canker on the bloom of her existence. Lady Dunmelraise watched, week after week, with an anxiety proportioned to its object, for a return of something like cheerfulness on the countenance of her dear child; but though resignation sat on Lady Adeline's pallid brow, and beamed in her angel smile, still there was a settled melancholy, a change of fearful import, impressed on her whole person. Even her very movements, once so gay and elastic, were now languid and measured, like one who was soon to pass to another sphere. Nothing of the vivacity of her age and temperament remained; and Lady Dunmelraise felt that she waited for the hoped-for change in vain.

It was therefore some relief to her, when a visit from Mr. Foley created a variety in the daily routine of their lives; and Lady Dunmelraise thought or fancied that the exertions which Lady Adeline made, in order to be agreeable to one for whom she had always entertained a maternal solicitude, seemed the only circumstance that at all dissipated the gloom in which her daughter was now habitually involved. Mr Foley, however, while he remarked this favourable change, ascribed it to other motives; and with that self-love which predominated in his character, he saw in it a growing preference for himself, and waited only for a season in which he conceived the feelings of Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter would be sufficiently prepared to admit of a disclosure of his sentiments, to make an open avowal of them.

Meanwhile, Lord Albert, who was equally with Lady Adeline the victim of self-delusion and martyred affection, continued to drag through the heavy hours till even suspense itself became blunted. But Lord Albert continued to strengthen himself in what he deemed the duplicity and heartlessness of her conduct, and found a diversion to his sufferings in the idea that they were occasioned by an unworthy object, whom he was called upon by every rational principle to banish from his remembrance.

At length it likewise became known to him that Mr. Foley was actually an inmate of Dunmelraise, and this circumstance set the seal to the erroneous conviction which for so many months had been gaining on his deluded mind. Whilst thus discarded, as he imagined, by her whom he had, in fact, always loved dearer than the whole world beside; wounded in his tenderest feelings, and offended in his family pride; Lord Albert unhappily found himself supported in his mistaken apprehensions by his father, Lord Tresyllian, who, accustomed to refer most actions to love of aggrandisement and power, and having survived those softer affections which at one time bound him to Lord Dunmelraise, and made him anxiously wish for a union between their children, now only saw in Lady Dunmelraise's withdrawing from this engagement some concealed object of interest, which impelled him scornfully to resent her behaviour, and thus confirm the delusive views of his son.

From the time of Lord Albert's having come of age, the entire independence of his circumstances had (without violation, however, of any filial duty on his part) occasioned his intercourse with his father to be of rare occurrence; but when he communicated the purport of Lady Dunmelraise's letter to Lord Tresyllian, an identity of feelings seemed to arise between them; and in their offended pride a tie of sympathy was freshly formed, by which they mutually encouraged each other in an ill-founded and unjust resentment.

Lord Albert's heart, however, was far differently constituted from his father's, and in most other respects they felt not together. Still, therefore, he found himself alone, as it were, in the world, without one kindred breast on which to lean. Perhaps no sensation of pain is greater than this conscious loneliness of being. He had hitherto avoided all open confidence with Lady Hamlet Vernon on the subject of Lady Adeline; for though she was well acquainted with all that had passed, yet, from motives of delicacy, as well as from a secret mistrust even of her sympathy, he had remained silent. But when at length freed from the only tie which sealed his lips, the long-cherished and lingering hope of Lady Adeline's returning affection, it required no stimulus to make Lord Albert unburthen his heart and all its griefs to one, the only one, who, he thought, entered into them. The subject once commenced, the whole troubled tide of fears, belief, conviction, and subsequent indignation, was poured into her ear.

Too readily, and with too greedy delight, did she receive this confidence, as the sweet confirmation of all her long-nurtured and most ardent wishes; and the first step she took, in consequence, to heighten his resentment against Lady Adeline, was to avow a knowledge of Mr. Foley's long residence at Dunmelraise to be the result of his passion for her; a passion approved, she said, by Lady Dunmelraise, as well as by her daughter, and which was soon to terminate in marriage; adding, at the same time, that she felt, as well as their mutual friends (meaning Lady Tilney and her coterie), that it was matter of congratulation that an alliance so thoroughly destructive to his views and pursuits of life should thus be dissolved.

While in this manner Lady Hamlet Vernon fixed the dagger more firmly in Lord Albert's breast, she no longer hesitated to evince for him, in every word, and look, and action, her devotedness; and it was not in nature, that under such an influence he should be allowed to retrace his steps, even had he wished to do so, or to reflect on his own conduct; although, had he had recourse to self-examination, even in this stage of the business, he might still have retrieved his error.

Day after day, week after week, his diseased state of mind gained ground, till at length the whole moral man became corrupt, and Lord Albert was the slave of her whom he would have loathed, could he but have seen the snare she had so artfully drawn around him. It is true, the duties of his official situation employed him some hours every morning; and in the routine of these there was no analogy to any thing like feeling, so that they proved a temporary antidote to pain: but when they were over, he was in the society of Lady Hamlet Vernon, and of Lady Hamlet Vernon alone; for it was the nature of a mind like his to be wholly engrossed by one object.

The world, that in reality cares for no one's actions, except as affecting itself, looked on with indifference, and saw in Lord Albert's course only curious matter for speculation. Some pitied him as a fool, should he contemplate matrimony with Lady Hamlet Vernon; while others applauded the dexterity of the woman who could succeed in leading him captive, and secure to herself so great a prize. But one friend yet remained to Lord Albert, who would have sincerely lamented the circumstance, could he have believed such an event as marriage possible; because though Lady Hamlet Vernon was undoubtedly clever, handsome, fascinating, yet he saw in her no sound intrinsic qualities, nor was there attached to her rank or situation any of that preponderating family influence, which he could have wished should distinguish the wife of his friend. But Lord Glenmore was not one of those who doubted Lord Albert's good sense or principles; and though he saw him involved in a liaison which he was far from approving, still he looked upon it as one of those temporary attachments from which he hoped soon to see him liberated, and therefore discarded all serious fears for him. But Lord Glenmore was unfortunately mistaken. The entanglement in which Lord Albert was involved was not one easily to be broken through.

Lady Hamlet Vernon's object was advancing rapidly, and her victim nearly sacrificed. London was now almost empty. The only individuals of note remaining in it were some official persons, who were looking forward with anxiety to the moment of their departure. Lady Glenmore's arrangements for her visit to the continent had been finally adjusted; and she had at length quitted town with a heart divided between regret at leaving her husband, and that kind of anticipated pleasure which attends a first visit to a foreign country.

Whether any regret mingled with these sentiments, as she journeyed with Lady Tenderden to the point of embarkation, at the idea of being likely to lose in her absence the society of Mr. Leslie Winyard, it is difficult to say; and equally so whether the result of this absence would break through that intimacy with the latter, which her soi-disant friends considered to be of such perilous tendency. Mr. Leslie Winyard certainly did not leave town immediately on her departure.

In the midst of these final removals for the season, Lady Hamlet Vernon found it difficult to arrange her passing the approaching autumn in the society of Lord Albert. To propose to himself directly any project of the kind was, she thought, hazardous; and though feeling the importance of securing to herself his presence, she was obliged to trust to chance, and to the habitual influence which she knew she had obtained over him, in order to ensure his following her wherever she went.

"Where do you mean to pass your autumn, Lord Albert?" she said one day to him, speaking as if in an unpremeditated manner, and announcing at the same time her intention of going to Tunbridge. "Perhaps you will be induced, if you have no other plan in view, to pay me a visit there?"

"Yes," he replied, sighing, "I shall like it exceedingly. Where can I go but where you are? Nobody else in the wide world, save yourself, cares for me;"—and a tender glance from Lady Hamlet Vernon gave back a confirmation of the latter part of this querulous speech.

Many days more did not elapse, when Lord Albert, although pressed by Lord Glenmore in the most friendly manner to accompany him to his country seat during the recess, misled by the unfortunate and false conviction that no one participated in his feelings save her who had in reality caused their bitterness, blindly yielded to the delusion of this hollow attachment, and found himself loitering round Lady Hamlet Vernon's footsteps on the furze-clad hills of Tunbridge.