We are again introduced to Lady Rosamond, now reinstated in the home of her childhood. A sense of gratitude is awakened within her as she fondly gazes upon the old familiar scenes surrounding Chesley Manor. The quaint old structure was an exact specimen of an English manor house in the early part of the seventeenth century, having been designed by an architect of the royal household in the reign of James the First, whence it still continued in the possession of its illustrious descendants.

The style adapted to the above named structure was more strictly domestic than defensive. It was built in quadrangular form, containing only one large court, upon which opened the stately hall, chapel, and principal apartments. Though not commanding the imposing aspect and grandeur of Bereford Castle, Chesley Manor had an air of true gentility in keeping with that of its owner. Lofty windows, reaching to the ground, looked out upon the gardens, which were enclosed by a high wall.

The period in which the present edifice was constructed was that of the best style of English architecture, contrasting the more elegant and graceful manor house with the frowning keep and embattled walls of the olden castle.

Surrey, with its old historic associations, was a fitting abode for the dreamy and poetic nature of the lovely, high-born maiden. The adjoining districts, with vale and meadow, had a pleasing effect. Long neglected parks and straggling decayed mansions, afforded ample scope for the fanciful flights of her ladyship's fond imagination.

Sir Thomas was indeed happy in thus having his daughter once more to brighten the home so long desolate and lonely. He enjoyed the perpetual sunshine of her bright presence. He loved to caress his beautiful child and admire her sweet and bewitching charms. Lady Rosamond seemed happy when in her father's presence. She returned his tender endearments with childish and playful gestures; she brought sunshine in her path in which the flowers of affection bloomed with luxuriant beauty. She was esteemed by the train of domestics and functionaries who performed the duties of the household. This fact somewhat conciliated the young mistress of Chesley Manor. Her grateful nature could not view these matters without feeling their import.

Wandering through the exquisitely arranged suites of spacious rooms which had been renovated with a desire to meet her approbation, Lady Rosamond could not but experience a pang of heartfelt sorrow. Parental love overcame her weakness. Sir Thomas alone possessed the key that gained access to her feelings. He alone could turn aside the channel of her resisting thoughts and mark the course for the tide of conflicting torrents as they surge madly on.

Maude Bereford is once more cheered in the daily companionship of Lady Rosamond. In their girlish and pretty ways those lovely girls form a pleasing picture to grace the interior and surroundings of Chesley Manor. Maude has a gentle and lovable disposition which wins the admiration of both sexes. Though not a beauty, she is truly beautiful—beautiful in heart, beautiful in soul. None see this mental beauty more clearly than the young mistress of the manor. The gentle nature and simple-minded heart of Maude Bereford sees in her cousin the sweetness and worth which are so fondly adored by her brother Gerald.

That Lady Rosamond sees in her future husband all that can make the heart truly happy is a source of constant delight to her loving cousin. Maude has not the keen perception of the nature of the human heart.

Lady Bereford was sanguine over the result of her diplomatic tact. There lay no obstruction in the path which she had marked out for Gerald Bereford. No rivals had given cause for offence. Lady Rosamond had readily encouraged the advances made by her suitor. It was now a settled conclusion. The fact had been communicated throughout the country. Sir Thomas had already received hearty congratulations on the brilliant prospects of his only daughter. The event was eagerly anticipated in the fashionable circles of high life. Many high-born maidens felt a tinge of jealousy as they listened to the brilliant preparations awaiting the marriage of the future Lord Bereford. His courtly manners, pleasing graces, and handsome appearance, were the comment of many. His proud privileges as peer of the realm, his princely castle and great wealth, furnished themes for eulogy.

While the great event was pending, and general curiosity was awakened in the course of proceedings, the Lady Rosamond alone remained passive. She calmly listened to the different reports of those to whom was entrusted the management of affairs with an ease that was perplexing in its simplicity. A genial smile repaid any effort to please. She gave advice with a gentle deference that surprised her most intimate friends and companions. With calmness and subdued feelings did her ladyship examine the costly satins and laces scattered in lavish profusion, and being in readiness to assume the most courtly and elegant costumes at the sanction of the fair enchantress. Maude Bereford was radiant with joy, the delightful prospect was at hand. Bereford Castle was to receive her dearest Rosamond. A splendid house was to be in readiness in the suburbs of London, where she would revel in the delights of fashionable society and the daily companionship of Lady Rosamond.

Gerald Bereford looked forward to the consummation of his hopes with fond solicitude. Having received from Lady Rosamond a quiet appreciation of his tenderness and deep love, he dared not to question closely the motives which actuated her. Sometimes he had momentary doubts concerning the entire reciprocation of her ladyship's trust and confidence, which caused considerable anxiety, but the sweet, pensive smile which asserted itself was sufficient to drive out a host of smothered grievances.

When Lady Rosamond promised to become the wife of Gerald Bereford she did so from a true sense of duty and affection towards her only parent. For him she would make the great sacrifice. Did the occasion demand, she would sacrifice her life on his behalf. In reality she had made such a test of her faith when she made her betrothal vow, bartering love, happiness, and life. Yes; life, with its true enjoyments, by this sacrifice, would become a mocking, bitter trial, to which even death were gladly welcome. Yet the noble girl shrank not from the task which the stern voice of duty had assigned. She would bear it without a murmur. None save Mary Douglas should know the depths of feeling of which her nature was capable. Gerald Bereford would acknowledge the daily attention of a kind and dutiful wife. No human being should know a secret that was to her more than life—a soul within—a burning, smouldering fire, around which clings the shuddering form of outraged Hope. Lady Rosamond has kept her secret, therefore the writer will keep it in respect to her ladyship's inward sanctity. The reader may have gained it; if not, dear reader, you will in the end be rewarded for your patience by a disclosure. In the meantime let us follow her ladyship through all the perplexing moments of her unhappy existence, admiring the true courage and grateful sentiments which sustain her.

The day appointed for the eventful ceremony had arrived. Cards of invitation having been issued to the most distinguished nobility throughout the kingdom, a vast assemblage of expectant guests filled the seats and aisles of the ancient gothic cathedral in which the marriage was about to be solemnized. Happy smiles beamed upon all faces as they glanced around the handsome edifice so beautifully decorated for the occasion. Flowers and garlands were lavishly strewn around, scattered upon the floor, upon the steps, upon the way-side; literally all space was crowned with flowers. Gerald Bereford was truly a prepossessing bridegroom, worthy of loving and being loved in return. His truthful countenance was beaming with manly love. He was now ready to pronounce those vows which in his heart met a ready response. Lady Rosamond and her train of lovely bridesmaids have arrived. Hundreds of spectators are anxious to catch a passing glimpse of the beautiful bride as she is led to the altar by Sir Thomas Seymour, who gazes with loving tenderness upon the object so soon to be taken from his heart and home.

The feverish flush of excitement upon the transparent complexion of the bride lent additional aid to her matchless charms. Lady Rosamond is indeed a creature of surpassing loveliness. The soft texture of white satin that floats in bewitching folds of drapery around the faultless form is heightened in effect by an intermixture of costly lace and flashing jewels. The bridal veil, with its coronet of diamonds and orange blossoms, conceals the features so passive in the efforts to conceal the emotions which are struggling within the bosom of the fair one as she slowly utters those vows which, in accordance with her former resolve, she will earnestly strive to perform. Conscience awakens in her a deep shudder by setting forth painful convictions of promises given where her heart beats no response. But lady Rosamond felt relief from the thought of her efforts to do what she could to atone for this knowledge. Her husband would be happy in her presence if not her love. Those were the thoughts that occupied the lovely bride as she accepted the congratulations of the crowd who gathered around her. A pleasing smile greeted every one of the guests; even Lady Bereford was satisfied with the grateful acknowledgement. The bridegroom was a happy man. He adored his lovely bride. He looked upon her as the perfect embodiment of love and truth. Such were the sentiments that stimulated Gerald Bereford as his wife was received into society with all the eclat attendant upon rank, wealth and beauty. Her appearance on several occasions was hailed with universal delight. Her unassuming manner, childlike disposition and elegant grace made friends at every footstep. Jealousy found no favor in the wake of Lady Rosamond. Her presence was sufficient warning to the green-eyed monster to make hasty retreat.

Lord Bereford took a fond interest in his newly found daughter. He had always loved Lady Rosamond as his own child. She reminded him of the lovely sister who shared in his youthful joys. Maria Bereford was the favorite sister of his early days; her daughter was a tender link in the chain of memory. Lady Rosamond fully returned the affection borne her by Lord Bereford. She found a strange relief when sitting by his side listening to the stories which brought before her vivid conceptions of her childhood and its happy past never to return—the days when her heart was free to roam in its wayward and fanciful nights full of ardour and the bouyant aspirations of unfettered youth.

Gerald Bereford proved indeed a tender and loving husband. His heart was always ready to upbraid him if he were not ready to meet the slightest wish of his young wife. Every kindness that could be bestowed on Lady Rosamond daily suggested itself to the mind of her thoughtful husband. He was only happy in her presence—she was the sunshine of his heart, of his life, of his soul. Without Lady Rosamond this world was a blank—a region "where light never enters, hope never comes." Nor was the fact unknown to the dutiful and amiable wife. It grieved her deeply to witness such an exhibition of true love and tenderness without its receiving equal return. With heroic bravery she endeavored to reward her husband by little acts of thoughtful kindness greeting his return from the turmoil of political struggles. Pleasing surprises often met his eye when least expected. Many pretty trinkets made expressly for his use, by the fair hands of Lady Rosamond, were placed in careless profusion around his private apartments. These trifling incidents were an hundredfold more worth to Gerald Bereford than the most well-timed and flattering acknowledgments of the many who daily courted his friendship. Thus did her ladyship strive to make amends to her husband without having recourse to deceit. She returned his caresses, not with a fervent love, but with a feeling that such generous love exacted her sympathy. In the tenderness of her heart some recompense must be made. Would she ever learn to love her husband as he indeed deserved to be loved? When would the hour arrive when she could say: "Gerald, I love you with my entire heart and soul; I live for you alone; none other can possess the great love I bear for you, my husband." Those questions were frequently present in the mind of the devoted wife of Gerald Bereford. But he knew it not. He was in blissful ignorance of the fire within as he fondly dreamed of the pleasing graces of his lovely wife. He had no reason to be otherwise than happy.

Lady Rosamond Bereford was above suspicion. She had no desire to possess popularity outside her own household. The flattery of the opposite sex was lost upon her. The false smile of base and unprincipled men found no favor in the sight of her ladyship. She discountenanced many practices sanctioned by the usages of good society. Virtue was the true criterion upon which was based her ladyship's judgment.

It is almost needless to add that congratulations reached Lady Rosamond from the family at Government House in Fredericton. It was not a matter of surprise to Lady Douglas. She had too much confidence in the character of her relative to doubt her resolution. Mary Douglas fondly clung to the hope that her companion would, by some unforeseen power, avert the threatening blow. She betrayed no astonishment. Though daily expecting the sickening news of the marriage, the private secretary of Sir Howard almost staggered under the sudden weight of anxiety which possessed him when Captain Douglas made the startling disclosure, with the accompanying remark: "Jove! I always said that Gerald Bereford was a lucky fellow."

The thoughtful gaze of Mr. Howe as he stood in mute and silent astonishment, raised a laugh from his companion, with the addition of a second remark, implying that her ladyship must have made sad havoc upon the heart of a certain individual, judging from the effect produced by the announcement of her marriage.

True indeed! Lady Rosamond had made havoc upon the heart and affection of a certain individual, as Captain Douglas roughly remarked, but not the one to whom he made direct allusion.

The heart that suffered most will be the last to acknowledge. "Heaven pity poor Trevelyan," murmured Mr. Howe.