---

It is not necessary to describe with much detail the effect produced by this letter, on the mind of Eustace Trevor, or the mode of conduct he pursued in the emergency.

We have already made the reader acquainted with the half measures he pursued—the crooked paths he attempted, in order to extricate himself from the threefold difficulty in which he found himself placed. His answer in the first instance, to his brother's first startling address, had been of that character which usually marks the tone of the offender, when the injured one dares to rise up and interfere with his ill-deserved security, and ill-earned joys; but though in language fierce and vindictive, he might appear to set fear and threatening at defiance, there was too much implied acquiescence, in the power these threats exercised over his mind—in the testy assurance which accompanied his reply (how far true we have seen) that his marriage was not in any such immediate question as Eustace seemed to imagine—that his father's state of health rendered it an affair of most uncertain termination—till finally, a second letter from his brother, brought him, at last, to declare in terms, the bitterness of which may be well imagined, that he had put off his marriage sine die, in further proof of which, he was to hold no further communication by person or letter with Mary Seaham;—he then hoped that Eustace might be satisfied, and that he would have left England.

That he might prevail on Mary to consent to a private marriage, was now probably the object of Eugene's mind. For to relinquish, without a struggle, any acquisition on which he had set his heart, would have been contrary to his nature; and then there was the probability of his father's death, securing to him so large a provision, rendering him in a pecuniary point of view, independent of any threats his brother might please to put into execution; for as far as Mary was concerned, he relied too much on the power he had gained over her devoted, gentle affections, to fear that any accusation brought against him by his brother, would influence her against him. Eustace might then claim his own rights, and he would not dispute them. Nay, Mary once his own, he reckoned too much on that brother's, (in his heart, acknowledged generosity of spirit,) to fear that he would persevere in carrying out his threatened, and in that case, unavailing exposure. It was in this light, probably, that he viewed the case, when Eugene first came to London. Eustace, too, we find, had not left town. Either he had been led to doubt the truth of his brother's protestations, or was unable to resist the temptation of lingering where Mary was, when he could again, and for the last time, perhaps, hope to catch a passing glance of her sweet face,—pale, sad, and changed, since he had last seen it—but better thus to his mind, than bright and glowing with that dangerous infatuation by which she was to be allured to certain misery.

We will not deny that Eustace Trevor's feelings and course of conduct on the occasion, may seem carried to a morbid, some may almost deem, an unwarrantable excess. But then it must be remembered, that all his lifetime through,

he had suffered enough to bring any man of his sensitively high-pitched tone of mind to this extremity.

There was one point especially, which had become the ruling power of his mind—that phantom which by night or day—haunted his imagination. The remembrance of his mother: her wrongs and misery.

Could he then image forth another? She who had filled up that yearning vacuum in his bleeding heart, the death of his mother had occasioned; imagine her, such was the horrid fancy which had taken possession of his mind—picture Mary entering that same house—assuming that same position—the victim of the same evil influences to which she had been exposed. The thought would have been one almost to turn his brain, had he deemed it not to be averted. As it was, the suffering that its very idea had caused, was sufficient to produce that change in his appearance, on which Arthur Seaham had commented, when to gain more certain information concerning his sister, Eustace Trevor had visited him at the Temple; a change, which no former griefs and trials, dark and dreadful though they had been, had in so striking a manner been able to inflict. For man is Godlike in his strength—his spirit may sustain him under burdens it were otherwise difficult to bear—but touch only a chord—break only a tie which binds him to a woman's delicate love,

On Eustace's return from the visit to the Temple, he had proof positive of his brother not having kept his pledge, in one most important respect; for he saw the lovers together, and the painful interview between the brothers was the consequence—the issue of which we need not recapitulate.

Another day, and Eustace Trevor had turned his back upon the English shore, to track the footsteps of his friend Mr. Wynne in his travels on the continent, still retaining the assumed name of Temple; and Eugene in as short a space of time, was again breathing freely his accustomed atmosphere—a London world.

We do not mean to say that his love for Mary Seaham was so soon forgotten—that love which for the last few months had exercised a purer and more softening influence upon his spirits, than any other feeling, perhaps, had ever before effected.

It was still like some soft, sweet, dream of night, which often haunts and mingles in the thoughts and actions of the day; and his marriage with the gentle Mary, the settled purpose and intention of his heart.

But the smooth course of that love had received a check—met with a disturbing force—his love had not quality or strength to overstep.

This to a worldling is a dangerous test; for love to him is but "a thing apart." There are so many other resources wherefrom to drain, when that one silvery stream of life is checked or troubled.

Why then not plunge into these broad abounding waters, which will bear him on, no matter how turbid be their depth beneath the glittering surface—no matter where, but on only—on too smooth, open, too unrestrained a course. As to the stability of his feelings with regard to Mary, Eugene felt little doubt his affections had been called forth to an unprecedented degree. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was to have his desires fixed on an object, in every way worthy of esteem.

and a new and wonderful fascination had been the effect produced upon his mind. Whilst under its immediate influence, he had seemed to exist in another sphere, to breathe another atmosphere, to have become a new creature; and he had contemplated his marriage with a calm, tranquil delight, as the completion of a still more certain renovation and transformation of his existence.

Its untoward interruption, therefore, had provoked and disappointed him beyond measure—beyond even the fear and inconvenience of those serious consequences into which the circumstances of the case had otherwise threatened him. Irritated and embarrassed by the trouble and perplexity in which the affair involved him, we will not say, however, but that in the end this one year's certain postponement of his marriage, as decided in his interview with Arthur Seaham, had not in a great degree relieved his mind in the emergency. In one year, as he had said, much might happen to change the aspect of affairs. At any rate breathing time was afforded, in which he might, without danger to himself, indulge in the consciousness of knowing that a tender heart was all his own. For the sequel time would provide.

In the meantime what had he to do, but to pursue his former career, and hush the voice of conscience in the excitement of the crowd.

That the mind of man need indeed be more than human to withstand such counter-influences has been well tested.

---

What different courses marked the existence of Mary Seaham and Eugene Trevor, during the lengthened interval which is to follow, may easily be imagined—different as the streamlet's course through the quiet valley, to the river's, rolling its darkened waters through the streets tumultuous of defiling cities!

Let us then, now that our less pleasing task is accomplished, restrain our footsteps as much as possible to the streamlet's course; that is to say, in the ensuing pages, let us follow more closely Mary Seaham's career than that of her lover's.

END OF VOL. II.

---

LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street

[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen and spelling variations within each volume and between volumes left as printed.]