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"If I had—even if I had—I should never have treated him so cruelly."

"This answer I ascribe to that amiable characteristic of your sex, which prompts you always—with, or without justice—to sympathise and to forgive. But come—now let me—pray let me prevail upon you to accompany me to the Hall."

"I cannot, sir—I cannot go."

"You cannot go to make him happy, who has long been a stranger to happiness: you cannot go to fill the heart of Henriette with joy?"

"My poor child!" she exclaimed, convulsively, as a fresh flood of tears gushed forth. "My poor child!—stay, sir!" she added, as the reverend gentleman rose and turned to the window, with the view of concealing the tears which sprang into his eyes; "stay, sir: one moment."

"I was not about to leave, my dear madam: I was not about to leave," replied the reverend gentleman. "I am in no haste—no haste, whatever! Reflect—nay, I would suggest the expediency of your retiring to reflect: still I must say that, if you consult your own happiness and the happiness of those who are dear to you still, the result of that reflection will be your consent to accompany me to the Hall. I have much to say to you—much to explain—much that will interest you deeply—but this I'll reserve until we enter the carriage. Consider yourself: consider him to whom you are still most dear: consider your sweet child—your own Henriette—who is anxiously waiting to clasp you to her heart. Go with me—abandon all ideas of humiliation—conscious of your innocence, go with me firmly—and if, after your reception, you wish to return—. But that I hold to be impossible. You make no sacrifice!-yours is essentially a triumph! Now go, and prepare. In the pride of innocence meet the man whom you have never injured."

"I will," she replied, with an expression of intensity. "My mind's made up. I will."

Elated with success, the reverend gentleman—immediately after Mrs. Howard had retired—left the room, which appeared to be much too small for the comprehensive character of his thoughts, and went into the garden, contemplating deeply the happiness which would of necessity spring from this reconciliation. He pictured to himself the meeting at the Hall—the delight of Howard—the joy of Henriette!—nor did he forget to portray the rapture with which his own Eleanor would be inspired when he carried the news to the Grange.

While he was thus contemplating, Mrs. Howard's pride was struggling with her purer feelings. Still her resolution remained unshaken. She would go. And when she had prepared to accompany the reverend gentleman, the fact was immediately announced, and with many kind and delicate expressions of sympathy he handed her into the carriage.

On the way, he explained to her how the conviction of her innocence had been induced: he related to her the whole of the circumstances connected with the trial: Howard's journey to town, and his anxious return; but she was still extremely tremulous—still thoughtful—still