agony.  But, oh, Gertrude, I shall never regain his love:  when he knows all, he will cease to trust me; his esteem I have lost for ever!  Gertrude, bear with me; you cannot know the wretchedness it is to feel he knows not all my folly.  The girl who could wilfully cast aside duty and obedience to a parent, listen to forbidden vows, weakly place her honour in the power of one against whom she had been warned—­oh, Gertrude, Gertrude, when St. Eval learns this tale, he will spurn me from his heart! and yet I will not deceive him, he shall know all, and be free to act as he will—­his proposals shall be no tie.”

The flush of firm yet painful resolution dyed her cheek as she spoke, and checked her tears.  Alarmed as she was by the incoherence yet connection of her words when attached to Lord Alphingham’s hints, which still lingered on her mind, yet the high-minded Lady Gertrude felt as if Caroline’s honourable determination had struck a new chord of sympathy within her heart.  Integrity itself was hers, and truth in others was ever to her their most attractive quality.

“St. Eval’s doubts and fears have been already painfully aroused,” she said, gently; “an open explanation from you is more likely to make him happy than produce the effect you so much, though so naturally, dread:  fear not to impart it.  In the relation you now stand to each other, the avowal of past errors will increase rather than lessen affection, by the integrity it will display; but leave it till years have passed, and if, instead of being known now, it is then discovered, then, indeed, might you fear, with some show of justice, the loss of his esteem.  Such will not be now; but tell him yourself, dear Caroline, the truth or falsehood of the scandalous tale he heard a night or two ago.”

“What did he hear? if you know, for pity’s sake, do not conceal it from me, dearest Gertrude!” entreated Caroline, almost gasping for breath; and Lady Gertrude, without hesitation or abbreviation, related the whole tale her brother had imparted to her, dwelling on the suffering he endured, as he fancied Caroline’s conduct confirmed the words he heard.

“Then is it, indeed, time for me to speak, though my tale be one of shame,” she exclaimed, as Lady Gertrude paused, and indignation restored her usual energy.  “Never were attentions so revolting to me as were those of Lord Alphingham that night.  He knew he had no right to address me, and therefore did he ever refrain when mamma was present.  Gertrude, solemnly, sacredly, I protest he has no hold on my affections—­he dare not say he has—­nor ever again venture to demand my hand; it has been irrevocably refused.  Not only would my own will prevent my ever becoming his, but I have—­” she paused a moment, for Percy’s fatal secret was on the point of escaping from her lips, but checking herself, she added, “I am not at liberty to say why, but an inseparable barrier is placed between us.  Listen to me, Gertrude,