you will condemn me, be it so; but I implore, I beseech you to believe me true.”  Then, without further hesitation, Caroline briefly yet circumstantially related all those events in her life with which our readers are so well acquainted.  She did not suppress one point, or endeavour in the least to excuse herself, and Lady Gertrude, as she listened to that unvarnished tale of youthful error, felt her heart glow more warmly towards her companion, and her eye glisten in sympathy for the pain she felt Caroline was inflicting on herself.  Lady Gertrude could feel for others; twice had her carriage been announced, but she heeded not the summons; a third came just as Caroline had ceased to speak, and silently she rose to depart.  She met the imploring look of her young friend, and folding her to her heart, she said, in a low and gentle voice—­

“Ask not me, my dearest girl; St. Eval shall come and speak for himself.”  She kissed her affectionately, and was gone.

Caroline seated herself on a low couch, and closing her eyes on every outward object, she gave herself up to thought.  Might she indeed be happy—­were the errors of her former years so forgiven, that she would indeed be blessed with the husband of her choice?  Had St. Eval so conquered pride as again to seek her love—­would the blessing of her parents now sanctify her marriage? it could not be, it was too much bliss—­happiness of which she was utterly unworthy.  Time rolled by unheeded in these meditations; she was quite unconscious that nearly half an hour had elapsed since Lady Gertrude had left her; scarcely did it appear five minutes, and yet it must have been more, for it was the voice of St. Eval himself that roused her, that addressed her as his own bride.  St. Eval himself, who clasped her impetuously to his beating heart, imprinted one long, lingering kiss upon her cheek and murmured blessings on her head.  He had waited for the return of his sister to the carriage, in a state of impatience little to be envied, flung himself in after her, and in a very brief space had heard and heard again every particular of her interview with Caroline.  His doubts wore satisfied, not a lingering fear remained.

“Gertrude told me, you said not to her the magic word that will seal my happiness, though she wrung from you that precious secret of your love,” said the young Lord, after many very fond words had been exchanged between them, and nearly an hour had passed away in that unrestrained confidence; “nor have I heard it pass your lips.  You have told me that you love me, Caroline; will you not promise that but a very short time shall pass, ere you will indeed be mine; that you will not sentence me to a long probation ere that happy day is fixed?”

“It is not in my power to answer you, St. Eval,” and though her tone was sportive, her words startled him.  “I cannot even promise to be yours; my fate is not in my own hands.”

“Caroline!” exclaimed the alarmed young man, “what can you mean?”