ing her innocent of crime, a reconciliation took place; through which Lucy hoped to retrieve past folly, by future fidelity.

But these hopes were soon frustrated. Belfield, indignant at her rejection of his infamous proposals, resolved she should not marry Philip. He forbade her to think of him, and threatened to blast her reputation, by publicly asserting what she had in secret imparted to Miss Dove, viz. that she had been seduced by his brother. Lucy was now almost driven to distraction. Should Belfield really put this threat into execution, what would become of her? for she stood convicted out of her own mouth; the only one who could prove her innocence was Robert Belfield; and he was gone! This distrac tion of mind preyed upon her health; for a long time her life was despaired of: and during her illness the cruel Belfield had plunged her lover and his whole family into poverty and sorrow.

Belfield did not love Miss Waters, but yet unfeelingly entered upon a career of villany. He felt a pleasure in proceeding and indignant that she should dare reject his dishonourable offers; and probably afraid lest she should betray him, and interfere with his projected marriage, he meditated the most severe revenge. For the furtherance of this laudable motive, he formed a pretence of dispute with old Goodwin, entered upon a course of law, and carried his proceedings with such rigour, that the worthy man was turned out of house and home, and obliged with his son and daughter to seek a shelter where they could, and obtain a subsistence how they might.

They built a cabin in the fissure of a rock by the sea side; and out of the little wreck of their property purchased a boat, procuring their precarious living by fishing: while poor Lucy Waters, knowing herself to be the cause of their misfortunes, was a

prey to remorse and anguish. One only hope cheered her, which was that young Belfield would return, when she resolved to impart to him the cause of his dismissal from the house of Sir Benjamin Dove; to bring about a reconciliation between him and Sophia, and to implore his protection for Philip and his family! But these long cherished hopes vanished, on the news of young Belfield's death; and she saw no prospect before her eyes, but misery to herself, and poverty to the Goodwins. Philip would have married her, and braved the vengeance of Belfield; but Lucy would not hear of it. "No, Philip, (said the unhappy girl), I have drawn enough upon you already-I will not confirm your ruin; we must wait for happier times; this villain's reign will not surely last for ever; and a time may come, when I can atone for some of the evils which I have occasioned !"

Mr. Belfield persevered in his addresses to Sophia, encouraged by Sir Benjamin; who, having 'lost two out of three elections to the deceased Mr. Belfield, thought that by a marriage between the families, the interests would be consolidated, and all future contentions cease. These arguments however did not carry any weight with Sophia. She had discarded young Belfield from a conviction of his unworthiness; but she did not feel herself called upon to marry his brother against her inclination; and though the match was talked of by every body, it was little likely to come to any conclusion.

From the time when Lucy heard of the death of Robert Belfield, her spirits had become depressed, and she used to wander for hours together on the summit of the rock, where the cabin of the Goodwins was situated: she was rambling as usual on the morning of the storm, which had driven the unhappy wanderer unexpectedly on his own coast, when looking down upon the beach, she beheld the

figure of Robert Belfield. Her disordered imagination considered it as his spectre, risen from a watery grave, to reproach her with injustice and cruelty; and, unable any longer to bear her own bitter reflections, she determined at the hazard of Belfield's utmost vengeance, to impart instantly to Sophia her own duplicity and his treachery. She hastened accordingly to Sir Benjamin's house; and, on her way, meeting Andrew Belfield, boldly and indignantly imparted her intention. He was alarmed for a moment; but, recovering himself, advised her not to be rash in accelerating her own destruction; assuring her with the most daring effrontery that he should contradict every syllable of her assertion, and that she would soon learn whose word would be believed, his or hers. He then pointed out Sir Benjamin's door, as the road to Sophia, and bid her choose her course, whether she would act wise, and secure his friendship; or be a fool and provoke his deadly enmity. At another time his remonstrances might have prevailed; but it was not easy for threats to overpower the resolution of an awakened conscience. The vengeance of the liv ing Belfield might be dreadful; but the vengeance of the dead Belfield was awfully terrific; and she hesitated not which to choose. She therefore sought an interview with Sophia, and found her in the garden. Her language was at first almost incoherent; but recovering herself by degrees, she imparted the whole of Andrew Belfield's mean artifice, and her own active share in it, exerted to supplant his brother in her esteem. While yet speaking, she gave a sudden cry of horror, exclaiming-"Heavens! there he is again!-let me hence-living or dead I dare not meet his eye!"

Miss Waters fled precipitately; and Sophia, before she could recover her surprise and confusion, found herself clasped in the arms of Robert Belfield.

Scarce conscious of the action, she hid her face is his bosom; but soon recollecting her situation, she blushed, and disengaging herself from his embrace expressed her fears lest he should misconstrue her confusion. He threw himself at her feet, and folded his arms round her waist; but before any explana

tion could take place, they were surprised by the appearance of Lady Dove, who ordered Sophia im mediately to retire to her own chamber.

This however was not Robert's first interview with Lady Dove. When he learned from the Good win family that Sophia was still unmarried, he has tened to Dove Villa, and entering the garden by a back way, was sauntering about in the hope of meeting his beloved Sophia; and while thus employed he saw Lady Dove advance, and knew not how to avoid her. Hoping she might pass into the next walk, without noticing him; he stood still, ant looked in an opposite direction. She however approached, tapped him on the shoulder, and address ing him as Mr. Patterson, gently reproved his want of gallantry, in keeping a lady waiting. This apre pos discovery of an intrigue between her ladyship and Mr. Patterson, Belfield thought to make his

own advantage of; he therefore promised not to betray her, upon condition that she would favour his love to Sophia; to which she gave her word, and Belfield was content-not aware, that he had left out the most binding part of her ladyship's promise. He had forborne to offer any sacrifice to her vanity. He had neither knelt at her feet, nor pressed her hand to his lips. This want of gallantry was not to be forgiven; and as soon as she had recovered from the surprise he had thrown her into, she resolved to disavow the conversation, and threaten him with Sir Benjamin's resentment, if he dared to utter a single sentence which might glance at her reputation. For this purpose she watched his meeting with Sophia, when the sight of him kneeling at her feet, though he had not offered the same homage to herself, still further spurred her on

to resentment.

Robert Belfield was somewhat disconcerted by this rencontre with the coquettish Lady Dove; and its probable consequences: yet it could hardly check the exuberance of his joy, from the sweet assurance of Sophia's love, which was unequivocally proved, by her surprise, her confusion, and her blushes on beholding him: His hopes were therefore most sanguine. Captain Ironsides's two last voyages had been very fortunate; he had captured some Spanish vessels-richly laden, and could now bestow upon his youngest and favourite nephew, a fortune, equal, if not superior, to his elder one: nay he even undertook to speak to Sir Benjamin, and Robert's hopes, therefore, were not sanguine with

out some reason.

But these hopes were soon blighted. He again fell under Sophia's displeasure, without knowing why or wherefore; whence he began to suspect she was naturally jealous in her disposition, and that there was small chance of happiness in the marriage