over, and as soon as possible, he must accompany him to Moss Grove, to claim the hand of his adored and adorable Augusta.

Mr. Lindsay insisted on a fortnight's delay, for a visit to town, to arrange some important affairs; and consented, at the end of that time, to all his son required, provided that en attendant he did not pledge himself in any

way.

To while away the fortnight, which he knew would seem forty years, Julian set off for Hastings, to visit his friend De Villeneuve and poor Zelie.

CHAPTER XLIX.

"Adieu, poor luckless maiden! imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he pauseth on his way, now pours into thy wounds-the being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up for ever."

STERNE.

Zelie, the Queen of Song, sat alone at the foot of one of the giant rocks of Hastings. On one of her wan and almost transparent hands rested her fine head, while with the other she gathered up shells and seaweed, on which she gazed intently through large tears, but saw not what she gazed upon.

The searching morning sun revealed the ravages her late fatigues and latent disease had made so rapidly in one who had seemed, at her début, to deserve as well the title of Queen of Beauty as that of Queen of Song:

true, the scene, the dress, the lights, and the excitement had lent their magic, and raised her to a public rank in loveliness to which she could scarcely in private be allowed a claim; but, yet, had Fate but granted her peace, repose, and a satisfied heart, she would have been of a rare and intellectual order of beauty....As it was, she was a wreck-there was no tinge of colour on her hollow cheek, or her beautiful lips; dark circles surrounded her eyes; and her form, so queen-like a few weeks before, seemed shrunk and drooping.

Few people can think at once intently and happily-alas! to how many is deep thought, deep anguish ?—and, therefore, there is generally much melancholy in the face of earnest thought; there was something more than melancholy in poor Zelie's there was a fierce mental struggle. She suddenly clasped her hands, half raised herself with an air of pride and firm resolve.

A tinge of colour dawned on her cheekshe murmured, "I will leave him; he shall be happy; I can die! Ah, but then he would

mourn me so! for ever!-yes, for ever." At that thought her anguish found vent in a passionate burst of tears.

She sat rocking herself to and fro, as though the movement of the body could lull the tortured mind. When looking up, she recognised the small bonnet, the large parasol, and nankeen pelisse of Mrs. Chester, who came out in search of her. She rose, and, appearing not to have perceived her, hastened away in an opposite direction.

Mrs. Chester was one of a very numerous class of people, who always appear to be in a great bustle about others, but never in reality put themselves the least out of the way.

When she saw Zelie hastening away, she called and made several signs, but never attempted to quicken her pace. "She's not quite right in her head, that girl," she said, to herself; "there's some deficiency, certainly. However, there's none in the purse, so it don't matter to me; and I'm more comfortable, better boarded, lodged, and treated, than I ever was in any other situation. Besides, the girl's

equivocal position prevents her giving herself airs. Though she pays, I'm the patroness; that's pleasant when one has been so long the toady. I'm not expected to spend all my tiny salary in dress, and in these three months I've had more presents than in three years elsewhere. True, I have my suspicions; but, as long as no one else has them, they matter not. Here I can save all my silks and satins."

And Mrs. Chester looked complacently at a whole suit of nankeen, in which she was attired-bonnet, pelisse, boots, bag, and parasol-a piece Zelie had bought out of charity of a failing linendraper, and which Mrs. Chester had obliged her by accepting.

A pretty little red velvet reticule, worked in gold, caught the watchful blue eye of Mrs. Chester. It lay on the sands in the spot where Zelie had been sitting. Mrs. Chester picked it up, and glided behind a rock to examine its contents. A letter !-she read it ....Money!—she counted it....A portrait! -she examined it: and then she honestly put up the bags and went, quite at her ease, in search of Zelie, to restore it.