Mary Seaham, Volume 2 of 3

if a soul wher

ardon, that

eness bless the

tone which inte

God; and bid t

smile-poor fell

NEW

f importance before he laid down to rest that night, or

ed and troubled spirit by excitement-that most common resource of man under similar circumstances

ter midnight, to be informed that a gentleman

as the impatient reply. "W

more than two hours ago, but had expressed his i

, thus returning from those midnight excitements in which he had plunged to dispel too haunting thoughts and vivid memories connected with her pure and holy image; but a something of strange and startled wildness was added to their expression, as his eyes fixed themselves first uncertainly-and

d by the rencontre with his mysterious visitor, sank upon a chair by the table, and with perturbed and agitated demeanour, passed his burning hand

murmured at length, in hoarse and sullen acce

the Welsh hill side in Mary Seaham's ear. "You thought, Eugene, that before this coming dawn, many leagues of sea wo

ble meeting, whose only fruit was the further to overwhelm with despairing wretche

s me at the time, that face I had used to behold serene, happy, i

me past, before the day when you, like a spirit of evil, stepped in between us, you might have beheld a si

r, Eugene, your own heart, your own conscience must convict you, that light with darkness, righteousness with unrighteousness, Christ with Belial, have as much in common, as yourself, your nature, your life, your principles, have to do with those of Mary Seaham; and that to unite yourself with her, would be, I repeat, either to draw her down to your own level-or, more blessed alternative, to break her heart. But both of these destinies I had hoped to have seen averted. You had assured me, it was easier for you to resign that 'mess of pottage' as you slightingly denominated the inestimable treasure your soul had greedily, but more harmlessly marked as your own, than the birthright of which you

ly addressed, retained a mo

perceived a quivering of the eyelids, and an expression of anxious perturbation in his downcast glance. "The old man," with trem

this-the man whose name must henceforth ring in her ears as a proverb, a reproach, a by-word through the paths of

serpent discovered to his view. His eye quailed fea

t if my promise has no weight in your consideration, how am I to give you further pledge of my sincerity? I swear to you," he continued, eagerly, "that, during the meeting to-day with Mary Seaham, into which I was accidentally surprised, I held out no hope-no promise which could give her rea

ou con

se had I

, that from this additional sin you have been mercifully preserved; from that offence which it were better that a millstone were hung about your neck than that you should commit. You, too, have your reward: take it. I leave it in your hands. I will trouble you no more. Home, name, country, and heritage, I willingly resign; but remember, on that one condition. Retain it only inviolate, for from the ends of the world, its broken faith, its most secret violation,

one more sin to the already dark catalogue of his offences, the purchase

d-those two men whom our readers ma