laughed at; and so, went my way, leaving Sophronia to weep if she thought proper.

I was resolved, however, that another day should not elapse without bringing us to an understanding.

On reaching the Castle, I found an express awaiting me ;-not a royal one,-a letter from my brother!" Lady Ormington had undergone an attack of brain-fever, and was not expected to live out the night." It was necessary I should jump into my chaise and hasten to town. I was conscious of having been already too remiss in my attentions to my mother.

It was December. The weather was bitter and boisterous. The rain rattled against the carriage windows, as I proceeded, at first through dusk and soon through utter darkness, along the London road. On Staines bridge, I remember the gusts of wind met us so sharply, that I felt as if we might be blown over the parapet, into the freezing waters; and never shall I forget the shrill shrieking of the blast

over the dreary expanse of Hounslow Heath. It was a real comfort to reach the suburbs, and hail the cheering lamps and bustle of the approach to town.

My mind misgave me that I should arrive too late; or rather, Heaven forgive me, I almost wished it might be so. There was nothing in my poor mother's character or disposition to reconcile me to the idea of her death-bed. I trusted it might have been brief and peaceful; but I almost shuddered while I trusted. The dread of finding Lady Harriet canting by her fireside had long estranged me from my mother's sick room. I scarcely knew whom I might find there now!

The first person I saw in the hall in Hanover Square was Coulson, still "Lord Ormington's own man," though grayer and more infirm than my lord. But Coulson was privileged by length of service to be as gouty and useless as he pleased; and as he stood there at the foot of the stairs, while I was hurrying up the door

steps, I thought I could discover by a sort of triumphant twinkle in his eye that all was over; that my lady,—that is, that my lord, was "released."

I was mistaken. My brother, on hearing the carriage stop, came down to meet me. Lady Ormington was not only alive, but the physician had warned him that the agonies of death might be painfully prolonged. I saw that Danby was paler than usual,-deathly pale. His sympathies were evidently deeply enlisted in the sad scene he was compelled to witness.

"I-I almost regret having summoned you to take your share in these melancholy duties, Cecil!" said he, in the kind and most brotherly tone with which he always addressed me on "But I felt that I might grave occasions.

reproach myself hereafter for not affording you occasion for a farewell word

nay, that

perhaps you might reproach me. Such, how

ever, is just now the state of my poor mother's

mind, that I almost wish for your own sake you would refrain from entering the room."

One never likes to own oneself a coward. I begged him therefore to believe that scenes of such a nature had no terrors for me; and that I held it as much my duty as his own, to minister to the death-bed of Lady Ormington.

Danby made no answer; but quitted the room with an air of mournful gravity, that invited me to follow. Lady Ormington's sitting room was, as I have before mentioned, the back drawing room, her bed room the third, which was fitted up, in the French fashion, with an alcove and sofa bed.

On entering the sitting room, a powerful smell of ether was perceptible. I thought it had been used for the dying woman. I found afterwards that my brother, in the anguish of his soul, had been compelled to have recourse to such a restorative.

So frivolous is human nature in its state of civilization, that there is something grating to

the feelings in the trifling disarrangements peculiar to the recklessness of a house among whose inmates death is busy. The King of Terrors, so little a respecter of persons, is no respecter of things. Of the house he enters, he leaves open the door, and a thousand disorders follow in his train.

My mother, like all sedentary persons, was peculiarly susceptible about the exactitude of her domestic arrangements. Chairs and tables had their appointed order; and to derange a console or a book, was high treason.

Now, all was flung about without care or ceremony! The dying woman had been cupped an hour before; and the objects connected with the operation were still lying on her satin chairs and japan tables.-Glasses, vials, towels, were scattered around in confusion; and the lady's maid, haggard, slipshod, and untidy, was rushing about in bewildered distress.

The door stood open of the bedchamber, which was still more imperfectly lighted than