for some time yet remained in his post as Commanderin-Chief of the battalion. Hellfrid was full of anxiety, and wished to know my opinion as to whether she had acted prudently or not. I replied, "prudently;" and this made her happy.

Not until two hours afterwards had I an opportunity of seeing Selma again. On entering the room where I had left her, I found it empty; but I perceived that some one had lain on the sofa, and reclined their head on the soft cushion. I picked up several scattered rose-leaves, and saw tears glittering in their pale red shells. Being uneasy at this circumstance I pursued my search for Selma, and happily found her in her

own room.

Her eyes glistened, as they are wont to do when she has been weeping, and her bosom heaved with sighs. To my tenderly anxious inquiries, her heart soon opened, and I learned her secret thoughts and feelings.

Felix had reproached Selma with the coldness and unfriendliness, which, for some time past, she had evinced towards him; and told her that this had made him unhappy, and that he should die, if she did not alter in her conduct towards him. He owned the weakness and levity of his character; but Selma could save him if she would, could make him a good and happy man. He begged her to give him her hand, and make seriousness of the sport she had so long carried on. As Selma's husband he would be a new

a better man.

"Ah!" continued Selma, "he spoke so well and so warmly of what I might be to him, and of all that he himself could and would be, that I had not the heart to withstand his entreaties and promises. But I set

I

him a time of probation, not until the expiration of which we I have always thought highly of him, he has a kind heart and many good qualities, but he is so weak! And for the last few years-I should say since he became of age-he has shown himself so thoughtless, so volatile, that we have been quite dissatisfied with him. But he may amend, he may improve yet,

and then-___"}

"And then you will make him happy, Selma?" "Yes."

"And why are you weeping?",

"I do not know why."

"I must say I am not altogether pleased with Felix, for wishing, in some measure, to do violence to your feelings."

"Ah, I am persuaded that he has no such intentions; but he fancies perhaps that I cherish a greater affection for him than I do in reality, and that my coolness towards him arisés from my caprice or his own inconstancy. From our childhood a sort of greement has subsisted between our families that we should be married, and entre nous we have always been looked upon as betrothed. Felix has always desired this alliance, so has my mother; and I have had no objection to it till I became better acquainted with myself. I now am fully persuaded that can never love Felix with all my heart, because I cannot respect him so highly as I would and ought; but”

"But what, my good Selma?"

"But, if I can make him and others happy, I shall not be unhappy myself. And then perhaps God will give me children that I can love, and that will be a source of joy to me."

Selma's tears flowed, as she paused, resting her head on my shoulder.

I was anxious to know what it was, in fact, that Selma had promised the young Delphin, and tenderly inquired.

"I have begged him," she replied, "that for the space of a year he should never speak of his love, but prove it by his actions and conduct. If thereby I

should be convinced that his attachment for me is really so great as he professes, then after the expiration of that year of probation I will consent to become his bride. This I have promised. Felix desired nothing further; but only begged a ring of me, that he might wear on his finger as a memorial of this hour and of his promise; and I gave him the one with the sapphire. He was so joyous, so happy! Ah, Sophia ! I too ought to be happy, for I feel that I have acted right; I have perhaps been the means of rescuing a human being from ruin!"

Selma's eyes were refulgent with pure joy, although through a veil of tears. I heartily rejoiced at her prudence and kindness, but felt, nevertheless, somewhat melancholy on her account.

"Invited out for the whole week!"

January 18th.

With these words my stepmother met me this morning, and her general appearance betrayed a secret pleasure through an assumed veil of well-bred weariness and satiety of the world. I expressed no condolence, especially as I saw my stepmother, as well as two of the young girls, much occupied with thoughts

of the toilet and other preparations. I felt happy within myself to be able to escape this unpleasantness and stay at home. My stepmother persuaded me, indeed, a little "to be present" on the occasion; but the tone does not indicate real earnestness.

January 21st.

Amid all the diversions which prevail in this house -amid all these beautiful dresses, artificial flowers, and all these so-called pleasures, strange symptoms still break forth, which betray the volcanic soil upon which we are dancing. Flora has, during the last few days, been as changeable in her temper as she is fickle in her dress; and I fancied as if by this capricious humour her only object was to fetter Lennartson's attention, or more correctly, to fascinate him; and his eyes do indeed follow her with attention, but more with the earnestness of the observer than the expression of an enraptured lover. At times it appears to me as if, with all those transformations of Flora, he would ask: "Which is the true one?" and that is my question too for while she obviously seeks to draw Lennartson to herself, she does not disdain some subordinate conquests; and with her engaging manner and deportment there is no want of success in these. St. Orme all the while plays apparently an indifferent part, which he, however, frequently betrays by his subtle look and secret vigilance over her.

Among the pictures in the inner apartment, there is a beautiful portrait of "Beatrice Cenci," the unhappy parricide: to-day Flora stood for a long time contemplating it, absorbed in silent thought; I regarded her

attentively, for she was charming as she stood there with a "guirlande ondine" of coral and white waterlilies in her brown hair, arrayed in a dress of that chameleon-like silk which is so much in fashion this year. All at once she broke silence, saying,

"Can you tell me, wise Philosophia! why it is that I feel pleasure in contemplating this picture—this Beatrice Cenci ?"

"Probably because she is so affectingly beautiful?" said I.

"No! but because she was so strong-minded and resolute-people of that description have an invigorating influence on the minds of those with whom they come in contact, especially when they feel disgusted at the undecided weak creatures, void of all character, with which the world so greatly abounds. What is your opinion of Beatrice?"

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I pity her from my very heart. It is horrible to hate the author of one's existence-"

"Yes; horrible, indeed!" I interrupted Flora. "Yes, it is a horrible thing to hate one's parents; but it is dreadful also to be compelled to despise them!"

Flora hid her face in her hands as she utterd these words. I regarded her with astonishment and sympathy.

"Ah!" continued she, with excitement, "would' that no one might say that it is a matter of indifference what kind of song is sung beside a child's cradle—its echo reverberates throughout his whole after existence. Lennartson, Selma !-Why are they so good, so holy, and I,—why am I so-and yet, Sophia, I am no ordinary woman!"