feelings and irritated her wounded spirit, that she became peevish, at times even fretful, in her manner towards Sir John; and being powerless in those great matters in which he refused her all justice, she grew somewhat obdurate in little things, and in the hope to move him, for the sake of her dear girls hereafter, had recourse to the worst of all expedients-teazing him by constant reproach and petty opposition.

Great was the excuse for her conduct, for great had been its provocation; but it was unwise in the ex- . treme. By so acting she laid herself open to the attack of the serpent she had fostered in her bosom ; and when she would indignantly have shaken it off, before it inflicted the most deadly wound, she had no longer the power to do so. Not only did Miss Ellen Gilbard refuse to quit Lady Fairland's service, though engaged solely as her companion, but Sir John threatened his wife that if she sent away the only person who made his home pleasurable to him, he would turn her and her children out of doors.

Stung to the very soul by these indignities, in the passionate bitterness of her feelings Lady Fairland

demanded a separation, and Sir John did not object to it. Lawyer Noland was ordered to draw the necessary articles. The day was fixed for their signature and the departure of the much-injured wife from her home. But these are events that require another chapter.

CHAPTER II.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness.
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,

Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise.

Byron.

ON the day appointed for the signing of the articles of separation a very striking scene was presented in the fine old hall of Northleigh. We would we could give it to the reader as distinctly as it is impressed on our own mind's eye; but words have less power than the pencil in sketches of such a nature. We will, however, do our best to afford some faint idea of its interest.

The hall, large and gloomy, was of other and far

distant days. The vaulted oak roof, the carved finials and corbels, looked dark with age and the smoke of many generations. The narrow arched windows, set with small diamond panes of glass, were so overshadowed by some lofty elms which grew close without, that even on the brightest summer day the sun's rays never found their way through them, except here and there in a few luminous spots which played upon and chequered the stone pavement beneath. A huge old chimney (wide enough to hold eight or ten persons within its ample sides when the winter logs blazed merrily on the hearth), with a large ornamental front, having the family arms cut deep into the granite of which it was composed, stood opposite the windows. Several doors opened into the hall, and the largest led from it to the court before the house.

Many a picture hung around; many a portrait of the Elizabethan and James I. fashion. Though some of these Fairlands were of high note in their day, they were now only remembered by those pale and timeworn records of their features, or by tablets and

brasses in the church, which told how sons and daughters of earth, once the inheritors of knightly honours and great possessions, had passed away to sleep with the meanest, till the last dread day of the universal account.

Sceptre and crown must tumble down,
And in the earth be equal laid

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Here also were seen worthies of the time of Charles I., with steel breast-plate, buff, and bandoleer. As of the reign of William and Mary, and Queen Anne, with full-bottomed wigs and high toupée, down to the no less disguised beaux and belles of the then present time. The former in goldlaced coats and cut velvet waistcoats, three-cornered hats in their hands and nosegays in their button-holes, simpering and smiling vis-à-vis to the fair dames in sacks, and hoops, and lappets, with all the grace that numberless little black patches, then called sparks, could add to the natural beauties of their complexions. Some tapestry, though sadly faded and worn, still covered the lower portions of the walls; and a very