d her
husband's future peace, and thus gave to his vanity a prouder triumph,
than if she had never bestowed her hand in marriage on another. This
triumph however was but short--a month only, after the return of Lord
Elmwood, the Duke was called upon to answer for his conduct, and was
left where they met, so defaced with scars, as never again to endanger
the honour of a husband. As Lord Elmwood was inexorable to all
accommodation, their engagement continued for a long space of time; nor
could any thing but the assurance that his opponent was slain, have at
last torn him from the field, though he himself was dangerously wounded.

Yet even during the period of his danger, while for days he lay in the
continual expectation of his own death, not all the entreaties of his
dearest, most intimate, and most respected friends, could prevail upon
him to pronounce forgiveness of his wife, or to suffer them to bring his
daughter to him, for his last blessing.

Lady Elmwood, who was made acquainted with the minutest circumstance as
it passed, appeared to wait the news of her husband's decease with
patience; but upon her brow, and in every lineament of her face was
marked, that his death was an event she would not for a day survive: and
she would have left her child an orphan, to have followed Lord Elmwood
to the tomb. She was prevented the trial; he recovered; and from the
ample vengeance he had obtained upon the irresistible person of the
Duke, in a short time seemed to regain his usual tranquillity.

He recovered, but Lady Elmwood fell sick and languished--possessed of
youth to struggle with her woes, she lingered on, till ten years decline
brought her to that period, with which the reader is now going to be
presented.

CHAPTER II.

In a lonely country on the borders of Scotland, a single house by the
side of a dreary heath, was the residence of the once gay, volatile Miss
Milner. In a large gloomy apartment of this solitary habitation (the
windows of which scarce rendered the light accessible) was laid upon her
death-bed, the once lovely Lady Elmwood--pale, half suffocated with the
loss of breath; yet her senses perfectly clear and collected, which
served but to sharpen the anguish of dying.

In one corner of the room, by the side of an old fashioned stool, kneels
Miss Woodley, praying most devoutly for her still beloved friend, but in
vain endeavouring to pray composedly--floods of tears pour down her
furrowed chee