and made my life a wilderness! I
might live a hundred years, but I could never recover from the effects of
this withering blow--and never forget it! Hereafter--You smile, Mrs.
Graham,' said I, suddenly stopping short, checked in my passionate
declamation by unutterable feelings to behold her actually smiling at the
picture of the ruin she had wrought.

'Did I?' replied she, looking seriously up; 'I was not aware of it. If I
did, it was not for pleasure at the thoughts of the harm I had done you.
Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility of that;
it was for joy to find that you had some depth of soul and feeling after
all, and to hope that I had not been utterly mistaken in your worth. But
smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined
to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I
am sad.'

She looked at me again, and seemed to expect a reply; but I continued
silent.

'Would you be very glad,' resumed she, 'to find that you were mistaken in
your conclusions?'

'How can you ask it, Helen?'

'I don't say I can clear myself altogether,' said she, speaking low and
fast, while her heart beat visibly and her bosom heaved with
excitement,--'but would you be glad to discover I was better than you
think me?'

'Anything that could in the least degree tend to restore my former
opinion of you, to excuse the regard I still feel for you, and alleviate
the pangs of unutterable regret that accompany it, would be only too
gladly, too eagerly received!' Her cheeks burned, and her whole frame
trembled, now, with excess of agitation. She did not speak, but flew to
her desk, and snatching thence what seemed a thick album or manuscript
volume, hastily tore away a few leaves from the end, and thrust the rest
into my hand, saying, 'You needn't read it all; but take it home with
you,' and hurried from the room. But when I had left the house, and was
proceeding down the walk, she opened the window and called me back. It
was only to say,--'Bring it back when you have read it; and don't breathe
a word of what it tells you to any living being. I trust to your
honour.'

Before I could answer she had closed the casement and turned away. I saw
her cast herself back in the old oak chair, and cover her face with her
hands. Her feelings had been wrought to a pitch that rendered it
necessary to seek relief in tears.

Panting with eagerness, and struggling to su