ice has been founded on falsehood, whose only
merit, a love of you, has been, if not utterly destroyed, at least
polluted and debased,--for this man, poor alike in fortune, character,
and honour, can you any longer profess affection or esteem?"

"Never, never, never!" cried I, springing from the bed, and throwing
myself upon my mother's neck. "Never: I am your own Flora once more.
I will never suffer any one again to make me forget you," and then I
sobbed so violently that Mamma was frightened, and bade me lie down and
left me to sleep. Several hours have passed since then, and I could not
sleep nor think, and I would not cry, for he is no longer worthy of my
tears; so I have written to you.

Oh, how I despise and hate myself for having so utterly, in my vanity
and folly, forgotten my mother, that dear, kind, constant friend, who
never cost me a single tear, but for my own ingratitude! Think, Eleanor,
what an affront to me,--to me, who, he so often said, had made all other
women worthless in his eyes. Do I hate him? No, I cannot hate. Do I
despise? No, I will not despise, but I will forget him, and keep my
contempt and hatred for myself.

God bless you! I am worn out. Write soon, or rather come, if possible,
to your affectionate but unworthy friend, F. A.

Good Heavens! Eleanor, he is wounded. He has fought with Lord
Borodaile. I have just heard it; Jermyn told me. Can it, can it be true?
What,--what have I said against him? Hate? forget? No, no: I never loved
him till now.

LETTER III. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

(After an interval of several weeks.)

Time has flown, my Eleanor, since you left me, after your short but kind
visit, with a heavy but healing wing. I do not think I shall ever again
be the giddy girl I have been; but my head will change, not my heart;
that was never giddy, and that shall still be as much yours as ever.
You are wrong in thinking I have not forgotten, at least renounced all
affection for Mr. Linden. I have, though with a long and bitter effort.
The woman for whom he fought went, you know, to his house, immediately
on hearing of his wound. She has continued with him ever since. He had
the audacity to write to me once; my mother brought me the note, and
said nothing. She read my heart aright. I returned it unopened. He has
even called since his convalescence. Mamma was not at home to him. I
hear that he looks pale and altered. I hope not,--at least I cannot
resist praying for his rec