and in all points complete, ready for signature ?"

"I will not fail, Mr. Dalton."

And he did not fail. Mr. Dalton on this day was courteous, gentlemanly and mild; but no whit less determined. He even assumed a somewhat jocular air, which, however, sat very ill on his haggard features, worn and aged ten years since the yesterday.

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Master had scarcely been in bed at all, and has hardly tasted food," whispered the old butler, who was called in as a witness to the will, to the attorney.

"All right and tight here, I suppose ;" said Mr. Dalton, smilingly, " no driving a coach and six through it hereafter, hey, lawyer?"

"I will pledge my professional character on its legal accuracy," said Mr. Scribewell, very, very gravely, for his heart was sinking within him.

Mr. Dalton coloured deeply, he seemed to be struck with the lawyer's undis

guisable dejection; but no more words were spoken than were requisite to the execution of the will, which was signed and sealed in due form.

Poor Emily!

CHAPTER III.

"DEAR Henry, this is very terrible," sobbed the young bride, as she wept over the unpropitious answer of her father, Mr. Dalton, to her letter supplicating his forgiveness of her rash conduct, "this is very,

very terrible."

"But, my dearest Emily," rejoined Mr. Meredith, "it is only what you anticipated. We had reason to suppose that your father would be very angry at first: we knew it would be the case."

“We did—we did," sobbed Emily.

"Then, my dear girl, do not give way much. I can't endure to see you

so very much.

so miserable.

Write to your father again; or shall I write to him? or will you go to him at once?"

"Oh, not go, not go, Henry. I have not courage for that until papa softens a little he is so terrible in his first anger; but if you would write-"

"I will in a moment, Emily, if you wish it; but do you not think, my dear girl, that a letter from me at this moment might be more likely to increase Mr. Dalton's irritation than allay it?"

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Perhaps it might," said Emily, despondingly, "perhaps I had better write myself."

So a letter was written to the offended father, couched in such terms of contrition and humiliation as Emily herself, a month before, would have thought it impossible she could ever be brought to adopt. They were now the genuine outpourings of her feelings. Glorying as yet in her husband,

and without a moment of repentance or yet of self-reproach for what she had done, she felt a degree of self-abasement in writing to her father which she had never before experienced, a shuddering apprehension of his wrath which she had never before known-the just and legitimate consequence of her duplicity and disobedience.

Mr. Meredith was curate of a village church at a few miles' distance from Beechwood manor. He was very efficient in his professional duties, and was a considerable favorite in the social parties of the district. His accidental introduction at one of these parties to Mr. Dalton led to an invitation to the manor-house, and his intimacy there was soon followed by a mutual attachment between himself and Miss Dalton. But Mr. Meredith was a foundling -the child of charity; his parents were unknown. A childless, unattached lady had taken a fancy to him, had educated him, sent him to college, and with pride and pleasure watched his advance to the