which hasty rumour might spread abroad with unpleasant misrepresentations."

"Ah, Catherine, it has been said that folly is infectious, but here prudence has had less trouble to win you than folly. Is it that she exercises her wonted influence over your will? or is it that the still inclination of the heart does not resist her?"

"You would do better," interrupted Sarah, ❝to envy her Grace for that which you do not possess, than to make it a subject of accusation. Without these complaints the old lady whom your presence scared away, had never left us, and her Grace needed not to have feared that she had offended her."

"What is it you are chattering?" cried the Duchess impatiently, "But hush!-By my troth there is a rattling at the lock of the outer door! -Some one calls too!-It is the little thin voice of my daughter-in-law, Dorset, who, I can hear, has been reminded by something, that her mother was the child of Henry the Seventh.

Stay not another moment, Bertie, but slip through this private door into the under chambers of the domestics. I'll engage that none of them are there now; curiosity has collected every one in the hall; and, indeed, the Duke's sudden remove would have wakened the soundest sleepers. And you, Sarah, open the door without to the Marchioness.-So, now she is gone, and one short moment is yours, Richard. Farewell, my beloved; soon, very soon, I shall follow you.-Nay, do not look at me so doubtfully, nor trouble the recollection of the transient happiness that has smiled on us within these walls."

"The transient happiness! Yes, indeed; that word rightly paints the flight of the few moments that have rustled by us. But this hurry, the tumult below, the pressing and being prest, my secret stealing away-all this bears too much the face of doubtful right. Should it be an augury of evil? Shall I lie in wait and steal my fortune? No, I will deserve it in the sight of day or not possess it at all."

Richard! Richard! reckon not so arrogantly with Fortune for her favours. Is this the time to contend about contingencies?Enough, you have my word.-Oh, no more, incredulous one. Do you not hear the quick steps of the impatient Sarah?"

66

Ha, this Sarah !-If she should—”

"No more, for heaven's sake!" exclaimed the Duchess, with all the tokens of inward anxiety. She hurried him into the dark passage, and had scarcely let fall again the Flanders tapestry, when a door flew open at the other end of the lofty chamber, and Lady Francisca Dorset entered, the wife of the late-created Duke of Suffolk. With a mixture of self-satisfied pride and wonted adulation, she addressed the Duchess with, "Was your Grace awakened by the great news, or did the report find you awake with other occupations?"

There was something, as usual, of such doubtful interpretation in Francisca's face, that it was

uncertain whether by her last word she meant to

hint at any thing in the Duchess, or was only occupied with the important occasion that had called her forth in such an hour. The cautious Catherine, however, adopted the latter explanation, as she quietly replied, "The fortunes of your house, Francisca, which can never cease to be mine, gave me much to think of that kept me awake; and, of course, the renewed tumult in the castle, when I imagined all had gone to sleep, could not escape me. But tell me what has driven you up from your bed, and surprised me with the favour of this nocturnal visit?"

The Marchioness repeated the last words with a significant smile, adding, "In good truth, widows, like my fair mother, have reason to be upon their guard, and, indeed, I found your door so well bolted that nothing-not even my newscould gain admittance. O ho! Is that the custom too at castle Barbican? and has the jealous providence of my father accustomed you to such close precautions?"

66

"I honour your father's memory too highly

to answer his daughter such a question," replied the Duchess, with subdued indignation.

"Good God!" retorted Francisca, smiling; "why is it you are always so out of temper with me? Don't you see that I would willingly keep to myself my newly-acquired title of Duchess of Suffolk, and wish a better fate for your youth than this cold widowhood? But then the question is, who can presume to ally himself with the mighty stem that is pushing forth its blossoms as high as to the throne of England; for, your Grace should know King Edward is deadthat is, dead to us who are in the mystery, though the world thinks no other than that he is pining on a sick bed, and can at pleasure alter his resolve in regard to the succession.”

"Dead! the King dead!" said the Duchess, turning pale; "and you tell it with so much indifference,-Gracious Heavens !-as if the cold wind that in him had separated soul from body would touch only his being! Are you so inexperienced that you do not see in the faded glory