that man, and father and I do not wish to know him, or any of his family any more." Then after a pause. "Mrs. Owen is a distant relative of ours. I wonder she has married him, after all his wicked doings; but she was always gentle, and loved him, bad as he is, with all her faithful, womanly heart." She spoke hurriedly and with a heightened color; Lord Moore understood her. "But perhaps he has turned a new leaf, Bianca; he attends church regularly, and seems very religiously inclined." She smiled, a fine little smile which said a great deal. He accompanied her part of the way; but she sent him back.
Chapter IX.
He was going away. The Crimean war had broken out and England required her sons to do their duty. Lord Moore was a captain in theth regiment and he was leaving England for Sevastopol.
It was their last day. He was sitting beside her in the garden covered with dead leaves. She held his hand in her small brown one, firmly, tenderly; her eyes fixed on Lord Moore's face. Every lineament of that dear face was being engraved in her heart. He must go, but the parting was hard, very hard. Presently he took off a small ring from his watch-guard, and slid it on her marriage finger. "You will wear that for my sake, darling, and if I never return"Her downcast eyelids quivered.******"
Note.—The gentle hand that had traced the story thus far,—the hand of Miss Toru Dutt,—left off here. Was it illness that made the pen drop from the weary fingers? I do not know. I think not. The sketch was a draft attempt probably, and abandoned. I am inclined to think so because the novel left in the French language; very much superior indeed to this fragment and is complete. Other fragments there are both in prose and verse but mostly rough hewn and unpolished.
