fore, have consoled you for her supposed falsehood, it is but merciful to spare her suspense, at least. I shall have done her the justice of explanation, and saved her the wretchedness of knowing that it has been made too late. You have both been strangely deceived, and by the treachery of one who was bound by every tie of honour and affection to your service."
But it is needless for us to repeat this portion of the Comtesse’s letter; our readers are already acquainted with the cruel deception which Francis's likeness to his brother enabled him to practise—how completely it failed, even while undiscovered—and the confession to which death so soon put its seal. Her change of fortune was also narrated; and the epistle concluded with these words:—
"But under all circumstances, Francesca's attachment to yourself has been her ruling feeling. Prosperous, courted, as she is at this moment, her heart is yours—dearly and truly as when your earlier vows were pledged amid the pine-forests by the old palazzo. If fettered by other ties, send me one line—if not, come to England. I am aware that you are an exile, but it is not in Charles's nature to be very inexorable; a few
