your unhappy parent, who sought to obtain a view of that beloved face without being himself seen. I can never claim you. I am unworthy to call you my child, and I could not bear that your innocent heart should know what a wretch you call father."
With a sickening heart Helen read the well known characters, and in the agony of the moment she thought that happiness was henceforth to be a stranger to her. She remembered Charles Melton, and she shuddered, as she felt they were, in all probability, for ever separated. Would Melton marry one over whose parentage so dreadful a mystery hung ? or if he loved her well enough to overlook that, would his proud relatives consent to the union ? In truth there was sufficient cause for her to dread a separation from the object of her affections. Melton was entirely dependant on a wealthy uncle who centered all his ambition in him, and it was the first wish of his heart to see him united to Miss Adams.
“ I will tell him all," she exclaimed, " and then bid him leave me for ever. I must teach my heart to forget how happy I once dreamed I might be in the possession of his love."
She wrote to him, and gave him her history from her earliest recollection : she told him that had she known as much as she then did, she would never have dared to love him, and all that now remained for them both to do, was to erase every recollection of past hopes and wishes from their minds, as under existing circumstances it was impossible for them ever to be realized. She confided her letter to the care of her friend, and returned to Canterbury. She revealed to Mrs. Bentham all it was necessary for her to know respecting her situation, and followed the advice of her father in seeking employment in her school. The benevolent lady wept over her altered prospects, but she was pleased to keep her with her : for the affection she felt for the unprotected girl was like that of a mother.
Helen, in the exercise of her duties, sought to recover tranquility ; but alas ! the wounded heart is not so easily schooled into forgetfulness. She was no longer the joyous creature, whose blithe laugh and gay song thrilled the pulses of the listener with a feeling akin to their own bouyancy. Her step was languid, and her eyes had lost all their brilliancy.
In the meantime Miss Adams had seen her cousin, and given him the letter, and Mary bitterly upbraided her own heart when she felt that it rejoiced in the blow that awaited
him. Helen had refused to marry him, and now he might love