Mandeville had left E------ that morning: he suspected nothing of Emily’s attachment. This, on his part, was Bulwer, less confidence than indifference. He was one of those persons who have no existence separate from their own: his senses all turned inwards; they reproduced selfishness. Even the House of Commons was only an object of interest, because he imagined it a part of him, not he of it. He said, with the insect on the wheel, “Admire our rapidity.” But did the defects of his character remove Lady Emily’s guilt? No! and this, at times, was her bitterest conviction. Whoever turns to these pages for an apology for sin will be mistaken. They contain the burning records of its sufferings, its repentance, and its doom. If there be one crime in the history of woman worse than another, it is adultery. It is, in fact, the only crime to which, in ordinary life, she is exposed. Man has a thousand temptations to sin--woman has but one; if she cannot resist it, she has no claim upon our mercy. The heavens are just! Her own guilt is her punishment! Should these pages, at this moment, meet the eyes of one who has become the centre of a circle of disgrace--the contaminator of her house--the dishonour of her children,--no matter what the excuse for her crime--no matter what the exchange of her station--in the very arms of her lover, in the very cincture of the new ties which she has chosen--I call upon her to answer me if the fondest moments of rapture are free from humiliation, though they have forgotten remorse; and if the passion itself of her lover has not become no less the penalty than the recompense of her guilt? But at that hour of which I now write, there was neither in Emily’s heart, nor in that of her seducer, any recollection of their sin. Those hearts were too full for thought--they had forgotten everything but each other. Their love was their creation: beyond all was night--chaos--nothing! Lady Margaret approached them. “You will sing to us, Emily, to-night? it is so long since we have heard you!” It was in vain that Emily tried--her voice failed. She looked at Falkland, and could scarcely restrain her tears. She had not yet learned the latest art which sin teaches us-its concealment! “I will supply Lady Emily’s place,” said Falkland. His voice was calm, and his brow serene the world had left nothing for him to learn. “Will you play the air,” he said to Mrs. St. John, “that you gave us some nights ago? I will furnish the words.” Mrs. St. John’s hand trembled as she obeyed. SONG. 1. Ah, let us love while yet we may, Our summer is decaying; And woe to hearts which, in their gray December, go a-maying. 2. Ah, let us love, while of the fire Time hath not yet bereft us With years our warmer thoughts expire, Till only ice is left us!