As may be supposed, the peaceful vale of Ll---- from this time forth became an altered place to Eustace Trevor. "There are places in the world we never wish to see again, however dear they be to us." Such to his disappointed heart was Mary Seaham's deserted home, and every spot in the vicinity haunted by associations connected with that loved being. Yet he lingered, pursuing his former avocations, partly from principle, partly from the painful pleasure thus afforded, partly from the anxious desire to remain upon the spot, where alone he could hope to receive tidings of his lost one. A strange restless foreboding had been excited in his mind from the first moment that he had heard of Mary's intended destination; and it was this, no doubt, which in a great measure urged him to take the decisive step which had proved so unavailing. Not of course had he in any way embodied the real nature of the misfortune his ominous fears presented; that event would indeed have seemed a coincidence too fearful to be conceived probable; but besides there being something most repellant to his feelings in the idea of that gentle object of his heart's unhappy affections wandering away into the sphere now so darkly associated in his mind--some presentiment of danger and sorrow to herself, quite unconnected with any selfish considerations, had darkly mingled. All through that summer then, whose brightness to him was gone; all that autumn too, till like his own fallen hopes, the yellow leaf lay thick around, "and the days were dark and dreary," he stayed; then--then--had reached his ears, at first by vague and dull report, tidings which froze into the very ice of winter the life-blood in his heart--Miss Mary Seaham was going to be married to a very rich and handsome gentleman of those parts; and his name--yes, that was it--he would have thanked Heaven on his knees, had it been any other name on earth--that name. It came with terrible exactness, that name was "Eugene Trevor." Then, indeed, a dreadful feeling of horror, of despair, assailed him. His cup of bitterness was full; could malignant fate do more to crush him? Mary Seaham, the wife of his brother! Of him who had dealt so treacherously by him, who without cause, had proved himself his deadly enemy. _His_ wife? nay his victim. Another angel victim, of covetousness, tyranny, and vice. It must not, nay, it _should_ not be; anything--everything must be done to avert the sacrifice. In a word, every other consideration was at an end. He left Ll---- and went to London; there he traced out that faithful servant to whom we have alluded, and through him took steps to gain a too sure confirmation of what he had heard, and besides that, many particulars concerning the mode of life of his brother, during the interval of their separation, which only served to invest with fresh horror, the idea of his union with Mary.