“And you went to find them because they are your own?” She made no answer. “Mrs. Benson, I know your secret, but I will respect it on one condition--that you leave the Hall as soon as possible. You must be aware that this is no place for you.” “I never wished to come,” she answered, weeping. “I can believe it, but for the sake of your friend, of your husband, of yourself, quit it as soon as possible. Here are your letters--you had better burn them. I only wished to ascertain that they were yours.” “General Wilmer”--she commenced gaspingly, and then she turned away and could say no more. “Do you wish to speak to me?” I asked her gently. “No--nothing; it is useless,” she answered with a tearless, despairing grief which was far more shocking to behold than either Justina’s or Lady Amabel’s. “He is gone, and there is nothing left; but thank you for your forbearance, and good-bye.” So we parted, and to this day, excepting that she is released from all that could annoy or worry her, I have learned nothing more. How long they loved, how much or in what degree of guilt or innocence, I neither know nor have cared to guess at; it is sufficient for me that it was so, and that while Justina was accusing the beautiful Lady Amabel Scott of attempting to win her husband’s heart from her, it had been given away long before to the woman whom she termed her dearest friend--to the woman who had apparently no beauty, or wit, or accomplishments with which to steal away a man’s love from its rightful owner, but who nevertheless was his “loving and faithful Pet,” and the last thought upon his dying lips. Professor and Mrs. Benson never returned to Durham Hall. It was not long afterwards that I heard from my niece that his wife’s failing health had compelled the professor to go abroad; and to-day she writes me news from Nice that Mrs. Benson is dead. Poor Pet! I wonder if those scared brown eyes have lost their frightened look in heaven? I believe that Justina has made an ample apology for her rudeness to Lady Amabel and Mr. Warden Scott. I know I represented that it was her duty to do so, and that she promised it should be done. As for herself, she is gradually recovering from the effects of her bereavement, and finding comfort in the society of her sons and daughters; and perhaps, amongst the surprises which I have already spoken of as likely to await us in another sphere, they will not be least which prove how very soon we have been forgotten by those we left in the world behind us. CHIT-CHAT FROM ANDALUSIA. A couple of springs ago, business compelling some friends of mine to cross over into Spain, I gladly accepted the cordial invitation they extended to me to visit with them that “splendid realm of old romance.” Our destination was Utrera, a small town situated between Seville and Xeres, and lying in the midst of those vast plains so often mentioned in the _Conquest of Granada_.