"No one knows. He left Montoni within twenty-four hours after the receipt of the decree of exile; but my father has received no information of his progress or intentions. Oh! my beloved country," she exclaimed, in a tone of pious fervour, "may God grant that thou wilt not be the scene of anarchy, bloodshed, and civil strife!" Richard surveyed his beautiful companion with the most enraptured admiration, as she uttered that holy wish,—a wish that spoke so eloquently of the absence of all selfishness from her pure soul. The above conversation had been carried on in a subdued tone; and its topic had not excluded from the minds of the young lovers the recollection of the sad scene which they had ere now witnessed. Indeed they only pursued their discourse upon that particular subject, because it was connected with the chain of events which seemed adapted to carry out the prophetic hopes of the dying girl. Nearly an hour had passed since they had left the chamber of death. At length the door opened slowly, and Mr. Gregory entered the drawing-room. His countenance was deadly pale; and yet it wore an expression of pious resignation. Isabella and Richard knew that all was over. Mr. Gregory advanced towards them, and taking their hands, said, "She is gone—she died in my arms! Almost her last words were, '_Tell Isabella and Richard sometimes to think of Mary-Anne_.'" The bereaved parent could subdue his grief no longer: he threw himself upon the sofa and burst into tears. Nor were the cheeks of Isabella and Richard unmoistened by the holy dew of sweet sympathy. "Richard," said Mr. Gregory, after a long pause, "you must write to my sons and tell them of this sad affliction. Desire them to return home immediately from college: I was wrong not to have sent for them before; but—my God! I knew not that my sweet child's death was so near!" Markham instantly complied with Mr. Gregory's request, and despatched the letter to the post. Scarcely was this duty accomplished, when Count Alteroni's carriage drove up to the door. It was, however, empty, having been merely sent to fetch Isabella home. The Signora took leave of Mr. Gregory, and bade a tender adieu to Richard, who handed her into the vehicle. The carriage then drove away. Richard passed the remainder of the day with Mr. Gregory, and returned home in the evening deeply affected at the misfortune which had overtaken an amiable family. But Markham, on his arrival at his own house, was doomed to hear tidings of a most unpleasant nature. "Mr. Tracy's footman has been here with very disagreeable news," said Ellen, the moment Markham entered the sitting-room. "Had I known whither you were gone, I should have directed him on to you." "Mr. Tracy's footman!" exclaimed Richard. "Why—he was here last evening, with a letter from his master inviting me and Mr. Monroe to dine with him next Monday——" "I am aware of it," interrupted Ellen. "And you declined the invitation."