* * * * * But none are there, and not a brake hath borne Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn; Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass, Which still retains a mark where murder was." _Lara._ When L'Estrange opened his eyes it was with that delightful oblivion of all past events with which the slumberer first awakens. For a moment everything was forgotten; but then came the crushing remembrance of his guilt, and all that had passed a few hours ago. At first he felt inclined to doubt its reality; it was surely a wild dream--some terrible vision that had scared his sleep. He rubbed his eyes to see if he was awake. Alas! it was too true; there was the table, with the emptied decanters and wine-glasses still on it; the chairs on which they had sat; all damning proofs of the dread reality. The sun was shining brightly; the birds singing among the bushes; all was sunshine and happiness without; but within his sun had set; his joy was vanished; and he only rose to enact villainy. He started from his couch--his head still ached, and he felt sick in his heart as he walked across the chamber; and when he looked in the glass he started back with horror from his reflection; how haggard, pale, and wild were his looks; he scarce knew himself again! He bathed his face in cold water; it refreshed, without invigorating him. However, he felt better, and tried to steel himself up for the deed. He tried to laugh away his weakness and fears, as he hastily dressed. At last he was ready to go down stairs; but how should he face Ellen Ravensworth, if she should be alone, as he had sometimes found her? He stood irresolute for nearly five minutes, and then, suddenly nerving himself up for the worst, threw open his door--walked quickly along the passage--ran down the broad flight of stairs, and opened the parlour door. Two ladies stood near the window; one was Ellen, but, thank God! she was not alone. Lady Florence stood, all smiles, beside her. Trying to assume a careless tone of voice, he bade them good morning. His voice sounded strange to his ears! Had he come five minutes earlier he would have met Ellen alone--perhaps if he had, he might have confessed all to her--such had been a passing thought; but as it was it only sealed his purpose. The ladies returned his salute, and made some casual remark on the fine morning. L'Estrange sat down near the open window; the cool morning air was delicious as it fanned his burning face; he put his hand to his brow, and sat speechless. "Are you unwell, Captain L'Estrange?" asked Ellen, in a sweet voice; "you look so pale."