first heard you trifle with the obligations of religion, and express a distrust of its truths, I felt my heart chill. I reproached myself bitterly for having looked on your insensibility on this subject as the common carelessness of a gay young man, to be expected, and forgiven, and easily cured. These few short months have taught me much; have taught me, Erskine, not that religion is the only sure foundation of virtue—that I knew before—but they have taught me, that religion alone can produce unity of spirit; alone can resist the cares, the disappointments, the tempests of life; that it is the only indissoluble bond—for when the silver chord is loosed, this bond becomes immortal. I have felt that my most sacred pleasures and hopes must be solitary." Erskine made no reply; he felt the presence of a sanctified spirit. "You now know all, Erskine. The circumstances you have told me this evening, I partly knew before."
"From Lloyd?" said Edward. "He then knew, as he insinuated, why the 'treasure of your cheek had faded.'"
"You do him wrong. He has never mentioned your name since the morning I left my aunt's. I heard them, by accident, from John."
"It is, in truth, time we should part, when you can give your ear to every idle rumour;" he snatched his hat, and was going.
Jane laid her hand on his arm; "Yes, it is time," she said, "that we should part; but not in anger. Let us exchange forgiveness, Edward." Erskine turned and wept bitterly. For a few gracious mo-
