wild horror; "and I have not seen you since. . . . Do you know Viviani?"—"Remember," said Lady Margaret, rising in agitation, "that I am your mother, Buchanan; and this strange manner agitates, alarms, terrifies me." "And me," he replied. "Is it true," at length he cried, seizing both her hands with violence—"Say, is it true?" "False as the villain who framed it," said Lady Margaret. "Kneel down there, wretched woman, and swear that it is false," said Buchanan; "and remember that it is before your only son that you forswear yourself—before your God, that you deny the dreadful fact."
Lady Margaret knelt with calm dignity, and upraising her eyes as if to heaven, prepared to take the terrible oath Buchanan had required. "Pause," he cried: "I know it is true, and you shall not perjure yourself for me." "The story is invented for my ruin," said Lady Margaret, eagerly. "Believe your mo-
