this," said Isabella, putting the bracelet into his hand.
"God bless me! wherever could this come from? it is my own, my angel mother's; it was painted for her mother when she married. I have seen it many a time when I was a boy, standing about her whilst she dressed her hair; read your packet, I beseech you, Isabella, it is of the utmost interest to me."
Holding the miniature to his lips, his eyes overflowing, and his whole frame in a state of agitation, Glentworth withdrew to his wife's dressing-room, whilst she (personally relieved, but in great solicitude for him,) took up the written papers, and read with deep interest, which increased, whilst she proceeded, as follows:
"My dear Isabella—My whole existence has been a tissue of mystery and misfortune, to myself as well as to others, for the who and what I was only was revealed to me by degrees, and my ignorance having operated as a blight on my own happiness, and must often have communicated a painful influence on those who were willing to love me, I have at length determined, in your person, and for your sake, to end it. I am on the point of leaving Europe once more, and I know I shall never return; the sentence has gone forth which consigns to an early tomb one who has passed through life
