It was evening when Ernest reached
home. He spoke not to one of the family,
out hastened to lock himself up in his
.

`So I have found my father!' he murmured
to himself, `and he is the father of
Marie, too! God! is possible that she
whom I love so madly is my sister! Then
our love itself is sinful—our bliss impossible!
Oh! would that we had never met!'

The unhappy young man paced rapidly to
fro, nearly maddened by the dark
which crowded upon his brain.
was interrupted by a knocking at the
. A servant came to put a letter into
hands. He recognised Maurice's hand
and breaking it hastily open, read
as follows:

`My dear Ernest:—Shame prevents me
coming to you to-night, for I cannot
feel that I have acted treacherously towards
you. Whilst you were with M. Duval,
was alone with Marie. The conversation
as of you, dear Ernest. Judge of my sur
when she told me that she could not
yours—that she loved another. Then
forgot my duty to you, and instead of
for you, fell upon my knees before
her, and pleaded for myself; for you
know that I too had loved her—long
her in secret. I told her how I had
cealed my passion for your sake—how I
resolved to sacrifice my own happiness
promote your bliss.

`But if you love him not,' said I,
not say that you love another! To
could yield, but with another I will
until the last. For I love you as
ever will or can.'

`Do not curse me, Ernest, for
do not hate me when I say that
her lovely hand upon my own, and
tears of joy chased each other down
lovely cheek, confessed that, although
loved another beside you, that other was myself!

`Heavens! how can I describe my
intoxication! But then, dear Ernest,
thought of you! Joy is no longer my lot—
am miserable—dying with remorse.

`Write immediately, and say that you
forgive me.

Ernest read the letter twice, then
down and wrote an answer.

`Dearest Friend:—Accept my forgiveness,
my benediction, my love! You have
acted nobly—worthily of yourself.

`When you read this I shall be no more
but do not think that either you or Marie
caused my death. Far from it! I wish you
happiness, and should have been content to
live for you, had not a circumstance happened
this afternoon, which drives me to put
an end to my existence.

`In my desk my friends will find the inscription
I desire to have engraved upon my
tombstone. You will see to it, my dear
Maurice—you, who have served me so faithfully
until now.

`I have but a word more to say. Marie
loves you, you say; her affection is worth
more than countless treasures. You will,

, live for her, and make her happy.

a steady hand the unhappy young
folded this farewell epistle; after
a short note to his adopted father.



.

, with his face buried in his hands,
on his past life, and on eternity.

Five minutes after, the report of a pistol
echoed through the house.

Ernest was no more!

Thus ended the life of the unhappy Ernest.

But few knew the cause of his despair,
his fatal resolution, and his death. M. Du
val, his father, concealed the truth from his
laughter, and vainly strove to banish it from
his own bosom. But remorse and repent
were his portion during the remainder
of his life. The memory of Virginie Lordilliere,
of the fruit of her dishonor, and of
their wrongs, was destined to rest like an
soul.

Long did Maurice mourn
and even after the first burst of
passed, he went frequently with his young
and beautiful wife to shed tears of sorrow
over his grave.

The inscription Ernest should
be carved upon his as follows:

`

.'