'before those you have so basely wronged.' I can say it myself, but I cannot bear it from you."

He took a packet of papers from his pocket, and laid them on the table.

"Madam, I would secure the forgiveness of you and yours before I die. I could not go to my grave in peace without it. If sincere repentance can obtain the pardon of the Almighty, as we are told it can, 1 trust I may yet obtain it; but yours, my lady, I must supplicate also."

"You have it, Lewis," said Lady Llewellen, gravely, but kindly, as she looked upon the streaming eyes and clasped hands of the grey-headed old man before her. "You have had it long. I need forgiveness myself for my own offences, and shall I deny it to a fellow mortal?"

"And your children, my lady? Will they forgive the villain who ruined them. Who helped to bring them down from station and affluence, to the retirement in which I see you?"

Lady Llewellen left the room, and soon returned with Gwenthlean and Clare, who walked towards the Steward, and offered their hands to him, which he clasped and kissed with fearful fervour. Then he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed like a child. Gwenthlean left the apartment, and brought back a glass of wine, which she entreated him to drink. He swallowed it, and looking into her face, said she was too good and too merciful. "The blessings of a sinful, wretched man be upon your heads," he said. you will yet be blessed. If the labours day and night of the last twelve years, can atone, in any way, for the sins of the past, oh may mine have not been in vain. ! Every hour of that time has been employed to repay a small portion of the enormous debt I owe your family, and I should be labouring still, had not increasing years and infirmities, warned me that my end was near. I have been in America till within the last few months, and have

"And

met with such reward as the honest labours of my hands could gain. In this parcel you will find papers that may prove to you, at least, that I have repented of my former ill-conduct. I have reserved enough to carry me to my grave, and I may, perhaps, with your permission, see you again. Oh! ladies; may you never know the heavy weight that bad actions lay upon the conscience. Never, for a moment, has mine been lightened, until now. Your forgiveness, and the hope that you may think less ill of me than you have hitherto done, have given me the first feeling of pleasure that I have experienced since I stood beside my honoured master's dying bed. Once more, say you will forgive me."

Lady Llewellen held out her hand, and the steward fell on his knees and kissed it. She begged him to rise, but he again entreated the pardon of the young ladies. They assured him, over and over again, that they had nothing to forgive, and that

adversity had been more beneficial to them than riches might have been. He arose from his knees, and requested to be left alone for a few minutes, to recover himself. They prepared to acquiesce in his desire, when he once more took the hand of Clare, and said she was the image of her father. They left the room, and remained absent for a considerable time, commenting on this strange interview. Hearing no sound in the dining-room, they began to wonder at the steward's continued silence, and returned. He was gone. The window was open, and he had, evidently, escaped through it. They were alarmed, and went into the garden to look for him. He was not there, but a boat was quickly rowing across the bay, towards a vessel laying at anchor on the opposite side. It must have been waiting for him.

They returned to the house, and found upon the table the packet he had taken from his pocket. It was directed to Lady Llewellen, and carefully sealed. Lady

Llewellen broke it open, and was surprised by a number of accounts, in which George Lewis was made debtor to Sir Howel Llewellen, for immense sums of money, borrowed or abstracted from that gentleman and his father before him, at different times. These bills seemed to be of an enormous amount, and regularly drawn up. Lady Llewellen unfolded them one after another, whilst her daughters looked on. At last, when they all lay open upon the table, she held in her hand an old leather pocket-book. She unclasped it, and took out another well-sealed packet, directed, also, to her. When she opened it, and saw its contents, they dropped from her hand. She could scarcely believe her

senses.

There appeared to be an endless number of Bank of England notes of enormous value. Written on the sheet that enclosed them were these words:

"I, George Lewis, once steward of the late Sir Howel Llewellen, do pay the sum