'Quick down to yonder brook; get out the carriage! The Mountedgecumbes give him theirs; the brooklet's once more gained, to find she has not moved. He bears her tenderly, and puts her well inside, and with her sister's help applies his remedies, forcing good brandy down, mingled with drops of never-failing arnica. Joy! joy! she smiles, and smiles through falling tears. As yet he fears to speak, lest her reply should fail. 'Dear Gertrude! pour in this lotion, undo all that long

hair!'

'Twas soon and well begun. She smiles no more, but

heavier becomes.

Each hand and arm he chafes-so nerveless

and so cold! He presses to his lips those tiny hands lately so full of life and glee.

6

The Castle once more reached, he gains the stable door. 'Saddle the Sultan! My friend Macjoy will come.' He gains the village post, and wires'-' Haste-haste to her!' The weirdness of that night! The poor old Marquis is wellnigh frantic over his favourite child. The Marchioness, in despair, now tells how fever and delirium rage. And Ralph prescribes mechanically, and keeps Pills Nostrum out with his vehement will.

He sleeps in an adjoining chamber, and gives his rules and simple remedies. That night all watch the fairest flower of Old Trememdon's race. The fever hates. Macjoy arrives.

'Well, Doctor, how's my patient?' 'Thank God, she's doing well. You equal me in skill. Couldn't be better. Please God, the child will soon be well.' What days and nights of anxious, weary watching! The sixth-a week-the fever rages still!

A better time arrives; the fever lessens; the patient becomes more calm. Ralph seems again to breathe, nor yet will leave the room he chose so close to hers. The Sultan has no idle time -each hour is something wanted; the horse soon knows his purpose as eagerly he urges on his pathless way. Ralph tells the Marchioness, It's all I now can do—just to and from Trememdon village.' A mother's watchful eye takes note of all-a mother's ear is listening now to accents all too sad. Ah, how I pitied him, as day by day, at first with anxious face, and then with aspect of distraction wild, he asked Macjoy beseechingly to tell him all, or I would have breathed into his sorrowing ear, Oh, Ralph, why did you stay? A girl's young heart once given can never, never stray! And given like is hers!'

Night comes again; he paces quick that room so close to

hers.

'Will Gertrude be my friend?'

tell of aught that passes in that chamber.

But she is now forbid to

'And must I tell you all?' Macjoy asks kindly.
Ralph puts his hand upon his brow.

'Ah, why so ardent

and so headstrong?' he thinks; and yet suspense will drive me mad! What can he mean? How can he smile so, when I am dying with agony and deepest love?'

He starts-he grasps his friend's 's warm hand, and cries with choking utterance, Macjoy! God help her!'

Ah, Ralph, it is so!'

Ralph reflects, 'But can he know my thoughts?'

He

straight from fever's chamber-who just now watched his patient's gestures, heard her frenzied words, her accents wild! Her maddened prayers are ringing in his ears! And yet Ralph asks,— he pauses, then thinks again. He must be-is my friend, and, too, is hers;' and straight from out his bursting heart he sobs, 'What have I done? Macjoy, I love her so!'

6

CHAPTER IV.

'In her first passion woman loves her lover.'-BYRON.

THEY neither move nor speak-not in a whisper. 'Twould be profanity to utter words while two strong hearts are melting. The silence now is awful, but soon-

เ

Ralph, Ralph! my own beloved Ralph! where art thou, Ralph? Why keep him from me? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, Ra'

Ralph stands transfixed. That voice! Then cries aloud, 'Great God! what sounds are these?'

He hears a rustling in the room; the door unfastens, then noiselessly it closes. The silence now seems. of the grave; he hears another open, and then again.

Ralph, Ralph my darling boy! oh! whe-'

'Tis closed; he is alone!

One moment more, with hands uplift to Heaven in agonising prayer, he calls for Help, help, help!' and ever louder yet, in voice distinct and clear, he cries again for Help-for her!'

The room swims round. With hands upraised, he paces up and down, then listens. Suddenly he starts. 'Hark!' he sobs; was that?-the air seems vibrating! She speaks to me!' and then he cries aloud, 'My Father!—OURS !'

*

*

*

And Lady Gertrude, passing, hears that boy's wild cry. There comes a silent tapping; his door is quickly opened. An angel's voice now says,

Why, Ralph! poor dear Ralph!'

With fevered air he points to that chamber door, while Gertrude trembles, and yet her eyes betray a kind of exultation.

'She is sleeping now,' says Gertrude. 'Thank God!' he tries to utter.

He pauses, but soon it all

comes forth: 'I cannot leave her yet! Oh, Gertrude! not-not now!'

'Dear Ralph, oh no! Stay with us till she gets quite well -we all do want you so. Oh, Ralph, how good you are! Stay, there's a dear Ralph! She'll soon be better if you do, I know.' The poor boy falls down at her feet, he holds her hands in his; pressing them to his lips he asks, 'How, how? Ah, say, there's a dear child, I'm longing so to know.' She hesitates. 'Sweet Gertrude, dear Gertrude! oh, say those words again, and tell me how you know!'

'Well, Ralph, she is not always like-'

No, no-yes, yes! Well, Gertrude, well?'

'And once she told me so.'

'God bless her, then! God bless her darling heart! and you, dear Gertrude, tell Macjoy at once.

darling child-go!'

Go, there's a dear,

'He knows it, Ralph; you're not to go away, dear Ralph--I know you're not, there now. Good-night, dear Ralph.'

'No? Yes-stay, dearest Gertrude. Listen! ah, tell me

more now tell me that again,'

'No, not till you get up now, Ralph. You've been a penitent quite long enough--poor Ralph sobs forth the tender-hearted girl.

'Well, tell me it again !' implored the boy, now rising. 'Do you forget it, then, so soon? I would, were it to do you any good. Listen, Ralph: to-morrow-no more. night, dear Ralph.'

She smiles through falling tears.

'To-morrow!-what?

'Yes; to-morrow-you.'

'I-to-'

'Yes; you to !'

"To-to-to--see her?'

To-morrow-I-'

Good

'Yes, dear Ralph! Good-night, dear Ralph; good-night,

good-night, good-night l

CHAPTER V.

'He prayeth best who loveth best.'-COLERIDGE.

'BEATRICE! Beatrice! Beatrice! Yes, Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice were all the words he uttered while standing at the half-closed door which Lady Gertrude had left some forty-five minutes before. He did not utter them, but breathed them, in the faintest, most controlled, yet fervent of whispers.

Ralph thought though. First he thought of his own pure, sweet little darling, and his warm heart throbbed and yearned, and he seemed borne along that moment on a deep, swelling torrent of pure affection. One vast Sense pervaded, overpowered, and embraced every other, till these in turn seemed lost and worthless, save as they served to fill that one. 'I always looked for her,' he said; 'and now, ah, now!'

'And once she told me so,' were the sole words which, ringing in his ear, drove every other thought away. 'To-morrowsee her!'

Oh, 'twas all too grand!

Ah, shall I ever get away?' I heard the wild youth say within himself. I saw his colour mount, as calling to mind how he had left Gertrude wishing him 'Good-night' over and over-he never answering a word—he hurried along the corridor to pour forth tears of gratitude. (I breathed:

Quite needless, Ralph. The Lady Gertrude was half amused as well as interested in your distracted air.')

'Not to-night-to-morrow!" said Ralph. He lay his head. upon his pillow. Did he who prayed so little forget that Heaven who in the moment of his direst woe had sent a sweet comforter in answer quick to agonising prayer? He prayed to Heaven

then.

'How is it,' asked he of himself, 'when all is right and jogging just as I wish, I never think of praying? Is it unmanly? I never do it. Women pray, but then they're weaker. I rather like them for it; but for a man to kneel down night after night as women do seems so--I don't know what. I couldn't if I tried, and yet I'm not ashamed! I'd kneel in front of any market-place upon a market-day and pray for two good hours, or, tied to the stake, see the blazing fagots heaping around, if it would only do a bit of good, just like those chaps in olden times. How different we've become! Were they the better for it, are we the worse without? Yet, only let a great affliction

come, some dire distress, not on myself, but on the one I love, and straight to Heaven I waft my thought. My cry of anguish brings me face to face with great Immensity, Sublimity, SelpImmolation! The noblest conceptions of Humanity, ay of Divinity, surround and urge me on to deeds of heroism which, but for that wondrous art of Invocation, would still be unperformed, yea unattempted lie!'

*

*

*

Lady Gertrude loved her little sister, as did Lady Eleanor. They firmly believed that somehow all would be right in the end. Both had urged their mother in that sick-room, and thus at the very moment of Ralph's deepest grief all had been arranged.

Ralph was soon fast asleep, but not without a silent thought-vague, shadowy, and dreamy it is true, now that the intense excitement had subsided, but still a thought-to his Immensity, a reverential clinging around his then distant Entity, whose Wondrous Sublimity had at that moment greatly paled under the altered circumstances; nevertheless a thought of gratitude, of trust, of oneness with, and calm if undefinable repose on HIM!

I listened; amid the stillness of the night I heard him whisper in his sleep, 'My Father, who art-everywhere! For Thou and we are--ONE !'

CHAPTER VI.

'True love's the gift which God has given

To man alone beneath the heaven.

It is not fantasy's hot fire,

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;

It liveth not in fierce desire

With dead desire it doth not die.

It is the secret sympathy,

The silver link, the silken tie

Which heart to heart and mind to mind

In body and in soul can bind.'-SCOTT.

I WOULD tell you, sir, of each event as it followed those preceding ones which I have endeavoured, however imperfectly, to delineate, and which have long since been matters of history, but for the claims which are constantly calling me away to other Spheres, remote indeed from yours, but to which I hope to have the pleasure of introducing you some day. The historical facts are open to your inspection at any time; but there are a few incidents which came under no eyes but my own poor Spectral ones, such as I think may interest you, as showing the kind of thought