The belle of Paris, or, The wrecker of the cliff
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] OR, THE WRECKER OF THE CLIFF, A ROMANCE OF ENGLAND, FRANCE AND ITALY. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY F. GLEASON, AT THE FLAG OF OUR UNION OFFICE, MUSEUM BUILDING, TREMONT STREET. 1851. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by F. Gleason, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. page: 0Advertisement[View Page 0Advertisement] PUBLISHER's NOTE.-The following Novellette was originally published in THE FLAG OF OUR UNION, and is but one among the many deeply interesting productions emanating from that source. The FLAG has attained to a circulation ur rivalled in newspaper literature; its contributors form a corps. of the finest talent in the land, and its romances, tales, and poetical gems are of a high order, and such as enrich the columns of no other publication. 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Postmasters, or any who will go by the above terms, may become agents, and may make handsome profits- or they may induce some of their friends to club together, and get their papers cheap. No subscriptions taken for less than six months., Those in the country who wish to become subscribers to the ' FLAG,' by enclosing the amount of sub- scription in a letter (post paid), to either of the above places, may depend upon receiving their paper regularly every veek, and In due time. The I FLAG ' may also be obtained at all the Periodical Depots in the United States, and of Newsmen, at FOUR CENTS per copy. F. GLEASON, PROPRIETOR. PREBFACE. The author of the following story appears before the readers of the FLAG, once more, with renewed feelings of gratification. The success of his previous efforts has been flttering to him; and in the pages which follow, he has striven to depict life naturally, and without caricature or a resort to the improbable^ The characters portrayed in the romance of I The Belle of Paris,' are not over- drawn, and the scenes and adventures related will be found, in a measure, life-lie From the commencement, it has been the aim of the author to keep up a conti ued and continuous interest, for the reader; and his previous success prompts him to hope that that has been as fortunate in this as in the Tales which have preceded it, over his signature. It is pleasing to communicate with those who are disposed to encourage and ap- preciate our efforts to amuse them. And, in our present story, we have had in view the kindness and favor which has hitherto been extended to our productions, furnish- ed for the patrons of the FLAG. In the hope that the present romance may meet with the same kind reception that has been extended to its predecessors, the writer subscribes himself Very faithfully, . FRED HUNTER. page: 0[View Page 0] CHAPTER I. A gale in the Straits of Dover. The distressed merchantmcs . A dreary night, and a weary crew. The gallant young stranger. 4 fearfid sound. A rude channel and a ruder coast. The alarm! '--- Onward she comes, but her fair wing Of sail is wounded-the proud pennon gone! Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on, Through waters that are battling to and fro, And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow Over her deck.-Quick and high she strains Her foaming keel-that solitary ship- As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap The frightful barrier!' 'T was well towards evening, late in the A month of November, when, of all seasons in the year, the mist and fog is denser than at any other period, in that region, that a large ship might have bee n seen approaching the coast of Great Britain, laboring and heaving under a heavy spread of canvas. She had crossed the Straits, of Dover before a furious gale, and the commander hoped to double the headlands beyond Sheppey Island, before night; but the wind had increased, dur- ing the last hour, and he found it pecessa ry to shorten sail, until he now showed but a single jib and close-reefed foresail. Trumpet in hand, he stood upon the quarter-deck, gazing fitfully out upon the prospect before him, uneasy in his movements, and dubious, evidently, in his hopes. ' A murky night, sir,' remarked the first offi- cer, mounting the gangway, and approaching the captain, as the latter had just turned from the helmsman. ' Yes, yes,' responded the commander, briefly. 'How are the men below ' 'Weary, sir, weary-you may be certain.' ' Yes; but they must stick to it -' 'They are so directed, and 'understand that upon their efforts depend their chances of es- cape.' 'It is well, Mr. Chase. Cheer them, sir, cheer up. Do they gain upon the leak?' page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 1 Not an inch, sir i' l s No! How much water have you ' 6 Over three feet.' i "ighten again, Mr. Chase, lighten, then, with all despatch,' said the captain, quickly. And the mate sprang forward, hastily, to direct this movenlment, effectually. It was the good ship Rubicon, bound from Havre to London. She had taken the gale in the chops of the Channel, and a leak had been reported on the previous day. The pumps had been put to work at the earliest momnent, but, up to early afternoon on the day when we first speak of meeting her, with all the force on board, they had only been able to keep up with the leak. Two hours before, the order had been given to lighten the ship, and everything of any ma- terial weight had been thrown ovAboard, from on deck. When the captain learned that the leak increased so rapidly, and that the crew had been unable, thus far, to reduce the influx, he became more alarmellld, and directed that a fur- ther effort should be made to relieve her. As we have seen, the Rubicon labored sadly; ind, while the gale continued to iIlncrease in fury, her headway was necessarily lessened- from the inability to carry sail. As she rose and plunged again and again into the rough sea, the leak wais also enlarging, and the men, worn dlown by the constant labor of the last twenty- four hours, had become not only physically dis- abled, but actually dispirited; when the cry of rhe mate was-heard for the secocnd time: 'All hands! Lighten ship!' This order was in a degree welcome; for anzy change from the monotonous and wealrying worlk to which they had been subjected so long, was a relief. Lighten ship, lively boys I' cried the first Iofficer; and the cargo, valuable as it waS began quiekly to find its way over the side. But this operation lasted but a little time. Scarcely had a score of heavy packages been *leared away, when a hurried shout went up 'rom below-' the leak! the leak! the leak ' The mate darted into the partially opened hold, and found that the water was making too rapidly to be neglected; and once more, secur- ing, the hatches, he ordered the men to the pumps. 'For your lives, boys, now!' he shouted. ' Lay to with a will; for the breach is widened, and we must keep her afloat full four-and-twenty hours, yet!' All hands sprang to the pumps, once more, at this announcement; but the rushing waters still gained fearfully upon them, in spite of their ready movements, and steady stroke. ' Now, Mr. Chase,' said the captain, as the first officer approached him again, ' what news?' ' Little that is encouragiigr, sir; and I see by your tremor that you are no longer confident.' ' Hush-'sh! Not a word aloud; for God's sake, don't speak it-but the chances are against us.' ' If youe quail, captain, we are lost.' 'No, no-I wont, I wont, Mr. Chase. Look to the men, poor devils! Keep them up to it -they uzztst-all depends on their courage. What is that?' A voice was heard at this moment, a loud 'hallo! hallo! Captain-captain Brandt! What, ho!-captain!' 'I had forgot, Mr. Chase-it is the young man in the cabin, below. Open the slide, let him up, we may use him.' The companion-way had been secured several hours previously, and the gentlemanl to whom * the captain alluded, had been locled below. He was the only passenger on bolard ; andbIis , presence was not thought to be necessary on deckl during the storm and gale. As soon as he reached the ldeck, however, he rushed to the captain's sidle, ' What is this?' he asked. ' Tell me, cap- ; tain, is there cdanger?' ' Quiet, quiet, sir,' rejoined the commander, ' if you would not hasten our destruction, by alarming the men. They are weary enough, I and desperate enough, now; so pray be cau- p tious.' 'Come, captain, why have you treated me d thus? I am strong and willing; and, at least, will work for my life.' 'This way!' shouted the mate, seizing the' young man by the arm, ',this way!' And in another moment, the gentleman was plying stoutly at the larboard pump, beside an almost helpless tar, who had well nigh 'given up the ship,' in despair. ( Merrily, now, boys! Cheerily, cheerily!' cried the stranger, as he sprang to the work in right good earnest; and, for half an hour, there was a quicker and heartier stroke than had been heard before during the whole night. Onward loomed the heavy mercheantman, -and still the gale poured its fury on her wake. The thick black clouds grew thicker and blacker as she approached the coast, but there was no re- treating, no shirking, no escaping it! On she flew, and at every lurch upon the rudely heaving sea, the parting seams stillwidened-the chances for her safety, lessened! A stirring night was that for the poor crew, who had labored so earnestly and so faithfully, thus far, to save the ship. A cold rain set in towards mornling, and the thickening mist seem- ed to hang like a funeral pall, far away on every side; but the fatal leak still enlarged, and the hopes of the stoutest began to fail. On a sudden, there came a roar-a faint but distinct roll, and then a long hiss, which the well-tried ear of the captain could not mistake. But he preserved his calmness as he best could, at that trying, terrible moment, for he knew there were breakers ahead! 'Up, Lawton, up your helm!' he cried, springing aft, and clutching the wheel, to aid the old salonr in throwing off her head. ,. The ship hove lazily off a couple of points, and the fearful sound soon ceased again. 'What noise was that, captain?' asked the man beside him, in a low whisper. '-'ist, Lawton, you're an old salt, keep her steady, and ask no questions.' Ay, ay, sir-steady, so.' ' Mr. Chase,' shouted the commander, quick- ly, as the mate came upon the quarter-deck, again, ' what is the prospect below?' ' Bad, sir. We've nearly five foot o' water in the hold, and the men are entirely exhaust, ed-' ' We must be close upon the point! What is the hour" After four, sir.' ( The sea chops here, and by the current and 3 freshening wind, we should round the headland within the hour. Heave the lead, Mr. Chase.' His order was instantly obeyed. 'What have you?' ' Seven fathoms, sir.' Heave aoain! What now?' ' By the deep, six.' ' Again.' ' Five-half, sir.' ' Once more, Mr. Chase.' 'Four fathoms-four, less quarter; by the mark, three-hlalf!' shouted the mate, in anoth- , er moment. e ' Call all hands- we must aboutship.' 'It is impossible, sir!' I, Call all hands,' thundered the captain; and d again the fearful summons rang from above,' All hands on deck P' page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] CHAPTER II. Tile point in sight. Breakers to windward. A desperate effort. The fate of the Rubi- con. The wrecker of the bluff. TDe siynal and its effect. Thle maid of the cliff.- A ready physicianz and an apt nurse. ' Danrrer encompassed us. The crew Were quailing-stout in heart were few! Up, from its shadowy throne, the tempest rode, The thunder rolled, the livid lightning glowed- The furious sea portrayed one sheet of foam, The frighted sea-gull sought his rocky home I A fiery stream along the cliff was driven, Like an armed messenger from angered heaven 1' THE tired crew tumbled lazily up to the deck again, and while the water forced its way through the widening leak, they heard the hurried order to 'bout ship.' To effect this, it was found necessary first to set the luainsail; and, in spite of remonstrance, the captain gave the word to stand by to hoist it. The still willing sailors advanced to obecy, though every man felt how futile was such an attempt. The wind was blowing a hurricane, and it 4ee3m0ed the veriest madness, on the parlt of the captain, to undertake it. At this jluncture, a te rrific crash was hear , and a succession of thunder-peals quiclkly fowed, while flash after flash darted from the clods, overhead, and the roar of the storm-king, filled the. atmosphere. Less than a mile to leeward, by the uncertain light which played from out the heavens, the captain saw the. point he had spoklen of. Its tall, craggy, rough boulders wore plainly visible, i and now the hissing of the surges which lashhed j its base could be heard between the rattlilln peals of the lone thunder. ' It is life or death P' he cried. ' Up with it! We must claw off, or be dashed upon that point; Up with the mainsail! We must go through the breakers, or all is lost P' To windward lay the breakers, stretchedl out as far as the eye could reach; and, when the light- ning's glcam afforded the opportunity to see at l U, this tlhc;tening mass of rocks and foam seemed lilke a rude bed of drifted snow, in rap- id motion. Tle ship had been drawn by the current, and driven-by the wind, into the inner channel, which, in calmn weather, was suffi- ciently intricate; but, under the friglhtful circum- stances, death appeared certain to the practised eye of the Rubicon's commander. Still, there was one last, frail hope. The captain saw the peril, and felt convinced, if he could make headway half a league to windward, that he should be able to round the outer ledge, and in another hour c d drop into comparatively smooth water. To effect this, however, he must make sail; and, coming up to windward, there was an even chance of his find- ingy the main channel, and passing out between the point and the huge bed of rocks to the south-eastward. But the ship was water-logged, and the chances were desperate, indeed! 5 Forward plunged the heavily-laden craft, and, at every surge she seemed to near her grave. The captain's order wais beingr executed, and the mainsail was run up, at last; but the day was against them. Scarcely had the canvas been flung out, when a crashing wind-gust, and a huge 3sea rolled down madly, striking)o the ship heavily astern. She pitched forward, staggered, trembled, and righted. But her rudder had unshipped; she trembled in the wind for a mo- ment, sidled rapidly to leeward, and struck. Her day was well nigh over! 'The boats ' shouted the captain-'the boats!' echoed the mate; and to the boats flew the crew. But, in that awful hour, surrounded by darlk- ness, in the mlidst of a thousand sunken boulders, with the sea running mlountaills high, and all the elements at work in their fury, what could be done with those frail and tinyoats? Thump, thump, thump!, the waves rolled fiercely in toward the sh11, the ship rode high in air, anon, and thcl camell crashing down upon the sharp r'OCks, agi, until she splintered, fractured, parted-dashed in pieces, amid the frightful storm! The boats went over the sidte. The first was swamped, instanter. Into the- nest the captain and his youthful passenger descended; and sud- denly they were lifted up, the waves parted, and they were thrown far inland, as the ship ca- reenedl and dashed over a rock to windward. Half an hour afterwards, scarcely a relumnant of the wreck was in sight. The Rulbicon and her jaded crew had sunk into one fearful but common grave! The wild sea-gulls whistled mournfully, the wind continued to howl, the spray dashed high upon the headlands; but, save the riot of the elements, all was silent- for Death had done his work. When morning dawned, there came a ruqe looking Wian from the broad beach beyond the point, who cast his eye up and down, as if he anticipated meeting something which he could not readily discover; for the mist had not clear- ed, and he could see but a little distance from the shore. He was attired like a wreclker; and he seemed to have imagined that the storm rhight possibly have put something, in his way. Philip-or rather, 'Phil Brandon,' as he was called-was a wiry-sinewed fellow, a good-heart- ed man spiteof hisprofession, and was well-to-doin the world. He, had come from his rude cottage to reconnoitre ; but there was nothing, in sight. The morning was chilly, and he turned to go back, when his quick eye fell upon an object, far up the beach, which he little expected- to see. ' Hallo!' he muttered, ' as I live, it's a -- No, it aint-I think. Wfhat's that doing Ae(re?' lhe queried. ' No craft in sight, no boat, not a spar!' But still he hurried along, until he had reached the object which had attracted his no- tice so suddenly. p IIt's a man, or I'm a sharkl,' cried Phil, springing to the ste of the prostrate body. ( How in the world 'd he get here? No boat, no plank-not a box or splinter in sight. Dead, though,' continued the wreclker, raising and dropping the arm of the being before him- 'dead as Julius Cssar!' 'No, he isn't! Gad! Here's a mystery, to be sure,' he added, placing his hand to the prostrate man's heart. ' He arnt gone, yet.' Then, putting a small brass tlrumpet to his mouthll, the wrecker blowed a shrill blast, which fairly rattled, in its echo, amon1log the rocks. above him. Directly it was answered by a similar sound, at a distance; faintly at first, but afterwards page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] more clearly, as a third party hove in sight, w upon the edge of the rocks, far up the So beach. The figure thus summoned approached w as rapidly as possible; and, meantime, Phil to drew from his pea-jacket pocket 3a wicker-cov- o; ered bottle, which he placed to the lips of the n man he had discovered so opportunely. be ( Bless us, father, what is this?' queried the of new comer, astounded, as she stooped over the tl form of the young man whom Phil was endea- t1 voring to resuscitate. But her father was too b anxious to answer questions; so he said: o ( Quick, quick, Carrie. Dor't talk-come, s you're strong, take hold, raise him: that's it- p once more, that'll do, I've got him. Go you forward, lively. Heat the blankets, spread the t mats, get the water ready. I'll be with you in b a trice. He arnt very bulky-go, go!' And E the young girl started away, with the speed of a 1 fawn, to execute her father's orders. I ' We've saved 'em afore, and I guess we'll i do it again,' murmured Phil, as he toiled up the beach, and soon after came in sight of his rude c cottage. f IThere, that'll do, Carrie, that'll do,' he said, entering the lower room. 'Now, the i blankets, and the hot jugs.' All was in readiness, at call; and Phil went about his kind work, with a hearty good will. After a series of rubbing, and hot bathing, and rolling, Phil wrapped his patient in half a doz- en blankets, for a few minutes, when he found, to his great satisfaction, that perspiration had started. He followed with the lancet, at once, and, quick as the blood started, a cry of pain escaped the sufferer. Phil knew that he was safe! He was put into. comfortable quarters, the restoratives were continuously applied during the day, and when evening came, he was con- scious of life. His escape from-death, however, had been almost a miracle. The stranger thus rescued was none,other 'than the youth, who, with the captain, had tak- en to the boat, from the side of the Rubicon, when all hope had fled as to any other source. Scarcely had she left the shp's side, however, when the waves bore the frail bark furiously on towards the shore. They were without helm or oars, and found themselves, in an instant, at the mercy of wind and wave. They clung to the boat a little time; but, when within a few rods of the shore, she was dashed against a rock, and they were thrown among the breakers. From that moment he never saw the captain; and, being but an indifferent swimmer, he could hold out but a little time, in the rough surge. His strength failed him-he gave himself up to des- pair, and sunk beneath the waves. But his good fortune did not desert hilm in that desperate hour. He was washed asore before life was extinct; he was otherwise com- paratively unharmed; and he now lay upon Phil Brandon's pallet, safe from further harm, at present, attended by a skilful physician and a faithful nurse. 'How does the patient, father?' asked his daughter, in a soft tone, as the wrecker came from his room, at evening. 'Well, well, Carrie. It was a narrow 'scape for him, though.' 'I think so, truly,' responded the girl. And then she asked-' Do you fancy whither he comes?' 'No, daughter, no.' ( He is very comely.' You think so?' 'Indeed I do, father.' , Never mind, Carrie. Collle, to bed, to I bed, daughter; it is late.' s Carrie kissed her father, and instanltly retired. The wrecker glanced upon the fair form of his e only child, as he bade her good night, and ih g his heart hhe said, ' God bless you, dear Carrie!' I- For three long hours, subsequently, Philip r, Branlon sat and listened to the fitful breathings of his patient. !r Then, throwing himself softly down at the k- side of the rude couch, the humble wrecker i, slept. CHAPTER IT. Carrie Brandon, the vrecker's child. The stranger revives, and is gratefulfor his good fortune. Ire recounts his history, and explains a little. Willis Thorntoan, our hero.- Philip Brandon and his faimily cassocidtions. A nets resolve. The stranger trio are on the best of terms! She was a maiden passing fair, And he of gentle birthte e* * ** * * F (When, in the glowing hour of youthful pride, The exulting heart in happiness beats high; When swift the hours in bright enjoyment glide, And- life seems cloudless as the summer sky- Then, oft, a voice comes sadly whispering near, Of hopes that dazzled, but to disappear I' ARRIE BRANDON, the wreclker's daughter, was sixteen years old at the time the young stranger was brought to her fatlh- er's humble cot. -She was a scholar, for her mother, now decease a twelvemollth only, had made it the business f her life to educate her daughter and only child. The wife of Philip was the child of affluent parents, who disowned her for her attachment to the roving fortune of Phil; and she was com- petent to teach her daughter-amply able to give her a good early education. And Carrie had been both dutiful and studious. The result was, when her much-loved mother was suddenly taken away from her, she loft behind, to comfort the father, a daughter well versed in all the useful accomplishments of the day. A very respectable library graced the long i. shelves in Philip Brandon's principal room, and the often-turned pages of, those volumes showed how assiduous someone had been in discussing their contents. Among other accomplishments, Carrie had mastered the French lainguage, un- der her mother's tuition, and she could converse in this as fluently as in her native tongue. She was favorably struck with the handsome features and comely form of the stranger, from the first moment she met him, fairly. But be- yondclhe remark she had uttered in her father's presence, on the night when he was first brought to the house, she had not disclosed her heart. A week passed away at Brandon's cottage, a rude dwelling on the upland, above the beach, and the youth had well nigh recovered firm the shock he had experienced, and which came, so near proving fatal to him. page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] ( You are looking much better, sir, to-day,' remarked Philip, one morning, when he had concluded it appropriate to inquire a little into the stranger's history. 'I am glad you find yourself so comfortable once more.' Yes, yes,' responded the young man, warm- ly; 'to your foresight and kindness-and to the good offices of Miss Carrie, here-I am indebted for my life. I know it, sir-I feel it. But I ean never repay you for this service.' ' Tall; of the pay another time, sir. Could I have done differenlltly? I found you stretched upon the beach, near dead, I know-but still alive. -I couldn't do less than try to save you, surely ' ' And you succeeded, happily.' ' Yes-that is well. Now, sir, you wont re- fuse to enlighten us a little. We feel curious to know how you got here-that is, how you came to be laid out so cavalierly upon the beach, yonder.' ' Most certainly you shall know my humble history, my- good sir. It possesses little inter- est, however, and will be quickly told. I never was a rarely lucky individual,' said the youth, half smiling. 'But colie, sir, sit beside me and draw a stool for Carrie, too, for I observe she is listening.' The three companions of the past week sat down together, and the stranger thus continued: ' My name is Willis Thornton. lly father, a respectable haberdasher, forilerly in Thread- needle street, London, left England several years since, and settled in Amienls, where he now resides. I have my faults-the faults of youth and inexperience, sir; and I shall be frank in confessing to you, that had I observed the advice and kindly injunctions of my parents, I should not have been here, at this moment, to tell my humble story to strangers.' 'You need not fear for consequences,' res- ponded the wrecker, kindly, 'in anlything you may recount under this roof. You are satisfied, surely, that we would be your friends.' ' That needs not your spoken assurance, my good sir. But,. as I was saying, I have hitherto been wayward. I am an only son, my father is a man of competency, and he has been indul- gent. I was bound to Londonl, for a trip of pleasure, when Fate threw me, most unexpect- edly, upon your indulgence. "ess than a fortnight since, I parted with my family at Amiens, and proceeding to Havre, I took passage on board the ship Rubicon, bound to the Thamzes. When we entered the straits of Dover, we encounterel a gale; but our captain took in sail, and scudded down be- fore it, hoping that it was but temporary ; and, as he was an old pilot upon these waters, be- lieving that he should have plenty of time and sea room, he made for the headland until it was too late to retreat. ' When it occurred, precisely, I never learn- ed-but, at midnight, I found myself locked in the cabin, havingretired at an early hour on th e previous evening. I was awakened by a series of short, quick pump-strokes, from above the hold, or elsewhere, as I imagindc,- and having been liberated, I found, to fiy dismay, that the ship had sprung a leak, several hours before (a fact I was ignorant of), and at that moment we were actually in a sinking condition! ' I remonstrated with the commander of the ship for neglecting to call upon me in this fear- ful emergency, and, in common with the crew, instantly went to work at one of the pumps.- The gale increased, however, fearfully, and the leak grew momentalrily more dangerous, when the cry of " breakers" was heard upon deck. All hands were ordered up, and a desperate at- tempt was about to be made to tack ship; but it was too late, sir! (It must have been near daylight, -but a grating, thumping noise alarmed us, - amid the terrific storm which was raging,; and then she truck heavily, amidships, I should judge, from lie concussion. The boats were ordered out-- our captain seemed to have lost all calculation long, before, and a cdreadful scene followed; but it was brief, very brief! The first boat was stove at the ship's side. Into the second I sprang, beside the commander, and, the nest instant, the great ship was lifted by a huge sea, which carried her some fifty fathoms, apparently 'to windward. 'That monster wave parted, as the Rubicon seermed to rest upon its very crest, sir, and when she came down, such a crash I never heard be- fore! It was her death-knell, sir! I never saw her from that moment. I was forced along, I knew not whither; 'we were without oar or til- ler, and soon afterwards the boat was capsized, and the captain and myself were among the foaming waves. I put out with my best strength, and, as daylight had broke, I hoped to reach the shore in safety, for I felt convinced we must be near terra firma. 'By my anticipations proved groundless. I was 'dashed about in the chlling waters for a long time, and finally, exhausted, I yielded to what I supposed must inevitably be my fate.- The captain had sunk beneath the boiling surge some time before; I heard the waters roar, a gurgling, dizzy sound rushed through my brain, I fainted, and knew nothing more until I found myself beneath your roof, sir. You have been more than kind to me-I can never repay this favor.' ( We do but the common duty of humanity towards our species, in performing the act which has resulted so fortunately in your case, young man,' said Philip, earnestly. I am glad we chanced to find you so opportunely.' 'Yes--and as for Carrie, here,' continued Thornton, taklring in his own the soft hand of the wrecker's child, 'I owe her much for her atten- tions, during my temporary illness.' Carrie smiled, and turned the subject; but the stranger's gentle maInner and kindly tone of voice made a deep impression upon her heart. She was a sweet creature, the fair and gentle Carrie Brandon! She had been thrown, like a solitary flower upon the prairie, into the deserted region where Thornton met her; but, though her opportunities for informing her mind were varied and ample-though she could read of the gay world and its attractions, beyond the limits she occupied-though she often heard of the pleasures of fashionable life, in circles she had never yet entered-still she had hitherto been content in her father's colmpanionship, satisfied with her books, her needle, and her-harp, willing to submit to the privations of her position, in order to comfort and serve and bless her loved and only parent. How happy was Philip Brandon in the pos- session of such a daughter! Carrie was yet L young, and he knew that so promising a bud ; should not, of right, be suffered to ' waste its sweetness' in the lonely solitude to which she r had thus far been accustomed from her birth; but the fitting hour had nlot arrived, in her r father's estimation, to transplant the opening, flower. At the appropriate time, he had resolv- ed to change his location-for his means were ample. Did the unexpected arrival of young Thornton upon that dreary shore, in anywise af- feet this resolve on Brandon's part? We shall see, anon. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] CHAPTER 1V. The beautiful yacht at anchor. Thornton gets uneasy, and would continue on to the nzetrop- olis. An unintentional conzittal. Phil Brandon grows serious, and Thornton is embarrassed. The stroll, the interview,. the stranger's promise. Thorntolz departs for London. Gentle maid, thy life is young, All a sweet and blissful season; 'i \Care around thy heart be flung? Nay, the very thought were treason! And the birds are round thee singing, Gladsome notes of praise; Beauteous flowers are gaily springing, Where thy footstep strays; Still, thy brow is marked with sadness I And thy bright eyes move With a glance unmixed with gladness- Say-can this be love? 8 AN a small cove, sheltered on all sides by high projecting rocks, and under the lee of the main bluff already noted, there lay, snugly at anchor, at the tine of the wreck we have des- cribed, a small English cutter, of about sixty to seventy tons burthen. She was what will be best understood this side of the water,as 'sloop-rigged,' but was ac- tually of the style and model of the sailing craft in use by the members of the Royal Yacht Club of England-though hundreds of similar vessels are owned and employed there, as privateers, revenue cutters, smugglers, and otherwise. Their peculiar recommendations consist in the fact that their sails are decidedly heavy, in pro- portion to their size, and the model and spars are so arranged, that they are admirably adapted for beating to windward; they also work easily and freely on short tacks, and are thus invaluable for channel cruising. For fleetness on the wind, they are unrivalled, and they are in velry com- mon use among gentlemen of fortune, residing upon the coast, as pleasure vessels. The cutter we now speak of particularly lay at her anchorage, at the northerly side of the headland. She was a beautifully-modelled boat, and her owner believed she could 'beat the world,' when in good trim, at sailing. She was called the ' Scwallow,' a fitting and appropriate title, considering her excellent qualities. Young Thornton had been the patient and guest of Brandon upwards of a fortnight ;- and he asked, one evening, as the wrecker and his daughter sat beside him, after sunset: ' Tell me, good Mr. Brandon, how far are we here from London?' ' Nearly thirty leagues,' said Philip, looking up, inquiringly. Carrie turned aside from the embroidery upon which she was engaged, also, and looked earnestly at the speaker, who did not lose sight of the sensation he rather unwit- tingly occasioned. And the conveyance thither?' continued Thornton. 'That is a more difficult query to answer,' said Phil. 'But why do you ask?' ( I have already intruded myself too long upon your hospitality; and I would proceed to -my original destination,' rejoined the youth. ' Not at present?' added Carrie, before she reflected upon the manner in which she should deliver those three words. ' Yes; if possible, on the morrow. ' So soon T' asked Carrie, again. There was a long silence followed this ques- tion, to which even Willis Thornton could not reply. He had observed the assiduous attention and active kindness which had been extended to him, at the hands of the sweet girl who now thus addressed him, and he had not been an idle ob- server of her apparent predilections -in his favor. But he did not wish to misconstrue her thoughts, and though he felt favorably disposed towards her, he attempted to be prudent. He looked again upon Carrie, and he noticed that she plied her needle, upon the rug-work before her, with a quicker and more nervous movenlent than before. Her fair, round cheeks were flushed, and she seemed excited! The suspense of the moment was broken in another instant, for a tear fell from her eye upon her delicate hand. Thornton saw it all-so did her father; but Carrie arose, and hastily retired. Brandon threw down the book he was read- ing, and as the door closed behind his daughter's retreating footsteps, he said, earnestly: ' You saw it, sir?' 'I did,' said Thornton, quickly. That is the first tear she has shed since her mother died, sir.' ' I regret this scene exceedingly, my dear sir,' said the youth, honestly. ' Come, then, hear what I have to say; we are alone-you will oblige mrue?' ' Most assuredly.' It is well,' continued PhiI, in a lower tone. ' Fate, or fortune, or whatever you will, has thrown you, young man, across the path of as sweet a girl as breathes, to-day, in England.- Her father likes you-it is not every one he likes-and the parent, who has watched over, and protheted and cherished her for sixteen years, would see his daughter happy-happy, sir, in the future.' 'A most commendable wish, truly,' respond- ed the youth, 'and one deserved, unquestion- ably.' ' I saved your life, Thornton,' continued Brandon, impressively. ' You did, sir; I do not forget.' ' The affections of such a creature should not be trifled with.' 'Never, sir!' I think she has conceived a regard for you; can you respond, if-I am right?' ' Mr. Brandon-' 'No evasion-yes or no!' ' One moment, sir, listen to me.' ' Go on, then-go on.' ' You do not keow this, and there surely need be no committal, on your part or mine, in ad- vance!' 'You are right-right, Thornton.' ' Leave all to me, my kind deliverer; and, upon the word of a man of honor, I will act honestly, and with my best discretion, in this matter.' ' Enough! I will trust you. But if-' ' You need not finish, sir; I anticipate your declaration, and re-assure you, on my honor, that you shall have cause to applaud my judg- ment and my conduct.' 'It is well. But bear in mind, Thornton, that a womanfs heart is not a toy, to be dandled with, and tossed, picked up, or thrown aside, as man may choose! It is a sacred jewel, and of priceless value to him who can appreciate so rich a treasure.' 'I comprehend you, sir-you may trust me.' 'I shall! And so, good night,' said Philip, abruptly rising from the table, and leaving Thornton to his reflections. The position of the young man was a critical one, at that moment. He was a stranger to both Philip and his child; he was under lasting obligations to them for a most important service, page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] but he was still a boy in years, comparatively; and, though he did favor the proposal, yet he could not resolve rashy. He determined to wait till the next day, and govern himself ac- cording to circumstances; and in this state of mind, he retired to his couch once more. Morning came, and at an early hour, Thorn- ton wandered down the beach, beyond the cot, with Carrie upon his arm. Ah! she was very happy, though she did not understand how this act of courtesy-the invitation to a stroll from Thornton-had been brought about. Brandon watched the stranger and his daughter from a distance, unobserved by either, however. ' You will not leave us to-day?' said Carrie, in her artless and winning tone. ' ' No, Carrie; since you wish it otherwise, I have resolved not to go to-day; but to-morrow, if-' To-morrow! 'Yes. Why not to-morrow?' 'True; why not tomorrow,' echoed Carrie, mournfully, and casting her eyes down upon the pebbled walk on which they sauntered. 'Before I go, Carrie, I must tell you how deeply I feel indebted to your kindness and at- tention, since I was so rudely thrown upon your hands. 'It is nothing-nothing, sir.' ' It is everythingr, dear Carrie! But for you and your noble parent, I should not now have held this fair white hand in mine, or gazed into that sweet face, so full of tenderness and affeo- tion,' responded Thornton, pressing her tiny fingers, and looking earnestly into her clear blue eye. ' Still you will leave us on the morrow!' ' I must, fair one. Sooner or later, we must part-it need not, will not, be forever, Carrie, and the sooner the better, if it must cause you pain.' ' Me, Thornton!' ' Carrie, do not misinterpret me. I saw the tear which started from your eye, last night-I see its fellow on your cheek at this moment! Come, be a woman, and believe that the stran- ger who now speaks to you is a man of honor. You do not know me, Carrie-prudence bids you be cautious, and I counsel you to leave to time to make us closer friends.' He pressed the hand to his lips, respectfully, but fervently, and added: ' Carrie, we shall part to-morrow, for a tinle ; it shall not be forever! On my honor, I swear to you, if I live, we shall meet again within the year; and when again I clasp your hand, my own shall be as free as it has ever been un- trammelled, as it is this morning!' ' Go, Thornton-I am content. Amid the blaze of fashion, in the gay metropolis, you may find a fitter, worthier object for your love. Yet you will not meet with one whose heart is purer, whose devotion would be more constant, who can love more ardently, than the humble wreck- er's daughter. Go, if you will-but promise me (since we have gone so far), promise me, on this spot, Thornton, where, but a few days since, your almost lifeless body was rescued, that you will not wed until we meet again!' ' On my oath, I swear it!' said Thornton. The companions turned towards the cot once more. They did not observe the retreating form of Philip Brandon, who, from a nook directly above them, had been an eye and ear witness of their movements, for the last half hour! The wrecker reached his domicil seasonably, and before they had left the beach. The morn- ing meal was discussed as if nothing had tran- spired out of the ordinaryroutine of affairs.- The wrecker, the stranger, the daughter-all seemed to be satisfied. On the following day, Thornton, having been provided with a land conveyance to the nearest post-town (six leagues distant), through the fa- vor of his preserver, he gave his address at Lon don and at Amiens to Brandon, and finally stood upon his deliverer's threshold. ( Adieu! my good friend,' he said, shaking Philip heartily by the hand. Adieu! Carrie-God bless you!' Your promise, Thornton!' said the beauty. ' My oath,. Carrie!' he responded. 'Remember!' 'I will.' Adieu!' repeated the stranger; and five minutes afterward, the carriage was out of sight. CHAPTER V. Thornton's visit to the English capital. Thae youth is perplexed, and lie reflects upon his position.. London and its attractions. The Swallow on the sting. A new party. The Hon Mr. Hastings. Thornton is a guest at Chantworth Lodge. The youth is surprised. A rival for Carrie Brandon. The belle from Paris. Peace, peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to thy cheek, thongh it bloom not for me I' * ^ * -i d * And thou, gay lov'er, to whose truth Woman entrusts her hopes, her youth, Her very life-0, guard and cherish, Feelings which once neglected, perish I Keep that fair form and spotless mind, Within thy heart of hearts enshrined!' T(HORNTON could not forego the antici- pated pleasure of his London trip; and, nmoreover, he was destitute since his misfortune. In his pocket he found a single letter of intro- duction-the rest were with his luggage, on board the Rubicon, when she was wreckecd- and this was addressed to a gentleman of high standing at the metropolis-an old friend of his father, whom the son had never seen. With this letter, he proceeded direct to London, therefore, and drew upon his father, forthwith, for means, explaining at the same time, the de- tails of his misfortune. A strange feeling had taken possession of young Thornton. He believed he had con- eeived a passion for the young beauty he had encountered St Brandon's cot; but yet he could 2 not actually bring himself to an ack;nowledgment of the fact, even to his own heart. He argued thus-' Theyknow nothing of me, or mine-I am as ignorant of Carrie and her father, as they are' of me; he was humane, kind, hospitable, to the last degree; but who can say what he now is, or whalit he has been I How is it that they'occupy the lonely cottage on the bluff, without society or friends, seemingly; alone, secluded, hermlit-like I He may be a fugitive from justice. e may be a -- , but then he saved my life! 'And Carrie,-gentle, lovely, open-hearted Carrie,-she may be the inheritor of a thousand virtues, or as many sins. Who can say whence she comes? But she is angelic in her seeming, and loves me, that is clear. I havre promised page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] to return, and I will perform the pledge. I v Twelve months-within twelve month. I shall v not forget.' s Thornton reached London. The gay city c was never gayer; and the season was at its i height when the young man aTrrived. He was t a tall and stately youth, scarcely one-ahnd-twenty 1 years of age; but manly in his appearance, well N educatecld, and had seen much of good society, I in his falther's social circle, on the continent. He came from what was admitted to be a ' good 1 family,' for his parent was wealthy and lived ( liberally. The son found his way, therefore, i very readily, into a coterie of fashionable society I in the British mletropolis. The third day after Thornton left the humble I 1 dwelling of his rescuer, was a bright and beau- i tiful one. The storms which had succeeded ( each other for nearly a fortnight, had given way to a conmlparlative calm; and the blue waters i were cldancing in the glorious sunlight, right cheerfully. A fine breeze sprung up, just after sunrise, and- the day was exceedingly promis- 1 At an early hour on this day, the pretty cut- ter dlescribed in our last chapters, might sudlden- ly have been seen emerging from her anchorage, where she hadl been secured for nearly three weeks; a!nd shortly her broad mainsail was flung( out to thc wnindc. There wecre some four or five persons on board her; but so clquiet had been their imove- m1ents, and so suddenly did the btoat stand out into the ' deep water,' that it was impossible to distinguish who were bling borne away ill her. It miglht have been-and probabtly was, for none but enlltlenmen of rrealth or ready theans could afford this lunxury-it mliolht have been :an Engllish pleasure party; some g)entlemlen ofi leisure or fortune, buund upon a cruise for pas- time, ,peradventure ; or it mllig'ht not. Suffice it, the cutter shot out finlm under the bold reef which has already hcLen describced, and soon after the great jib and lesser jib were hoisted, as she passed the outer bltuff and stood direct for the English Channel. It was a beautiful sight, indeed. I1er broad, white sails filled quicklly, anlldl the fresh1eningC wind forced the tiny cutter rapidly through the water. Having stood out some three miles, she suddenly came upon the other tack, and moving onward 'like a thing of life,' she was soon lost in the distance. Her final destination seemed to be the north; but none, save themselves, knew whither they were actually bound, or what was their errand. On the following morning, however, the yacht was discovered lying quietly at anchor in the Thames. All was silent on board, and she rode as calmly upon the bosom of the river current, as if she had been there a month. Thle occupants of the boat hadl been in London several hours. Among the invitations which young Thornton had been honored with, during his first month's sojourn in the great city, was one to a grand dinner, given by th;e Hon. Mr. Hastings, of Bond street. This gentleman possessed iml- mense wealth, and his parties, at Chantworth Lodge-as his place was commonly called- were pattern entertainments. Every luxury that gold could command, was brought into re- quisition at these fetes,. and the magnificence of his dinners was proverbial. Where he obtained the title of ' Honorable,' no one seemed to know, and few caredC. He supportedl a magnificent establishment, hle was excetledingly benevolent, he paid roulndly andl promptly for his enjoyments, and silenced gossip through his generosity and liberal style of liv- ing. Thornton was a guest at Chantworth Lodge, and though he dwelt in affluence for y-lrs- though he had been a privileged visiter in the gayest cilrcles in A-miens-though he fancied that he had hitherto been conversant withl-lusulry and i splendor, he had never conceived of any alp- proach to the gorgeous entertainmenlt lie wit- nessed at the costly residence of his new acquaintance, to whom he had been presented, accidentally, but a'few days previously. The young stranger was intoxicated with de- light. He traversed the bright saloons, where fashion and beauty, wit and talent, congregatedt ; and his youthful heart was thrilled with pleasure, as he gazed upon the luxurious forms and spark- ling eyes of scores of England's loveliest and proudest dauighters. The appointments of that dwelling would well have graced a palace. Froln the beautiful forms that flitted up and down the spacious halls, there glittered myriads of gems; and the gracefulmanners, the winning smiles, the agreeable converse of the fair ones present, was fascinating in the extreme. But there was one being there who attracted Thornton's especial attention, and upon whose features he gazed with very rapture. Her form was faultless, her figure rather above the middle stature, and her movements the very personifica- tion of grace itself. He had cobservedl her early in the evening, and his eye had soughther out again and again, amid the brilliant throng; but she was constantly thile centre, of a crowd of admirers, and he found it difficult to approach her, withlout a show of rudeness. Still, he gazed upon her bright, sweet face- still he watched her as she moved from point to point ; and, with every moment, did his anxiety increase to be presented to her. He marked her proud carriage-he noted the bewitching smnile which lighted up her fair countenance, as she acknowledged the many compliments be- stowed upon her by the courtiers who surrounded her; he heard the tongue of flattery and adula- tion, as it paid homage to her beauty; and he envied the favorites who clung around her. The fair-girl was young, too-scarcely twenty, evidently. Thornton thought he never saw so lovely a being before; and his eye followed lher, as she came and went, as if he were fagcinated. But, when he saw her in the waltz-when he obJscerved her chaste but sylph-like Inotion in the dance-wh en he witnessed her finely developed form, as it swzlyed to and fro beside cafancied rival, in the exciting and rcvellous gallop, he could scarcely control himself. At this lonl-Cent his host appeared. ' Tell me,' said Thornton, eagerly, ' who is she in the robe of satin, yonder?' ' Your pardon, my dear BIr. Thornton,' res- ponded his entertainer, politely. 'Have you not been presented? Come, then-aidl excuse my neglect.' ' ho is she?' 'A lady from Paris.' ' From Paris?' 'Yes. By the way, you speak French?' ' Most certainly.' ' That is fortunate; for she does not converse at all in English.' 'She is very beautiful,' said Thornton. ' The belle of the evening, sir.' ' Of the town, you mean. ' ' As you wil!l-3ome!' continued his host; and a moment afterward, Thornton was present- ed to Evelyn Tatfoztrd. She had been in London but a short period, and was accompanied by a gentleman somewhat her senior-a cousin, it was said, of military rank. Her companion had served in the granzde armnzee-of Napoleon, and having been wounded, was now retired, upon half-pay and a pension. He was a fierce-looking, but well-l-behaved mian, and but for his halt (occasioned by a grape-shot wound), would have been respectably fashioned. He was anything but comely in the face, how- ever. His whiskers were hairy, his hair black and curly, his eyebrows thilck and bushy, and his general contour forbidding. He was the protector of the lovely mademoiselle we have spoken of, however, and his homely features i were forgotten beside her brilliant charms. He was known as the Count de Muir. Evelyn was exceedingly gracious towards the youthful Monsieur Thornton, who spoke so freely in her favorite tongue, and an hour passed, almost, ere he reflected that dinner was announc- ed, anld he was relieved by the rough visaged count, who approached, bowed stiffly, but res- pectfully, to Thornton, and offered his charge an arm for escort to the great dining-room. , Without a momellt's reflection, Thornton con- cluded that lie could very gracefully have over- turned the lame figure of the count, for this interruption. But an instant afterward, he re-. solved that that gentleman stoodl six-feet-two in his boots, and wore a rapier in proportion to his own length; his better discretion, therefore. suggested pe propriety of his ' pressing his equanimity. Thornton returned to his hotel, at length, and retired, to dream about (Evelyn-and Carrie. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] CHAPTER VI. The beauty and position of Evelyn Talfourd. Thornton ascertains that the lady is wealthy, as well as lovely. His private opinion of the Count de Mitir. Firtther information. Moreentertainments. Thewater excursion. TheArrowo. Agayfleet. Disappointmeld - She is a lovely maid, and what is more, As rich as Crcesus.' * * * * "Ah, Hope! Thou loved of lord and sage, Of warrior, statesman, or divine; Thou sunny beam on life's dark page, Which, to the end, doth sweetly shine I' * * ;W * * MASTER.-What is the rate, good pilot? PILOT.-Eight knots, at least, sir. MASTER.-Keep her so. PILOT.-Steady-so! EVELYN TALFOURD was a stranger in London. Thornton learned, firom those who pretended to be well informed in the mat- ter, that she was the daughter of an old French officer, residing in Paris, a man of great wealth and high pretensions, under the emperor's favor. She had comine over from France quite recently, and her surpassingll beauty had ravished the hearts of the coterie into which she had been thrown on her arrival. Beside the attractions of her lovely person, there was another consideration, which did not set her back at all in the esteem of the thousand admirers she so suddenly found; this was the fact, that, independent of an immense fortune ill prospective, on her parents' side, she had inherited a splendid income, latterly, by the decease of another relative, who had made lher his soleheir. Evelyn was young, beautifuland rich; it was not to be wondered at that'she was petted, and feted, and surrou-nded by courtiers. All this, and much more, in detail, did Thomnton ascertain; and when he arose next morning, he beogan to think he was in love! ( Ah! she is beautiful,' he said, as he sat in his parlor, the next day, Evelynl is very beau- tiful. I have seen a thousand before, but none of them approach her in loveliness. Then she is so gentle, so polished in her converse, so de- lightful a companion-lie will be fortunate, in- deed, who possesses that hand. I But there is that count-her cousin, or uncle, her protector, her chaperone. He's a stupid fellow, surely, and her senior full five-and-twenty years. Deaf, too-deaf as an adder! I said ; good evening " to him, as we parted, and the clown gazed on me as if I were a ghoul. It is fortunate that he,l too, speaks but little English. I am disgusted with the count; but he must be ' humored. ( And there is Carrie Brandon, the little fairy I left among the caves and rocks, six weeks since, what would she say if she knew all. Ha, ha! Well, -well, Carrie, be patient, patient, Carrie! I will not forget my promise. I will return-I will, upon my honor! If you c(ould see this beauty, though! If ryou could but gaze upon her charms-the loveliness of Evelyn would be an apology for any truantism, I trow. ' Carrie,' continued the youth, mentally, as his thoughts wandered back to the scene where hle had met the wrecker's daughter, 'upon my word, she is not unlike you! True, your brow is pale, anid your hair is/golden in its hue; ftrue, your form is more petite, and your years are less; but the rich black ringlets and ripe com- plexion of this fascinating brunette favors her in our eyes;-and, while you are a lovely, charming English beauty, our Evelyn is a mag- nificent, bewitching French woman. You should see her, Carrie-you shuld hear her converse -you should listen to the music of her silvery voice; and you would not be surprised at the adulation she commands.' Thus did Thornton talk to himsclf-thus did le prate of Carrie and of Evelyn, while both held a high place in his esteem ^ but the French lady had astonished him-and he resolved to go further. Peradventure, he might be fortu- nate. Who could say? But how was a more intimate acquaintance to be brought about? During the day, Thornton called upon his banker. Much to his surprise, he found the Count de Muir engaged with hill. The count said nothing; but Thornton, deeming it appro- priate and respectful to acknowledge him, said: ( Good day, Monsieur.' The stranger looked at him, without replying; then approaching him, he put down his ear, and answered: 'Vot you sai?' 'I said, good day, Monsieur He Count.' ' Aha! Good-yes, zat is bad. Mauvais-- bad day, eh?' (The weather was foggy.) Thornton-was embarrassed. The count said nothing more, but soon after went out. Turning to his monetary friend, the young man asked who and what his visitor was. 'Ah, the count? He's a curious man-ec- centric, rude, uncouth. He limps, you see, he is lame from a wound in battle. His hearing, too, is difficult, very; and this misfortune ren- ders him seemingly awkward. He is the com- panion (a relative also) of a lady from Paris.' 'la'amoiselle Talfourd?' ' The same. Have you met her?' 'Yes-yes. Tell me, doyou klrnowher?' '-I have seen her, once. Rumor calls her very beautiful.' ( Rumor does not misrepresent her.' ' I thought so, too; but she is rich as well as lovely, and has a host of admirers. But she will not wed, I learn.' 'No! Why not?' I I cannot ascertain. Those who know her, sayithat she is pledged to some one, or she has promised her hand, under certain circumstances, to one far distant from London.' Thornton was thoughtful, for half an hour. He then arose and took leave of his friend, resolved to ascertain Evelyn's secret, at any hazard. The youth was valiant, very! Whether the banker was an intimate of the count's or not, Thornton had no means of deter- mining. The information he haA thus casually obtained amazed him excessively, for he had built certain ' castles in the air,' in reference to Evelyn, which were thus demolished too sud- s denly for his taste. However, he determined to follow up the plan he had originally designed, ,t and without disclosing his feelings to any one, he went about its furtherance, at once. Meanwhile, a succession of the most costly and sumptuous entertainments were given in London, at which the charming French beauty was the reigning belle. Suitor after suitor pro- posed for her hand, in marriage; scores of the page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] titled and honored would gladly have laid their fortunes at Evelyn's feet; but she declined them all. Among the pleasure parties got up for the gratification of the count and his fair protege, at length, was proposed by the honorable gentle- man, at whose hospitable mansion Thornton first met the lady, a' water-excursion, upon the Thames. This style of amusement was much in vogue at the period of which we write; and, as has already been hinted, some of the finest craft that ever kissed a wave, were then owned by gentlemen of leisure, in and about London. The members of the Royal Yacht Club (to which several of the circle belonged) were am- bitious, in this species of sport, and the rivalry among their various vessels-sloops, schooners, or cuttors-was very great. The Hon. Mr. Hastings, of Chantworth Lodge, was among the foremost in his pretensions and claims to oonsid- eration, in this respeet, and his magnificent yacht-the Arrow-had no competitor then known on the British coast. Four months had passed away, in the midst of a series of recreations and pleasures such as our hero had never yet partioipated in-a aon- tinuous round of gaiety;-four months had ex- pired since he took leave of Carrie Brandon, when the proposal was made for the excursion we have named. The party invited was one of the gayest of the English ton, and Evelyn Tal- foura, 'the beautiful,' was to be among the guests. It was a magnificent sight, that tiny fleet, on the bright, clear morning, when all was in read- iness for embarking. Half a scole of natty vessels, with their princely owners and well- trained crewrs, lay at anchor below London Bridge, in splendid trim, awaiting the signal for sailing. But at the last moment, a barge put off from the pier, with a few strangers, and in- formation soon reached the cutter where Thorn- ton and other friends awaited the lady's arrival, impatiently, that Evelyn and the count would disappoint them. The former had been taken ill two days before, and de Muir tarried behind in consequence of this untoward occurrence. The fleot set sail, therefore, without them, and though the fair one's absence was a serious drawhackl upon their anticipated pleasure, yet the exhilarating air, the excitement attendant upon the sport, and the competition between the vessels, served to engage the attention of the party; and the lovely stranger was soon forgot- ten, amid the bustle and novelty of the passing scene. The vessels passed down the river, and in a few hours emerged, Win gallant style, upon the open waters of the British Channel. ^ : CHAPTER VII. The yacht fleet at sea. Sail ho! rival cutter makes her appearance. The Hon Mr. Hastings gets excited. The cha The owner of the Arrow is very confident.- The stranger proves to be the Swallow. A race. Thornton discovers two friends bn board the cutter. The recogzition. Mr. Hastings is sutspicious, and orders the Arrow to be put away., Brandonfollows, and beats her. The return. 'Bravo, bravo, boys! We're going Our embargo's off at last 1 Favorable breezes blowing Bend the canvas to the mast. Now the boatmen quit their mooring, And all hands will ply the oar; Luggage from the quay is lowering, We're impatient- push from shore!' T HE wind was fresh, but steady, from the south-eastward-by the way, not the most desirable or most promising, upon that coast-but the fleet went on, with their broad sails and gay streamers-one having the advan- tage now, and now another, till nearly noon. Their course had been laid to westward, and they ha*stretched down far towards the bold head- lands, below Sheppey's Island, when, on a sud- den, a strange craft hove in sight from beyond them, which danced along right cheerily, tack- ing and beating famously, and bounding off upon the wind in the most envious style imaginable. As this rival approached, every eye turned upon her, and numerous were the speculations indulged in by those whe considered themselves aufait in yachting., / - 'By Jove!' exclaimed the Hon. Mr. Hast- ings, she sails like a bird.' ( And her pilot,' added another, ' is up to his business, verily. She is in the very eye of the wind, and-do you mark her headway?' (Extr'ordinary,' chimed in a third. 'She tacks as though she went about on a pivot.' I Come! By the mass,' added the owner of the Arrow, to his skipper, 'Walton, do you note the crk yonder?' ( I do indeed, sir. A finer never floated, I think.' ( Where is the glass?' * At hand, sir.' ' What do you make her out?' continued Mr. Hastings, as Walton examined the approaching boat. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] ' A cutter, sir ' ' A yacht?' Yes, sir; and a very syllph in model. Now I see her streamer; it is the Swallow, sir.' ' Whose is that V' 'I do not know, sir. She's a stranger-a new comer, I fancy. But she is close aboard; shall we tack, sir?' Yes, yes, Walton. Go about, and lay along- side her; I desire to know her owner.' W We can rO about, but the laying alongside of that craft is another matter, sir.' (' What! A thousand guineas on the A1Trrow, sir. Go about, and give her chase. We shall see. ' Gentlemen,' continued Mr. Hastings, not a little annoyed at his pilot's remark-for he boast- ed loudly of the Arrow's speed-I have never yet seen the yacht that could outsail us. It may be that this stranger can get away from us-but we shall see 7' The strange cutter shot away withl the breeze straight over her quarter, and in another moment the Arrowlay in her wake. The remainder of the pleasure fleet had also observed the Swallow as she approached, and noting that the Arrow had changed her course, immediately put about and followed the two competitors. As if he would acknowledge the compliment thus paid him, the slkipper of the Swallow raised his slouched hat respectfully, and then eased off his craft a little, until the Arrow should measure broadsides with him-though, in position, the two boats were a considerable distance apart in the meantime. As soon as the latter's pilot could be distinguished fairly at the helm, the 1FRj"d sails of the Swallow filled once more, to he very full, and away dashed the rivals at a merry pace through the water. The Arrow did herself credit she sailed beautifully, and for an hour there seemed but little chance to choose between thelm. But the Swallow came up a little nearer to the wind, and at last the competitors darted along over the waves almost side by side. On board the stranger, as she neared the chal- lenging boat. at length, young Thornton sudden- 'ly made a discovery! Could he be dreamimjg? Was it a phantasy? or did he at that moment behold at the helm of the Swallow his friend and benefactor, Philip Brandon! And by his side, a smiling, soft-eyed, aulburn-haired maiden, whom he recognized as the wrecker's lovely daughter? It could not be, he thought. What were they doing there? 9TWhence did they come? ';,here was that beautiful craft obtained? No, no, it was a mistake-and he quickly placed the glass to his eye, the better to assure hilnself of his -error. As he did so, however, what was his surprise and embarrassnlent to observe that the helmsman raised his hat again and again, while the maiden beside him waved her white 'kerchief repeatedly, in token of their recognition of the youth whose life they had saved so recently. - ' It is Brandon and his daughter!' exclaimed Thornton, almost unconsciously, but emphati- cally. 'Who?' rejoined the Hon. Mr. Hastings. Who?' queried half a dozen others, at the same instant. ' Phil Brandon, sir; and the fair-haired miss at his side is his daughter. They Eaved my life but a little time since-' 'Who are they?' ' Worthy, intelligent people, sir, but of hum- ble pretensions, I imagine. He is a wrecker-' A what?' ' A wrecker.' ' A smuggler, prolbably.' 'I thinlk not, sir,' said Thornton, a little abashed. ' Mr. Walton,' shouted the Hon. Mr. Hast- ings, peremptorily, 'you may go about, sir!- This is not the entertainment to which I have invited my friends. Go about, sir!' The order was instantly obeyed; but, as if the Arrow had her competitor in tow, the other followed her on the instant, coming up into the wind at the same moment, like her very shadow! This manceuvre on the part of Brandon was not lost sight of, and a voluntary shout went up from the party on board the Hon. Mr. Hastings' yacht, as the other came on again. I Now, Mr. Walton, do yourbest, sir. We' can outsail that lugger, if we will, eh?' said Hlastings, nervously. 'I thinkl not, sir, with all deference,' replied Walton; but I will try it.' Beat her upon tiis tackl, sir-beat her, and I promise you a hundred guineas upon our return to London.' -Every nerve was now strained, every possible advantage of wind and wave was availed of, on board the Arrow-but without success. The Swallow sped onward, onward, onward! Her skillful pilot smiled at her performance, and as her sharp and saucy prow threw up the parted wave-crests, and still bounded wildly forward, a glow of satisfaction and delight seemed to illu- mine the faces of both father and daughter. Anld -now the Swallow lapped her rival, to windward; when she closed up within a few fathoms distance of her gunwale, and actually took the wind out of her broad sails, as, with a slight luff, she shot by her, crossed her bow, and darted on-leaving behind her the much-lauded Arrow, shaking in the breeze, momentarily, amid her wake of sparkling foam! ' Bravo ' shouted Thornton, at the top of his lungfrs, ' bravo! Philip-' but the Swallow had changed her course, and the sound was lost in air. He saw the white 'kerchief once more, however-he noticed that Philip raised his hat, again, and the gallant youth did not suffer the opportunity to pass to return the compliment. With an earnest gesture he swung his castor over his lhead, once, twice, thrice, and again he exclaimed, 'bravo, Philip Brandon! It was beautifully executed!' ' Confound his impudence!' exclaimed Mr. Hastins, though he could not but admire the dexterity of the act; 'confound him! a half minute later, and he would have carried awa s our jib-boom!' The Swallow was now far away to leeward, however, standing for Sheppey's Island light, as unconcerned as if nothing had transpired. Signals were sent up, and the balance of the little fleet which had been in pursuit of the two competitors (but several of which were far to lee- ward) came up, in the course of an hour or two, when, towards sunset, they all stood for the mouth of the Thames once more, arriving at last in safety. The indisposition of Evelyn, fortunately, was not very serious or protracted. At the expira- tion of ten days she graced a dinner-party given by LordEskine, at Harworth Hall, where, as she had eer been, since her introduction in Lon- doll circles, she was the belle of the entertain- ment. Through his acquaintance formed with my Lord Eskine, at the mansion of the Hon. Mr. Hastings, young Thornton was honored with an invite to this latter entertainment, which had been arranged with a view to eclipse all rivalry -in its way-among the aristocracy of the town. On the day of the excursion upon the Chan- nel, as the setting sun sank to its western bed, the Swallow came up the inner channel we have described in our early chapters, and after nu- merous turnings and tacks, to avoid the sunken rocks and shoals which bordered the outer ledge, she ran up into the cove where we first saw her, as her anchor and flying-jib went down at the same instant. A sinewy-limbed man stepped over the side into a neat barge, which had been awaiting the cutter's return, and handing a young girl into the boat also, they were quickly put ashore.- They were Phil 13randon and his daughter Car- rie. The object of that day's trip had been fully accomplished. The sweet girl had exchanged recognitions with him she loved, stranger though he still wa3and her heart leaped in her bosom, as she imagined (fromn the earnest manner of young Thornton, as they parted) teat he still entertained for her, at least, a cordial remem- brance. ' What think you, father?' she asked, as they - reached their quiet cot once more, after the day's excitement. ' Think, Carrie! I think the Swallow can beat them, on or off the wind.' ' O, dear father! your ideas are ever on the ,cutter's prowess and her performances.' 'Not always, Carrie.' ' Tell me, then, father; what you think.' page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] ' Of what, daughter?' * Nust I be more explicit?' ' No, no, Carrie-I comprehend you. I think that matters are working admirably.' ' As you would have them work 'T 'Exactly, Carrie.' ' Then am I very happy, father.' 'I would see you thus, my child. For you, all this is being planned; I think we shall suc- ceed.' Indeed I trust so, father.' Carrie kissed the brow of her affectionate pa- rent again, anti bade him good night. They would be blsy on the following day. At the time appointed for the grand enter- tainment of Lord Eskine, a goodly number of guests were assembled; and among the number, at an early hour of the evening, came Thornton,' accomtpanied by his friend, the Hon. Mr. Hast- ings. The gorgeous saloons of Harworth Hall, the princely mansion of his lordship, were brilliantly lighted, and a host of as brilliant guests soon filled the apartments. There were lords and nobles, dukes and barons, knights and gentle- men, in plenty-and the showy costumes of the aristocratic throng, with their ribbons and jewels and appointments, formed a most elegant and recherche display. At twelve o'clock. there entered the saloon a magnificently attired woman, attended by a young and handsome officer, in full dress; and the attention of the party was very quickly ar- rested by their attractive appearance. The gentleman wore a French military cos- tume, and the insignia upon his breast showed that he sported the badge of the 'Legion of Honor.' He was not over three-and-twenty, ap- parently, but his fine form and handsome face, his deep black moustache and generous whiskers, the rich olive complexion, the expressive eye, the stately carriage, all told that he felt his con sequence, and was equal to-his rank and posi- tioan; But the lady who rested upon his arm was the fairest of the fair. Her costly and unique habil- imenrits disguised her for a moment, but as she r advanced towards the company at the centre of the great hall, a whisper ran from lip to lip, and a score of nobles surrounded her, to pay homage to her loveliness. Thornton saw and admired hes, with the rest. He moved toward the aris- , tocratic throng ;who had gathered about this - youthful couple-and, in a moment afterward, he heard his own name mentioned, in a soft, mu- sical, heavenly tone. Monsieur V' said the beauty, smiling, and Thornton advanced, and took the extended hand of Evelyn Talfourd! The youth was startled, surprised, but deeply gratified. He had not recognized the lady upon her entrance, for none were looking for her with * a strange attendant. He glanced at the French officer, was duly presented, and shortly afterward recovered his self-possession. But he did not fancy this personage at all. The Count de Muir I was not present at the levee. He could tolerate him, he thought, for there was little fear of him as a rival. But the captain, this noble specimen of humanity, the emperor's favorite, it was said, he looked upon him with a jealous eye. An i hour subsequently, he met his friend Hastings. I I Tell me, he queried, who is the-attendant of mademoiselle to-night?' 'He with the star?' 'The same.' He is a French captain-' ' Yes, I know. But what relation-' ' Ah, I see-yes. No relation, as yet, I be- lieve. It is said, however, that he may be, hereafter. By the way, Thornton, you have heard that Evelyn is affianced?' ' Something to that effect, I have heard, yes.' 'I think the captain is to be the fortunate man; at least, such is the rumor.' Thornton gazed upon the handsome couple, but he was disappointed and nettled at this an1- nouncement. He possessed the courage to place himself between the captain and his fair intend- ed; and he resolved to try his hand in the game, as we shall see, anon. - / CHAPTER VIII. Our hero meets his Parisian belle again. Visit to the opera. He declares his passion, ba, finds that he is too late. The interview. He reflects again, and resolves to visit Carrie Brandon. Arrival at the Wrecker's cottage. O, let me return to the maiden I love, She is tender and gentle, and meek as the dove, 'Why should I e'er wandered away? She dwells by the sea, in a plain simple cot, She's ever content with her own humble lot- And always as merry as May 1 "ME flew rapidly by. For three months, the same round of continuous pleasure occupied the days and nights of Willis Thornton, and at each meetingwith the still lovelyEvelyn, his feelings became more and more deeply inter- ested-the youth became further and further in- volved. The fair image he had so casually met, at first, had completely occupied his walking or dreaming thoughts, but still he had never yet had the opportunity, or rather he had never yet seizeed the opportunity to disclose his passion. Often, very often, did he think of Carrie Bran- don, too-but his heart was fickle, and he ac- knowledged it to himself. I Poor little Carrie!' he would argue, ' the days are passing away, and a few weeks will bring about the time when we should meet again. I wonder does Carrie think of me? Does she believe the stranger will return to her? Or, may she not sensibly argue that the promise cs given her may of right be broken, when he who gave it finds himself in such a plight as this? ' Evelyn! Carrie! Ah, there is a difference surely. Evelyn is rich, noble, envied, lovely in. the extreme; and Carrie is unknown, humble, beautiful, but the child of poverty. Herfather, no one knows him ; and, it may be, as good Mr. Hastings said, he is a smuggler, a rover-any- thing. None knows who or what he is. But Philip saved my life-he did, and I owe him everything. I would like to see him-him and Carrie Brandon. Nearly eight months have passed since I became indebted to them for my life. Let us see-to-morrow evening, the opera. Evelyn will be there. I will try her; she shall learn that I have firiends as well as herself. I will, inform her of my purpose, and within this week I will see my humble friends at the beach.' On the following night, accordingly, Thorn- ton found his way to the private box of the Count page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] dle Muir, at the opera-house. Evelyn looked charmingly, with her long raven tresses hanging in rich luxuriance over her broad, snomw-white shoulders, and: her happy face lit up with es- citemont and pleasure. Thornton sat beside her for half an hour, when the count suddenly found himself ill, and desired that monsieur would see to his fair charge; a duty the latter very gladly accepted. The twain left the opera early, and upon reaching the hotel of Evelyn, she persuaded Thornton to tarry a moment. Soon afterward, he found himself in an ele- gant private dlrawing-room, alone with Evelyn Talfourdl! His heart beat violently, for such an opportunity was just what he had long desired. ' la'amoisolle,' he said, addressing her in her favorite French, for Evelyn scarcely spoke tell words in English; ' ma'amoiselle, I am more than delighted with this happiness.' 'I am glad to have conduced to mlonsieur's pleasure, certainly,' said the brunette, gaily and good naturedly. ' Whenever I find myself in ma'amoiselle's sotiety, I am sure to be very happy,? continued Thlornton, raly. The beauty threw her head aside, and smiled. ' But, ma'ainoiselle, I earn called away from further participation in this enjoyment-' ' Called away, monsieur?' 'Yes; I am about to leave London.' 'Permanently, monsieur?' ' I cannot say. That is-' ( Whither goes monsieur?' ' To France.' ' Back to lFrance? I would I could join you. 'It would crown my joy, ma'amoiselle, to be your servant enl route,' continued Thornton, passionately. 'I shall not return at present, monsieur,' added Eveylyn, rising. Thornton gazed in rapture on the fair being before him-he felt that the auspicious moment had arrived, and forgetting time, place, or his position, he cried: ' Evelyn, behold me at your feet!' M Monsieur!' exclaimed the beauty, starting at this unexpected scene, 'monsieur,* what is this?' Evelyn, my fate is in your hands. I cannot brook your scorn, your coldness, your refusal. Tell me in one word, may I not hope for your favor?' ' Up, monsieur! some one approaches. I have no heart to barter, I have no hand to give! I would be your friend-your fiend, monsieur, and will, if you permit it; but this heart and hand are no longer within my control. Up, . say, and spare me-the door, monsieur ' con- tinued Evelyn, apparently deeply excited. [SEE ENGRAYING.] Thornton sprang to his feet, turned about, and beheld the form of the Count de Muir just en- tering the apartment. He did not quail, but passing his kerchief quickly over his face, he advanced, and recovered his sclf-possession in-. stantly. ' Monsieur le Count,' he said, 'I trust you are much better.' 'Yes, monsieur, yes,' replied de luir, who seemed to anticipate what he could not appar- ently hear. 'I knocked thrice, madam,' he said, thurningl to Evelyn; 'you were busy, eh?' ' Yes, yes. You did not tarry thlough.' ' No. Monsieur, I learn that you leave town in the morning.' ' Yes, Monsieur le Count,' said Thornton, in a louder tone. ' Which way ' ' South, monsieur.' ( The Baths?' ' No, no. A friend-old acquaintances- merely an engagement. A few days only. "A visit to a gentleman, named Brandon, on the sea-coast below.' Brandon I' 'Yes, monsieur.' Ah, I have heard of Brandon-that is the name, I think. Hastings speaks of him.' Hastings V' ' Yes; he met him on the Channel the other day.' ' He did-it is the same. I shall return in a week, Monsieur le Count, mllen I hope to find' you very well.' Then risingr again, he advanced and took the hand of Evelyn Talfourd. 'IMa'atmoiselle Evelyn, your pardon for my rudeness and presumption. I was inconsiderate, reckless, hasty. At least, you will forgive me?' ' Monsieur, let me be your firiend.' So great a compliment I had not dared to ask. You know my sentiments towards you, and have now the advantage of me. You will not abuse it 'V 'Never, surely!' said Evelyn, promptly. ' The count will not suspect'V ' Fear nothing.' Thanks, thanks-adieu, ma'amoiselle P' 'Monsieur le Count, aurevoir,' continued Thornton, turning to the deaf protector of Eve- lyn. The latter bowedL stiffly, and Thornton departed. 'We shall leave town at three o'clocl;,' said the count, the moment the young man disap- peared. ' My lord Eskine gives a levee on Thursday, to which we are invited, but we must excuse ourselves to his lordship.' And with these words, the count retired. It lacked but half an hour to three o'clock. Before dayliglht, a post-chaise and four dashed over the Greenwich road, and thence to Graves- end. Ordering a relay of horses, it proceeded on to Rochester and South Canterbury, and so eastward. No one knew who occupied the coach, no one cared; money was very plenty in his hand, and he was liberal-few questions were therefore needed. He proceeded on to his destination without hindrance ; he was supposed to be a courier, on'the way to Dover, or fur- ther. On the afternoon succeeding the interview with Evelyn, Thornton entered the stage bound to RaiLsgate. He was not in the best of spirits. He had committed himstlf indiscreetly, and had learned that he was too late. But there was consolation in the reflection that Evelyn did not spurn him. She was gentle, kind, folrbearin, symllpathetic. Strange, lovely, falscinating being. The more Thornton reflected upon the scene of the previous night, the deeper was lie in love with Evelyn Talfourdl! But he was now bound upon an errand which had its pleasing associations. He would soon meet Carrie-thc charming talellted, fair-haired Carrie Brandon, who, though but a merle child, had left an impress upon his heart, which none but Evelyn could erase. 'Evelyn!' he sighed, as the name recurred to' his busy mind, Evelyn Talfourd, the fairest flower that ever declked my path, is lost to me! True, I can have no claims upon her ; surlely she is nothing-nothing to me! But then she slil- ed so kindly, she received me so cordially al- ways, she encouraged me so earnlestly, by her winning, charming manners, that I hoped-ay! that's the word, I did but hope, she would not turn upon me. However, it is past-over; I know the worst. Her hand is promised! She will be faithful; she " has no hand or heart to give," she declares. It is well. Courage, Thornton, courage! 'I wonder does Carrie Brandon retain her sweet mild smile, her gentle disposition, her sunny face, her happy laugh b I shall be very happy to meet her. She loves nle! Her love is not to be slighted. She is as fair as ever lily was, but Evelyn is the rose!' Poor Thornton was in a quandlary! Bu13t as he continued to muse, the stage passedl rapidly ;along; and finally he reached Ramsgate. He alighted, took a private conveyance on, and, at evening of the second day, the little cottage of Philip Brandon hove in sight, upon the bluff r above the beach. His heart leaped to his throat as he saw the humble dwelling, and he had only leisure to collect his scattered thoughts, when the driver reined up with: "Ere ve are, sir!' page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] CHAPTER IX. Thornton's reception at Brandon's dwelling. A new proposal is made. The Swallow once more. A trip to France. Another yacht, the Dart. A challenge accepted. A fleet sailer, and a worthy competitor. The trial. ' Welcome, stranger! welcome back To our scant, but cheerful fare; Though, in substance, much we lack, What we have, you'll freely share.' A- * * * X ' By the mass, she sits upon the waves As buoyant as a sea-bird. Do you mark Her gallant bearing? Of a truth, her prowess Is amazing 1' THO RNTON alighted quickly, and enter- ing the cot, discovered Carrie alone in the little parlor. 'Dear Carrie P' he exclaimed, as she smiling- ly rose to greet him, ' I redeem my promise I' and he actually pressed upon her pale forehead an affectionate, fervent kiss. ' Thornton,' said the maiden, I am rejoiced to meet you; but why didt you not inform us of your comluing?' ' Is my unlooked for arrival the less gateful to you, Carrie?' * Never-never, Thornton, believe me. And father, too, will be most happy to see you.' 'I do not doubt it, Carrie. You have been very well, I hope, since I left you, eight months since ' ' Yes, Thornton; but lonely-sad, at times.' 'Ah, Carrie, you should not feel lonely, surely. Amillid the associations of a home so happy as this, with your books and lute, and the society of your kind parent-' 'Here lie is--father, our friend-' ' God bless us-Thornton! Is it you?' ex- claimned Brandon, enterinfg at this mrornent, and clasping the hand of Willis right earnestly. ' I am glad to see you.' I Not more so than myself, to mleet the friend who saved my life, sir, and to whom my obli- gation can never be annulled.' ' Well, well-never mind that. We have been thinking of you, Thornton, but did not look to meet you here so soon. Yet it is well, and your visit -is most timely. Let us give you a hearty welcome first, and then propose a plea- sure-trip, in which I -trust you will agree to join us.' ' Vhither, sir? ' To France.' ' To IFrance!' 'Yes-on the morrow. Business of conse- quence calls me to Boulogne. We shall set sail, the wild permitting, early in the morning. At Calais, I propose to leave our Carrie, for tlihe nonce-and thence proceed to town by post. I shall be absent scarcely four-and-twenty hours, in Boulogne, and, by your leave, will entrust my daughter to your charge, if you accept the invite.' ' Nothing could please me better, sir. And, since your daughter will accoInpany us, I anu the mnore inclinedl. But how do you propose to go r' ( Have you forgot the Swallow, Mr. Thornl- ton?' 'Upon mny life, silr-no! Do we sail in her?' Assuredly we do. A finer vessel never kiss- ed the waves.' 'Indeed, sir, I have heard that compliment before, and I agree to it.' 'Tis well, then. Carrie, at early nlorning be astir, for the tide serves us best at very day- break.' ' You will not wait for me, sir.' * The cvelling passed in pleasant converse.- Carrie was very'happy, and Thornton forgot his much-loved Evelyn, as he listened to the sweet tones of the lhurlble maiclden's voice, and enjoyedl the hearty clheer which was offered hinm in the wrecker's cot. At an early hour the trio retir- ed; and, ere morning broke, they stood upon the beach, ready to embark for Calais. Carrie Brandon had grown fairer, if possible, in the eight Inonths which had expired since Thornton left the cottage; and the youth ob- served that she was taller, too, than when he first met her. Her brow was paler, her light auburn hair was thinner and more glossy, and her form was more fully developed. Her voice had changed, as well, and a rounder fullness of speech was apparent. Ah! he deemed her very love- ly-but there was Evelyn, the matchless, inap- proachable Evelyn Talfourd, whom he could not forget, at least. Carrie, indeed,was not unlike his Evelyn. The latter was older and taller; her hair was raven black; her cheeks were ruddy arnd fresh; her form was very much more full and rounded. Shewas a deep brunette, and she was rich! Carrie wats pale and colorless; her hair was golden brown; her step was elastic, but free and girl-like; she was a lovely, gentle, country lass -but she was very poor. And how could it be otherwise? They lived in a,simplllle fishCeran's cot (of the better class, to be sure), but still Brandon was happy-so was his daughtei; and when he pleased, he could put his foot upon the deck of as fleet a cutter as tire Yacht Club of England ever saw! This was something, at any rate. But morning came, and, as we have said, the three friends stood upon the beach, under the lee of the bluff, in readiness to embark. A light gig, which floated just astern of the cutter, was quickly drawn alongside the Swal- low, and into it there jumped two inen, who pulled directly for the shore. Not a syllable was uttered, the oarsmen seemed to understand their duty, and the party having entered the barge, they were soon placed alongside the yacht. The ensign was already at the peak, and at the word, the anchor was tripped, the mainsail went up, and the Swallow hove off into the nar- row channel which skirted the headland, or, as it is more generally known, the shore of tlhe North Foreland, outside of Margate. For half an hour Phil Brandon stood near the wheel, with his eye upon the Swallow's prow, now giv- ing a quiet order, now aiding at the helm, now suggesting one change or another-and, as old Sol mounted the heavens, the tortuous route had been cleared, and with a free wind abaft, the cutter's head was thrown off a point or two, the jib and flying-jib went up, and the sailsof the beautiful boat filled away, as she stood upon her course towards the coast of France. There was something novel, startling, exhilar- ating in the scene before him, as Thornton gazed out upon the -broad expanse in view, now lighted up by the clear, rich glow of the early autumn's . page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] Rmn. The waves were dancing beneath the rich light, moved by the steady but grateful breeze, the air was soft and inviting, the day promised to be especially fine, and the excursion was so unexpected, that, on the whole, he was deeply gratified, and highly buoyant in his spirits. And la belle France was beyond him! His country, his loved home! Beside him sat Car- rie, thile innocent, child-like, affectionate maiden, who loved him. And Philip Brandon-his de- liverer firom death-was there, too, with his manly address and kindly smile. Thornton was really happy, for the time being-yet his thoughts would turln, occasioilthy, to London, and to Evelyn! Upon rounding the headland, outside of Mar- gate, the course -of the Swallow was set to the south'ard. It was the intention of Brandon to run down to Dover, and cross the Straits south- eastelrly; hoping to fall in with some of the fancy craft in that region, which, from the character of the day, he imagined would be abroad. ' How is she doing, Wells?' asked Brandon, of the skipper, as the boat rolled merrily on over the increasing waves. ' Admirably! Never better, sir.' 4 What speed?' Six and a half.' Only six and a half, Wells ' The wind is light yet, sir.' 'Keep her full and by, Tim.' 'Ay, ay, sir,' answered the helmsman. 'You remember, Thornton, the boat-ride off Sheppey's Island light, four months ago?5' ' I deed I do, sir; I was just reminding Miss Carrie of that excursion.' The Airow is a fine sailer-a very fine sail- er; but she is a trifle too heavy forward. In bad weather, or in a rolling sea, she might do; but on the wind, or off for that matter, with a steady blreeze, the Swallow can sail around her, fore and aft, eh V' ;Sail ho!' eagerly shouted Wells, at this moment. 'Where away?' answered Brandon, starting up. ' Dead ahead, sir.' ' The glass, Wells.' 1 I Here it is, sir.' ' What did you male her olt?' I ' A flyer, sir-the Dart. Do you see e' ' Yes, yes. She is beuaring directly down for us, too.' Shall we heave to, sir?' ' No, not at present. Send up the signals, Wells, and stand by to acknowledge her as she comes on. ' Ay, ay, sir.' The streamers went quickly up, the Swallow was brought up another point on the wind, and the breeze which had started within the last half hour forced the gay boat along her way right cheerily. l That craft, Thornton,' said Bralndon, point- ing towards the approaching yacht, ' is the fleets est boat-stve one-upon the English coast.' ' And that one, sir-' 'Is the Swallow,' answered Phil, without taking his eye from the other. The pilot luffed as he came within hailing distance, and throwing down the head of his craft, he passed close under the Swallow's stern, as his flag at the peak was lowered gently, and quickly run up again. This compliment was responded to by Brandon, and then was heard the hail from the other yacht. ' Cutter, ahoy!' ' Ay, ay.'5 ' Who commands her?' ' Phil Brandon.' ' Where bound?' 'To Calais.' 'We're with you!' was the response, agffailn; and five minutes afterwards, the Swallow and the Dart, the two fastest yachts in British water were side by side, with all sail set to the be st possible advantage, bounding away before an eight knot breeze, towards the Frenchl coast. It was a beautiful sight, tand a novel one to young Thornton, who hadl become ideely excited in the race, and anxious for the snLjcess of Bran- dons favorite. But he had a worthy comlpetitor this time; and the rudder-posts of the rivals were on a par- allel line, as yet. CHAPTER X. J A splendid -.rospepect. The two boats perfornz 'wonderss / A blow exis etperiencedl . he Tar- cident. FoastofFrance in v? iew. Danger aheafl Night and a gale! A frightfiul occurrence. Carrie Brandont washed overlor The attempted rescue. Both are lost! Thornton reaches France in despair. 'O, pilot! 'tis a fearful night! Here's danger on the deep; I'll come and pace the deck with thee, I do not dare to sleep. On such a night, the sea engulfed My father's lifeless form; My only brother's bark went down, In just so wild a storm I' THE bright waves sp1rklelld ill the sunllighllt, the Wind continuedl stelady, a1nd the two 'boats went gallantly on, for two hours, almost side by side. As tlcy got well out froml the shoal water, the breeze grew perceptibly strong- er, however; and finally a heavy chopped sea was encountered. The air grew colder, too, and at last a scattering mass of small clouds scudded across the sky. Thlen the sun was shut out, and, later in the day, the heavens became e?- tirely overcast. Brandon recommcnded that Carrio and Thorn- ton should go below, for the weather was getting rough, and the spray rendered a position on the I deck exceedingly uncomfortable; but they were too deeply interested in the race to avail them- selves of this advice, and persisted in remaining eye-witnesses to the trial. Until within the last two hours, every inch of 3 canvass that could be stretched, upon both boats, had been carried. Butrnow the jib and gaff- topsails had been taken in, the mainsails were bothl closely reefed, and the wind was all too hcavy even for such a show of sail. The Dart. labored severely, and had now fallen away half a mile, nearly, to leeward ; still she showed jilb, storm-jib, and reefed' mainsail, and the owner of the Swallow, resolved to convince lis rival that his craft was an even match, at least, in heavy or liglt sailing, sported the same rig, while his boat heldl her course steadily, still gaining failrly and handsomnely in the contest. As night approached, and the lowering clouds increased the coming darkness, the shores of FI r GTIove ill sight; Ibult the wind hal reoached a Vfy hurricane. Still the owner of the Dart persisted in carrying the sail which he had shown for the previous two or tlthree hours. On page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] a sudden, a tremendous sea came rolling on, and the Dart pitched into it, headlong, carrying the bows clean under water, and well-nigh swamp- ing her on the instant! The cry was heard on board her ' let go all!' and in another moment she came up upon the heaving waves, without a foot of canvas in sight. The Swallow bore away at once, run down to- wads her, and hailed. They learned that she /ad sprung her mast, the jib-sheet had parted, and she was thus a cripple. Her owner thank- ed Brandon for his offer of assistance, informed him that he could do nothing, that he had been fairly beaten, and the Swallow stood awa' for her destination. The jib was run down, and under her closely reefed mainsail and storm-jib, she went forward rapidly for a time, though the gale continu to rease most furiously. It she ppSe of Brandon to make the light at dus possible, and the headway he had he ;eived would effect this. The storm was becoming momentarily more severe, and the threatening appearance of the elements counsel- led him at last to stow his mainsail. Under a mere patch of canvass, therefore, the small storm- jib, he put his little craft before the gale, and bounded on, still confident of reaching the coast in safety. Brandon went below, for the purpose of com- fortingo Carrie and Thornton, who had retired to' thile cabin, and whom he feared might be uneasy . at the prospect. ' How is she doing?' queried the young man, as Philip closed the slide over the cormpanion-i way, and entered the cabin hastily. ' Well-very well,' said Phil, encouragingly. ' The storm is a violent one.' ( Yes; I have rarely been caught in so bad a blow.' ' What is the prospect, father?' Dark, daughter, dark. But have no fears for our ultimate safety; I do nut mean that, by any means; yet the night is gloomy, and the prospect is murky enough. We shall weather it, however. The cutter is in excellent condi- tion, and we are getting on famously.' ( You deem it safe to approach the coast, sir ' ( O, perfectly; I have been here an hundred times. The light is in sight, and we should make the harbor within the nest hour. So, be quiet, and keep up your cheerful spirits-'all will come light, though I do not much lilke this gale.' Brandon turned to go upon deck once more, when, as his hand touched the companion-slide, a thundering crash was heard over head, and a shout went from the lungs of the pilot: 'Bear a hand there, lively! Bring the axe.' Brandon sprang to the deck, and found that the storm-jib stay had parted, and the sail lay floundering over the side. The cutter hadl fallen into the trough of the sea at the same time, through the momentary indiscretion of the helnls- man, and the chances were rather dubious.- Brandon left the companion-way half open, the water dashed into the cabin, and Thornton, with Carrie-deeply alarmed at this unlooked-for oc- currence--rushed wildly out, believing that the vessel had struck or foundered. To add to the terror of the moment, the pilot discovered that they were close in upon a lee shore; and, although they appeared to be in deep water, within a few fatholms' distance, they could see the ' combers,' as they rolled in and dashed themselves along a broad beach beyond. The fragments of the tattered jib were cut 4 away as quickly as possible, and the hurried or- der was given'to run up the main jib. ' We must try it; the wind favors us some- what, and we may claw off.' e ( You cannot do it-it is death!' responded the pilot, to this advice of Brandon. ' The alternative is certainll death; we must go to pieces in fifteen minutes, or claw off. Up with it!' The jib was raised with difficulty, the helm was put up, and her head came suddenly round to the wind. As she hove off, a sea struck her violently amidships, and Carrie Brandoll, losing her foot and hand-hold at the same moment, went over the side-beyond redemption I 'ly daughter!' screamed Brandon, madly, springing to the bulwarks; ' a boat! a buoy!- quick V' and before any one knew what was, his purpose, the father was at his daughter's side, among the boiling waves. He seized Carrie in one hand, and as he was an expert swimmer, he found no difficulty in supporting her for a few minutes. They were a long distance from the sholre, however, and the sea was running and rolling with fearfal violence. Thle buoys were quickly dashed over the side, and, but for the fact that the pilot seized upon Tllornton with main strength, and held him baclk' till the paroxysm of his excitement and despair had a little subsided, the youth would have fol- lowed the friends to whom he owed so much, and whom he really loved so dearly. But the pilot saw that such a course was but to jump into the very jaws of death. There was not the slighlltest possibility of a chance that Carrie could bIe saved; and he felt as certain v that Brandon, too, in his attempt to rescue his daughter, was lost, forever! It was impossible for them to do anything for the sufferers. They could not lay to; there was but one course left them. The Swallow had already fallen away a considerable distance from -the spot where the accident occurred, and the pilot-muchl as he desired to leave no means un- - tried to save them-deemed it a fruitless and perilous task to remain a moment longer there, if he could claw off. The buoys and half a dozen planks had been cast over the side, at the instant Brandon leaped so desperately into the water; but alas! daclrkncss was ablove, behind, and before them! The crew heard the hissing and roaring of the hreakers, and they turned re- luctantly to the only means left them to save themselves. The cold wind whstlel a doleful requiem, as it were-the waves lashed the rocks and the beach beyond-the storm continued to vent its fury, and pitchy dLarkl;ness hung like a funeral pall over the sad scene. Thornton was in the deepestdistress and anLguish. He gave no thought to his own personal peril, which was still so threatening; he realized nothing but the dread- ful event which had just talken place, so unex- pectedly. He had seen the -lovely Carrie sink beneath the angry billows, when he could not aid her-and the parent, he who had saved hiS life, after just such a scene-lle, too, had been sacrificed, in the attempt to rescue her. He would not be comforted. After three hours' labor and watching, back- ing and filling, tacking and running, the light was made again, and, before midnight, the Swal- low rode at anchor off the harbor of Calais. At the earliest dawn of morning, a calculation was made, and a courier was sent down the coast for ten leagues, by-land, to inquire if any such per- sons had been seen or heard from, in anly way. As quickly as possible, the storm having abated, the cutter repaired, and put out into the Straits again. She run down to the vicinity where the accident occurred, as nearly as theycould judge, and, durin(r the whole day, the most active and zealous search was made, from G-avelines to Cape Grisnez, on land and upon the beach and shores, but all to no avail. This search was continued faithfully, under the direction of Thorn- ton, for aweek, and daily he required his agents to report their movements. But all was vain! It was plain to the pilot and the crew, as well as it seemeld to all with whom Thornton communicated, that there was not a hope left. On such a night, in such a fearful storm, at such a spot-they must have sunk instanter! And they did. Even before the eyes of Thornton, Carrie Brandon went down, and though the parent seized her, a moment af- tcr, and held her head above the foaming surge, it was but for a moment. The boat receded, ieind and waves bore the fathler and daugh- ter from his maddened gaze, and as hle still re- flected on that terrible sight, and felt bhat they would never meet again, on earth, his grief wam overwhelmingl-inconsolable! When he felt assured that further efforts would avail nothing, Tllornton returned to Cal ais, and wrote a letter to his father at Amiens, rehearsing as briefly as possible the incidents of the previous week, and speaking of Philip Bran- don and his daughter in the most endearing terms. He resolved also to follow the commu- nication, at an early day, and made his arrange- ments accordingly. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] Before he parted with the pilot of the Swal- low, he learned that he was well acquainted with Brandon's affairs, that he had been in his ser- vice a long period, and he felt satisfied that the old sailor would return to Philip's late residence, and do in the premises what was legal and equitable, under the circumstances. The damage to the cutter proved but tempo- rary and trifling. At the end of ten days from the night of the accident, she was in complete repair once more, and ready to sail. The pilot called to pay his parting respects to Thornton, who was also ready, at the moment, and await- ing the diligence which would convey him to his father's residence at Amiens. The parting proved a painful one, for it was the occasion of a renewal of their mutual grief-grief for the - untime y loss of a noble friend and a kindly 1 benefacor-for the death of a gentle, tender, - beauteous flower, which was but just approach- ing its richest bloom! Thornton shook the rough hand of the pilot at last, and that hour saw him on the road to Bou- logne. The Swallow made the most of the promising weather, and crossed the Straits of Dover, to her former anchorage, in safety.- Thornton travelled night and day, and tarried t only for the change of conveyance south. Passing through Boulogne at early evening, he supped, and proceeded forward at once through Montreuil, Abbeville, and Pecquigny, arriving at Amicns, the former capital of Picar- dy, safely and seasonably, at last-where lihe was warmly greeted by his family. CHAPTER XI. TownZ of Villers, in France. An eccentric traveller. Hae is suspected, but carries his passport in his purse. An accomn2modating landlord. Trip to Adiens. A welcome letter. Tie stranzger's pritate secretary. Explanations and injunctions. The garcon and his master leave Amienls, and arrive ayain at Villers. ' The night is mother of the day, The winter of the spring; And, ever, upon old decay, The greenest mosses cling.-- Behind the clouds, the starlight lurks, Through showers, the sunbeams fall; And HE, who loveth all his works, Hath left his hope with all i' $ S SHOE)T distance to the north of the A^Sl. city of Amiens, in France, lies the in- consideratle town of TVillers, a smllll 'post-vil- lage,' thlrough which the regular Diail-coach passes daily, en route from Calais and Boulogne, tlroughll Amicns, to Paris. It is a plalce of very little note, and contains but few inlhabitants. Some three weeks subsequent to the occur- rence of the sad events recordedl in our last c4hapter, there came lown in the diligence from 13eussent (a town lying about half way between Boulogne and Hedin) a queer looking man, apparcntly five and-forty years old, or there- abouts; who halted at the tavern (hoteD where the postilions exchanged horses-in Villers. He asked if he could be temporarily accommo- dated there, with lodgings; and receiving an iI i afilmative reply, he removed an insignificant Iportmanteau and a small pacquet from the coach, and entered the house. The landlord approached him suspiciously, however, and said, ' Is not monsieur's fare pre- paid to Amiens? 'Yes,'replied the, strang cr, gruffly. And what of that?' 'Nothing, nothing, monsicur. By your ac- cent, I observe that you are not a provincial-' ' Never mind. I have been in France a good while, monsieur-long enough to have learned that a citizen may journey as ho pleases, how he pleases, and where he pleases, provided he has always a reasonable supply of V'argent. Com- prenez vous ' continued the traveller. 'I understand,7 said the landlord, satisfied. 1 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] * Tres bien, monsieur. Now, show me to a comfortable room, and send up a bottle of your best claret - In a fe minutes, the stranger had removed his trave' g coat and boots, thrust his feet into a pair of elieately wrought silk slippers, and held in his hand a goblet of Chantelou's choicest wine. The servant was about retiring, when he turn- ed and asked very civilly: ' Will monsieur dine?' 'Yes-atfive o'clock. Whatisyourname?' 'Pierre Rogert, monsieur.' ' Well, Pierre, see to my dinner at five; and on your return below stairs, send the landlord up. Here!- ' and with this last word, the traveller tossed the astonished garcon a gold- en louis, which very quickly found its way- to the bottom of his breeches pocket, as he disappeared. When the landlord made his appearance, as 'he did immediately afterward, his eccentric guest requested him to close the door behind him. ' Now, monsieur,' remarked the traveller, ' let us begin understandingly.' And he hand- ed the hotel keeper a- purse well filled with gold. 'Talkc this, on account, monsieur. I shall probably put you to inconvenience at times ; but amn both able and disposed to remunerate you for your attendance and indulgence. Enztendez voZs ' ' Yes, yos,' responded his host, well pleased, ',I understand.' 'Very well, then. You will ask no ques- tions, please?' 1 No, monsieur-no.' 'I am neither an adventurer, a spy, nor a rob- ber. I will pay you for all your trouble, amply; but I choose to go and come when and how I please, without being an object of curiosity. My name or profession concerns no one, here; and this said, I think we may get alony togeth- er, eh' ' Yes,' monsieur, admirably.' ' What room is that?' queried the traveller, I (pointing to a door which led out from one r treme of the apartment in which he sat. ' That is an ante-chamlber, in which monsieur I can sleep, if he will.' ' And this room, on the right?' continued the I stranger, turning towards the other side of the t parlor. ' That is a similar room, monsiour- two connect, as you see.' ' That is well, and just as I would have it. I will occupy all three of the apartments. And now, how far is it hence to Amiens?' ' Amiens, monsieur? A single stage.' 'Is that all?' ' One poste, monsieur.' 'When does the diligemce pass again?' At seven o'clock.' 'I will go down in it. I shall return in the morning, then.' ' Yes, monsieur, if you will.' ' Very well. I shall bring my. servant with me; he will occupy the room yonder. That is all. I will dine at five.' The landlord retired at once, and gave orders, instantly, that the most assiduous attention should be given, by his employees, to the stran- ger's every want. At five, he dined, at six, he drank a cup of Aocha, and at seven o'clock hle toolk the dili- gence for Amiens, where he arrived seasonably. He was set down at the post-house, and turnillg away, as soon as the confusion subsided a little, he walked to a narrow street which led to the south, and passing down to a still narrower and more quiet avenue, he halted before a small dwelling, the blinds to which were closed. Having turned about, as if to see if he were dogged, he mounted the steps, touched a spring at the side of the door, and entered the house unannounced. There was buet a single person within that dwelling, and as soon as the stranger reached the main room, lie sprang the bell-pull, which was quickly answered by the appearance of a young man, apparently sixteen or eighteen years of age, who hurried into the room, and aslied: ' What success? 'Just as I wished it. I have provided quar-' ters at the post-house-Dessin's-at Villers. f We will go up early in the morning. Are there any letters?' a ' Yes-two from Boulogne, and this, from- ' I see, it is all right,' said the stranger, tak- i ing the documents, quickly, from the hand of the youth. And drawing up the light, he read sE as follows, from the latter missive: MONSIEUR:-Wth what excess of joy did I peruse that letter, and how did, my heart bound within me, at the recital it contained! I ' Be assured of my continued and constant love, and rest assured that your every wish shall be faithfully observed. I have thus far attended strictly to your injunctions, in every particular. All that you directed to be done has 'been ac- complished; and I only look for further orders from you, to fulfil them with scrupulousness and alacrity. ( As to the injunction of secrecy, that is easy, and of course indispensable. You surely can rely upon me, as you have done, before now. Your proposal in regard to the character of our correspondence, is understood and appreciated. I shall not forget your repeated caution. ' ( Rest satisfied that all will be performed just as you will it; and rely upon my discretion, my affection and my best endeavors to serve you. I shall soon hear from you, again, of course; in the meantime, believe me, Devotedly, ' YOUiR FRIEND. The traveller smiled, for the first time, at this answer, couched as it was in the ambig- uous terms he most desired-lest the letter might miscalTrry-and then he turned to his at- tendant, who was, in fact, his private secretary. ' Do you know that superscription?' he asked, passing the document he had just read into the I hands of his amanuensis. ' No, monsieur.' See if you know the writing upon the inside, then,' he continued. The youth opened the letter, and exclaimed aloud, as that familiar hand greeted his vision. 'Hush! -'sh!' garcon; do you forget so soon,?' said the stranger, earnestly. 'Pardonnez moi ' said the youth, quickly recovering, ' I will not offend again, monsieur.' ( Have a care, then, garcon.' Trust me, monsieur, I will be discreet in future. But I was taken by surprise.' ( And so you will be again, and often; so rec- ollect, you are not to be surprised at anything/ (I shall not fail,' replied the attendant, turn- ing to finish perusing the letter. It was without date or signature, other than simply 'your friend.' The address upon the envelope was in a strange or well-disguised hand writing; but the contents were- quickly devoured, for the traveller knew whence the missive came, and how it was indited. ( How very lind of him,' said the -etk. - 'Yes ; and why not 9' 'True, true, monsieur.' ' He is in earnest, plainly.' (Yes and we may trust him.' ' Surely we may, monsieur. You will write him, in reply, of course?' (Yes, in the morning. You may retire, gar- con. At daybreak we leave for Villers.' ' Bon nuit, monsieur.' 'Good night,' responded the stranger; and the boy retired at once. The youth had been schooled by the traveller, thoroughly (as he believed), and he proposed tc talke him up to Villers, to attend upon himoin his mission thither. Both were evidently Frenchmen; and after the most cautious and positive injunctions, as to his deportment in the 3 future, he thought he could trust him. At four o'clock next morning, they took the diligence at * the post-house in Amiens, and breakfasted at the , little hotel in Villers, where the stranger had halted the night before. You will address me,' said the traveller, e I while we tarry here, simply as!" monsieur- l In return I shall call you " garcon " only. Will you remember?' , (I shall not forget, monsieur.' ( Bring me ink and paper; I will write a let- i ter or two, and then we will look about us, and learn who our neighbors are.' o This order was obeyed. The stranger com- menced writing, and the youth stood respectfully y behind the chair, meantime. page: 44-45 (Illustration) [View Page 44-45 (Illustration) ] CHAPTER XII. Pa'ris once moRe. Sceee at the Cafe l'Anglais. The ' belle ' of the c;lt. A surprise.- Th7'orntonl and lis friend. Ecelyn Talfourd in France. The proposed call. The conm- panions are overheard. A third party to the interview. Visit to the opera. Thoin- ton talk's feellngly of Cartri Br?)andon. Singular treatment. Our hero is at fault again. 'Earl March has a winsome daughter, A maiden fair to see; Her cheeks were tinged with coral, Her neck was like ivory. This child of a haughty noble Loved one of lower degree; But the high ne'er wed the lowly, And her lover crossed the sea.' : HE season of gaiety was at its height. in A the gayest city upon the continent, thle 'apital of France. :Bal masqnes by night, rlivcs through the Camntps E1,/sees and environs by daylight, the levee and the opera at evening. filled up the flitting hours of pleasure ; and the mntire population of Paris, composed so, largely of representatives from every nation on the globe, were enjoying, each in his own way, the groand gala-day. Beneath the shadow of a trellised booth, in a small garden in the Cafe l'Anglais, a resort for gentlemen of rank and fashion, there sat, one evening (about a fortnight after the arrival of the stranger at Villers), two citizens, enjoying a (.up of wine and a familiar chat. 'I tell you,' said the first speaker, ' she is a perfect nymph.' ' Sny a goddess, at once,' was the response. ' Well, nymph or goddess, as you will. She will prove a paradise, coimplete, for him who is lucky enough to win her,' continued the other, earnestly. 'Come, now, I have seen a great many lovelv women in my travels; and I am not so readily won. What has she to recommend her, especially?' 'To begin with, she is immensely rich.' 'Poh! What has that to do with her bcau- ty?' 'But, hear me. She is in the enjoyment of four thousand a year, sterling, in her own right; ' Up, Monsieur-some onelapproaches. Up, I say, and spare Ine-the door.'-SEE CArP. VIII. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] and her prospective property is said to be double that, in addition.' ' Well, that is something, to be sure.' ' I say so, monsieur, decidedly. But she is a very angel in her personal appearance.' 'Monsieur, you are enthusiastic. Will you describe her, please?' 'Yes. She is tall and stately in form, rather above the medium size, with a lovely and most expressive countenance, long black ringlets, a perfect bust, a brunette in complexion-' 'A what?' exclaimed the person first address- ed. 'Brunette.' ' French?' asked his friend. 'Yes. What's the matter?' 'A Parisian?' 'Yes-that is, she has been abroad, the year past, and has just returned.' 'Where did you meet her?' 'At the opera.' ' And did not learn her name?' '0, yes, Tal-Talfourd, Ma'amoiselle Tal- fourd-' ' Diable!' exclaimed the other, springing up. '0, no, monsieur. I said Talfourd. I am sure that was the same.' 'Come, Fontaine. You have served me very ill.' 'How so?' 'Here have I been in Paris ten days, and you knew of this-knew that she was here, and never mentioned-' 'Mentioned what, man? Are you mad? Or have you seen a ghost, that you turn thus ashy pale, here, and talk at random, thus?' 'You say her name is Talfourd?' 'I say nothing more until you explain your- self. What means all this surprise?' ' Fontaine, you are my friend?' queried our old acquaintance, Thornton; for the reader will have seen that the enthusiastic young man was none other. 'Fontaine, if you are right, bring me to see her.' "Pon my word, .monsieur, you are modest!' ' I must see her, at once, Fontaine.' 'Not too fast, not too fast, monsieur Thorn- ton, s'il vous plait!' 'You are right, Fontaine. If it be her, she is very lovely,' continued Thornton. ' You have heard of her, then?' 'Yes, yes. I have seen her, often.' 'You? When?' 'In London. Come, will you join mn? You have not spoken with her, yet, eh?' 'No, no-not yet,' said Fontaine. 'I will introduce you.' 'You will?' I will, to-morrow night.' As those two young worthies thus convers- ed, a slight movement was overheard in an adjoining booth, near them, and they turned about, simultaneously, to note who might be their neighbor. They could ascertain nothing. The figure of a tall personage, enveloped in a cloak, which concealed him from view, was dis- covered, but they could learn nothing more. The young men conversed a few moments in a lower tone, and then arose to go. 'You will be at the opera to-morrow night?' said Thornton, audibly. ' Most certainly.' So will I,' said the youth, as they went out. 'And so will I,' chimed in a third voice, as the two friends left the garden. The last speaker was the Count de Muir. He had over- heard the conversation which had just passed; for he wasn't so deaf (perhaps), after all, as he sometimes found it convenient t Hi . He had accompanied Evelyn Talfourd from London, latterly; and, after passing a few weeks in Paris, they would visit Italy, before returning to England. Fontaine had met the lady at the opera, casually, and her surpassing beauty had attracted his notice, as it had the attention of a thousand others. They would attend the opera on the following evening, and the count, having overheard the conversation at the garden, re- solved to be at hand, when Evelyn and Thorn-- ton met, once more. Evelyn Talfourd never looked more bewitch- ing, and her delicate charms had never before been displayed more advantageously, than when page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] she appeared in the Count's box, on the night succeeding the interview just described. Her rich complexion, heightene,\by the ruddy color upon her cheek, the ful-arched. neck, hid only by a cape of embroidered tulle, the long and glossy black ringlets, secured by a single tiara of gorgeous pearls, fell in heavy clusters upon her fair shoulders-the sparkling eye, the happy smile, the agreeable address, all rendered her most faseinating to the throng, of ad rers who were honored with her fLavor. Thornton had just come down fro Amiens, to while away a few weeks in Paris, after the first distress and sorrow for the late catastrophe had subsided, measurably. He did not knlow that Evclyn had returned from London, and the surprise was th!e more agreeable to him. He could not forget the terrible accident which had occurrcl, however, and he could not speak of it withont betraying the deepest emotion. He paid his respects to the Count de Muir and to Evelyn, immediately upon tlheir appearance in the theatre, W-here hle had alrrived fully half an ' hour before thcen. The count w-as as dry and morose as ever, he t found; he spoke civilly enongh, neverttheless, and prcsentedl Monsieur Thornlton to Evclyn, immediately. The lady blushed, and then Z smiled graciously upon her fornler temporary acquaintance, whflom t Sh c evidently esteemed, ( and to whom she had volunteered he friendship, \ when Thoritoln (c}ue presumed to talk to her of a lore! She was plainly gratified to meet him again, and entered into easy conversation with s him, in French, at o0ce1. a The disaster which had taken place on the coast had been the subject of a considerable comment in the French papers, and its distress- ing details had also been detailed in society. Evelyn had read the accounts, and learned that t young Thornton had been on boardl the cutter from which Brandon and his daughter hadt been lost. She congratulated him upon his escape, f on that dreadlful night. ' Tell me, monsieur,' said Evelyn, ' was the lady so pretty and so accomplished as report tir ,ht would make her? You must have been well er acquainted with them.' or ' Not particularly acquainted,' said Thornton, ly 'but then sufficiently to be able to speak confi- id dently in regard to the young lady. She was ra as gentle as a dlove, and lovely as a Peri. Her n beauty was of the mind and heart, though her y personal attractions were of the highest charac- or ter; yet she did not seem so beautiful, either, io except when she was animated in conversation, and interested in some favorite theme. Her s loss was most untimely ' added Thornton, and e he actually turned his head, to hide the starting e tear; but Evelyn did not lose sight of his emo- w tiodn, and instantly rallied him. e ' Upon my word, Monsicur Thornton,' exclaim- e d the boauty, I you speakl feelingly " 1 ' Ah! ma'amoiselle, wly should I not spealk t with feelingy?' said Thornton, earnestvly. ' Her n father saved- my life i ' 'Her father ' ' Even so; and CaLrrie, the sweet, kind-heart- daughtcr, was my nuirsc for many days, when my life hung uIpon a single thread.' ' Indeed!' continued Evelyn, scremingly in- tercsted. And, as Thornton proceedled wil;h tWe narrative of his peril and escape, and dilated upon the courage of Phl Brandon, and the kindlness of his dlaughter, and heaped his praises upon father and cllild, the oead of thc Count dc Muir was thlrown towards the spealkcr, as if to catlch every syllable thee yo-ung- man nt- tered: But the count was vclry d(-af (at least, so Thornton believedc), arnd it did not matter what lhe said, so long as de M1ir coull not hear a word. One wouldl say, Evonsinr,' rejoined E velyn, whelln Thornton had coneludedl, or rather wh]{n he halted on account of his excscas of cmnotionl, 'one would say you were deeply interested therc.' 'I was, ma'amoiselle! 'With the father, monIsieur?' queried tlhe fair one, with emphasis. 'With both, lady;-for both.' ' Exactly. A kind of family affection,' con- tinued Evelyn, ironically. Ah! ma'amoiselle, I would not have your( misappreclate my words-I think you will not ( do so. But, whnen I assure you that I saw so I little of Miss Carrie, in the brief time I ever I was so happy as to pass in her society, that I could scarcely know her, save in her father's house-=you will understand that the interest I felt in her was not a fancied one. She w h&Ea kind to me as a sister could have been, and I loved her-'I 'You did, Monsieur ' exclaimed Evelyn, quickly-so quickly and emphatically, as to startle both Thornton and the count. ( Ma'amoisclle will pardon her friend, when he repeats that he did love the humble wrecker's, daughter. Hlow could he do otherwise, ma'am- moiselle?' ' True, true, monsieur, how could he?' re- oined Evelyn, calmly. But there was evidently a feeling of displeas- ure, a jedalous working of the thoughts, a some- thing indescribable and singular, in Evelyn's bearing, as she uttered this last remark, and Thornton felt himself very ill at ease from that moment. cTrue, he might have been flattered with this exhibition on the ladly's part, under other cir- cumstances. But Evelyn had denied il thle privilege of hoping for her especial favor, and had declared to him, months before, that her. hand and heart were out of her keeping. He had learned, too, it will be rememblcredl, through his friend Hastingrs, in London, that the y6ung French officer was probably affianced to her, Why, then, should she thus exhibit a resentment, or whatever it was, upon hearing this simple but honest declaration Thornton did love the wrecker's daughter; how earnestly, he now felt he did not realize, until she had been lost to him forever! \ Thornton had forgot his friend Fontainie, and )omitted to present him, as, he promised. He was disturbed, annoyed exceedingly, by Everclyn's unexpected manner, after listening to his ac- count of his acquaintance with Brandon and his daughter. Her appearance was inexplicable.; and he s thought she seemed melancholy. He, therefore, i respectfully took leave of her and the count, t with the promise to wait upon the lady, at her hotel, on the following day. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] CHAPTER XIII. The mission at Villers is concluded. The traveller and the garcon proceed to Paris.- An inp2qisitive seranct. A- costly chateaiu in the Rue St. Honzore. Its occupanzt is the Count de iUJir. A sump'l7tuous entertainment there. IWhat the pilot of the Swallow did on his returnl, after the accident. Evelyn, Thornton, and the handsomne captain.- Jealoutsy. In England's glowing halls I've stood, Where moved the gay and fairy throng; And heard the s etest voices breathe Their wild notesin enchanting son(. I've trod the fertile elds of France, And in her mounts of fashion strayed; I've met the damsels of the court, And of the far-secluded shade- But nought like this, in either land, hath ever met my gaze!' T HE stralnger had tarried at the little hotel in Villers a month. He had oftentimes absented himself, sometimes for three or four days in succession-often alone, and as often accompanied by his attendant. None asked where or why he came and went, and he was now about to leave the place permanently; so he sent for the landllord, to pay-p his final reckoning. From the hour when he arrived, up to the mo- ment when he was ready for his final departure, so cautious had been his movements, that no one knew what was his object or profession-none knew where his frequent visits had been made. Pierre Rogert, the chief attendant at the ho- tel, in spite of the injunctions and directions given him by his master, was very curious; and he was resolvedc to ascertain all lie could, in ref- erence to the strange visitor. So, when they t were about to depart, Pirclre lhaving come ill contact with the traveller's secretary, by him- self, commenced to interrogate the garcoz. ' So you are off at last?' Yes, to-day.' 'I am sorry, continued Pierre, ' sorry to see you go. ' Why, pray?' asked the garcon. 'Because your master is a very nice gentle- man, to be sure, is he not?' 'You are half right, Pierre.' 'He must be rery rich, too?' ' That is so or not, as you may calculate riches.' ( But is he not very wealthy?' (I never knew how much he possessed.' " ' He pays well?' 'Yes, yes.' ' He pays youZ well, no doubt?' ' He takes good care of me-I find no fault.' ( You do not return after to-day?' ' Not at present. By-and-by, haply.' Which way did you say you wecrn going?' 'I did not say,' replied the garcon, archly. ( Don't know, perhaps?? ' No, no.' ' Your master is a-' ' Garconz!' said a voice in the passage, pe, rcmptorily, at this moment. The youth sprang to the stairway, and re- sponded: 'Monsieur 1' 'Is the luggage ready?' ' Yes, monsieur.5 ' Come, then-the postilions await us.' A coach and four wheeled up to the portals of the hotel, and into the vehicle monsieur and his attendant quickly bestowed themselves. The luggage was placed on board, and the stranger said, 'adieu, landlord!' ( Adieu, Picrre,' added the garcon. 'All ready,' cried the guard. 'Allonzs!' shouted the post-boy; and away went the party at a merry pace, towards Paris. Pierre Rogert was as wise at lastas he was when the traveller alrrived. So were the rest. The postilions put their horses to their mettle, making headway at a considerably more rapid pace than the post regulations sanctioned. But the traveller was desirous to reach the gates of Paris before niglltfall, if possible, and it was now seven in the morning. They had thirty leagues to travel from Amiens, and again the posthoys cried 'allons!' Leaving this ancient town behind them, how- ever, they hurried on, and as they approached Dury, and. afterwards Heubecour and Breteuil, the roads and roadsters improved. Theyreach- ed St. Just, , Clermont, and Creil, and dining at the latter poste, took fresh horses again, for Luzarches. Mareil, Villiers and St. Den were left in the rear, and before the sun set fairly, the great city hove in sigrht. The approach to Paris from Chantilly or Montmorency is really magnificent. The high road, bordered with its double rows of beautiful trees, the great vineyards upon either side, the splendid corn fields, the fine residences, all strike the beholder with surprise, and gratify his taste for the romantic and lovely. Our travellers were delighted. -At early evening the coach entered the city, and the scene was quickly changed to one of bustle and busy activeness. 'Where will monsieur halt?' queried the driver. '.At the post-house,' said the gentleman, quickly; and five minutes afterwards the horses were reined up at the mail station. Monsieur alighted, placed his luggage in charge of a porter, and taking the arm of his garcon within his own, immediately disappeared. 'Who do you bring?' asked a young man at the post-house, of the postilion. I don't know-a strainger, and a queer felt low.' A stranger, said you' 'Yes-from Villers.' 'I thought I had seen him before.' 'Not he, surely. That is, I cannot say; but he has been at Villers now a month.' ' Perhaps so,' rejoined the other, doubtfully. ' Well, what do you mean?' ' Nothing; only that I have met the gentle- man half a dozen times within a month, that's t all. X And what of all that? ( Nothing, nothing.' The two men appeared to be content with this, , and the cornversation dropped. In the Rue St. Honore, above the Place Ven- - dome, on the right (at the date of our story), I there stood 3 magnificent chateau, which was , furnished in the costhest style of the fashion of - the period. - The building itself was imposing in r its exterior, and its interior arrangements would r vie with the best and most aristocratic in all 3 Paris. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] This mansion had been rented for the season by the Count de Muir, who was a gentleman of great means, it was rumored, and who really lived upon somebody's wealth-cither his own, or borrowed, like a very prince! He hrad not been in Paris a great while, but in the brief pe- riod he had tarried there, hhe had made the ac- quaintance of several of the oldest houses in France, amoling whom were many of the nobility, then tarrying in and about Paris. The Count de Muir gave costly entertainments -and, amnong his household, was a- young lady we have often met, already-a maiden of rare beauty allnd splendid accomplishments, who USU- ally presided at his fetes, Mademoiselle Evelyn Talfourd. Two of these princely entertainments had been given at the chateau, during the month past, and a third was now on the tapis. Thorn- ton was ill Paris, and had received an invite to participate in the festivities of this approaching levee, which, it was said, would prove an elegant affair. The fame of Evelyn's beauty and her pros- pective walthl had spread over Paris; and the younger portion of the aristocracy were astir.- They were ignorant of the fact that her hand was already pledged, as had been hinted at, but the young men about town, who could gain ac- cess to this entertainment, availed of the oppor- tunity with avidity. The elegant drawing-rooms of the chateau were brilliantly lighted on the evening that monsieur and his attendant reached Paris. At eleven o'clock the guests began to arrive, and the rich equipages which drove up and departed from, 4 the courtyard, showed what class of the citizens would join in this superb levee. Two hours previously, the stranger, accompa-: nied by his secretary, as we have seen, left the i post-house on foot. As they moved onward, at i a rapid walk, they conferred together, as fol- I lows: i ' What think you, garcon, shall we triumph?' ' Ah, monsieur, it has indeed been well man- aged. If he do not suspect, until your plan be a consummated, it will be fortunate.' t How can he suspect?' I ' True, true ; it seems ilnpossible, unless ho f mioht recognize-' Recognize! Pshaw, that cannot be.' I hope not.' ' But he spoke most kindly of her.' t 'He did, indeed.' At the endl of a few squares, a ctleche hlove in sillt, which the stranger hailed. The steps were let down, and the two travellers entered it. (' Which way, monsieur?' ' To the Rue St. Ilonore.' 'The chateau, nlonsiclu?' 'Yes! To the mansion of the Count de Muir.' The caleche rattled over the pavement, and shortly afterwardls hlaltccld in front of the illumin- ed Ichateau. Tle stranger got out, paid his fare, and disappeared, with his garcon, within the aris- tocratic dwelling, as the vehicle turned away again. When the pilot of the Swallow reached the humble cottage where Phil Brandon had dwelt, for a year or two, and beneath the roof of which he had so often partaken of his friend's generous hospitality, his heart sunk within him, as he re- flected upon that friend's untimely fate. Bran- don was but little known in that neighborhood; he had resided in the cottage but a small por- tion of the tinle since he suddenly made his ap- pearance there, nearly two years before, but he had been exceedingly kind to this man, and lie felt that a dear friend had been torn away from him. He proposed to govern himself according to circumstances. The daughter had been called away, too, with the father, and whatever prop- erty there was left, belonged-he knew not where. He resolved, finally, to take care of the cutter, and see to the personal estate, for the time be- ing, until something should occur to give him a right to dispose of it, for the benefit of whom- soever it might concern, in the future. But on a sudden, soon after reaching his home once more, and recounting to the few neighbors who took an interest in the matter the details of the terrible scene, he changed his plans entirely. The cottage was shut up, everything was left ex- actly as it stood, and- the pilot went quietly about his business. Some of the neighbors shook their heads;- others asked questions, to which they could ob- tain no very satisfilactory answers; a few insinu- ated, indirectly, that the pilot was no better in principle than he should be, and that he intend- ed, in the end, to feather his own nest! One or two simply remarked that ' dead men tell no tales.' Still no claimant appeared for the prop- erty of Brandon-the cottage remained closed- the Swallow lay snugly at her anchorage, be- neath the cliff, and finally the affair was, in a manner, forgotten. Before -midnight, on the occasion of the grand levee at the residence of the Count de Muir, the apartments were thronged with an array of beauty and fashion, such as but rarely congre- gntced even in the gayest city upon the continent. And Evelyn was there, all smiles and love- liness-the star of the evening, the adored of the male and the envied of the felmale visitors. The * 4 Count de Muir had made his appearance, but, owing to a cold which he had contracted, and which troubled him in the heated apartments, he apologized and retired. Thornton arrived seasonably, and was duly L announced. He entered the grand saloon, -where were gathered together a mass of stran- gers, and his eye passed hurriedly from face to. face, as he sought for her who had so long occu- pied his thoughts. In another moment he observed the figure of a beautiful being -approaching hilm, whom he l quickly recognized,-the charming, graceful Evelyn. "But Thornton was disappointed, perhaps not a little envious, for Evelyn hung upon the (arm of the handsome French captain, to whom it was understood she was affianced, and whoml we have met before, in our narrative. As they saunter- ed easily along, Thornton's eye rested nervously upon their movements. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] CHAPTER XIV. Our hero's natural disposition, and his love for Carrie Brandon. The humbler maiden is eclipsed by Evelyn's beauty. A desperate attempt to win the latter. Thornton faits.- Evelyn is affianced! His declaration has been listened to. The captain conzfronts him at an unfortunate moment. A quarrel in prospect. 'I do not doubt your worth, your truth- I do not doubt your love; But I gave my heart to him in youth, And false I must not prove. Then seek a bride whose heart is free, Nor longer woo in vain; For she who once has loved like me, Can never love again I' WNFORTUNATELY, the temperament of Willis Thornton was excitable, and he was prone to run into extremes. His passions were strong, and he had thus far in life been pretty much his own master. His parents were wealthy, he had been constantly indulged with a full purse, and leisure to roam when and where he would, after completing his early education, and his mind needed a certain balance, which seemed to be lacking, when he found himself in certain positions. His heart was in the right place, however; his disposition and intentions were honest; and this argued strongly in his favor, wherever he was known. . He had loved the gentle Carrie Brandon, but he did not know it-did not realize the fact, un- til she was so suddenly torn, as it were, from his very side. Her image followed him for months, however. Sleeping and waking, at home or abroad, his thoughts would turn to the humble wrecker's daughter, and her name was often-very often -the subject upon his lips. Nevertheless, whenever he found himself in the society of Evelyn, whenever he heard her name mentioned, as often as he thought of her charms and accomplishments, so often did his heart thrill with an unaccountable sensation.- Did he love the beautiful heiress? Did he real- ly love-or was he only fascinated, pleased, di- verted, charmed? But Thornton had actually sued for her favor. He remembered the night, at her hotel in Lon- don, when his impulsive nature had prompted him suddenly to risk her frown, by falling at i her feet, and acknowledging himself vanquished. Had Evelyn forgotten this? She treated him subsequently with the most devoted courtesy- but still she was affianced. She had even informed him so. ' Rise, Thornton,' she had said, on the occasion above referred to, rise, and be discreet. Permit me 3 to be your friend, but do not speak of my hand -it is not mine to give away, for this heart and hand are pledged.' Thornton had not forgotten those words, but as yet Evelyn was ' free.' To be sure, the cap- tain was with her, and he wore an ugly shaped weapon at his girdle, but what of that? She might be his promised bride-still was she free. The bond had not been executed-it might be avoided, haply, for her hand was still free!- Thus argtied the impulsive youth, as, some hours after he entered the residence of the Count de Muir, he found himself wandering upon the broad piazza, in the rear of the chateau, with Evelyn T'alfourd leaning upon his arm. 'Upon my word, monsieur,' said Evelyn, gaily, after watching his silence a few moments, 'I must rally you! A louis for your thoughts, monsieur.' 'Ah, ma'amoiselle,' responded Thornton, ' if you knew what I was at that instant so intent upon, haply you would not smile so complacent- ly,' said the - swain, in a half melancholy tone. ' Peradventure not,' added the beauty; 'still I would give a louisd'or to know what was pass- ing in your brain, monsieur.' ,You can learn, ma'amoiselle, for a lesser sum, surely.' 'Indeed V' ' Shall I tell you?' ' No, monsieur-I will guess.' ' You shall, and I will be honest.' ' Well, then, I venture to surmise that you were thilnking of the flaxen-haired beauty of the clif.' 'Of Carrie?' ' Of the wrecker's daughter, monsieur.' 'Ah, ma'amoiselle! You recall to my mind the image of as bright an angel as ever crossed a mortal's path, when you mention her name.' 'Yes, I remember; you told me months ago that you loved her,' 'I did not know it, lady; I did not feel how dear she was to me-I could not realize how beautiful, how gentle, how worthy she was, until she was lost to me forever.' ' So I have divined yourthoughts, monsieur?' ' No, lady; for once you are in error-I was not thinking of poof Carrie at that moment.' 'No?' ' Upon my honor, no. The mcmory of her love, the recollection of her gentleness and kind- ness, will never be eradicated firom my heart, lady; I shall never forget the affectionate dis- position she exhibited, the innocence and purity of her mind, the natural candor of her soul-I cannot forget all this, little as I ever knew of her. But believe me, mademoiselle, I was not thinking of her at the moment you rallied me.' 'Then am I at fault, monsieur.' 'Indeed you are; so venture another guess.' 'No, monsieur, no more.' , ' Then let me answer you.' Monsieur I' responded the fair one, removing the hand which Thornton' had unconsciously, but gently, placed upon her waist, 'Monsieur, have you forgotten?' No, lady, I do not forget; but you have urged me to confess-' 'You have already confessed, monsieur, and you have heard my answer.' ' Still, lady-I now insist,' continued Thorn- ton, in a subdued, yet passionate tone, ' and you must hear me.' ' The heart of her whose smile was a world of joy to me has ceased to beat, forever-and I do her memory no injustice when I kneel to such a shrine as this. Evelyn, I pray you, suffer me thus to speak to you-and if it be but once, still let me call you Evelyn,. and let me speak my thoughts.' ' Monsieur, you may repent!' 'Never, lady, never! My first, my earliest, my fondest love, was her's! - But, when I find myself by your side, when I listen to your voice, when I gaze upon your face, I think, dear Eve- lyn-' 'Of what, monsieur?' ' Of yout, Evelyn. Of your charms, of your kindness, of your condescension.' 'And you forget the humble maiden?' ' Of you and her, Evelyn. When you inter- rupted my uncourteous silence, I was thinking of you alone.' 'Indeed?' 'Yes, lady. And I queried, will Evelyn continue to scorn me? will she trifle with the page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] heart so devoted -to her? will she still refuse-' "Monsieur! have you not been apprised of my inability to respond to such sentiments as these? Why, then, will you persist in this im- portunity? Why do you risk, if thus you es- teem my favor-why will you peril the hope of my continued friendship?' 'Not for worlds, lady, would I jeopardize even that. But, may I not- ' ' Monsieur, let me be candid with you; and, front this moment, let there be no further cause for misunderstanding between us,' said Evelyn, firnly. ' The hand you seek is pledged, and irredeem- ably! Months have passed away since I enter- ed into a solemn promise, and my hand must p1ass to him who holds that pledge.' ' Evelyn ' "isten, monsieur. My guardian, the Count de Muir, is cognizant of that prolllise, and he will hold me to it strictly, even were I disposed to avoid the compact. But, monsieur, I pray you be manly, and suffer me to maintnin my honor. The heart which you would conquer goes freely with the hand.' ' You love another,} E1velyn?' ' Monsieur, when, near a twelvemionth since, I gave my hand away, I parted wih my first affection. The man I loved returned it, fondly, truly, devotedly! He loves me as truly, as fondly, as devotedly now, as when he first re- ceiled my pledge ; and should I not commit the ^ foulest wrong if I deserted him, or even doubted his truth? Go, then-cease to importune me; continue to be my friend, but never again mis- construe my smiles.' t ( Evelyn, I am content.' '-Ash, monsieur! No more at present.' X A paleness upon Evelyn's check, at this mo- ment, prompted Thornton to step quickly for- I ward-when, to his consternation and surprise,! he suddenly beheld the form of the gallant cap. tain emerging from a recess just beyond them! He advanced, offered Evelyn his hand, passed her in front of hln to the drawing-room, and in- stantly returned to the piazza, where Thornton stood, exceedingly ill at ease, for this was a de- t ai nouement he did not anticipate. The captain had heard every syllable that had just passed between the youth and the French beauty! 'Is this the return you make,' asked the cap- tain, excitedly, this the treatment, monsieur, you vouchsafe, in requital for the count's hospi- tality?' ' Captain! You are a listener, it seems?' 'So much the worse for you, monsieur. What right have you-' 'I shall submit to no querying here.' res- popded Thornton, peremptorily, but desper- ately. 'I perceive, monsieur,' continued the cap- tain, ( you do not wear a sword.' 'There te those, captain, nevertheless, who can use one, if occasion calls,) responded Thorn- ton, proudly. ' It is well, monsieur. You are a gentleman?' 'I pretend to such a rank-' I You shall hear firom me, monsieur,' said the captain, quickly. And, turning(r upon his heel, he disappeared in the throng. Thornton saw at once that he had an affair of honor upon his hands. He deeply regretted this result, but lie felt that it was brought about by his own impulsivenless. As he was about to leave the drawingroom, if possible, unobserved, he suddenly came in contact with the person of Evelyn Talfourd. ' Monsieur!' she said, earnestly, 'tell nmc- what follows this unfortunate exposure?' * I cannot answer, lady.' ' You will not quarrel'l' ' The matter rests with your friend, the cap- tain.' ' Give me your word of honor that you will not cross weapons with him.' "ady, the Count de Muir,' said Thornton, pointing to her side, at this juncture. And that gentleman approached immediately. 'IMonlsieur,' he said, 'I regret this scene miost seriously. Your address, monsieur?' ' Hotel Francais-rue Montholar.' ' You shall hear from us,' said the count. Thornton bowed, and retired at once; and the guardian of Evelyn removed her ilnu edi- atcly to the drawing room, once more. s CHAPTER XV. Thornton is at horme wzith the snmall sword. The count calls zupon Aim, and irnformns hm that the captcain is the best foil in tihe provence. Arrangemlentsfor the hostile meetiny.- ThOrtodn not intimnzidated. Details of the proposed duel. Interviewz between Fontaile and oar hero. The latter is resolved, and feels conifidenzt in his own skill. If ypu were born to honor, show it now! If put upon you, make the judgment good That thought you worthy of it I SHAKSPEARE. ' Farewelll O, lost star of my heaven! Whose smile Was a beacon of hope to my wilderness earth; Whose voice, like an Orphean lute, could beguile The sorrow of life, till it melted to mirth V' nNE of young ThLornton's best accomplish- ments, and that to which he had devoted much of his leisurc, was a thorough acquaint- ance with the use of the rapier. He was thus a fair antagonist, even for the captain; who, by the way, was a most adroit swordsman, and one of the most skilful fencers in Paris. Our youth loitered at telc hotel next morning, for he ex- pected a call. He was not kept long in waiting. At ten o'clock hle was quietly ,ipping his cup of Mocha, when the garon knocked at his chacnmber dloor. Come in,' said Thornton, firmly. The boy entered and handed him a card, uion whllich he read ' Count de Mair.' Is the gentleman alone?' ' He is, monsieur.' Show himn up, garcor/.' In another moment, the tall, stately, stif- moving form of the' count crossed his threshold. 3onsieur Thornton?' said the visiter. 4 At the service of the Count de Muir, "l- zuays,' responded our hero, respctfully. T Jount removed his chapeau, placed a - ich ear-trumpet against the side of his head, 4ith its broad bell-mouth towards Thorntonl, anll "nformhed him that he cale firom the gallalt captain, for an explanation and an apology, fur his singular condLuct on'the nlight previously. I have no sexplanation to offer-no hpoluoy to give,' said Thornton, bravely. D ' Do I understanl d monsieurP' exclaimedc the i count, evidenltly surprised at this, eccsiol. I No explanation-no apologT I' said Tlhornl- ton again, in a louder tone. page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] The count laid down his ear-trumpet, took out a diamond snuff-box, and thrust several Finches of the pulverized weed furiously into his nostrils. ' Not apologize? Not explain?' No, Monsieur le Count.' 'Then monsieur knows the alternative.' ' Exactly. What is the proposition of the gllant captain V? ' I am his friend, monsieur. He is the best carte et tierce in Paris. I would be your friend, as well. The mistake occurred under s mly roof. Can it not be complromised ' \ 'I have no proposal to offer, monsieur le count. If the captain is inclined to hostility, I shallnot waver or shrink from the obligations of a guen- c tVeman.' * You will fight him?' c 'I will meet him, if he insists.' He will kill you. And what can be gained c by that, pray ' 'Are you the captains friend?' a 'I am, monsieur.' a: You speak strangely, then. '"hat is your b business with me, this morning?' sC 'I bring you a challenge V' 'So I supposed.' I' But he would prevent the meeting, for all that, monsieur, if your will but-' 'I will agree to nothing but the terms, mon- sieur le count. The count drew forth the envelope, and e} Thornton read the warlike missive with the most stoical calmness. th My friend will call and arrange with you,' ca said Thornton, in a moment. 'As the chal- lenged party, I shall choose the small sword, monsieur le count,' added Thorlnton, coolly. 'My friend will arrange the rest.' Then you will meet him?' 'Most assuredly.' 'You will repent it.' ' Perhaps not, monsieur.' One word, then. There needs no farther interference of " friends " in this matter, mon- sieur. The captain names the park at Boulliton -to-morrow--sunrise-alone, monsieur.' eig ok ' ' Alone?' ral ' Such is his proposal.' to ' At Boulliton?' ' Yes, monsieur.' 'And the weapons?' ' You hatve already named thenl.' ' At sunrise tomorrow?' he ' Yes.' 'I will be there, promptly.' st ' Alone, nlonsieur?' cr. I conlprehend' said Thornton. And the Tr stiff count bowed himself out as stiffly and for- mally as he entered. L Scarcely had the door closed upon him, t when young Fontaine, the comnpanion and friencl 1 of Thornton, madle his appearance. 'Bon jour, monsieur,' he said, gaily, and enterling without further cerellony. Ah, Fontaine, is it you? I am glad you've 3 come. I wanted to see you.' Herel I an, then, just in time. Something about the grand levee, I presume, at the count's; and a word or two, I have no doubt, about the r blalck ringlets and graceful beauty of Madamoi- selle-la belle Evelyn. Elh, nlonsicrV?' Yes-you are right. I am in trouble.' I never saw you whlen you were not, Thorn- l ton; that is, where INadlamoiselle was con- ' cerned ' ' But it is serious, Fonltaine.' ' O, yes, of course. Affection of the heart, eh?' 'A truce to jesting, and read that.' With these words, Thornton passed the letter of the captain over to his friend, who quickly devoured its contents. ' A challenge! What the deuce is this?' ' Can't you construe it?' 'But the cause, monsieur?' ' A fancied offence.' ' But, Thornton, what will you do?' 'M eet him, of course,' said the youth, coolly. ' The weapons?' ' Small swords.' ' He is the best foil in France.' 'Is he!' continued Thornton, lighting a cigar. I Come, Thornton, I consent to nothing of the st kind. Who is your friend?' a ' You, Fontaine, are you not?' is ( Thanks, monsieur, thanks. I will wait sa upon- ' ' No, no, Fontaine. The preliminaries are n all1 agreed upon.' rc ('Who is is his friend?' ta I His own good right arm, I think. We shall a mnect without aid-alone, at Boulliton.' a ' Alone?' (That is the proposal, and I have accepted it.' s * Through whom., monsieur?' t ' The Count de Muir.' 'Is it possible!' n ( Such are the details. And now, Fontaine, 1 if I f111a, I would leave certain directions, with i you -' 1 But you will not surely go upon the ground p lone, Thornton!' exclainmed his friend, amazed. 1 I have so agreed to do.' I care not for that.' 'Fontaine! My honor! I have given the word of a gentleman that I will accede to his own proposition. If I am alive, I shall be there. Will you observe my instructions?' Thornton, this is downright murder!' ' You are mistaken.' He will kill you,!' That is my affair.' ' I know you are a capital swordsman, and you possess your share of confidence in your ability and slkill;-by the way, good qualities in this sort of tling,-but the captain is most adroit with his weapon.' ' So much the worthier as a competitor, Fon- taine. Come, I am resolved.' , It is well, monsieur,' continued his friend, with evident emotion, ' it is well; you are head- strong, and I regret it. I will serve you in any way, of course; but when we part, I prom- ise you, I do not expect again to meet you alive, save through the captain's indulgence.' (It may be thus, Fontaine. If I do not meet you, to tell my own story, here, to-mor- row at ten o'clock, open this packet. It con- tains letters, prepared at an early hour to-day, addressed to my father, to the Count de Muir, and'toEvelyn Talfourd. Will you observe?' ( Rely upon me, Thornton.' 'Now, one word more. I did not spend some eighteen months and more, under the tui- tion of Ceret and Miontalbert, for nothing. When I left their rooms, at last, they were not my masters with the foil. I am in excellent practice, and I fear nothing. The captain is an accomplished gentleman, and I may not succeed; but I have my plan. Unless his point be very good, and he carries a firmer hand than I thinlk he does, I will vanquish him at the very onset. But I will not hurt him, Fontaine. If he is not my better, I will prick him, and he shall o acknowledge it.' 3 ' You talk well, monsieur.' e I mean as I speak, Fontaine. I think I know my man. His eye is unsteady-he is fiery and nervous. His skill is undoubted& however.' ' He is a match for the best, it is said.' ( Come to me-that is, Fontaine, come hith- cl er, at ten to-morrow, and join me in a cup of ,r Mocha. I think I shall have an appetite-5 n 'Andif' st ' If you do not find me, deliver this letter as I have requested. I shall not return alive, if a- I am not here at ten.' The friends parted-met again an hour after- i, wards, and finally parted for the night. d- On the morrow, the meeting took place! page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] CHAPTER XVI a fine day for thae meeeting. The captains once more claims an apology, but Thornton de- clines. The captain and his adversary a match for himr2. A brotke sword .-tle op- peal-the acknowledgement. The count calls again. A journey to Italy. 'It was a mimicry of mirth and life, Whose flashes come but for the strife Of inward passions, Ii^e the light Struck out by flashing swords, in fight.' * * * Hold, sir!-I am unarmed! X - * X $ ' They roamed Italia's garden soil, And sported on her vest of green p" T SHE next day was a bright and beautifuli one; and as the sunlight began to show itself over the forests of Chantilly, a close cab hur- ied alongl out of the northeln gate. Iive nminutes uftewards, lanother -vehicle followedl, in each of vhich there was a single indivildual, only. The ast contained the gallant captain, the friendl of -velyn-; and the first was occupiedl by Villis Chornton of Amuiens. They halted at the appointed spot, anlld ap- )roached the battle ground, fronr differenllt cli- octionm, almost at the snme momenllt. As soon llt i the captain saw Thornlton, he placed his hand t pon his rapier for a umoment, and then advanc- j z ., saidl : *jBon jouro, Monsieur Thlornton you are e mlpt. ' s TIlornton bowed sligitlv. ' ou do not propose an apology ' 1 No, Mlonsieulr captain.'7 ' Nor even an explanation?' ' Neither, o70t, monlsieur.' 3 'H ave witl you, then, ronsiour. Our ualt- f ter mnay bc qulickly settled.' 'IAlllos, monsieur!' cried Tlhornton, instant- f'ly; and as the fire of excitement anld lesolve lighted up his keen eye, he drew his racpier, measured points clquickly with his antagonllist, and came to guarld. When the blade of the captain rested upon that of his foe, his experience told him at once that he had no mean competitor to dally with. He was a youth ; his limbs wcre not the strong- est, and his muscles did not seem to be the firm- est. But the steadiness of his hand, the searching gaze of his eye, the fixed lip, the ready motion, all spoke of skill and confidence in his own procwess. The captain made a single lungtwhich was parried with the greatest cool- ness, when'he gave way before a furious attack from Thornton, which really alarmed him. Pass after pass did he ward off, or turn aside; and his return-thrusts were received thy Thorn-, ton as if his rapier had been a revolving shield. The weapons glistened beneath the bright sun- light, and the contest very quickly got to be a serious one-skill and nerve against practice and tact; the wager-life! In vain did the captain advance and bear down upon his adversary, with determined and violent assault; every thrust was turned against him; and twice, ay, thrice, the captain had been ' stained' in the sword arm, despite his very best exertions. Thornton was as yet un- scathed; but the perspiration stood out upon his brow, and he was getting weary, evidently, when he resolved upon a coup de grace. Receiving the point of the captain, he par- ried; the blade of his adversary was raised, anld the latter pressed forward for vantage, Then a dexterous wrench was felt; and, ere he could recover-so skilful and instantaneous had been the movement-the captain's blade was doubled, thrown off, shattered to the hilt, and Thornton's point covered his adversary's heart! ' Hold, monsieur!' cried the captain, as- tounded and alarmed. Thornton instantly threw his sword upon the ground, at the captain's feet. The latter ad- vanced lad xcstcended his haLnd, wunich our hero did not refuse. i ' You are mly better, monsieur, with the ra- pier. I confess it, and you have spared me. I am content,' said the captain, with e notion. Thornton pointed to his bleeding arm, and aI - 1 i swered: 'You are touched, captain.' 'I know it.' Twice,' said Thornton. 'I trust you are not seriously hurt, however.' ' Thrice, monsieur, thrice; I an satisfied. You have worsted a slkilful adversary-and I applaud your arm. - ' Let us be friends, captain in You are very merciful, monsieur; and I am your debtor. Will you dine with me?' 'Not to-day, captain; some other time. I harbor no malice, remember; but at afuture opportunity, I would confer with you at our mutual lcisure.' ' Command me, always,' said the captain. And half an hour slubsequently, the belligerents were safely domiciled at their respective quar- ters. The captain's plume was, in his own es- timation, slightly dampened, by this adventure. At early ten o'clock, Fontaing entered the hotel of his friend, in haste, and without cere- mony mounted to the parlor. Thornton was lounging leisurely upon a couch, at the side of which stood-a small round table, whereon were set the dishes for breaktast. 'Mon Dieu!' exclaimned the young man, as he threw open the door, 'jwhat means all this' ' 'Come in, Fontaile, come in,' responded Thornton, with a cheerful smile, as his friend advanced; ' have you breakfasted?' ' Breakfast! Have you been out, Thornton?' ' Yes.' You-you met him?' 'Yes.' ' And are not' hurt?' ' No.' 'Tell me, I pray you, monsieur, what is the result?' 'You have already learned it, Fontaine, through your inquiries, which I have replied to. But come, sit down, and cease to siare upon me anld over a cup of Mocha, I will explain tile details. The coffec was ordered, and the two frienls were soon seated, after mutual congratulation. ' Monsieur le capitain has a good reputation,9 said Thornton, at last; 'and I must say lie wields a ready foil. It was not an casy matter, anmd I found him apt; but, as I informed you I should, I pricked him in the arm-' 'You did!' ' Twice, Fontaine.' ' Twice.' ' Thrice, on my honor; then I broke his veapon to the hilt; and placing my point fairly at his left breast, hle cried, ' enough, monsieur! ltou are mSy better-I am satisfied.' page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] And with this brief account of the duel, Thornton swallowed his cup of coffee. Meantime, Evelyn mwas at the chateau, deeply disturlbedl for the result. Shle could not prevent the meeting, she found, and she knew that the captain was an expert swordslnan. At an early hour the Count de Muir waitedl upon her, at her own request, to inform her of the particu- lars of the conflict. 'Monsieur le count,' she exclaimed, as he entered her boudoir, ' tell me in a word, is he safe?' 'He is, m a'amoiselle.' ' He is not hurt?' ' The captain never reached him with his point.' Possible!' 'But on the contrary, the military gontleman was thrice wolunled l' ' Seriously?' 'No-as good fortune would it. Yet, he will carly the marks for a time. The captain is satisfiedl. ' Was hle not hasty at first?' 'He will be more discrcet in future,' said the Count de Muir, cldrily. 'The youngster is an adept with the small-sword, or I am not a judge; for the cutt;ain is not ove-rateld.4 Evelyn was greatly joyecd to learn that Thorn- ton had escaped unlharmed. At early noonr the Count de Mir called at Thornton's ;otel to pay , his respects. 'MonIOllieurlll, salil thhe count, 'I come to con-1 t gratulate you on your grood forltune.' ' You did nIot expect to find Ine, perhaps,' re- j plied the youthl, easily. ; Your escape is wonderful. I assure you i the captain is an accomplishedl swordsman, and his betters are but seldom met withl. 'I do not doubt it-did not question this at s first, monsieur le count. At any rate, I am e now satified of the fact. Still, we parted X friends.' 1 b 'I am glad of that. Now, monsieur, the t respects of Ma'amoiselle Evelyn. We are bound to Vcnice, shortly. The captain is this i morning called away-' ] ;? ' Whither, monsieur?' ' As I learn, to join his old regiment a il; and he cannot aceompany us upon our proped tour. Perhaps, monsieur, you will honor us with your company?' / ( To Italy?' t Yes, monsieur.' ' When do you propose to Start?' ' Within the week, monsieur.' 'And macdamoiselle?' 'Goes with us,' said de Muir. 'May we count upon your society, monsieur?' Thornton reflected. Evelyn could never be his; and after what had just transpired, he had little taste for giving further cause for trouble. And yet, to be near her, to enjoy the happiness of her smiles, to be permnitted to bask in the sunshine of her friendshp, even, was too great a temptation to resist Her guardian, the count, would journey with them; the captain offered no objection, or surely he would not have been thus invited; and something might turn up to favor him. He was entirely at leisure-he re- solved to go to Italy. The count raised his ear-trumpet, once more, and asked, 'What says monsieur?' ' Thanks to your kindness, monsieur le count, and to the favor of -ma'amoiselle Evelyn-I will join you.' ' Az revoir, monsieur,' said the count, at once; and rising, he departed from the hotel directly, to inform his ward of the youth's in- tention. Preparations were instantly made for the journey. The captain disappearcd, after lear- ing his compliments for Thornton; and Evelyn was delighted, evildently, with her prospect. Did she love the captain? Wo uld she not rath- er have favored Thlornton's prctensions, but for some unknown al nld mysterious chlaill which scem- ed to bind her to the former? Olur youth could not determine; and still he sufferedl himself to be led on-on, he knew not whither. Love, in truth, is ' blind!' Thornton wrote to his father at Amiens, and informed him of his intended tour to the south. Fontaine was also made acqulainlted with his friend's purlpose, and smiled, when he learned that the Count de Muir and Evelyn was of the company. ' Joy go with you, Tqrnton,' he said. ' You will be in luck, if you will her at last.' I That is beyond my most ardent hope, Fon- taine. I do not look for that.' - Why, then, do you follow her thus?' ' I cannot explain it to you. But, under the same circulmstances, were you situated like me, should you not probably do the same?' i Very likely I should, Thornton.' ' So I thought, monsieur.' ' When do you leave?' ' To-morrow, mon amin.' 'Then, adieu! We shall not meet again till you return; for I must leave town at noon, to- day.' ' Adieu, Fontaine. I shall find you among my earliest calls, upon my return.' 'Unless you rul away with the heiress.' 'Pshaw! There is no fear of tlhat.' The friends shook ihands, and separated. On the following day, a splendid travelling equipage stood in readiness before the courtyard of the chateau, in the Rue St. Honore. The postilions were alre ady mounted, anid the outriders were in attendlanee. Within the carriage sat Evelyn and Thornton, awaiting the appearance of the lady's guardian. The Count de Muir canme linmping down at last, ear-trumpet in Bland, and lmuffled to the chin in a light travelling coat Ite entered the vehicle; the footman threw tip the blinds, and the driver gave the word, ' allons!' Our party passed the city gate, turned down the great road to Fontainbleau, and were now en route for Italy. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] CHAPTER XYrjIo Arri/val oj' the veitreio at Bologna. T'enice i 'view at laust. Resort to the island in tlhe hcarbor. Thle gondolier and his party. Thornton anrd Erelyp again. Importunlity of the former. She again refuses his decoirs, a7nd chides Lim. Thle cdeaf Couznt de iluij/ has a wcord to say. Rettrns to the ccapittal. Levers from the captain. Evely'sz weddil q day isjfixed. Xev planrs. ' Among the sweetly scented groves, I've romped with bright Italian girls, Whose necks were white as marble busts, And graces wantoned in their curls.' ' Vail.-Letters arc now at hand, signor, con- taining much of serious import. Will you return? Sorco.-Upon the instant-yes! This bodes no good, I ween. WThere is our gondolier? Goial.-Close at hand, good signor.' IT was a soft and lovely morning Crhen the slow-paced - vetturing containing our three travellers,-the count, his ward, and young Thornton,-passed tlhrough Bologna. Thley talr- ried not by the -way, save to pass an hour for rest, en pacssant; andcl as te time apportioned to their visit south seelned, for some reason or other, to be limited, they pushed forward as farst as was practicable, towarids the Venitian capital. It was just at the edge of the evening when thhey arrivel finally, anll the night proved a glo- rious one. Evelyn was (elighlted with all she saw, Mand Thornton was elated with the beauty of the scenes around him. The Gendccea'never looked more inviting, and as soon as the little party had passed up the stairs which led to the hotel selected for their temporary lodwinls, an order was given for1 the engagement of a gondola for the night. The season was favorilnl, the soft air was most woo- ing, and a thousand gaily apportioned barks were already abroad upon the smooth canal, which lay beneath the brilliant moonbeams like a belt of molten silver. At a dark and shadly spot, in on}e corner of the harbor of Venice, upon an indescriderable island, there is a retreat to which the citizens often resort to enjoy the green fields and the shadow of the groves which cover it. Thither our party wandered, and the gondolier who con- ducted them on the excursion informed the count that, if he chose, he could alight, and pass an hour or two most agreeably-a hint which was tl readily availed of. r A gay party of strangers filled the shadowed g pathways, which are laid out all over the island, a aind the sound of music, excitement and revelry s greeted the ears of our travellers up n their b mounting the terraces leading to the groves.-- Thornton heard the encomiums which were heaped 1 upon the fair Evelyn at every turn, and he was - proud to find himself the chcaperolne of one ( whose beauty and graceful movrements far out- ^ shone the fairest of Italia's daughters, scores f of whom were present enjoying the enticing scenes. He had been a molth almost constantly in Evelyn's society; and each day, each hour, each nloment ilncreased his adoration of her. Agrec- ably to her peremptory desire, he had made no further mention of the real state of his feelings towards her, but as he became better acquainted witl her, he hecame more deeply involved.- Still, she was affianced, and, though he was not ignorant of the fact, he could not reconcile her treatment of his attentions with that circumstance. From the hour when he first met her, after the duel, she had treated him as kindly as ever.- The captain had been called away, and the jour- ney they were now in the midst of must soon terminate, for the count hadbheard from his young military friend, who would return to Paris in a few days, he said, unexpectedly, and he urged tlhc count to meet him there. What rendered this arrallgement the more forbidding to Thorn- ton was the information he obtained, through de - Muir, that Evelyn would fulfil her promlise at an early daly after their arrival in France again. The idea that Evelyn was soon about to wed the thought that but a brief space of time could now elapse, ere she would be inevitably another's-the reflection that, in a fewT days, or weeks at fartlhest, shle would be a bride!-lost to him forever, oppressed his heart excessively. He could scarcely brook this event, and yet he could not speak to Evelyn upon the subject, his lips were sealed to her, and time was passing rapidly away. Again and again he traversed the groves of that fair island with her; often had he been rowed up and down the broad Gendecca, in the gaily decked gondola, by her side; lmany a times and oft had he borne her upon his arm in the gay saloons of the wealthy, into whose society they had fallen during their stay in Venice; scores of hours had been passed in happy converse with her, for weeks, in public and private ; but no word of love had escaped his lips again- no hint of his misery was uttered, as the day approached which would note their return to France-and for what purpose? Only that Evelyn Talfourd, the bright and beautiful, should wed his hated rival I For the last time, the fair Evelyn hung upon his arm, beneath the shallow of the lofty trees which graced the paths of the island spoken of; for the last time, as; they believed, prior to their departure for the north again, they woandered to- gether beneath the soft light of a clear Italian evening sky. It was a fitting season for the lover to declare himself, for the votary to kneel at beauty's shrine, for the devoted heart to re- peat its thrice-told vows. But Thornton's lips were closed; he could not advance-Elelyn had repelled him twice-he loved, O, how devotedl- ly! but he could not speak it. They returned to the gondola as they came. r They were alone. The count had experienced I an attack of vertigo during the day, and was obliged to remain behind. Thornton handed Evelyn from the stairs, the gondolier plied his - oar leisurely, but they, reached the hotel-terrace 3 at last, and mounted the stairs. They parted, t for the night, but Thornton spoke no word of * love to her for whom his heart was almost break- I ing! 'Why is this?' he queried fitfully, upon Y reaching his own apartment, ' why does she treat r me thus? Surely she docs not respond to my ft advances or my sentiments, yet she is more than merely kind and courteous. What must be the e nature of this bond of her's, with another? She s ,does not love me, that is clear; and still she D , favors me, above all others! She seems happy in my society, she is. disturbed when I am ill at f ease, shi exerts herself to make'me content anti page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] happy. WAy is this strange and unnatural course of conduct pursued? 'icight not Evelyn be won?' he exclaimed, at last, with energy, ' might she not be induced to forego this mlateh, and- but she has declared that her hland is pledged, and that her heart goes freely with it. No, no, Thornton, it cannot be your good fortune to rob another of so fair a jewel. I cannot appeal to Evelyn again-all that is past, for the present. But the count has shown me lmuch favor latterly, and I will sound him. If he would but interpose,' added the youth, ( all migrht, even now, be saved.' Thus did Thornton argue, mentally,-and in his desperation, he finally determined to meet the count alone, on the next day, the last but one prior to their purposed departure, and con- fer freely with him upon the subject nearest his heart. He had no means of knowing how his applica- tion would be received by de Muir; but he felt that his late intimacy with himself and warl would be a sort of apology for his questioning the count more closely than he had ever yet dared to attetmpt. And so, on the succeeding evening, after an agreeable interview with Eve- lyn, he sought her guardian. 'Monsieur le count,' said Thornton, at last, with considlerable feeling, ' I regret that we must, soon leave these pleasures behindl us.' ' Yes, monsieur, we start to-morrow.' ' So soonI t I 'To-morrow, at noon, monsieur. Late enough -late enough, for our purposes.' 'Purposes, monsieur le count V' t 'Yes. Thlat is-you see, monsieur, the day is fixed--' n 'What day, monsieur?' o 'The wedding day-the day upon which k Evelyn weds the main of her choice.' e A Her choice, did you say, monsieur?' h 'Exactly. Did you not hear of this?' 'No, monsieur, no! I have had no means of fe informing myself.' No? he 'No, monsieur; I cared not to speak to sA ma'amoiselle, you know, upon that subject.' se ral ' And why not, pray?' aoked the count, drop- ping his ear-trumpet, and looking the youth full d, in thc fiace, as if this were news to hm entirely! ed ' Why not, monsieur?' ed ' Do you not kInow, mnonsieur le count,; es stammered Thornton, almost entirely at a loss for be words with which to extricate hiimself, dlo-you a not-know that H love ma'amoisellce-' I II What!' almost screamled the count, as he as let fall the car-trumpet, and began to indulge in id a series of violent grimaces, which colnpletely ie dumb-founded poor Thornton, for the molment. ' What did you say, monsieur?' continued de n Muir; ( come, come-this is altogether too good. et Let me hear that again,' and he resumed his t ear-trumpet. L- 'I have dared to love ma'anioiselle,' said s Thornton, at last, recovering his startled wits. The Count de Muir turned his great eyes upon r him fiercely, and said: t - ( She is affianced, monsieur.' I 'So I have heard.' 'She will wed the man sihe has already chosen t -alnd whom her guardian, the Count de Muir, Y approves, monsieur ' I had hoped-' You had no right to hope.' ' Will you not hear me, monsieur'!?' ' No! Not upon this subJject. I hlad no sus- picion-I was over-persuaded by her solicitation -and, at her request, I urged you to accom- pany us hither. I did not suppose-' 'Monsieur, you have sacrificed nothng by your kindness. I shall not impo rttne you fur- ther,' said Thornton, respectfully. ' That is well, very well, monsieur. Come, now-your hand; I did not intend to bse rude or iuncourteous; my manners are rough, you know-and I tell you honestly, I was astonish- ed,' added the count, putting forth his jewelled hand. 'Enough, monsieur lc count; I shall not of- fend again.' Right, right. Evelyn will wed the man she has chosen, and to whom will be apportioned the share of her father's property, now in my pos- session, provided she marries the man I have selected for her. He is a gentleman, a man of honor, a brave and accomplished youth; and she has pledged me her solemn promise that she will wed him.' ' And she loves him?' W Vith her whole undivided heart.' 'You think so! Monsieur-' 'I know so.' 'She exhibits her affiection singularly, then.' (Not at all. She's young, loves to be admir- ed, fond of travelling and romance-but her' heart is faithful to the-iast degree. I knowher, monsieur.' And I do not,' added Thornton, mournfully, 'I do not.' 'We shall return to-morrow, you say?' ' Yes-at noon.' 'I will be in readiness.' If you please, monsieur.' 'Good night,' said Thornton, bowing low. ' Good night,' replied the count. And Thorn- ton found his way -to his own apartment at once, not in the most agreeable mood, as may well be imagined. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] CHAPTER XYIII. Italian skies aznd Italianl prospects. Thornton's chagri? at the late intelligence. Re becomes desperte. Proposed departure from Venice. Tie gondola at the stairs. Thorn- tonz resigns ;himself to his fate, and joins the party on their return tour. The lover's final appeal. 'AMy hand is pledged, andthe heart goes withi it!' lThey arrive again at Bologna. "Twas at the hour when twilight's lingering ray Poured its pale influence o'er declining day; A thousand hues of gold and purple gave A regal splendor to the placid wave. The silvery sovereign of the evening sky Looked from her temple of the clouds, on high, And all was calm, and tranquil, and serene.' O longer hadl tho balmy air, thie glowing skies, the perfime-laden atmosphere of glorious Italy a charlm for the love-tried, but lheart-disappointed Thornton. The lime-scented groves, the silver-bosomedl lales and broad ca- nals, on which flitted the gay gondola, offered no. further allurements to him-he was chagrined, spirit-broken, desperate! He could not even speakl of his woe; he had no friend with whom he could communicate-to none could he unbosom his grief. Evelyn had finally discarded him, and most peremptorily; the count was unconmmunicative and morose in his treatment; almostand he sighed for home once more. 'It is over at last,' he said to himself; ' the sweet, fond dream I have indulgedl, the antici- rY r pations I had hoped might be realized, the wild r imaginings I have so long encouraged-all are dissipated-crushed-aniihilated! Evelyn scorns me, her guardian scoffs at me, her hand and heart is pledged to another, and I must submit. 'I would it had not been thus. So beautiful, so captivatingg, so accomplished, yet so gentle in her spirit, so endearing in her kindnesses, so polished and refined in her deportmcnt, so charm- ing in her intercourse, so envied and so beloved by all who know her-surely is Evelyn a trea- sure but seldom to be met with. But it is past -the dream is over, and I awake to realize the pain, the remorse, the mortification, the grief whichl follows upon the knowledge that all this has been " but a dream. "' The hour came for their departure, and the gondola waited at the stairs for our friends, who had arranged to leave Venice at early sunset.- They entered the tiny bark which bore them from the ancient city, and in a little while they reached Bologna once more, on their return to Prance. The Count de Muir spoke but occasionally; the spirits of Thornton were depressed and sad. Evelyn, alone of the trio, seemed excellently to enjoy the passing scene, as they floated on, but her guardian and companion both were moody, and evidently inclined to silence. Is not monsieur well to-night?' queried the beauty, after one or two ineffectual attempts to draw our hero into conversation.. Yes, ma'amoiselle, very,' said Thornton, briefly. I trust that monsieur has greatly enjoyed his journey to Italy.' Yes, yes, ma'amoiselle.' The count looked over at the ripples on the side of the gondola, and evidently heard not a word of what was passing so near him. His great ear-trumpet lay listlessly at his feet, and he appeared to be enjoying his own thoughts by himself. Thornton deemed the present his last opportunity for conference, and-be the result what it might-he determined to embrace it, ' The balmy skies of fair Italia,' said the lov- er, at last, ' can have no charm for him who bears within his bosom, even beneath their joy- ous influence, a crushed and broken heart, Evelyn!' The maiden turned her ear towards her com- panion, but offered no reply. ' The hours we have passed in Venice, Eve- lyn, amid the splendors of the gaily appointed saloons of fashion, in the beautiful groves we have traversed, or upon the bosom of these fair waters, are among the things that were! We have been happy, very happy, here-but the il- lusion is at an end, and night now closes upon the fair scene. We can remember the halcyon moments that are gone, but the recollection can- not but bring with, it pain and grief.' Evelyn listened, without replying 5 ( O, why is it that mortals are thus temptedt thus tantalized, thus allured, only to be made wretched? Evelyn! you do hot speak to me. Tell me once more, I beseech you, must tiis bitter cup be quaffed?' ' Bitter, to whom, monsieur?' said Evelyn, in a mild, sweet tone. 'You do not call that act oppressive or forbidding, which one performs of his own free will, assuredly?' ' No, Evelyn, no! Still must you ';now and feel that this act must embitter the future dayn of one who loves you; and who, in spIte of your rebuff, through he risks the penalty of your frown once more, dares again to repeat the for- bidden assurance.' 'Ah, monsieur, how fickle is man? But a little time ago, scarcely half a year,and you were dying with love for an humble girl, whom chance threw in your way, but whose delicate features and gentle manners won you, at the outset. That was "love at sight, ebh, mon- sieur?' 'You wrong me, Evelyn-and agami you re- call to mind the memory of one who was too gen- tle, too kind, too innocent for this cold and heartless world. She to whom you have allud- ed was as sweet a flower as ever bioomed, and3 when we met-I confess it-I was pleased with her. She exhibited the tenderness of her heart, before she knew if I were a prince or a beggar, and I was grateful.' ' Only "grateful," monsieur?' ' Grateful at first, and then I found her wmr- thy of a more devoted feeling-' 'And you loved, of course.' I did esteem her; and when we parted, there was so much of tenderness in her last words,- she appeared so innocent, so confidingy, so truth- ful, that I promised-' I Promised what, monsieur?' exclaimed Eve- lyn, quickly and earnestly. 'That we should meet again, ere I bartered away my liberty.'F ,Well, what then? Come, monsieur, tlua romance is delightful! What followed ' ' Little else, Evelyn, but the sad finale which I have so often recounted to you.' page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] ' Yes, I rllelllmember.' ' We met once more. Upon the very day that I reached her father's humble dwelling, they were in readiness for the fatal trip to France.' They resided in England, then?' asked Evelyn. ' Yes, upon the coast. We crossed the Straits, were overtaken by the storm, she was washed from the deck, and her brave father perished at her side, beneath the cold waves, in the at- temlpt to rescue her.' It was a fearful fate,' said Evelyn, feelingly. She was my angel, Evelyn! I confess to you-and I know you will appreciate my candid avowal-I confess to you that I loved her, first and last. I did not realize how deeply rooted -was that feeling, until I saw her torn from my very siidol But she is gone! Carrie Brandon was doomed to a sad fate; but the heart which. * was so devoted to that humuble, yet beautiful maiden, is all your own, Evelyn, if you would but accept it.' ' Monsieur! I am surprised at your contin- ued imnportunity ' said Evelyn, again. ' And the more so since I believe you to be a gentle- manm of honor. Were the positions of yourself 7and the captain reversed, what would be your opinion of him, did he thus attemnlpt, again and again, to undermine you in my esteem?' Thornton could not reply to this home query. Wthat would be your opinion of me, mon- sieur, should I encourage him, to your detriment, after my hand and heart were pledged?' Y Tou speat pointedly, ma'amoiselle,' said Thornton, 'allnd I can only acknowledge your right thus to rebuke me. Still, Evelyn, think you I can loolk on in quiet submission, after all that has passed between us, after you have tol- erated me, after the months of happiness I have passed in your society-that I can see you wed another-you, whom I have loved so wildly?- The very thought is madness . Still, monsieur, there is no retraction; the day is fixed. Even now our presence is looked for in Paris; and you will not withdraw your friendship at this late hour. Within the month, mlonsieur, I shall be the wife of him to whom my guardian has pledged my hand, of him who possesses my undivided affection. You will con- tinue to be my friend-you will continue to es- teem me, I know-you will surely be one of our guests, on the happy occasion of our nup- tuals ' 'Me, Evelyn-me! Happy! Don't ask that-don't, I implore you! I couldn't-I cau't! I should drop down dead at your fect- I shouldl destroy him! I should take my own life!' shouted Thornton, madly. - 'sh! The count hears you, monsieur,' said Evelyn, pointing to de Mluir, who took up his ear-trunmpet at this crisis, and approached the spot where they were sitting. ' What is all this, monsieur,' queried the count, lookinrg first at Evelyn and then at Thorn- ton. ' Come, monsieur-s'il vous plait-ex- plain!' 'It was nothing -nothing, monsieur le count,' responded our hero, recovering himself. 'We were spealking of Brandon and his daughter. ' ' Brandon?' said the count. 'Yes, monsieur; hle that was lost some months since from the yacht, on the coast of France, in a gale.' ' Ah, yes, I remember; the papers were fill- ed with accounts of the accident, at the time. You were there, Monsieur Thornton.' ' Yes, monsieur.' 'I recollect,' continued the count, some three months since, of falling, in with the pilot of the little craft from which Brandon was lost.' 'Indeedl' queried Thornton. ' Yes, monsieur. A most intelligent man is that same pilot. I had business with him casu- ally, and lie asked me down to the quay to see his boat; he would have me join him in an ex- cursion upon the channel-but I am no sailor.' ' Inrdeed, that would be delightful!' joined Evelyn, at tlis moment. 'Why did you not ac- cept his offer, guardian?' ' I do not lil;e this kind of pleasure-party, ma'amoiselle-that is all.' ' But I should so enjoy it, truly,' continued the joyous girl. 'I prithee, guardian, seek, him out, upon our return to France, and I will now propose a trlip which you'll approve, I warrant.' Whlat is that, ma'amoiselle?' ' Upon our return, if you will find this pilot, let us charter his good services, and cross to Foreland, where he now resides.' To Foreland?' exclaimed Thornton, sudden- ly. ' Yes, monsieur; you will not object to this, assuredly. And you shall be our chaperone, monsieur; you can show us the cottage, the spot where you were wrecked, the place where you parted with your " angel," and it would be so delightful! Promise me that you will join us in this jaunt,' continued Evelyn, happily, ' and the romance will be complete, of which you have so often given us the details.' I Evelyn, I can refuse you nothing,' said our hero; 'but you do not reflect that a visit-to that place would be anything but pleasurable to e1. l I do not agree with you, monsieur, if all you tell us be true.' 'thiink you, Evelyn,' continued Thornton, sadly, I think you could enter that now desert- ed cottage, where, but a few monthls since, I heard the ringing laugh and enjoyed the pleas- ant converse of her I loved, without experienc- ing the deepest pain? The happy tones I lis- tened to within those walls are hushed forever! Would not the very echo of our footsteps upon that lonely beach call up before me, as the waves roll in upon the crags, the dying shrieks of poor Carrie, as she sunk beneath the waves, on that dreadful night?' ( The picture is a mournful one, monsieur. Nevertheless, I have an uncontrollable desire to visit that place, and you surely will not refuse us your company.' The conversation ceased. Thornton was si- lent. He had determined to go with them, if r they persisted, and satisfied himself at last, that t there would be a melancholy pleasure in the visit. The gondola reached its destination, finally; i and our travellers soon afterward took the vettu- ring, once more, for the north. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] CHAPTER XIX. Our travellers reach Parma and Genoa. A Jizal pleasure excursion is proposed-the last which precedes Evelyn's marriage!-Amiens and Paris. An old acquaintance. Boulogne. Tie pilot and his pretty craft. An evening inZterview. Thle signal. The count is deafer than ever. How like a fairy bark, our boat Speeds witchingly along, While echo answers every note Of this, the bargeman's song. And soon that boat will reach the land Where happily we dwell; And soon our fleet will press the strand- The home we love so well! Row, comrades, row 1' NCE only, en route, did the count deem it necessary to allude in any way to the haste with which he prosecuted his journey home- ward; then he spoke of the disappointment which the captain would experience from any untoward delay in meeting him at Paris All the requis- ite arrangements, preliminary, had been made, and letters to the Count de Muir urged his re- turn with Evelyn, at his earliest convenience- for the nuptials would take place positively, so said the count, within the month then to come. Italy's fair shores were left behind them, and our travellers, upon reaching Bologna, halted only for the necessary conveniences for pushing onward with despatch subsequently. From Bo- logna they crossed to Parm* and thence to Ge- noa, by land Crossing the Gulf, they landed at Savona, and proceeding on to Nice, they tar- ried but a day, when they pushed forward to Avignon. Thence, up the magnificent Rhone, they touclh- ed at Lyons, the gay and beautiful capital of the ancient province of Lyonnais, and thence, west- ward, to Nevers-they- took post conveyance, and arrived at last in Paris. Here, for the time . being, the trio separated. Thornton proceeded north at once, to pay a visit to his parents, at Amiens, whence, after replenishing his purse, he had determined to join the count andl Evelyn at Boulogne, per agreement; and from that place they. would depart upon their final excursion to the former residence of Brandon, the last they would enjoy together prior to Eve- lyn's marriage. No further delay was occasioned than such as was absolutely unavoidable, at Paris, or Amiens; for time pressed thelll, and, but for Evelyn's gratification, the jaunt to England would have been deferred. She was resolved to visit the spot which Thornton had clothed with so much romance, however, and her guardian's i plans were made in accordance with her wishes. From the same inconsiderable dwelling in Amiens, already described in a former chapter, where we met the strange traveller and the gcar- con, who came down from, and afterwards re-t turned with his private attendant to the village of Villers,-above Amiens,-upon the evening of the first day after our three friends now reach- ed Paris, there emerged the same individual, accompanied as before by his secretary. Within two hours, they were set down at the door of the little hotel in Villers again, and they were read- ily recognized, both by the host and by Pierre Rogert, the chief attendant there. I Ah, monsieur,' cried the landlord, gracious- ly, 'I am happy to meet you again.' Pierie nodded to the garcon, and the travel- lers entered the house immediately. sWill monsieur tarry?' inquired the hotel- keeper, in his pleasantest tone. To sup only,' responded the stranger. A bottle of claret, monsieur, and some fruit; we shall go on at once.'. The stranger was the Count de Muir-his at- tendant, disguised as his servant, the garcon, was Evelyn Talfourd I At an early hour they left Villers, and post- ing forward with all convenient speed, they reached Boulogne, where they had appointed to meet Thornton, as we have stated. The Count de Muir had been the guest of the landlord at Villers, originally, incognito, accompanicd by Evelyn,-as we have seen, also in disguise, for his own measons, which will be explained here- after. The distance from Amiens to this village, it will be recollected , was but trifling, and wthen he passed a month there before, he had bu:ineess which, it will also be remembered, called him away often---the nature of which will be detailed anon. Upon arriving at Boulognc, the count and Evolyn immediately threw aside their disguised apparel, and appearced in their prope- costume, awaiting the coming of Thornton. As soon as they were comfortably bestowed at their hotel, a I tall, sun-browned, athletic personage called, nid inquired if the count had arrived. He was con- ducted at once to the gentleman's parlor, and proved to be the pilot of the Swallow, which lay at anchor in the Channel, outside the cliffs. ' Monsieur!' said the sailor, respectfully, af- ter a rather extravagant greetng, 'I am very glad you have honored me with your orders.' The yacht is here?' asked the count. ' Yes, monsieur; and never was she in finer Atrim than she now is.' 'You received my letter?' ' I did, monsieur, by the hand of your host here; and, I repeat it, I shall be proud to con- duct you in your proposed visit to Foreland.' - What is the prospect of the weather, pilott' ' Good-excellent, monsieur.' 'I do not fancy the sea much, and, but for the young lady, I should not have troubled you. ' We shall have a good day to go across to- morrow, monsieur; and, if it be your pleasure, we shall start as early as may be convenient, for the tide serves best at sunrise.' ' It is well, then; get in readiness-we will be with you. We but await the coming of it gentleman who will reach town by post or dili- gence tonight, and by daylight we will join you.' 'Adieu! monsieur.' I Au rev ir!' said the count, in reply. The gallant yacht, which had fallen into the hands of the pilot, upon the disappearance of Phil Brandon,-the beautiful Swallow,-now lay with hter sharp prow to the current, at an- chor, beneath the cliff. Her presncllt commander was proud indeed of his noble little craft, which he was wont to boast of, and whose admirable qualities he was tho- ; roughly acqluainted with. She had lately been overhauled, and every accession, to render her I more fit, if possible, than ever, as a sailer, had been made, by order of her owner. At evening, I! a light barge shot out from the shore, and five I minutes afterwards there stepped from the little , boat, over the Swallow's side, a person muffled B in a heavy overcoat, who descended at once to E the cabin of the yacht, where the pilot was seat- ed alone, and who approached without ceremony. page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] A warm embrace followed, and as the pilot was about to exhibit some feeling, in a tone which his visiter seemed to stand in fear of, he seized the sailor's hard hand warmly, but in- stantly checked him. ' -sh! Hush, pilot, foryour life ' exclaim- ed his visiter. 'Remember, all is now at stake. This is the last throw of the die! The men on deck must suspect nothing-klnow nothing-hear nothing. So be quiet and discreet.' ' You need not fear for me, mlonsieur,' res- ponded the pilot, calmly; 'but what a miracle.' 'It is nothing, pilot-nothing. The peril is passed, the prospect is brilliant, and I an satis- fied. We are Frenchmen, all, remlnemuber.' 'I comprehend, monsieur.' f You said at daybreak'V' ' At early sunrise, monsieur.' ( Tres bien-adieu, again.' 'Adieu, monsieur,' said the pilot, and the man in the heavy blouse went over the side of the Swallow again, entered the barge, and was quickly rowed to the shore. In the meantime, Thornton had arrived at Boulogne from Amiens, and having readily found the hotel where his friends were lodged, he repaired thither to learn what was the further intentions of the Count de Muir, in reference to their proposed excursion across the straits. He was surprised to ascertain that arrange- ments had been concluded to go over in the very yacht which had last borne him from England; and from the deck of which he had witnessed the finale of that terrible accident which hads proved the deepest, heaviest affliction of his life! Still he should meet her pilot, not Witlhout sensations of pleasure, for he remembered him, humble as eho was, as a man of nerve and noble daring, and ais one well skilled in his profession, and of the kindliest disposition. Evelyn received Thornton graciously after their temporary separation, and the evening c passed away in pleasant converse The count 1 was not talkative-he never was! but he seem- t ed a shade more social than was hs wont, and Thornton could not but feel and think how agree- ( able de Muir might be, if he would! Still the r t I count was quiet, and spoke but little; his hear- e ing was difficult, and he cared not to trouble e himself about what was going forward in his vi- - cinity, beyond that which he was obliged, by common civility, to participate in. After a - pleasant tete-a-tete, Thornton arose to retire for the night. ' You anticipate a pleasant visit, monsieur, rundoubtedly,' said Evelyn, to Thornton. ' Yes, yes, ma'amoiselle. That is, so far as - meeting with those scenes in which I once was so happy may contribute to such pleasure; but, 3 after all, Evelyn, the excursion must prove as mournful, at least, a melancholy one, to nme!' ' It will be full of romance for me, Thornton, and I assure you I shall enjoy it greatly,' said Evcelyn, in her happiest manner. ( 'Wa start at sunrise, monsieur,' suggested the Count de Muir, at last. I shall be at the quay, monsieur, promptly, responded Thornton. 'And now, ma'amoisellc, bon nuit,' he added, pressing Evelyn's hand affectionately. On the following day our hero was astir at an early hour, and, as he moved slowly down to the shore, he could not but compare the scene before and beyond himl with that which he had experienced and took part in, a few months be- fore-when he left the rugged beach il company with Brandon and the beauteous Carrie, on a similar sexcursion. The season was later, but the air was just as warm and balmy; the samne sun was beginning to light up the eastern horizon; the hour was the same-the rugged shore appeared sinilar- tile waves curled and sported as they did on that occasion; and, beneath the cliff, he suLd- denly discovered the same stlreamer, the same signals, the same yacht! He could almost fan- cy that the gentleman and lady who now stood upon the quarter-deck of the Swallow were his old friends, too! But lie looked, he could see thom clearly-the dream was over! They were the count and Evelyn. Tossing his kerchief in, the nir, his signal was quiclkly answered from on board the little vessel. The count and his ward had arrived before him, and had gone out to the yacht in adrvance., The h barge was drawn up, however, and two o rsmen ot pulled quickly ashore. Thornton entered the ai boat, and soon found himself beside his frincids. o The order was given to get under weigh at tl once. The anchor was hove, the bJroad mainsail went up to the clear morningf brccxe, the jib and A flying-jib were hoisted, the sheets wpre talutened, t and the Swallow quickly filled uoly uIonll her s course, to the north'ard and west'lrd. l] As the beautiful yacht careened gently before a the soft breeze, her great sails filled to the brim, s and her sharp brow threw up the foam, which I sparkled along her gunwale, and darted out l from beneath her narrow stern-now dancing ' upon the tops of the tiny billows, and now mark- ing her wake, far away to leeward, as - she t bounded on across the Straits of Dover. 1 It was a splendid morning, and the little com- pany were in good spirits. Thornton looked forward anxiously to the moment when he slould again sit beside thi little table where he had-en- joyed so many happy moments with his once, loved, but lost Carrie! tothe opportunity now so near at hand, when he could traverse the lit- tle beach once more, from which he had been so miraculously saved from death, and where he had listened to the first outpourings of her' heart, whose memory he still fondly cherished, but who, alas! was lost to him forever! ' And still the ' Swallow' bounded on. The humble cottage of Philip Brandon had remained untouched, save to secure it from plrob- able molestation, a precaution which had been taken by the pilot of the yacht, on his return home, after the accident which had robbed him of his master and friend. No foot had entered its door since then, until the day but one prior to the proposed visits of our travellers thither. Then it was opened by the pilot and ventilated; and one or two packages were deposited within it; a little care was bestowed upon its interior arrangements, with a view to cleansing the fur- niture and appointments from the dust which had collected during the past few mointhi'-budt otherwise, it remained as Brandon had left it, and the apartments now appeared as thley (d1 on the last night that Thornton passed beneato the kindly wrecker's roof. The evergreen had overgrown the loor anl window lattices; the moss had gathlered upon the flag-stones at the cottage portal; but tilhe same cricket that hlad sung for years beneath the hearth-stone, now whistled his note as merrily as if he had had colmpany in plenty duringll the( season. The rude crags were the same-tthe beach appeared the same-the sparse ncighbcr hood was still the same-the surges lashed the shore as was their wont-the roar of old oceCn was unchanged-the same sunshine smiled upon the scene-and the same bright sky could now be seen around, above, and beyond the cliff. Upon the little round centre-table lay the volt ume which poor Carrie had left half read, upon retiring the night before athe excursion; at the side of the room stood her favorite late; the li- brary was undisturbed, the furniture stood where I it had been left-but the occupants of that clwel- ing were gone! Early in the afternoon the headlands hove 'n sigrht4 The Swallow had had a steady breeze I during the day, and she had made good headway . Before nightfall, the cutter reached theinn':r charlnel, where, at the suggestion of the pilot, on account of the difficulty of the passage up, the yacht was hove to; the sails were lowered, and she came up to her anchor, until morning. A happy smile lighted up the fair face of Ez- elyn, an expression of unalloyed pleasure seern- I ed to possess her. i Thornton! she said, as they were about to rseparate for the night, ' to-morrow I think wil be the happiest day of my life.' ; Our hero smiled at her enthusiasm whch he n did not comprehend. The Count de bMuir was r silent still. He either could not or would iit r- hear anything, and the three friends took leave h of each other till morning. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] CHAPTER XX. &anchor, of Foreland. Thorizton sleeps and dreams. In his thoughts, he sees his Carrie again, but hewales to find it 'but a dream.' The portrait. A metamorphosis! The apparition. Thornton is astounded. 'Of all the pangs that wring the heart, And plunge the soul in deep distress, None have a keener, bitterer smart, Than waking from a dreamt success.' ---- Ah! it is like her- But still the canvass wrongs her! It breathes not, speaks not, smiles not, As she hath spoke and smiled ' ILLIS THORNTON slept soundly till daybreak. The gentle motion of the -bnuoyant cutter, as it rose and fell upon the lfsomn of the slightly heaving sea, was quietinm " and soothing to his spirit. He felt ill at ease when he retired, for hope was about to desert him. He saw that the blight visions his fancy hall painted for him, in reference to Evelyn, Tere rapidly vanishing. He had clung to those hopes to the last moluent-but the reality of hib disappointment was approaching. In a few days, she whom he loved with an intensity of devoted- eass-who, in his every thought and: feeling, as second only to that fair being who had once :Sc ed his path, but who had been torn away joing him so unexpectedly-she, the beautiful Evelyn, would soon become a bride! Never- hl,e^i, IThornton slept and dreamed. The illusion was but temporary, yet O, how grateful to his heart! He slept, but in his fan- cy he was carried back to the happy hour when, after his return to consciousness, he first beheld the fair face of Carrie Brandon, as it leaned over his pillow, beneath her father's cottage roof, like a gentle angel's, in the midst of his suffer- ing and prostration. And- then lie recovered again; and he loitered upon the beach with Carrie upon his arm, or sat beside the little table and read, or listened to her silvery voice; and then be saw her kind- hearted parent, and then the Swallow's deck. He scudded over the bright blue waves before a ga llant breeze; he heard her ringing laugh-he saw the cloud approach, and heard the whistling of the storlu blast, anon! Thaen came a shriek j---a m9an---a gurgling sound. HO looked, and beheld the Ra(ghted Brandon grasping at a rope, a plank-and, at his side, he saw the daughter, clinging to the wrecker's arm, as they struggled amid the surge! He heard his own name called, and Carrie Brandlon's 'father!- save me-save! Thornton-Thornton-!' and he sprang wildly from the couch upon which he had thrown himself, five hours before, into the armls of the t ount de Muir! ' Come, monsieur!' said the count, good hu- molredly, ' upon my life you sleep like a very sloth.' I Monsieur!' cried Thornton, scarcely half awmake. ' And such a roommate, too! Upon my honor, I am not often troubled by such sounds, but your heavy breathing for the last half hour quite distressed me-deaf as I am!' ' Ah, monsieur!' continued our hero, I have had such a vision-such a dream. Mon Dieu! But it was only a dream!' ' Corne, we are moving up the Channel. I have called you thrice. The sun is rising, and ma'amoiselle awaits us upon deck.' Thornton adjusted his dress, which he had not removed over night; and, completing a hasty toilette, quickly showed himself upon deck, where he was cheerfully greeted by Evelyn, and rallied for his tardiness. She had been up an hour. Within three hours, the Swallow reached the haven wheore she had been anchored for a twelve- month,-when not in use-and upon a signal given by the pilot, a boat appeared beneath the ' cliff, manned by a brace of sturdy oarsmen.- Into this the trio entered, -and were soon after- i warqs landed upon the beach.. E They mounted the rugged cliff by a narrow ( pathway which led up in a zigzag course, and Thornton soon found himself upon the grounds 1 which he renmembered to have traversed before. t He stood upon the summit of the highest crag, 1 for a moment, and loolrked abroad upon the land- 1 scape, and out on the broad waters beyond him. s He recognized many a spot that was endeared 1 to him, and, happy as was the beautiful com- I panion whom he had thus far aided along up the, t rude steep, a feeling of melancholy pFressed heavily upon his heart. He halted, gazed down upon the beach for an instant, and a truant tear started to his eye, as he remembered the last time he lingered there, with Carrie lBrandon. (Come, Thornton,' exclaimed Evelyn, joy- ously, ' is not this delightful?' ' You enjoy it, Evelyn, and I should surely be happy that you are so well pleased with its aspect. ' (Rude and homely enough is it, truly, mon- sieur; but there is a charm in the romance con- nected with this visit which delights me exceed- ingly. Yonder is the beach, mlonsieulr, where you used to stroll with the maiden, and talk of love, as you have to me, sometimes, eh?' Thornton sighed, and wiped away another tear. (Come then, monsieur,' added Evelyn, kind- ly, 'pardonnez moi! I will not offend you, mon amie; but are you really so affected by the visit hither?' ' Let it pass, Evelyn-it is over. I will be happy even here, since your pleasure depends , upon it. Come! here is the wrecker'scottage.' They advanced, and were met at the door by the pilot, who had preceded them thither. They entered the humble dwelling, and Thorn- ton was instantly struck with tho appearance of the room. He saw that it repained just as he remembered to have left it! The volume which Carrie Brandon was reading now lay half open upon the table; the furniture was not displaced ; the cricket whstled beneath the hearth, though it was far into the morning; the lute was still strung, and no change had occurred thlat he could recognize in any way, for some ninutfis. Io felt awed and really overcome by the scene he witnessed, and be almost fancied that he was trending upon sacred ground O, where was the beautiful, sunny-browed Carrie, and her no- ble father, to complete the scene he was now scanning? He forgot his friends, he forgot that he was there as the chaperone of the count and his beautiful ward-he forgot all! He was thinking of the past-of the wrecker and hs page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] daughter. His eye turned to the ceiling, and ' r he suddenly exclaimed, extrlavagantly: e 'Tis she! It is Carrie-Carrie Brandon! Her very self! Her own bright, beauteous, gentle self ' and he sprang forward to gaze, en- s raptured, upon a lovely portrait which he had I discovered upon the wall, and which he had never seen before, that he remembered. It was ^ a faithful likeness, a true reflection of the maid-, en, which had been taken some two years pre- 1 viously. Thornton stood for fifteen minutes before that l picture, chained, as it were, to the floor. Her i flaxen ringlets, her ripe complexion, her pure a whte forehead and glowing cheeks, the dress, e the very smile she used to wear, all, all were there, upon the canvass! He would have knelt I to worship even that resemblance of his love, but t suddenly he recollected' his rudeness towards his e companions, whom he supposed were at his side. ] "ook! Evelyn, monsieur le count-look! he said, in ecstacy ; I is she not beautiful? Be- , hold that sunny smile-the golden locks-the ] pearly skin-those parting lips-that joyous ex- pression, and tell me, did I love without a cause? Say, monsieur, Ev-' Thornton looked behind him, and found that he was alone! Startled and chagrined at this unexpected neglect, as he deemed it, on the part of his two companions, he turned to seek them, when a sound struck his ear from an adjoining ( room, which he thought he had heard before. He halted-bis heart leaped to his throat-lie listened-and the tones of a lute fell upon his senses-soft, clear, bewitching like those he had listened to when the chords were struck by the fingers of his lost Carrie! And then her ong-his favorite song, was uttered: C Come backf come back! and nestle here Beside this loving heart; O, suffer not the glare of wealth Such faithful friends to part.' 'Itis her voice, if ever Carrie spoke,' he shouted; 'or do I but dream again? What- ho! monsieur le coullt-Evelyn T' he addec+, wildly, madly, frightfully-for he could not realize where he was, or whence the sounds pro- ceeded. '1lo! Evelyn! De Muir i The door of the room opened upon him as he spoke again, and Carrie Brandon, supported by her father, stood before himn, at the threshold! 'God of -heaven!' exclaimed Thornton, whence come these forms? Carrie-Bran!- Speak!' and with these incolherent words, our hero sunk, senseless, into the wrecker's arms. It was a fearful shock, though it proved, com- paratively, but temporary. Phil Brandon, for it was he, instantly bore the youth to a couch, and some sharp restoratives were quickly resort- ed to. After a lapse of ten minutes of unconscious- ness and bewilderment, Thornton's reason re- turned, and when ho opened his eyes, the ,gold- en ringlets of Carrie Brandon, his own Carrie, hungo upon his cheek! Even as she had stoodl over him, when he was recovering from the fever which followed after his rescue from death, by her father, so she now knelt by his couch, and wiped the perspiration from his excited brow. Carrie!' he cried again, springing up,- 'speak to me-tell I me that this hand is flesh and blood. Speak! I conjure you!' I Thornton,' she said, in most excellent Eng- lish, ' the trial is over! It is Carrie-she who loves you with her whole heut-who speaks to you!' And at this moment, the wrecker ap- proached again. Come, boy V said Phil, as he seized upon the hand which did not clasp his daughter's del- icate waist, ' we have proved you. The panto- mirne is at an end-there is no further need for disguise. Behold the "Counlt de Aftdir," and "Evelyn TaLourd," his ward ' Thornton gazed upon the faces of his com- panions doubtfully, and deeply perplexed. ' You do not comprehend ' queried Phil. ' Upon my life, no 1' said the youth. (Then I will explain the mystery at once,' said Brandon; and the wrecker sat down upon the sofa, and drawing the lovers upon either silde of him, he proceeded. t A CHAPTER XXI. The Count de Muir explaiis himself. Tlhornton grows cvlrisus as his friend pr-cccc('.5 but the details are satisfactory-aUl things considered. Evelyn is in ecstacies. Who was the captain? A cure for deafness! Successful deceit. 4 -- Upon my oath, This story is a strange one! How has This mockery been managed?' , The breeze is up, and like a restive steed, That startles at the lash, the waves arise. AH E gaze of Thornton was earnestly fixed i upon the eye of Brandon as he continued, and the wrecker lhaving taken in his own a hand ofeach of his listeners, spoke as follows: Some three years since, Thornton, I first became acquainted with this spot. With ample means, and plenty of leisure always upon my hands, I roved, from time to time, wherever mv tfancy led me. I had always been fond of yacht- ing, and by accident I one day made this har- bor, in my little craft, during a blow. ' The rude but kindly habits of the few res- idents in this neighborhood rather pleased me, and I purchased the little hamlet, here, which now shelters us, for a sort of retreat, when I felt so disposed, from the bustle and dilln of fash- ion and city life. I passed away months upon this spot, at different times, and with my library, my boat, and the society of my only child, con- trived to while away very many contented hours here. 'The neighbors knew me only as an eccentric man, who wenllt and came at such times and seasons as pleased my own taste; and, since I had the opportunity of doing any or all of them an occasional service, they asked no unnecessary questions-but suffiered me and mine to live on in quiet, unmolested. ' My wife was dead. My daughter-Evelyn- joined me in my excursions hither, once or twice, and finally became attached to the little cottage. One morning, as I was pursuing one of my early rambles upon the beach below us, I suddenly discovered the prostrate body of a stranger in the sanld, and I did not hesitate to raise it up; for I thought there might be a hope of caving his life, though, from appearances, he was very far gone. I bore him to the cottage, used my humble exertions to resuscitate him, and suc- ceeded. You will remember this incident, I thiink?' ' Ah! My dear sir, how much do I owe you.' ' Never mind. My daughter watched beside your couch, and feared that you would never wake! But our prayers were granted. You revived-recovered,; and Evelyn had conceived a passion for the stranger, which I did not deem it necessary to condemn. You did not love her in return-' page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 'You wrong me, sir.' ' Hear me, Thornton; by-and-by, I will lis- ten, if you desire. You did not love her as she deserved to be loved. I knew her, but I did not know you. She hinted her passion to you, and you gave her your promise-at last-that, ere you gave your hand to another, you would return; for you resolved to leave us, and pro- ceed to London.' ' I renember,' said Thornton, thoughtfully. ' Well, I had spent the best portion of my life in the metropolis, Thornton; and I knew what were the allurements, what were the pas- times, what were the objects of young gentlemen like yourself, with a full purse, in London. I knew that you could readily surround yourself with glitter, and the adjuncts of fashion and pleasure; because you came of a respectable * parentage. and your father was not only wealthy, but indulgent. Was I right?' ' Thus far, you were, sir.' I So I conjectured, Thornton; and I followed you to London.' You did?' ' Ycs. You had scarcely set foot in that gay city, when I commenced my scheme to try of what mettle you were made. It was my busi- ness-duty-so to do; for my daughter loved you, and [ fondly loved my Evelyn. You met her,-that is to say, you met, amid the splendor of Lolrd Hastings' entertainments, a lady whom you heard had come fronl France, and who you! thought most beautiful. She spoke to you in i the languarge you hard been most accustomed to, and you deemed her a Parisian.' ' I did, sir.' i You looked upon her face, and heard her con- verse; you saw her courted and petted by nobles ' and gentle ladies; you marked her dleep bru- nette colnmplexion, her rich black shock of ring- r lets, her rounded form, and jewelled attire; and you forgot the humble wrecker's daughter-at e least, when you gazed upon these charms. You knew the maiden of the cliff as Carrie Bran- don, only;you were presented, in London, to ( Ma'amoiselle Talfourd of Paris, and you sus- pected nothing. But you loved the gaily deck- E ed belle--yon forgot her humbler rival. ' Time passed. You met us on the water, you were beaten by our yacht, and you were proud of that achievement. You recognized poor Brandon and his daughter, and you came back, at length, to visit us. All you had seen in London, Thornton, had been arranged by my hands-through my friends-at my expense! You marvel, eh? Listen, I have not finished yet. ' We preceded you from London bither. You joined us in our proposed excursion to Boulogne. The storm overtook us, and I feared for the re- sult. As we approached the coast of France, you saw the waves engulf the wrecker and his fair daughter, and you never heard or saw them more, until this hour! You deemed that Bran- don and his Carrie wdre forever lost!' 'I did; indeed I did!' 'I do not-cannot doubt you, Thornton. Then it was that Fate best served our purpose ; and we availed us of the opportunity to mature our scheme.' ' By what strange miracle did you escape T 'I will tell you, Thornton. At the moment my daughter went over the side, you recollect I followed her. A buoy which had been cast out came within my reach an instant afterward; and though the waves rolled heavily, still the current was strongly shoreward. We sank and rose, and tossed onward with the incoming tide; but, as I was fortunately a good swimmer, and strong limbed, I found no serious difficulty in sustain- ing myself and child for .a few minutes. The buoy was near me, I seized upon it, and soon saw that we were within a few fathomls of the shore. Immediately after this my feet touched the pebbled bottom of the nalrrow beach beyond, and with a little timely exertion, we mantged to reach the land, amid darkness such aa I had rarely seen; but we were safe.' ' Thank Heaven for it ' exclaimed Thornton, earnestly. 'But we were among strangers, and I resolv- ed at once, since we were not hlurt, to-escape observation if possible, and continue to keep our good luck a secret, until the proper time should arrive for divulging it, Pith a view of learning inore of you and your real character You smile, Thornton. Well, you can laugh 2wW; but let me proceed.' Go on, sir, go on! This is delightful, very!' 'I chanced to have -a purse of gold in my belt, and, as ready money will purchase any- thing in France, so I was not at a loss for any thing we needed, without submitting to ques- tionings. I bought the silence of the first fam- ily we met, and we procured, through their aid, an entire change of dress., Disguised, we pro- ceeded to Amiens-' 'To Amiens P' exclaimed Thornton. ' To Villers, near Amiens, where we watched your final arlrival; and through your accounts -given to the press, and otherwise,-we ascer- tained precisely what was thought of our fate; you believed us lost forever.' 'Indeed I did' At this moment, I thought it fit to meet you again as we had met before. I planned to re- ceive you at the chateau, in Paris; you came, you proposed once more to Evelyn; she assured you her hand was pledged, and that her heart went freely with it; you pressed your suit, and were interrupted by- the captain -' ' Yes, I remlember,' said Thornton, checking Brandon, with some emotion. 'The captain was your friendl, sir.' Bralndon turned about quickly, removed the sleeve of his blouse from his right arm, and baring it to vicew, he pointed to the flesh scars, Iarcely now fully healed. ' Once, twice, thrie I' said Brandon, quickly; 'here, and here, and here! The "Captain" and the Count de Muir were one. Thornton, you handle the small sword remarkably well.' ' You the captainI' ' And the Count de Muir.' ' And Philip Branldoln, too?' ' As you have seen, Thornton.' ' But, might not evil have come from our hostile meeting?' ' No fear of that. I felt pretty certain of your skill, and yourpurpose; I knew you bore the captain no malice;'and I fancy I handle the rapier respectably, myself. I went upon the around, determined not to injure you, and felt competent to defend myself. You plriclked lmy arm, and broke my sword; it was well done; I was satisfied' 'I remember, so you said, sir ' continued our hero, smiling again. ' There are none so deaf, Thornton, as those who wont hear,' said Brandon. 'I have been thinking of your infirmity, in this respect,/ continued Thornton. 'Yes; I h ,ve heard, from time to time, much that you little suspected I could hear. But let me conclude. ' From Paris, we went to Italy. I learned the extent of your good feeling towards my daughter,- en route; and I determined to cut short our tour, return again, and finish up my little plot.' You have succeeded admirably, sir.' We came to France. I had previously been in constant fridndly correspondence with my former pilot, here, and who alone-except our- selves-knew of my own and Carrie's good for- tune. He was true to our interests, and kept the secret, under my injunctions. At Villers, and at Amiens, Carrie was my secretary, ser- vant, garcon-disguised, from time to time, to suit the furtherance of my plans. In London and at Paris, she was Ma'amoiselle Evelyn- who couldn't speak a word of English! Do you smile again, Thornton?' ' Your pardon, sir- proceed.' ' At Boulogne, we encountered the pilot, with his boat, the "Swallow+" by accident, of course. But, never mind. You still protested that you loved Evelyn,-since you could not call back your " angel Carrie,"-and we crossed the straits once more, to visit the scenes which you had clothed with so much romance, in my daughter's hearing, and where you gave to Carrie Brandon your promise to return, ere you should wed.' ('You are right. I did-I did.' 'Well, we knew of that, assuredly.' ' Yes-yes,' said Thornton, ' and here we are, at last, safe and happy.' Brandon smiled, and pressed the hand of-his young friend warmly-affectionately! page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] CHAPTER SXXII. The count continues to explain. Thornton accepts the comipromise offered. Old friendds are remembered. The Swallow in the offing. An acceptable gift for otur hero. The yacht goes up to London. Evelyn returns to Paris, and weds the Cman of her choice, to whom the count has so often alluded. A brilliant wedding succeeds. Our characters are all satisfied-and the reader is destined so to be. I give thee all-I can no more, Though poor the offering be; The heart I've kept so long in store, I offer now to thee.' 'Heartless world-pursue thy bubbles I Weep their loss, or scorileir gain; Give me love, like this, whose troubles, Mix such joy with such a pain I' THE wnecler looked upon the handsome face of the youth a moment, and then continued: Thornton, I am something of a physiogno- mist, I fancy. Fromn the very outset, I liked your face, and I need not hesitate now to tell you this. Once more, then, you find yourself beneath the humlle wrecker's roof, and you have heard his story. We have deceived you, but not to your detriment. tWe have proved that your protestations were not merely words. So far as we are concerned, we are content. Answer, then, young man, and speak freely- are you satisfied?' ' Believe me, sir, I am in ecstacies! You had the right thus to conduct yourself; Carrie, Evelyn-whoever, or lwhatever she may be, who owns this hand,' continued Thornton, joyfully, 'is the possessor of my first affections-of my undivided love! But, how is it possible that I have been so long and so strangely deecived? I am now surprised that I did not long ago dis- cover you both.' ' What, Thornton! When we were both dead? When you saw us sink benealth tho waves together, amid the gale, upon that terri- ble night? When you met the simple worker's child, instantaneously transplanted to London, and transformed from the humble English maid- en to the fashionable French belle? Were you suspicious of aught of this?' ' True, true, Brandon.' ' And Carrie's hair was flaxen, Evelyn's was raven black. Tle cheek of Carrie was the lily and the rose, and Evelyn's was deep brunette. Carrie was but a child, and Evelyn a ladcly, seemingly. The maiden's dress was homely' and rustic, Evelyn's form was bedizened with jewells, whenever you met her. Carrie spoke to you in her native English mother tongue, and Evelyn spoke only French. You suspected nothing from the first; and thus you were deceived.' 'I see it all, sir, now.' ' And then the "Count de Muir "-the s Captain"-these disguises were not difficult; for, least of all, were you anticipating such changes. The manners, the habits, the costume, the language-all conspired to keep you in the 'dark ; but all is over now.' ' Thanks, then, sir-ten thousand thanks for your kindness and your confidence. If, under these circumstances, I have acquitted myself creditably, I think you may trust me hereafter.' ' Most implicitly,' said Brandon, at once. 'But, tell me one word : who is your London friends, his lordship and Mr. Hastings?' 'Real friends, Thornton, to whom it will af- ford me pleasure to present you, by-and-by. Staunch friends, who humored my whim, in this matter, and who aided us in carrying out the details of our little plot.' 'I see; it was very kind of them.' ' And now, Thornton, we are here again, upon the spot where first your love was kindled. I have spoken it before, and I repeat it now- ERvelyn will wed, within the month, the man -she loves; to whom I had promised her hand; the man to whom she had been so long, but so secretly, affianced. What say you to this proposal?'- ' If I am the happy-fortunate individual, sir,-and, by the smile now playing on your lips, and the light which burns so brightly in fair Carrie's eye, I think so,-I will only add, that to the father and the daughter, I owe my everlasting obligations, for the life they twice have given me!' ' Take my daughter, then, Willis Thornton!' continued Brandon, rising, and placing leer hand in his, while a tear of joy sparkled in his clear bright eye; 'take her, and be happy! She loves you, I know, at least; that you will respond to all her affection, I do not doubt; that you are worthy of each other, I am satisfied. And may Heaven's choicest blessings ever rest upon you both!' There was a moment of silence;-for the deep fountains of the lovers' hearts were moved; and the long, the hearty, though silent embrace which succeeded Brandon's words, spoke vol- umes to the happy children!' 'Thornton,' said Brandon, 'you shall have your wish. Evelyn is my " ward "-my daugh- ter. Her mother's maiden name was Caroline Evelyn Talfourd. She wedded Philip Brandon, and this is our only child. So .you shall wed the belle you have been so delighted with, this Ma'amciselle Evelyn Talfourd,-for she bears her mother's name,-and still you gain the hand of Caroline, or "Carrie," as we always called her.' "et me then call her "Carrie," still, my dear sir. My own sweet, gentle, loving Carrie Brandon!' Dinner waits, sir,' said a voice at this mo- ment, respectfully, at the door. ' Be it as you will, Thornton,' said Brandon. My means are ample; the estate of Carrie, on her mother's side, is large. me have enough for all of us, in plenty-. though I can anticipate what you are about to add. Your fortune needs not to be spoken of at present. Come, my children, dinner awaits us.' With these words, Brandon led the way to dinner. A neatly appointed table, upon which appeared a most excellent and substantial repast, greeted our friends in an adjoining room, and to which they did ample justice. 'A bottle of choice Burgundy closed the meal, in which the wrecker drank to the health and happiness of his ward and her chosen lover. That night, a full explanation succeeded the disclosures which had been made by Brandon, on Evelyn's part. Sle had lent herself to the plot, at the solicitation of her parent, who chose page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] this mode to determine the real disposition and character of him whom his daughter had been so favorably impressed with, in their early acquaintance. It needed scarcely this, for Thornton was happy in the discoveries he had made within the previous few hours. Carrie and her father were still living-she loved him, and wouldwed hinm ;-Evelyn would be his bride, nevertheless, and the belle of London would marry the man of her choice.. Thornton was perfectly satisfied, as may well be supposed. On the following day, the Swallow was again put in requisition, to bear the happy trio to London. The day was a lovely one, and at sunrise the noble yacht was once Spore '-upon the wing,' up the Straits of Dover. 'All will come right, Thornton,' said Bran- don, happily, 'at last, even as I told you.' ' The prospect is good, at all events, sir.' ' We shall tarry at the metropolis for a brief season, only, to take leave of a few of our friends there.' W hat then, sir? 'To Paris.' ' To Amiens, why not?' ' To Amniens, then, first, if you will; but af- terwards to Paris I ' You have thus far managed your scheme so admirably, sir, that I leave all to you ' ' That is well. We will to Anmliens, on your own account, that we may meet your family, and aftei wards to the capital. As I have already - informed you, Evelyn,-or "Carrie,!' as you will,-must wed within this month.' 'I comprehend, sir, and am more than happy in the anticipation of your good wishes.' The yacht arrived safe at London, where our little party passed three days. They then took steam to Calais, and thence to the residence of Thornton's parents, who received their new t i friends most graciously. The preliminaries n were quickly arranged, and all together, they y soon started, once more, for the chateau of the nominal ' Count de Muir,' who had chosen that 3 title,-for the'time being, only-the better to i carry out his original plan in regard to Evelyn r and her lover. I A joyous day, indeed, was it-both to the wrecker, as he was believed to be, and the others i-when Thornton stood at the altar, beside his charming Evelyn, and promised, ' through life, to honor, love, and protect her!' The family of our hero were delighted with the match, and the announcement of the wed- ding drew together a gay circle of warm and affluentfriends. When Evelyn took her hus- band's hand, a thrill of exquisite happiness rushed to her heart. She remembered the day -when she parted with Thornton, at the humble cot where she first met him; she called to mind the various scenes through which they had pass- ed since then; and, though the trial through which she had ventured, during the last few months, had been irksome, and oftentimes threatening to her hopes, she now saw that all had been managed for her best interest, and she rejoiced at its happy termination. 'The shadow had passed over. The dawn of a bright future was now upon her path. She j hlad proved her lover's truth-and the STRAN- aER's PROMSE, which had been given to EEvelyn l'alfourd, under adverse circumstances, had been more than fulfiled. The lovers -settled in Amiens, subsequently, and the handsome fortune of Carrie enabled them to live in splendor and ease. They were the life and leaders of a brilliant coterie in that splendid town; and the romance of Brandon's little plot, and its final joyful consummation, was long the theme of conversation and applause throughout the province. THE END. [FROM THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.] OBR THE GAMBLER'S DAUGHTER. CHAPTER I. ' And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A finer form or lovelier face.' 'And so here we part company, Wellington?' said a young man to his friend, as they stood on the threshold of a wayside inn, situated in a beautiful spot in Iowa, waiting for the horses which they had ordered. 'I suppose so,' responded his companion; ' but I really wish you would go with me.' 'Impossible,' resumed Lawton. 'Business, which I cannot afford to neglect, is demanding my immediate attention.' 'I regret to leave you,' said Wellington; ' for, to say the truth, I have had more real en- joyment since we have been travelling together in these western wilds, than I have known since our schoolboy days.' ' I can understand why you enjoy this rough life so much,' replied Robert Lawton, laughing. 6 ' You reanot continually annoyed by the " mam- mon worship," as you call it, which has petted you so much since you became the heir of that fine fortune.' 'Precisely so, Robert,' said Wellington, 'and you will not wonder, therefore, why I am in no haste to return.' At this moment a boy led up the steeds of the two travellers. ' Any message that I can bear to friends in Phladelphia?' interrogated Lawton; ' a tender word to a lady-love for instance.' 'Thank you,' said Wellington, with a merry laugh; ' if anybody inquires for me, tell them I am completely captivated with life in the west, and contemplate " settling down " here in Iowa.' 'Very well,' replied Lawton; 'and now a pleasant journey to you, Lewis. Don't forget your promise to correspond, for I expect ere long to be entertained with the news that you- have fallen in love with some western beauty.' page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] ' Possibly,' ejaculated Wellington. 'Take care of yourself, PRobert, and don't run into all manner of adventures the moment you are out of my sight. Good-by!' and after slalking hands warmly, the two friends mounted theilr steeds, and, for the first tilne for maitny weeks, sped away in opposite directions. The travellers, who had just parted, were Philadelphians. Robert Lawton was a lanwyer, obligedl to rely on his own exertions for fame and fortune. Lewis Wellington had been his class- mate, and hlad also struggled manfully to obtain his education and profession. Just as he was commencing business, however, he came into possession of a splendid fortune, bequeathed himn by an eccentric relative. He was talented, ener- getic, and persevering in character-hhandsome, and decidedly distingue in his personal appear-, ance, and when wealth was added to these at-; tractions, it is not strange that he became the object of considerable attention. The young man was soon wearied with the hollow flattery with which he was continually annoyed, and when Robert Lawton set out for a westelrn tour, he gladly accompanied him. They had been travelling in company for two months, enjoying the magnificent scenery of the west. Together they had traversed vast prairies -made their way through the dim aisles of grand old forests-roamed along .the banks of deep, clear lake, and crossed mighty rivers, ' flowing' on in all their robes of terror and of beauty,' to tile sea.. O, 'twas a glorious life, that w-hich they had led! True, the journey was not with- out its dangers and hardships, but thlee only added to the excitemlent, wlhich investedl it with 1 a sort of romance. ] After parting with Lawton at the inn, Lovis 1 W\ellington pursued his joulrney alon-meeting i no one, hearing not even the report of a sporlts- I man's rifle, or the sound of a woodeutttr's axe, I for hours. For miles, his path lay through a a noble forest, and when the light of day faded from the sky, and night came folrth with her I jeweled coronet and her train of shacdows, he was. 1 still making his way thrlough tlhose old woods. i The moon shone gloriously, and its mellow iE : beams, stealing througlh the thiclk foliage, played Iwith a silvery glealm acros the deep shadows cast by the gigantic trees. Suddenly, a loud I rustling in the thicket that bordered the path startled Wellington, and the next momlent he sprang from the saddle with a shriel; of agony. ' By the powers! he's not the villanoms wretcll-you' -ve shot a strlanger!' he heard a harsh voice exclaim, as his affrig;hted steed plunged furioi sly onward. Weak and finllt froml a woulnd, which he had received in his arlm, he could scarcely retain his seat; but with a hope that he was not far from a dwelling, he looked anxiously into the vista, , extending before him. At length he reached a clearing, and, straining his iaze to discern a human hlabitation, he beheld a faint light glim- imering in the distance. Ee urged his steed rapidly forward, arid soon stood on the steps of a pretty white cottage, rapping for admission.- A tall, elderly man openedl the door; Welling- ton briefly stated his misfortune, and asked for shelter. The man eyed him sharply, and, after a momentary hesitation, bade him enter, and ushered him into a small room, lighted by a cheerful hickory fire. A young girl-a Hebe- like creature, whose remarkable beauty Welling- ton had never seen surpassed-sat on a low foot- stool near the hearth, reading. 'A wounded traveller, Lucia; tell John to come here immediately, and then go to your room,' Wellington heard his host say hurriedly the maiden, and she glided away to do his bidding. The traveller's eyes followed the fair girl, till the door closed after her, and then turning to his host, he related the particulars of his misfor- tune, and mentioned his nalme and place of re-s- idence. With more cordiality than he had yet nmanifested, he welcomed him to his humble home, and with much alalcrity attended to his wants. Days, passed away, and utnder the care of Willis, Wellington was slowly convalescing.- The traveller had become deeply interested in bis host; there was an air of mystery around him. His manner was refined andeHisnt, his in- tellect was highly cultivated; and more than once Wellington was tempted to ask him why he had made himself a home so far away from the society wlich he was well fitted to adorn. But there was-a dignified reserve about him, which forbade this, and Wellington forebore to question him. In the fair daughter of his host, the young man felt a still deeper interest; he had not yet spoken to lier, but somnetimes he heard a rich, bird-like voice gushing forth in song, and now and then he eaught glimpses of a graceful form, flitting round the cottage, or strolling away through the fields. ' I wonder if Willis does not intend to intro- duce me to his daughter!' he asked himself again and again, and he began to look forward with no little anxiety to the time when lie sholld be able to mingle with the family of hs host. One delightful morning he ventured out into the verandah ; everything abroad was radiant with fireshness and beauty, and a very pretty feature in the lovely landscape. around him was that simple cottage, half embowered in foliage. There could not be a more delightful retreat than the latticed verandah where Wellington was standing; a mass of luxuriant vines, all in full bloomn, crept over it in a woof of beautiful verdure; the bright winged humming-birds were revelling among the' flowers, shaking the dew from their leaves and the perfume front their hearts, and then soaring away with their trea, sures. Wrellington was listening to their low, musieal murmuring, and WPonldering whether the fair girl, whom he had sometimes seen flitting tabout in the verandah, would visit it that morn, when a footstep startled him, and the voice of his host fell upon his car. 1 Wellington,' he said, in a tone that express- ed great surprise, ' then you hasve ventured forth without my permission.' ' Yes, my dear sir,' replied Wellington, ' the morning was so pleasant, and-' , Well, well-I shall not scold you,' inter- rupted Willis, with one of those smiles which now and then made his countenance so pleasant; but since you have been so venturesome, you may breakfast with me if you please--come this way, sir.' [ 'With all my heart ' said Wellington ; and, with a faint hope that he should now meiet the maiden who had interested him so deeply, he followed his host into the breakfast-room. She w as not there, and Wellington was seri- ously thinlking of making some inlquiries of Wil- lis, concerning his daughter, when the door opened, and the fair Lucia, looking very be- witchlling in a robe of blue ginglamln, and a neat sun-bonnet, made her ppearanee. She drew back on seeing the stranger, and a blush, that only rendered her more beautiful, flitted over her face. "ucia, mny child, come in,' said her father. ' Indeed, papa.' murmured the sweet voice of the maiden, ' I was not aware that-that-' &he paused. I That our guest was able to come down,' said her father; ' very well-I presumne he will ex- cuse your abrupt entlrance.' ' Nothing in the world to excuse, indeed, sir/ said Wellington, directing his reply to his host, but with his eyes wandlering to the blushing Lucia. ' Mr. Wellington-Lucia, my daughter, sir,' continued Willis, with a slight hesitancy in bis manner. Wellington was about to express his pleasure at meeting her with considerable warmth, but he checked hnlself, and greeted her only with a simple 'Good morning, Miss Willis.' She re- turned his salutation gracefully, and laying aside her bonnet, seated herself at the table. The trio were soon engaged in conversaticon, in which the lovelyv Lucia bore her part charm- ingly, WTellington thought---though the pair cf i dark, eloquent eyes which she encountered, whenever shereplied to the guest. were not very excellent ausiliaries in removing her cmlham^rl- ment. They lingered long over the breuTfa-st- table, and wlien they parted, the glance of Wel- lington expressed the declight which his words. had not yet venturei d to speak. They met ag1in at dinner, and at nightfall Wellington and his host sat with Lueia in the pleasant little parlor, and listened to the melody of her uit'lr. .nd i the in sweeter music of her voice. I page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] Three weeks passed, and Wellington was still the guest of Willis. He had nearly recovered his health, but the cottage where he had sought aid and shelter had become so pleasant to the trav- eller, that he continued to prolong his stay. His j host was extremely kind and attentive, but he still maintained the same fi-igid reser-ve concern- ing his affltirs, and Wellington was now no more familiar with his history than he had been the first week of their acquaintance. His famuily consisted of three servants, himself and daugh- ter, and she had informed Wellington that she had been pursuing her studies in a distant con- vent, and had only resided with him a few montlhs in his western home. Since his introduction to hier at the brleakfast table, Wellington had daily mst the fair Lucia, and the aldmiration which he had at first felt for her soon deepened into love ^ -fond, devoted love. To her personal attrac- tions she added the charm of a cultivated intel- lect; with her rare beauty, her unstudied grace, and her winning artlessness, she was just the being to fascinate Lewis Wellington, and to woo and win her for his bride at length became an absorbing project with him. CHAPTER 11. 'My youth's angelic dream was of that look and mien.' It was a glorious day in Septenmber, and Lu- cia Willis sat beneath the shadow of a gigantic ( oak near the cottage, readiing the beautiful songs of Tennyson. As her eyes wandlelred over thei last 1ine of the book, sl1e uttelred a low tremu- 1 lous sigll, ill regret at hlaving completed it, and J then began to turnl over the leaves carelessly, till ai nalne, traced on the blank leaf the name I of LcW-i Wellington-met her eye; sle smiled, 1 and reluctantly closing the book, abandoned her- ' self to the pleasant thoughts which that name t walened. Very beautiful looled she as she sat there, f with her fair, rouand arm pillowed in the soft I moss, that had crept over the twisted roots of I the tree, and a rosy cheeli suppolrted on a hand whose exquisite proportions imigrllt have served S I as a sculptor's model. The sunlight flickered I through the folinge above her, and fell upon her head, giving a golden tinge to lher rich brown tresses; and the murmuring of the little stream, that danced by her, flashing in and out almong the gnarled roots of the old oak, came lilice lulling music to her ear. The young girl was revelling in a day-dream, while her eyes watched the cloud-shadows on the waters, and the nodding flower-cups, which the breeze bent to the sparkling wavelets,-her heart wandered back through the last weeks of her existence. Like the stream, winding by her on that glorious day, was the river of her life-the heavens above her, so radiantly beau- tiful, were not brighter than the sky of her exis- tonce-the clouds, that had thus far shaldowed "it, had becn no darker than the White, fleecy mnasses now drifting like new-fallen snow in the clear blue ether-the waters, laugthing in the sunlight, were not purer than her own young heart, and the melody of their murmlur was not sweeter than the spirit music now thrilling her soul. Further onward in its course, 'tis true, the little stream, here so bright and placid, re- ceived the waters of many a tributary, and at length swept along with a swift current, and a mnurmur all unlilke the lulling music that soothed the young girl, till it mingled with the swelling waves of the sea. Who could tell if the river of her life, when deepened and widened by earthly cares and sorrows, should lose ihe silvery brightness, and the sveet melody that sow glad- dened her spilrit? Ah! Lucia Willis was not thinkling -of this-a thousand thoughts of the happy past and blissful present were flitting across her brain, and soon an imlage that of late had been mirrored in the depths of her heart, was reflected beside her own in the crystal stream, and a low musical voice, richer far than the ripple of the waters, murmured ' Lucia- dear Lucia!' What a world of eloquence broke forth in those simple words, and how radiant became the face of the maiden as they fell upon her ear! ' Mr. Wellington!' she said, in a tone of glad surprise, as she rose from her seat. $ } ' Why not call me Lewis ' asked WTellington, earnestly, The young girl made no reply, but stood with blushing cheeks and dlrooping eyelids, carelessly crushing beneath her foot a tuft of wild flowers: 'I thought you and papa had gone out to spend the day in the woods,' she said, at last. ' And such was our intention,' replied Wel- lington; 'but we met an acquaintance of your father, and so returned with him. I did not regret it, fio t as thinking of the ramble of which we were speaking this morning. Shall we go now?' The young, girl toolk his offered arm, and as they strolled along the banks of the stream, he breathed to her the first confession of love to which she had ever listened, and received the sweet assurance that his affection was returned. They were still conversing in low tones, when the only female servant at the cottage made her appearance. Hermanner was strangely excited; she drew Lucia aside, and she conversed earn- estly for a few moments. Wellington saw the young girl's cheek grow pale as she listened, and at length she came to his side, and laying her hand upon his arm, said hlurriedly: I I must go now with Jane; will you return to the cottage alone, and as-as-' and here a blush mantled her face, ' as you love me, say nothing of me in the presence of the-stranger.' A vague, undefined foreboding of evil thrilled through the heart of Lewis Wellington; he clasped the little hand upon his arm in both his own, and imprinting a kiss upon her fair brow, turned away. His host met him on the thresh- old of the cottage, ard made the same request; Wellington promised to be cautious, and then followed Willis into the parlor. Mr. Lysle, the new guest, was standing by a front window, apparently in deep thought, but he seated himself, and at once entered into con- versation. Wellington's thoughts were wander- ing to his beautiful Lucia, but a glance of the stranger's dathrk, piercing eyes warned him to be cautious, anld he acted his part with wonderful- self-possession. He spent two or three hours in his conmlpany, and then went to his own room. r When there, he thought long of the events of the day; there was somlething in the keen, restless ieye of the stranger, and the sinister snlile that continually hovered around his lips, that made Wellington distrust him. He passed many sleepless hours in vain conjectures concerning him, and when after a short and unquiet slum- ber, he awolke at dawn, he heard voices in con- versation in the verandah-the bland and sin- gularly musical accents of Lysle speaking peremp- torily, and then the deprecating tones of his hbest. I When they met in the breakfast-room, his host and Lysle both seemed in excellent spirits, and the strange gecpj that Wellington and Wil- lis should accompany him a short distance on his journey. Willis cast an intelligent glance at Wellington, and both immediately assented to his proposition. A few moments afterwards the trio were riding away from the cottage, laughing and jesting as merrily as if they were light- hearted. It was noon-day when Wellington and his host parted with Lysle ; he bade Wellington adieu politely, and then grasping the hand of Willis, said in a low voice: 'Good-by, Willis-remember!' there was a strange emphasis in his tones as he spoke tI at word, and fixing his dark, brilliant eyes on Wil- lis's face, he paused slightly, and then continu- ed, ' renzember your friend ' Willis bowed, and Lysle sped swiftly away. Wellington and his host watched him intently till He disappeared, and. then Willis drew a long, deep sigh, as if relieved of some oppressive bur- den. ' Let us go back now, Wellington,' he said, with a melancholy smile; and the next moment they were bounding along the path which they had come. They rode on in silence for a time, and then Wellington asked anxiously.: Where is Lucia?' ' My dear fellow, Lucia is safe,' said Willis. 'I cannot explain to you the circumstances which made it necessary for me to conceal her from Lysle.' He spoke with difficulty, and his cheek grew briglt with such a glow as Welling- ton had never seen there before. 'I do not ask you to explain -them, Willis,' page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] &- iid Wrellinrton; ' but I wish you to listen to me for a few nlmoments.' And in words of fervid ; eloquence he told of his devoted love for the fiair girl, and hbeged the father's sanction to their i immedliate union. Willis heard him in silence, and everv trace of color reccdled from his face as ho listened. 'Wellington,' he said. at length, 'I regret to crush Ly my replyl any lhopes that you may have cherished, but Lucia cannot be yours - Circumstances which must still remain a secret from you and her, forbid this union and it cannot be. Seek another bride, and forget that you ever loved a being linked with my destiny.' He smiled mournfully, and there was a deep pathos in his voice. 'Forget Lucia WTillis!' echloed Wellington. ' Have you ever loved, sir, that you bid iie for- get her?' An instantaneous change came over the proud man; every trace of sadness vanished, and his lips curled, and his eyes flashled, as he replied: 'It would have been less merciful to have counselled yon to cherish a aian love.' He pausedl, and Wellington ventured to say: ' Have you advised your dauglter thus V?' ' I had no time for that,' replied Willis,; her j happiness and my safety demanded her immedli- ate flight, and now she is far away I' Wellington started. ' Shall I not see her on our return to thie cot- tage V' he asked. in a voice husky with emotion. ' You will deeml me cruel,' responded Wrillis, * 'but as circumstances are, that c cannot be.' In vain Wellington endeavored to induce, him to change his decision; he vain he begoeld for some information concerning her place of con- 1 cealment. Willis mildly but firmly refused to comply with his requests, and again and again assured him that it wonuld be useless to endeavor 1 to discover her retreat. His reasons for such a f course, he said, must still remain a secret, and thus the whole affair was shrouded in mystery. The next day Wellington left the cottage, which was cheerless without the presence of Lu- cia, and again commenced his wanderins, with I a faint hope --of discovering her hiding-place.- A o But all his efforts proved frulitless-he could d find no trace of her, and at the approach of win- r ter, he returned to his residence in Philadelphia. r , The few months he spent in the city passed wearily to the young man; and wlhen sprin, s camulle again, with it- showers, its blossoms, and its sunshine, he commenced anotherwesternl tour. t W ith the hope of learning something of the fair being who was continually in his thoughts, lie visited the cottage of Willis-it wtas tenantless! t Silent and desolate, 'it stood amid the tall, old trees, like a forsaken bird's nest.' With a t heavy heart, Wellington turned away, and pro- ceeded on his journey; at the nearest dwelling, he made some inquiries for the family who hald once inhabited the pretty cottage. He only learned that Willis had left his home early in the autumn, and that since that time it had boee I CHAPTER IIM. Three years passed, and Lewis Wellington was still ignorant of the fate of Lucia 'Willis.- His endeavors to find some clue to the mystery that enveloped her, had proved ineffectual-the steps of the wary Willis had been so cautious, that it was vain to see; to trace them; yet Wel- lington still cherished a hope that they should nleet again. He had known no- other love; Lu- cia was the brightest treasure in memory's casket, and in his heart's delpths his love for her wlas hoarded-a blossom, whose hues had faded, but whose perfume lingered around it still. It was at the close of a delightful September dclay, that he went on board a steamer, bound down the Mississippi, for New Orleans. The evening-promised to be glorious, and he linger- edl on the deck to enjoy its beauty. The moon- light fell. softly upon the watelrs, and the stars burned brightly in the cloudless sky. It was a fitting hour for reflection, and Wellington was revelling in thoughts of the lpast, mhen a low, musical voice murmured: 'How deliglhtful ' That sweet voice-how it tlrilled thlrough the heart of Wellington, wafting before his mental vision that pretty cottage in the ^-est, the bright stream that sparkled near it-and the spot on its banks, where a fair young girl had avowed, in tones lilke those, her love for him. He turned and gazed earnestly around him; a stately wo- man, in the prime of life, and a young man, were promnenading the deck; but leaning over the railing alone, -to gaze on the waters, he saw the graceful form of Lucia Willis! He hasten- ed to lci side. "ucia,' he murmured, in a voice tremulous with deep emotion. The maiden started. '"Mr. Wellington!' she exclaimed, and the ecrimson rushed over her face as she spoke. Wellington grasped the little hand which she extended, and raised it to his lips. ' Shall I call you Lucia Willis still'?' he asked anxiously. ' Lucia Montrose, if you please,' replied the lady, with a smile. 'Then you bear the name of another!' said Wellington, relinquishing the hand which wans trembling in his clasp. No-you do not understand me,' said Lu- cia, earnestly; '. lontrose was my rightful name when I first met you--AVillis was a name as- sumed for safety lby llim with whom I then re- sided. fHe was anot my father, and I have since discovered other parents.' ' And do you love me still?' aslked Welling- ton, earnestly. The low reply of Lucia thrilled the heart of Wellington with delilght, and after having been presented to her mother and cousin, lie beggeed her to tell him of the events which had trans- pired since they last met. The story which Lu- cia related, will explain to the reader the mys- terious course of Willis. Lawrence layberlie, for this was the real name of him whom Wellington had known as Willis, had in early life loved tale mother of Lu- tia Montrose. He was an orphan, the protege of her guardian ; even in his boyhood hle had re- garded her with tenderness, and in later years he had loved her with all the depth and fervor of bis naturl -but his affection was not rcturned. Laura Ellerslie rejected him, and gave her heart and hand to another--to one whom Mayberlie L had regarded as his most bitter enemy. Soon after their marriage, the disappointed suit- or shiled for a foreign land. The fickle goddess smiled upon him, and ten years aftervards he returned to his native country with a handsome fortune. He took everly precaution to conceal his return from his former acquaintances, for his object was to watch her whom he hall loved; lie sought out her residence, but he could scarcely realize that the pale, folrlorn woman who bore the name of Montrose was the once beautiful and brilliant Laura Ellerslie. Montrose had proved unworthy of her love-he was a confirmed ine- briate and a gamlbler! He had wasted the for- tune of his bride, and want had long ago stared them in the face, when no eye saw hinm save the All-seeing. Mayberlie lingered around their miiserable dwelling, and watched the suffering" of the gambler's wretched family. A fair- hailred girl, their only child, seemed to be the sole comnfort of the wronged wifc-the only ob- ject which received any tenderness from Mont- roe ; and Mayberlie, in whose heart burned a strong desire for vengeance, not satisfied with the llmiSery of their lot, resolved to deprive them of her. He abducted the child, and placed her in a convent, to be educated. Lysle, Walter Lysle, was his valet-a Frenchman,l of plebeian birth, who had served him often and faithfully. He was wary and keen-sighted, and Mayberlie made him his confidant. He became his agent, and was entrusteid with his most important busi- ness. For a time, gold rewarded him for his services, but at length he grew exacting; he as- pired to the hand of Lucia, and declared, that unless she became his bride, he would reveal to her parents tke secret in his possession. They hald not the most distant idea that Mayberlie was connected with her disappearance, and mourned her as dead. Mayberlie's heart revolted from the thought of uniting the beautiful Lucia to Lysle, and he determnined that she should never be his bride; he did not, however, dare to reveal this resolu- tion to him, but endeavored to quiet him with Iprominses. Lysle had visited the cottage, when page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] Wellington had met him there, for the purpose of meeting Lucia; but the cautious Mayberlie sent her secretly to a place of safety, and told the importunate valet that she was still at the convent. Soon after the departure of Wellington, May- berlie joined Lucia, and took her with him to a retreat in Oregon, so secluded that he hoped there to elude the vigilance of the Argus-eyed valet. A year passed wearily to them, for they were in constant fear of the revengeful Lysle, but at the expiration of that time, tidings came , that he had died from a wound received in a duel, and a few months afterwards Mayberlie heard of the death of Montrose. He waited un- til he was satisfied that these rumors were cor- rect, and then set out with Lucia in search of the gambler's widow. In St. Louis he discov- ered her; he confessed his fault, and restored to the astonished mother her long-lost child.- Then, for the first time, Lucia learned who were her parents, for though Mayberhe had explained to her the reasons for his flight from the cottage, he had never before told her the secret which had made him dread the power of Lysle. Soon after restoring her to her mother, May- berlie died, leaving his fortune to Lucia, and they were now on their way to Louisiana, where they had a fine estate. Time and absence had only served to deepen her early affection, and three weeks after their meeting on board tile steamer, the GAMBLER'S DAUGHTTEpR becamne tl1e bride of Lewis Wellington. [PROM THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.] I . THE CHAPTER I. 'Himmel!' cried an old gray-moustached of- I ficer, 'why in the name of IMars are those sol- diers poured on the bridge in that fashion?- Rolf, push forward, and charge the commandant on the Brenda-side to hold back his troops; quick! ' It was a bitter storm; and the rain drove fu- riously in the faces of the Austrian cavalry and infantry who were defiling upon the bridge, which, near the village of Kohl, spanned a tor- rent turbulently rushing firom the hills. For a time matters had gone on miethodically, as sec- tion after section waited their turn for passage. But as time fled, both officers and toops began to grow impatient of the delay, drenched as they were, and fairly blindled by the hissing and ven- omous fury of the tempest. Soon, rank began to press on ranl;, and a hugo mass of men brist- ling with Bayonets and pikes, were crowding over the fabric which creaked and groaned be- neath the unwonted burthen. Still, on they a came, rank after rank, while the shouts of a few aids, or here and there a solitary commandant, I were totally insufficient to check the impatient soldiery. Suddenly a sharp crackling was heard, and the cry, ' Baelc, back! the bridge falls-the bridge!' The crowd, disjointed in the midst, rolled back upon itself; then came a deafening crash, as the long bridge rent asunder, and foot and horse, mingled with falling timbers, girders and roofing, plunged down into the rushing river. Most piteous was the sight, as with groans and cries which rent the air, whole companies of un- fortunate men sank amid the sexultingo waters. Here and there, the strong arm of some soldier- friend rescued a brother at the point of despair, or some sturdy peasant bore from the flood its destined prey. But every instant the wave swept off some wounded being, unheeded amid the general tumult. In an ancient stone lodge below the bridge stood a young girl, who, beholding, the dreadful spene, rushed forth to give what help her feeble arm could do. As she sped to the river bank, page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] \, there came, borne on the surface of the water, awounded and help' sofficer. Unhesitatingly, the damsel sprang fol -ird, and with strength nerved by impassioned p. y, succeeded in draw- inng the unfortunate upon the bank. PIacing him on the greensward, she bent over the officer. Not till then did she perceive that his features, thouggh pallid with pain and exhaustion, were finely formed. The wet hair flowed back from a full and noble forehead, while the dark eyes unclosing, turned upon the maiden's countenance with a mingledl gaze of amazement and gratitude. The young gil stooped to bind her kerchief up- on his side; then, looking rounldl, beheld the approach of somle soldiers. ' Your officer,' she cried, pointing to the wounded man; and like a frightened deer fled from the spot. The soldiers approached, and lifting the faint- ing officer in their arnms, bore hm carefully away; for young Colonel Lcutze was the idol of the army; and there were hundreds of gray veter- ans who would willingly have ventured their lives to secure hs safety. Born of a noble and aristocratic ftamily, Leutze had inherited the virtues of his mother, as well as thlle determined courace of his father. Leutze watched over his soldiers like a brother; firm, Vel kind; ever foremost in battle, ever last in retreat. Such were the qualities of Colonel Leutze; and in the hour of trial, his regiment of Alerken dlragoons never disgraced themselves or their beloved commlllander. Leutze soon recovered lCrom the outw-ard wounds received at the dlisastrous bridge of Kohl; but nlotfrom the hcart-wound which his intrepid maiden-saviour hadl inflicted. Her features, seen in an interval of anguished minind and body, were yet imprinted on his mlemory in traits never -o be forgotten, or inerged, in indistinctness.- 'Should he ever bjehold her again, and have power to speak his gratitude and love?' Such were the thoug-lhts which questioned his heart in the scanty space of repose allowed from the fa- tigues of march and countermarch, skirmish and night alarm, which harassed the little army of Baron Lefhausen, on its way to effect junction' with the eastern army of Hungarian occupation. Weeks passed on. Hungary, whose rebellious will was to have been quelled by the bayonet point, had, nevertheless, risen in sudden wrath, anld the imperial army was swept back toward the frontier which it had crossed with such con- fidence of success. After a long and harassing retreat, the Austrian forces encamped at Wer- bergenn, and Colonel Leutze took opportunity to visit an old acquaintance of his father, Baron Weistenhof, whose mansion was albout a league distant. With afew companions, he rode rapidly over a barren plain, and presented himself at the cas- tle grate, with the announcemlent of his name.- The old chieftain met his soldier-gLest with frank hospitality, and many inquiries after the family of his deceased friend. 'Alas,' said he, ' the good old days are gone when your father and myself fought side by side in the Kaiser's ranks; sworn brothers we were, and many a happy night I remember, passed under- tent cover, or under the blue canopy of heaven-more cheery than if spent in hall or banquet-revel. Yes, Frederick, times are chang- ed indeed. As for myself, I amn grown old with only one child, whose care mnight well supply the place of a whole company of sons and daugh- ters. Yes, hlere comes Calrlovena. Daughter, you behold the son of my old friend, Count Leutze. Give him welcome.' The countenances of the young people were suffused with embarrass;nent. Leutze recogniz- ed in his fair acquaintance, the heroine whose courage had saved his life. Bending forward, he touched with his lips the white hand extend- ed in greeting. 'Ah,' said the old nobleman, laughing gaily, 'these are your court fashions, Master Freder- ick. Well, well; I remember the time, when your fatlher and myself were young, that the customs-were more hlearty. Yes, your father was then like yourself in looks and bearing; though it is true there was a difference; yet in what it consisted I can hardlly say.' The baron delighted in recalling scenes long past, when Count Leutze and hmself had fig- nred at court levee, or in passages of arms.-- Engagred on such thcmes, his eyes sparlkled, his speech was frank and gay. But when conversa- tion vergedl upon the doings of the present, his countenallnce became clouded; his words were few and full of mnelancholy thougllt. And Car- lovena, no longoer with animalted and delighted face, listened to the chwanged discourse. With cheelk flushed at times, and sometinies pale, she bent over the damask on which her needle, was employed. A gloom settled on the spirits of all. Leutze arose, and loolked forth fromn the window; then, turning to his host, he said: ' Dear baron, I thank you for your hospitable welcome. The night is drawing on, and my duties call me back. Let mne bid you farewell.' The old nobleman arose, and grasping the hand of his guest, regarded him with a steadfast look. ' Frederick, he said, 'listen to the words of an old man. Remelber that you are in arms against the folrtunes and the lives of your couln- trymen. If conscience and honor call you to your post, I have no remonstrance to make. In such matters you are to answer to one far above nll earthly honorables. But give heed to the admonition of an old soldier-' Mercy shall be to him who giveth mercy.' Farewell; and may we meet again in better times.' The young officer- bowed respectfully. Then turning) an eloquent glance upoh Carlovenla, he pressed her hand in silence. His horse awaited. Mounting, he waved adieu, and with his faithful followers hastened back; to the camp. CHAPTER II. The rrte of arlls was at its height. The Austrian eaglc, now proudly victorious, now ovcrwhelmed with shameful defeat, rose and fell as chaned the devious tide of war. Magyar, and Bohemian, and Imperialist, met on the bioody plain, and still that relentless reaper, death, gathered in his harvest of glorious carnage. t The sun which rose in pure light over the hills ( of Alsen, displayed on the far-stretching fields below, two hostile armies arrayed for contest.- a - The morning song of battle lark, and the shrill bugle's call, as ranks of armed men fell into the columns which moved swiltly upon the alvelse 3 lines. Then came the roar of cannon, the rattle of musketry, the crashing charge, ; and at length the deep deadly roll of continuous conflict.- That was a hard fought day. The best blood of Hungary opposed the overpowering armies of Austria. On the one hand, thorough discipline and veteran experience; on the other, lhearts burning with many wronigs, nerved with a des- perato bravery which regarded individual life as nothin, when weighed against the possible defeat of the oppressor. Lcutze fought at the head of his regiment and, as usual, made himself conspicuous by his bravery. Yet, while wicldingc, his sword with youthful ardor, he admiringly acknowledged t!e unyielding temper, the fiery assaults of the lHun- garians. In particular, his attention was attract- ed by a young officer, who had led sevelral suc- cessful charges upon the Austrilan ranks.- Mounted on a coal-blackl steed wlhich lhe manag- ed with consummate skill, his formn was ever seen amid the thickest of the fighlt; and where his sword directed way, opposition seemed palsied and unavailing. Leutze ardeDtly wished to measure swords with his gallant focman. 'See there!' he eried, to a brother officer; 'see how you fine follow bears down all before him. Ah, ha! IMay we soon have opportunity to try strength with him and his gallant comnpany. 'Fore heaven,' said'his companion, ' I be- lieve he is more devil than man. Whoever saw such riding as thlat? But hold! he's down at last V' The Hungarialn, withl drooping iecad, sank from the noble horse; which, lpauSing by his fallen master, was struck by a cannon shot which tore him in pieces. Leutze loolked on, and tears gathered in his eyes. 'Alas!' he cried, 'so young and so brave; I could have wished him a better fate. Yet af- ter all, such is the fortune to which we are all exposed.' An aid now gallopedl up and gave order to advanc; and Leutze, in the heat of action, for- page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] got the melancholy which the falte of his gallant enemy hadt inspired. The Hungarians slowly retired from their po- sition. They were too strongly outnumbered. Brave to desperation as they were, the enemy also held brave anld dLetermilned men, possessillo advantages of discipline and equipments, whch, addLed to nunmbers, made overpowering odds.- But victory was clearly bought. 'Step by step was the grouncd contestec. The retreat was or- derly and firm; the ranlks marshalled as if in victlory ratlher than defeat. DaLy waned, and the Austrian paused in his advance; for the enemy still held unbrolken front, and wary caution for- bade a venturous pursuit. Darlkness came on; the noise of the conflict was over; and when the moon arose in queenly light, her reliance illumined the lonely battle field, thickly strewn with dead, where wandered only the prowling plunderer, or, perchance, some solitary one who sougrht a firiendly form among the visiters of the day. Thus, drawn to the desolate field by an irresistible impulse, Leutze went forth among the dead. There, lay enemy with enemy, alike smitten by impartial fate; youth and veteran age, silent in placid death or marred with terrible disfiguring. Many a gay uniform and dashing garb lay trampled in mire and blood; many a well beloved flower of noble birth lay there, exposed to the insults of the vilest of the vile. Leutze pursued his 'path saddened by the many-featured carnage which hemmed hiln in. One thing struck his notice most forcibly, namely, the expression of firm resolve wlich was everywhere to be seen on the upturned faces of the Hungarians. ' We die, but yield nlot!' was the story told on every coun- tenance. ' Alas!' exclailmed -the young officer. WoeO is that country whose children are divided against each other; turning agalinst each other's breasts the swords which should be wieldled for a com- mon good! The moon, passing from the embrace of an overshadowing cloud, threw her glancing light upon a well-noted form. It was that of the Hungarian officer whose gallant bearing had but til a few hours before attracted the admiration of Leutzc. With an unwonted degree of sympathy the Austrian turned toward his fallen foe. 'Never,' he exclaimed, 'shall the strolling robber molest the remains of one so gallant and so brave.' Thle Hungarian lay with his head resting on his arm. Lcutze stepped over a malss of corpses and stooped to gaze on the dead man's face. But what strange and palsying influence hath come over the Austrian now? Ah, no stern- hearted soldier lies there. Leutze looks with strong gaze on her who but lately bestowed on him the boon of life; the daughter of his old friend; the fair one in whom centered the aspira- tions of his heart. Tenderly he raised the beau- tiful head and parted the dishevelled hair. Wiat is this! The brow, the cheek still warmn? Leutze, trembling through every vein, sealrches for the sure signs of unextinguished life. Yes, he looks up to Heaven; the hopeful tears gush from his eyes; she lives, she lives! and the strong man, bearing the helpless, wounded form in his arms, turns his eager and stealthy steps toward the camp. Regaining his own tent, Leutze speedily put in requisition his little stock of surgical skill. Carlovena's reviving pulse, and, O, joyful sound! at last her feebly spoken words, brought inex- pressible delight to the bosom of her lover.- But how to provide for the future safety of the beautiful unfortunate? Leutze was too well aware of the barbarous cruelty which lhad been hitherto evinced by the Imperialist comlmanders, ,to trust either to their humane or their goencrous qualities. No surety of safety within reach of a ruthless soldiery. Distracted by his fears, yet unable of himself to suggest a waly of scsape, he questioned Carlovena, who reeovered strength sufficient to give him the information required. Before the morning dawned, Leutzc, accom- panied by his trusty servant, andl, as ho was con- vinced, wholly unobserved, bore the invalidl about two miles beyond the camp, to the lhut of an old wolnman who had once been a nurso in the family of the baron. The faithful creature, with many tears, promised to tlake charge of the pa- tient, and to convey word to her- family as soon as possible. Lentze, forcing the nurse to accept a twice re- fused gratitlde, designed returnling 'without fur- ther delay; for his absence. if noticedl, was fraugllt with pwril to himlself, and, above all, to her for whoom his ansiety was inost enage(d.-- But, as he was about to depart, Carlovena mo- tioned him to hler side. Lcutze knelt by the bed and listened. 'My friend,' she said, ' I owe you much. I shall never forget it; though you fight against poor oppressed Hungary, whose cause commands all my life, all my love. Pray this wretched strife may cnd. And now, farewell.' She stoppedl, exhausted by the undue effort. Leutze gazed at her with mingled grief aid pity, as the pallid lids again veiled her darkl brown hair. He read in those languid loolks, in those brolken sentences, a mandate of conldemnation. To him was riven gratitude; but not the love which he had so earnestly desired. He was the enemy of her country, if not of herself. There lay between thellm an impassable gulf. Her, looks, her wordls, thllough soft and sweet to his ear, had with m agic spell rolled back upon them- selves the dearest currents of the heart. CHAPTER III. ' Pass rountld the Hockheimer, O ye master of the revels!' gaily shouted a young hussar, as he waved his slender glass above his lhcad ' List to the tent sonng of Hansen of Bu tenwerg; a t good fellow he was; but the worms have him ' now. List. ve aill.' t ' O there's a merry, merry songf Heard oln the Sclavic plalin; For thei-e careers the gay hussar, And shhrieks his bugle strain. He suuifls the battle from afar And laugtleth at the sound; f He switnrs his sabre o'er his head, And spiurnCth at the ground. 1] 'Down by the Danube's sandy shore, r. Or by the rolling Don, He fliethh in the front of flight, i Still speeds his charger on. - n Or on the Malgyar's spreading plain The affrighted foemen bleed! There's not a maid, in tower or town But singeth of his deed. ' A merry, merry life leads he, ; * The gallanlt, gaLy hIlssalr, He fills his purse, he drinlks his wine, - Lets nought his pleasures bar. ' And when he ddies, the gay hussar, I- There many mourners come; * And chants his dirge, the clashing steel, And peals the rattling drum. [ Then join the gallant, gay hussar, Young hearts and spirits bold, Whose nerves no coward tremnors jar While rein in hand ye hold. I The gay hussar, he carelesssings, And leads a careless life; Where glasses ring good draught he brings, But a heavy arm to strife. ' Then join the gallant, gay hussar, And mount the ready steed; - For hark, the 'larum from afar Bids us to glory speed!' Given with a rather pleasing voite, )he song, though interrupted now and then snatches of national odes and rude mess-songs, was received with due approbation Lby the half intoxicated guests. Leutze had rather unwillingly accepted the invitation of Colonel Von Oftren; for he knew the rough nature of the war-worn veteran, and wished to shun a scene of revelry which at this time was particularly unsuited to the state of his mnind. An unwonted depression weighed upon his usually cheerful spirits. The civil warfare had of late been carried on wVith a barbarity which lad oft times filled him with the deepest disgust. In fact, nothing but a sense of duty to his sove- reign, restrained him from asking a dismissal from his post. He had repeatedly witnessed the infliction on captives, and even on unarmed and helpless women, of indignities too shalleful to repeat; and which could serve no earthly pur- pose save to exasperate to the utmost an already irritated and courageous people. With such page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] feelingrs and thoughlts coursing through his brain, the scene of riotous revelry passed as a vision before his eyes. He smiled, and lifted the cour- teous glass; but with a vacancy of demeanor, which at any othher timle would have been quick- ly noticed. He was, however, aroused by a re- mark of an officer serving as aid in the staff of General Palrkast, colmmanding the body-of troops among whom was stationed the regiment of Leutze. ' Well, masters,' said the aidl, ' we are to have on the morrow a little amusement of the old sort. A floging; and a I cly in the case. Well, I pity the girl, somewhat; but you know, if these pretty ones alre disposed to try their hands at sabre, pike, and fire-arms in general, it is but fair that they should be presented with the army regulations in full. Those are my opin- ions. So here's long life to the worthy Parkast; and if the fair Hungarians choose to have a little flagellation by way of a pleasant excitement, why let them enjoy it by all means!' This brutal speech was the product of the coward heart which gave it utterance; but cer- tainly would not have found such unvarnished speech, had it not been for the wine banishing the disguise with which a depraved heart is wont to veil its wickedness from itself as well as from other breasts. The words were received with silence; for there were few whose callous souls remained untouched by sulch barbarism. As for Leutze, his counttnance reddened with indigna- tion; it was with difficulty that he restrained a contemptuous reply; but the significant look which he fixed on the speaker, caused the latter to shrink abashed. The silent ancd scornful re- bulke awakened at the insttant all the hatred of which meanness is capable; and Leutze was to suffer the revenge so often within the reach of base and creeping cowardice. The company soon brolke up ; and Leutze retired to his hard pallet, where hie dreamed of love, and happiness, such as greets in tanlltalizing visions, the unhappy souls whom fortune delights to torment. From such transient enjoyment was he sum- moned, when early on the following morn the parade drum called the troops to witnes punish- i ment. In front of the camp was a long stretch of even ground, inclining gradually to the elast- ward; and on this the troolps were drawn up in form of a semli-circle. On the western, or di- anietrical side, was drawn up the regiment which Leutze commlanded. At no great distance, were f placed the executioners of military sentence, s clo e by whom were to be seen Brigadier Park- f ast and several of his staff. Anlong the latter, was Captain Klaust, the aid before mentioned, who occasionally cast malicious glances on Leutze. ! The latter paid little attention to one so much beneath his thloughts, and he soon forgot him al- together, as the car- containing the unfortunate r victim enteredl the enclosure. t J A cloak colicealed the form of the hapless fe- male till the executioner stepped forward to pre- pare for the performlance of his ruthless task.- Holrror of horrlors! How could Leutze mistake the presence of his beloved? Pale as death she looked, till the grim mlinister began to lay bare her snowy shoulders, white as Parian marble. Then, shrinl;ing from his touch, a piteous cry broke from her lips, and the tinge of shame mounted to her brow. Leutze stepped forward; his brain whirling with a dizzy and inexpressible sensation. Yet in outward seeming he was per- fectly cool and composed; only , his cheek was blanched, and his eye was fixed with glassy steadiness. Approaching, he addressed himself to Brigadier Parkast. 'General,' he said, 'I would humbly beg (if you that you remit the punishment which the military law las brought upon a generous but misguided woman. I would say that-' The brigadier seemed for a moment fairly as- toundetl at the presumptuous interference; but now, recovering himself, he interrupted the speakler. ' Captain Klaust,' said he, turning his head, 'you will after termination of the present mat- ter, immediatcly communicatite orders that Col- onel Leutze be placed undler close arrest. And (elevating his voice with a slow and ferocious distinctness), the druln major will take notioe that the number of lashes to be inflicted on the oulprit at the stakle, is to .be one hundred and fifty in)stead of one hundred, as at first directed.' A spzrsm of terrible raec quivered through the fitme of LLeu . 'Brute'! i nster! coward!' he shouted, hoarsely; and bcfore the words had dissolved in air, Brigadier Palrkast lay dead upon the earth, with a pistol shot through his heart. The as- tounded officelrs drew their swords, while Leutze waving his own above his head, cried with a voice whllich rang loud and clear throulgh a thousand cars : ' Comrades, save her! save her who perilled her life to rescue mine. Take my blood, my life, if you will, but save her!' In an instant a flood of armed men poured Qver the spot. Executioners, officeers, all were swept off by the impetuous outhurst, and Car- lovena was borne away in the midst of Loutze's devoted troops. The appeal of their beloved colonel was irresistilble; not one of those brave men but would have perilled his life to save that ] of the intended victim. CHAPTER IV. t The parting rays of ^he sun shot upward along l the cragts of Ehrenberg, and even pierced with I their soft gold the mouldy cell where lay impris- s aned the doomed soldier. A ghostly confessor sat by the side, of Leutze, and spoke to him of t tilings pertaining to that unknown future upon whose borders he was so soon to enter. a ' Aiy son,' said Father Anselm, ' the pains of y death are but for a space, however prolonged a: they may be. And indeed, it is. not so much to m regret, that this boon of life is so soon to be eq yielded up by thee, when we reflect of the many b( crilnes and follies which add thems -es, dlay by of day, to our earthly existence. 04r pleasures are but griefs in disguise. Wroe ancd repentance fr tread close upon our joys. WI 'And now, bethink thee, my son. Hast thou FM duly expressedl thy sorrow for thy criminal act? yc For the disolbediencee of those commaids which bl our royal governor hath instituted for the guid- awce of his subjects?' th A flush of half-awakened anger disturbed the jth resignation of Leutze's countenance. 1.' 'Father,' he said, 'I pray you be silent on he thatpoint. You havelived apart from the scenes in which I have been conmpelled to mingle. You d, speak not gallantly of matters whch you are like in to misuntlderstand. Father Anselm, of my wron h, doings, and they are many, I would freely unfold Is- to you. And also I would endeavor to forgive ze all injuries against myself, even as I would wish ce to be forgiven.' d Heavy steps were now heard upon the tower stairway. The bolts were thrown back, and d three officials entered, one of whom bore in his y hand a small roll of parchment with the impl- rial seal attached. Unfolding the same the d bearer read as follows: e ' Whereas, Frederick Leutze, late colonel o - dragoons, in the service of Austria, bath been s guilty of attacking and mulrdering ill open day 1 his superior, Dervoke Parkast, late general in e command, therefore we, under our royal seal, do t hereby command that the said Fredlarick Leutze be publicly deposed from office and in the garlb of a private soldier be conducted from his place of imprisonment in the castle of Ehrcnberg to the courtyard of said castle, wheore he shall be broken alive upon the wlheel. Anld mny his punishment be for an example to all the faithful subjects of our imperial realm.' Father Anselm shuddered and turned pale; but Leutze's countenance remained unchaueed. 'A11l is as I had expected,' hce saic, 'and I aIm content. And now, Father Anselm, Hbid you farewell. My time is short, and I would be alone. But take with thee a slight memorial of my gratitude for thy services. And when those earthly hours which,it indlicates, shall with me be over, thou maycst offer up a petition in behal of one departed.' The old priest, with m oistened eyes, received from the hands of Leutze a small silver watch, which the latter lad detached from his person. Father Anselm laid his hand on the head of the young soldier, and strove to commlanld his trell- bling voice. ' Sly son,' lihe exclaimed, thou wellI knowest that I w-ould not forget thee. Peace be with thee; peace be with thee, and my blcssing.' page: 100[View Page 100] The old man, fervently pressing the hand of the prisoner, turned away; for over his furrowed cheek poured the unbidden rain; and he feared that the emotions of his own heart might shake the serenity of his companion. Father Anselm followed the officers; and Leutze was left alone. Then came the severest hours of trial, when Leutze, in his darkened and solitary cell, felt intrude upon his mind the stirring desires of youth; the desires of a nature born for enthusi- astic action. The parting from all he loved best on earth; a parting unaccompanied by any out- ward thing which might soften or console; a part- ing to be accomplished through ignominy, and more than mortal pain. Appalling spectacle! And Leutze was enabled to support the terrible prospect which at the moment flashed in all its horrors on his gaze, only by reliance on another and far higher power than his own. Yet such was the influence of a well guided spirit, that Leutze at length fell into a quiet slumber which remained unbroken till the jarring of his prison door recalled him to himself. 'So soon?' he exclaimed, in a low voice. Yes, Leutze, so soon, though almost too late;' murmured an agitated, but well-known voice. ' Quick! arise, arise! for thou shalt be free ' 'No, Carlovena!' said Leutze, who in the sudden surprise, springing up, had clasped the s s . p ha venturous girl to his arms; 'No, I must die. Fly then; secure thy owA safety, if thou lovest me.' Yes, I do love thee! replied Carlovena.- ' I so love thee that thou shalt fly with me, or I will remain and- die with thee. O, Frederick, yield not such a sacrifice to those fantastic scru- ples of morbid honor, as you term it. Fly with me to that western world, where tyrant and tyr- ranny are known no more. Would I counsel thee to ought ignoble or dishonorable? Freder- ick, wilt thou yield to me?' 'I will, thou noble girl!' exclaimed Freder- ick, slowly; like one from whose soul had been lifted a mountain of oppression. * 'And well must we speed, dearest; I who have received from thee so fair a life; thou, who hast ventured so much in its bestowal.' Once more Leutze breathed the fresh open air, with the fair being whose just uttered w Ads had unfolded to him a new and happier existence. The court was traversed, the walls were passed. Yet a little space, and lights passed to and fro. The alarm of the garrison sprang through the air. But, far off, over the night covered plains, rode the lovers, safe from the despot's clutches, bound to that haven of freedom where love and liberty should welcome and encircle them forever. THE END.