outshines all the splendors of conquest, which wrests a victory even out of the jaws of defeat. Alas, that these momentary impressions should be transient in proportion to their strength! What is this flaw in the human organization that thus makes man the very puppet of a passing thought? Is there but one rudder that can guide the bark upon her voyage, veering as she does with every changing breeze? but one course that shall bring her in safety to the desired haven, when all the false pilots she is so prone to take on board do but run her upon shoals and quicksands, or let her drift aimlessly out seaward through the night? We know where the charts are to be found we know where the rudder can be fitted. Whose fault is it that we cannot bring our cargo safe home to port? The roused deer, alarmed at the tramp of George's charger, sprang hastily from their lair under the stems of the spreading beeches, blanched in the moonlight to a ghastly white. As they coursed along in single file under the horse's nose, he bounded lightly into the air, and with a snort of pleasure rather than alarm broke voluntarily into a canter on the yielding, moss-grown sward. The motion scattered the train of thought in which his rider was plunged, dispelled the charm, and brought him back from his visions to his own practical, resolute self. He glanced once, and once only, at the turrets of the hall, from which a light was still shining, dimly visible at a gap in the fine old avenue; and then with clenched hand head homeward, and galloped steadily on and stern, compressed smile, turned his horse's towards his own quarters in Northampton town. "PAST AND GONE." PERHAPS, had Effingham known in whose | Save for the action of the little foot beneath room was twinkling that light which shone her dress, which tapped the floor at regular out at so late an hour from the towers of the intervals, she might, indeed, have been a old manor-house; could any instinctive fac- statue, with her fixed eye, her curved, defiant ulty have made him aware of the council to lip and dilated nostril expressive of mingled which it was a silent witness; could he have wrath and scorn. guessed at the solemn conclave held by two individuals in that apartment, from which only a closed casement and a quarter of a mile of avenue separated him, even his strong heart would have beat quicker, and a sensation of sickening anxiety would have prevented him from proceeding so resolutely homewards would have kept him lingering and hankering there the live-long night. The solitary light was shining from Grace Allonby's apartment. In that luxurious room were the two ladies, still in full evening costume. One was in a sitting posture, the other, with a pale, stony face, her hair pushed back from her temples, and her lips, usually so red and ripe, of an ashy white, walked irregularly to and fro, clasping her hands together, and twisting the fingers in and out with the unconscious contortions of acute suffering. It was Mary Cave who seemed thus driven to the extremity of apprehension and dismay. All her dignity, all her self-possession had deserted her for the nonce, and left her a trembling, weeping, harassed, and afflicted woman. Grace Allonby, on the other hand, sat in her chair erect and motionless as marble. Brought up as sisters, loving each other with the undemonstrative affection which dependence on one side and protection on the other surely engenders between generous minds, never before had the demon of discord been able to sow the slightest dissension between these two. Now, however, they seemed to have changed natures. Mary was writhing and pleading as for dear life. Grace sat stern and pitiless, her dark eyes flashing fiercely, and her fair brow, usually so smooth and open, lowering with an ominous scowl. For five minutes neither had spoken a syllable, though Mary continued her troubled walk up and down the room. At last, Grace, turning her head haughtily towards her companion, stiffly observed, "You can suggest, then, no other method than this unwomanly and most humiliating course?" "Dear Grace," replied Mary, in accents of imploring eagerness, "it is our last resource. I entreat you think of the interest at stake. Think of him even now, a prisoner on his way to execution. To execution! Great Heaven! they will never spare him now. I can see it all before me-the gallant form walking erect between those Cromwell's confidence, and Cromwell governs stern, triumphant Puritans, the kindly face England now. If he can be prevailed on to blindfolded, that he may not look upon his exert himself, he can save Bosville's life. It death. I can see him standing out from those is much to ask him, I grant you. It may levelled muskets. I can hear his voice firm compromise him with his party, it may give and manly as he defies them all and shouts his enemies the means of depriving him of his his old battle cry- God and the King!' I command, it may ruin the whole future on can see the wreaths of white smoke floating which his great ambitious mind is set. I know away before the breeze, and down upon the him, you see, dear, though he has never greensward, Humphrey Bosville — dead! — thought it worth his while to open his heart do you understand me, girl? dead-stone to me; it might even endanger his safety at a dead! and we shall never, never see him future period, but it must be done, Grace, more!" and you are the person that must tell him to do it." Mary's voice rose to a shriek as she concluded, towering above her companion in all the majesty of her despair; but she could not sustain the horror of the picture she had conjured up, and, sinking into a chair, she covered her face with her hands and shook all over like an aspen leaf. Grace, too, shuddered visibly. It was in a softened tone that she said, "He must be saved, Mary. I am willing to do all that lies in my power. "It is not right," answered Grace, her feminine pride rousing itself once more; "it is not just or fair. What can I give him in exchange for such a favor? How can I, of all the women upon earth, ask him to do this for me?" "And yet, Grace, if you refuse, Humphrey must die!" said Mary, in the quiet tones of despair, but with a writhing lip that could He shall not die for his loy-hardly utter the fatal word. alty if he can be rescued by any one that bears the name of Allonby." Grace was driven from her defences now. Conflicting feelings, reserve, pride, pity, and affection, all were at war in that soft heart, which so few years ago had scarcely known a pang. Like a true woman, she adopted the last unfailing resource, she put herself into a passion and burst into tears. "Bless you, darling, a thousand, thousand times!" exclaimed Mary, seizing her friend's hand and covering it with kisses; "I knew your good, kind heart would triumph at the last. I knew you would never leave him to die without stretching an arm to help him. "Why am I to do all this?" sobbed Grace. Listen, Gracey. There is but one person that" Why are my father, and Lord Vaux, and can interpose with any chance of success on you yourself, Mary, to do nothing, and I alone his behalf- I need not tell you again who to interfere? What especial claim has Humthat person is, Gracey; you used to praise phrey on me? What right have I more than and admire my knowledge of the world, you others over the person of Major Bosville?" used to place the utmost faith in my clear- "Because you love him, Grace," answered sightedness and quickness of perception; I am Mary, and her eye never wavered, her voice not easily deceived, and I tell you George never faltered when she said it. The stony Effingham loves the very ground beneath look had stolen over her face once more, and your feet. Not as men usually love, Grace, the rigidity of the full white arm that peeped with a divided interest, that makes a hawk or through her sleeve showed how tight her hand a hound, a place at court, or a brigade of cav- was clenched, but the woman herself was as alry, too dangerous and successful a rival, but steady as a rock. The other turned her eyes with all the energy of his whole enthusiastic away from the quiet, searching glance that nature, with the reckless devotion that would was reading her heart. fling the world, if he had it, at your feet. He is your slave dear, and I cannot wonder at it. For your lightest whim he would do more, a thousand times more, than this. He has influence with our rulers (it is a bitter drop in the cup, that we must term the Roundhead knaves our rulers at last); above all, he has "And if I did," said poor Grace, in the petulance of her distress, “I should not be the only person. You like him yourself, Mary, you know you do- am I to save him for your sake?” The girl laughed in bitter scorn while she spoke, but tears of shame and contrition rose to her eyes a moment afterwards, as she re- of stone, it quivered and bled like a heart of flesh all the while, but she went on resolutely with a tighter hold of the chair. "I think you and he are admirably suited to each other. I think you would be very happy together. I think, Grace, you like him very much-you cannot deceive me, dear. You have already excited his interest and admiration. Look in your glass, my pretty Grace, and you need not be surprised. Think what will be his feelings when he owes you his life. It requires no prophet to företell how this must end. He will love you, and you shall marry him. Yes, Grace, you can surely trust me. I swear to you from henceforth, I will never so much as speak to him again. You shall not be made uncasy by me of all people—only save his life, Grace, only use every effort, make every sacrifice to him, and I, Mary Cave, that was never foiled or beaten yet, promise you that he shall be yours." It is peculiar to the idiosyncrasy of women that they seem to think they have a perfect right to dispose of a heart that belongs to them, and say to it," You shall be enslaved here, or enraptured there, at our good pleasure.” Would they be more surprised or angry to find themselves taken at their word? Grace listened with a pleased expression of countenance. She believed every syllable her friend told her. It is very easy to believe what we wish. And it was gratifying to think that she had made an impression on the handsome young Cavalier, for whom she could not but own she had once entertained a warm "Listen to me, Grace," she said, speaking every word quite slowly and distinctly, though her very eyebrows quivered with the violence she did her feelings, and she was obliged to grasp the arm of a chair to keep the cold, trembling fingers still. "You are mistaken if you think I have any sentiment of regard for Major Bosville deeper than friendship and esteem. I have long known him, and appreciated his good qualities. You yourself must acknowledge how intimately allied we have all been in the war, and how stanch and faithful he has ever proved himself to the king. Therefore I honor and regard him; therefore I shall always look back to him as a friend, though I should never meet him again; there-feeling of attachment. Like many another fore I would make any exertion, submit to quiet and retiring woman, this consciousness any sacrifice to save his life. But, Grace, I of conquest possessed for Grace a charm dando not love him." She spoke faster and louder gerous and attractive in proportion to its rarity. now. "And, moreover, if you believe he en- The timid are sometimes more aggressive than tertains any such feelings on my behalf, you the bold; and Grace was sufficiently feminine are wrong-I am sure of it-look at the to receive considerable gratification from that case yourself, candidly and impartially. For species of admiration which Mary, who was nearly two years I have never exchanged surfeited with it, thoroughly despised. It was words with him, either by speech or writing the old story between these two: the one was — never seen him but twice, and you yourself courteously accepting as a trifling gift, that were present each time. He may have ad- which constituted the whole worldly possesmired me once. I tell you honestly, dear, I sions of the other. It is hard to offer up our think he did; but he does not care two straws diamonds, and see them valued but as paste. for me now." "There is no time to be lost, Mary," obPoor Mary! it was the hardest gulp of all served Grace, after a few moments' reflection. to keep back the tears at this; not that she "I will make it my business to see General quite thought it herself, but it was so cruel to Effingham before twenty-four hours have be obliged to say it. After all she was a elapsed. If, as you say, he entertains this— woman, and though she tried to have a heart this infatuation about me, it will perhaps make bear! him still more anxious on behalf of his old | Lost, too, by her own deed, of her own friend, to provide for whose safety I should free will. Oh! it was hard, very hard to think he would strain every nerve, even if there were no such person as Grace Allonby in the world. We will save Major Bosville, Mary, whatever happens, if I have to go down on my bended knees to George Effingham. Not that I think such a measure will be needful added Grace, with a smile; "he is very courteous and considerate, notwithstanding his stern brows and haughty manner. Very chivalrous, too, for a Puritan. My father even avows he is a good soldier; and I am sure he is a thorough gentleman. Do you not think so, Mary?" But Mary did not answer. She had gained her point at last. Of course, it was a great comfort to know that she had succeeded in her object. Had the purchase not been worth the price, she would not surely have offered it; and now the price had been accepted, and the ransom was actually paid, there was nothing more to be done. The excitement was over, and the reaction had already commenced. "Bless you, Grace, for your kindness," was all she said. "I am tired now, and will go to bed. To-morrow we will settle every thing. Thank you, dear, again and again." With these words she pressed her cold lips upon her friend's hand; and hiding her face as much as possible from observation, walked quietly and sadly to her room. But she slept, a heavy, sound, and exhausted sleep. So it ever is with great and positive affliction. Happiness will keep us broad awake for hours, to rise with the lark; gladsome, notwithstanding our vigils, as the bird itself, refreshed and invigorated by the sunshine of the soul. 'Tis an unwilling bride that is late astir on her wedding-morn. Anxiety, with all its harassing effects, admits of but feverish and fitful slumbers. The dreaded crisis is never absent from our thoughts; and though the body may be prostrated by weariness, the mind refuses to be lulled to rest. We do not envy the merchant prince his bed of down, especially when he has neglected to insure his argosies; but when the blow has actually fallen, when happiness has spread. her wings and flown away, as it seems, for evermore, when there is no room for anxiety, because the worst has come at last, and hope is but a mockery and a myth, then doth a heavy sleep descend upon us, like a pall upon a coffin, and mercy bids us take our rest for a time, senseless and forgetful like the dead. But there was a bitter drop still to be tasted in the full cup of Mary's sorrows. Even as she laid her down, she dreaded the moment of waking on the morrow; she wished - how wearily!--that she might never wake again, though she knew not then that she would dream that night a golden dream, such as should make the morning's misery almost too heavy to endure. It was an unspeakable relief to be alone, face to face with her great sorrow, but yet alone. To moan aloud in her agony, and speak to herself as though she were some one She dreamed that she was once again at else, and fling herself down on her knees by Falmouth, as of old. She walked by the seathe bedside, burying her head in those white shore, and watched the narrow line of calm arms, and weep her heart out while she poured blue water and the ripple of the shallow wave forth the despairing prayer that she might that stole gently to her feet along the noiseless die, the only prayer of the afflicted that falls sand. The sea-bird's wing shone white against short of the throne of mercy. Once before the summer sky as he turned in his silent in this very room had Mary wrestled gallantly flight; and the hushed breeze scarce lifted with suffering, and been victorious. Was she the folds of her own white dress as she paced weaker now that she was older? Shame! thoughtfully along. It was the dress he liked shame! that the woman should give way to a so much; she had worn it because he was trial which the girl had found strength enough gone, far away beyond those blue waters, with to overcome. Alas! she felt too keenly that the queen, loyal and true as he had ever been. she had then lost an ideal, whereas this time Oh, that he were here now, to walk hand in she had voluntarily surrendered a reality. hand with her along those yellow sands! Even She had never known before all she had as she wished he stood by her; his breath was dared, if not to hope, at least to dream, of the on her cheek; his eyes were looking into hers; future with him that was still possible yester- his arm stole round her waist. She knew not day - and now how, nor why, but she was his, his very own, and for always, now. "At last," she said, Yet when she woke, she did not waver in her resolution. Though Mary Cave looked ten years older than she had done but twenty-four hours before, she said to her own heart, "I have decided: it shall be done!" CHAPTER XXXV. 1 THE LANDING NET." er. Crafty, callous, opinionated, above all, steeped in practical as well as theoretical wisdom. Yet, when it came to a trial of wits, the veriest chit of a silly waiting-maid could turn him round her finger at will. We have heard it asserted by sundry idolaters, that even "the worst woman is better than the best man.” On the truth of this axiom we would not venture to pronounce. Flattering as is our opinion of the gentle sex, FAITH had excited Dymocke's jealousy. This was a great point gained; perhaps with the intuitive knowledge of man's weaknesses, possessed by the shallowest and most superficial of her sex, she had perceived that some decisive measure was required to land her fish at last. Though he had gorged the bait greedily enough, though the hook was fairly fixed in a vital spot, and nothing remainedto continue our metaphor - but to brandish the landing-net, and subsequent frying-pan, we should be sorry to calculate the amount of the prize lurked stolidly in deep waters. This evil which it would require to constitute the state of apathy in the finny tribe is termed worst of those fascinating natures which are "sulking" by the disciples of Izaak Walton; so prone to run into extremes; but of this we and the great authorities who have succeeded are sure, that the silliest woman in all matters that colloquial philosopher, in treating of the of finesse and subtlety is a match, and more gentle art, recommend that stones should be than a match for the wisest of mankind. Here thrown, and other offensive measures prac- was Faith, for instance, who, with the exceptised, in order to bring the fish once more to tion of her journey to Oxford, had never been the surface. a dozen miles from her own home, outwitting and out-manœuvring a veteran toughened by ever so many campaigns, and sharpened by five and twenty years' practice in all the stratagems of love and war. Let us see to what description of stonethrowing Faith resorted to secure the prey, for which, to do her justice, she had long been angling with much craft, skill, and untiring patience. Dymocke, we need hardly now observe, was an individual who entertained no mean and derogatory opinion of his own merits or his own charms. An essential article of his belief had always been that there was at least one bachelor left, who was an extraordinarily eligible investment for any of the weaker sex below the rank of a lady; and that bachelor bore the name 66 Hugh Dymocke." With such a creed, it was no easy matter to bring to book our far-sighted philosopher. His good opinion of himself made it useless to practise on him the usual arts of coldness, contempt, and what is vulgarly termed "snubbing." Even jealousy, that last and usually efficacious remedy, was not easily aroused in so self-satisfied a mind; and as for hysterics, scenes, reproaches, and appeals to the passions, all such recoiled from his experienced nature, like hailstones from an armor of proof. He was a difficult subject, this wary old troop After revolving in her own mind the dif ferent methods by which it would be advisable to hasten a catastrophe that should terminate in her own espousals to her victim, the little woman resolved on jealousy as the most prompt, the most efficacious, and perhaps the most merciful in the end. Now, a man always goes to work in the most blundering manner possible when he so far forgets his own honest, doglike nature, as to play such tricks as these. He invariably selects some one who is diametrically the opposite of the real object of attack, and proceeds to open the war with such haste and energy as are perfectly unnatural in themselves, and utterly transparent to the laughing bystanders. When he thinks he is getting on most swimmingly, the world sneers; the fictitious object, who has, indeed, no cause to be flattered, despises; and the real one, firmer in the saddle than ever, laughs at him. It serves him right, for |