yourself for an encounter, which, I hope, will lose in magnitude, as we advance to the onset."

"I hope so, too, Conrad; but allow me to urge, though perhaps you will say such is out of my character, after placing my business in your hands, yet allow me to urge the advantage of your going home directly, and leaving me to follow, as soon as I am able.”

"Ernest! Ernest!" returned Conrad, laughing," is this your patient subjection to my prescription, to begin by hurrying into the affair without due consideration? You are not aware of the difficulty of manoeuvring successfully on forbidden ground, particularly as I must have an eye to my own affaire de cœur. But, joking apart, I think it would be no bad plan to precede you by a few days, and make a reconnoissance; and I think we will settle it in that way: therefore it will depend on your care of yourself whether I set off soon or not."

"You may rely upon my compliance in that respect, so we may reckon upon a speedy termination to our present uncertainty; and I hope to Heaven my desire for both your and my own happiness may be realised." He offered

L

his hand to his friend as he spoke, who, pressing it warmly, replied,

"Believe me, my good fellow, I echo that wish with as much sincerity as yourself. But I must away now; I will see you again in the evening. Addios!" and, with a smile, the young officer left the apartment.

A fortnight passed away, and with it the dangerous consequences of Ernest's injuries. Conrad saw him gradually improve in health and strength, and then prepared for his return to England, arranging for the former to follow as soon as possible. It was not without anxiety, and commingled feelings of pleasure and pain, that he retrod his native shore. He felt grateful for being permitted, after so many years of danger, to return home, when such thousands, many, doubtless, worthier than himself, many more gifted, more gay, more noble, had sunk on a bed of glory, and lay enshrined in the cold and narrow, but honourable, grave of a soldier who had fought and died for his country. He was on the eve of seeing his promised bride, the girl of his choice, whose love to him far surpassed every other good on earth. He was returning to his home, his friends whom he valued:

all this gave pleasure, ah! what unspeakable pleasure! such only can know, who had, like him, been abroad in the midst of scenes of carnage and peril. Yet even his satisfaction possessed its alloy, for he could not help dreading evil from the displeasure of those very friends; and though still as confident as ever of his innocence, he recollected that he had probably increased it by his profound silence, since their last communication. Agitated by these various sentiments, he reached the metropolis, where he stayed only sufficient time to visit the person who had charge of Charles Taylor. The latter was a fine boy, about eight years of age; and Conrad's heart promised, as he explained to the little fellow the loss they had sustained, and his own relationship, that he should find both the father, brother, and friend in him. For a few days he proposed leaving him in his present situation, until his plans should be more matured, when he assured the child he would not fail to return, and take him to many kind friends, and a sister, who would be very fond of him. The latter promise was more gratifying to the child than any other; for he recollected the little playfellow he had lately lost, and he would

willingly have accompanied his new friend instantly in search of that treasure, But this could not be; and he was obliged to restrain his impatience for some days. Conrad, having fulfilled this duty, threw himself into a night coach, and soon left the smoky city far behind him.

CHAP. IX.

Think'st thou that I could bear to part
With thee, and learn to halve my heart ?
Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,

Where were thy friend — and who my guide?
Years have not seen, Time shall not see
The hour that tears my soul from thee.

BYRON.

FROM time immemorial "the course of true love never did run smooth ;" and both Ernest and Emily found such to be the case. The only person the former had really entertained an affection for, beyond the cursory admiration produced by beauty, or the fascination of elegance,

that only person he was obliged to fly from, in order to avert from her hapless head the fatal storm which threatened to burst with fury around them both, by a longer opposition to the ruling power. Not that he had feared for himself: no! that was a sentiment unknown to him; but he knew Emily was entirely dependent on his uncle, and that her comfort would be ruined by his remaining at the Grove; and thus, to pro