Chapter 1265050

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Chapter NumberI - VI
Chapter Title
Chapter Urlhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1265050
Full Date1866-04-02
Page Number4
Corrections2
Word Count8281
IllustratedN
Last Corrected2018-03-08
Newspaper TitleThe Brisbane Courier (Qld. : 1864 - 1933)
Trove TitleTurned to the Wall
article text

TURNED TO THE WALL.

Chapter I

THE SMITHY.

Cling, clang ! cling, clang ! 'Tis a winter s night, in the month of January, well-nigh half a century ago, in a central county of merry England. Out upon the still, sharp, frosty air rings the beat of the smith's hammer, chiming pleasant music that shapes itself into song, as it did in the days of our first George to the ear of Handel, when he fixed the sound into a melody and made them immortal. Out, too, upon the blackness of the dark, cold sky, flashes the ruddy glow of sparkling light through the open win- dow of the smithy, flooding into the night in a sharply-defined stream, with its banks of gloom bounding it at either side-one of thoso pictures which old masters loved to paint for the con- trasts of light and shade. How gratefully comes

the sense of warmth and comfort from within to him who stands outside in the chilly air ! some belated villager making his way homewards ; some wanderer that knows not where to rest, and hails the friendly blaze where he may find heat and shelter. One such stands there now, and gazes upon the bright interior. There is but one person within-a tall, large boned, ath- letic man ; his coat is off, and his shirt-sleeves,

tucked up to the shoulders, display the toil developed muscles of his hairy arms. The roar from the nozzle of his bellows has just subsided, and the smith, hammer in one hand and tongs in the other, plucks from the fire a bar of red- hot iron, lays it on the anvil, and down comes the heavy hammer, making the sparks fly all around him. Cling, clang ! cling, clang ! and the merry sounds ring out like a hymn of labor. And a nobler subject for a hymn to God never warmed an English heart ! There are the two genii of the lamp of England's glory - grim, and swart, and hard, yet submissive and pliant to the hand of toil-Iron and Coal. Men of England, let us bless God who gave us -not tho olive and the vine of Southern Europe, nor the diamonds of Golconda, nor the pearls of Arabia, nor the gold-fields of Australia ; but the ironstone and the coal-field-precious gifts, by which the brain of Science and the hand of Art have wrought out a notion's wealth and

power.

The man paused at last, thrust the bar into the trough, where it hissed and sent up a white steam, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. At this moment the spectator outside opened the door of the smithy. Beforo he could enter, the smith's voice assailed him- " Hallo ! Dickon, where hast been this hour back ? Plague on thee for an idle varlet ; I'll be sworn thee'st been at every ale-house between this and the market-cross. I'm half-minded to

give thee a taste of something stronger than-"

The smith stopped short in his threat as the light fell on the face of the stranger.

" Faith, I thought you were my 'prentice, Dickon Grimes. I sent the fellow, an hour since, for steel, into the village hard by, and I suppose he's been drinking. But you aint Dickon, I see."

"No, I'm not."

" So much the better for you. Who are you ? What do you want ?"

"I want a guide to the village."

" Well, I can't leave my work just now ; but if you wait till I finish this job for the squire, I'll put you on your road. I shouldn't be long if I had any one to help me. Can you handle a sledge ?"

" I don't know-I'll try."

The stranger took off his coat, turned up his shirt-sleeves, and prepared for work. He was a young man in the early prime of life, well-built and light,- but the white,' though nervous, arm

did not tell of much hard labor. The smith blew up the'fire, and in a few moments another heated bar was on the anvil, and so the two went heartily to work.

"You'll do well enough," said the smith, as they stopped, flinging the bar into the trough. " Where do you come from ?"

" From a long way off."

" You'll be a Cornishman by your voice." "No, I'm from the North-country." " Yorkshire, belike ?"

" No ; up near the borders." "Where are you going'?"

" To the village, if you'll show me the way." The smith was no fool, but he saw he had met his match. So he gave it up, and replied —

" Well, when these two bara ODO put in tho gate, my work will be doue. Como, lond mc a hand oneo more, and then I'm at youi^sorvico.

"Now, good fellow," said the smith, when they had finished, " put on your coat, und como with me into the houso. Tho good wifu will have something comfortable, I'll warrant you."

" With ull my heart !" was the response.

The smith led the -way across a little plat of grass, fonced hi with paling, to the door of a snug cottage, and they entered. A smart little matron stood by the fire, cooking, und turned round to give her husbund a smiling welcome.

" Doll, my lass, hero's u new 'prentice. Dick- on has turned gentleman, and gone oil' lo get drunk. Sit down, sit down, my lad!"

Little Dorothy Meadowcs looked up at the new-comer, and she saw with the tail of her oye that he wasn't just stuff that blacksmiths uro made of, and then she smiled and blushed like a little coquette, as she was, and bid him wel-

come

And so they sat down to supper. t The smith . fell upon his trencher manfully-'twas a labor

of love. The stranger ale more sparingly ; and whon the host, after a hearty pull at the tank- ard, pushed it to his guest, the latter turned to his hostess and said, " Fair Mistress Dorothy, I drink to your health and our better acquaint- ance." .Whereat Dorothy smiled and bluBhcd again, and John Mcadowes broke out into a roar, thinkiBg, good soul, that he had hoaxed his wife about the now 'prentice ; but he hadn't though. After a little tho man grew thought- ful, and seeming to forget i>hore ho was, began to hum slowly a sweet wild air. The woman looked keenly at him, and then said to her husband, " John, you were late at work to-night ; something moro will do you no harm ¡ but you must go abd draw it for yourself, for you know I'm a little weakly just now."

The big smith' looked at his little wife 'tenderly, and went out of tho room. As ho re- turned,'he saw Dorothy withdrawing her hand from the stranger's, who was speaking to hor in a low, earnest voico.

"Hollo!-I soy! Hands oft' there, my fino fellow-that's work I want nobody to help mo with. It seems to como easier to you than sledgiug iron."

"Nay, nay, John!" euid little Dorothy. " What !? jealous because a young man is civil to your wife ! " mid she ran over und took tho two dark, horny hands of her husbaud iu her own, and looked up with a long, clear, innocent gaze into his eyes, till the gloom lied out of

them.

" Well, well, get theo away, lass ! I suppose it's only his North-couutry manners.

" And now, friend, I'm ready for the road."

"But mind you don't go into the "Blue Boar,' John. Promise mo."

"WoU, I promise theo, Doll-there's my pledge 1" and the smith kissed the red lips of

little wife."

The two men went out into the dark night, and left little Dorothy Meadowes alone. When the.door was closed, she sat down, put her head between her himds, mid lind a hearty fit of nrying.

, 1KB "BLUE KOAH," BBOKEMIOlI.

IF you were let down from a balloon upon tho green of Brokeloigh, you would know at u glaneo that you wero in an English village. Warm brick houses, with their rod-tiled roofs and trim gardens in front, surrounded three sides of the neat, grassy plot of some two acres, enclosed with wooden palings painted white ; the fourth side was open to the river, near tho bank of which rose a long, high mass of stone building perforated with innumerable windows.- un- mistakably English was this busy hive of human labor-a cotton mill. But if you coidd havo any doubt of your -n hereabouts, turn to your right, and walk along the village street till* you come to the cross, and look about you. There *1s>the market-house, a heavy, unsightly, square ' building, of dark stone. A colonnade of pillars

support circular arches all around, giving

i entranco to tho grouud floor, whore a market was hold weekly, aud sustaiuiug the upper storey, whioh diechargod, m . turn, the, duties of a town hall, a court of justice, and an,assembly room. A low, squaro tower rose from tho ceutro of the roof, surmounted by a vone in tho simili- tude of a cook, of so conservative and unbending a disposition, that ho scorned to bo influenced by. any atmospheric ohangos, and didn't euroa beau what way tho wind blow-tho parish church, and the parish stocks, ? and tho thoroughly English inn complotod the pioturo.

The morning sun was shining redly through tho frosty fog, as Dorothy Meadowos walked at the top of hor speod across tho common. On sho pressed to the town, and up the high street, till sho carno to tho market-cross, and stood op- posite the " Bluo Boar." From a polo * that projected out of tho wooden balcony of that ancient fabric, swung a squaro sign-board whereon was depicted tho animal that gavo its to tho principal inn of Brokoloigh. That ram- pant, and grisly boast had been standing- no- body kuows for how many generations-on his hind legs, defiant aliko of tho laws of gravity and the euduronco of muscio, with golden tusks, bright cobalt body, and bristling mano ¡ and round his neck a golden chain that trailed away in all manner of impossible curves to tho ground. In passed little Dorothy, heedless of the grim old porker over hor hoad, stealthily, as if to avoid observation. This was not to'bo: a choery voico from tho bar saluted her.

" Good morning, Mrs. Moadowcs ¡ you aint going to pass an old friend without a word with him, suro ? 'Tis au ago sinco I saw you, aud you look as blooming as over."

Dorothy turno I round to where burloy Abel Dobbs sat, framed and glazed, within tho

bar.

" Ah, Mi-, Dobbs, good morning. I didn't oxpoot t o soo you so early j and how is your

missus ? "

Abel mudo a wry face. " Oh lively ; scrub- bing and washing, and turning the house inside out. Wo shall havo a plaguy stirring life of it, I'm thinking."

" Well, I'll just run in and see her."

" Aye, do, and bo sure to tell John to look in to-morron. I want a wbrd with him."

Dorothy tripped into the houso, but she did not go down tho passago that led to tho kitchen. No j she hurried up-stairs, ran along tho corridor, and knocked softly at tho door of "the Angel." 'Twas quickly opened by tho occupant of the room. In glided Dorothy, and

tho door was closod behind her. Ah little

Dorothy, what a sad little lass for gossiping you are !

Notmany minutes after,tho "Angol" began to pull his bell violently, and Mrs. Dobbs, whe chanced to be in tho noxt room putting things in order, doclared afterwards, that sho heard suppressed sobbiug, aud that -when sho ran to the door she found it bolted insido. The occupant of the room came to the door and asked for a glass of brandy-and-wator : a hand was put out to receive it, and the door was shut again. In about "half-an-hour afterwards Dorothy Meadowos slipt out quietly, and went down-staii-3, and thon she hurried past the bar and into the street. It was fortunato for hor thot Abel Dobbs had gono out to have a talk with u neighbor, else ho would surely have seen that littlo Dorothy's faco was flushed with agitation, and hor oyes red with ' weeping. Dorothy did not turn homewards, but sho went through ono of tho arches of the markot-house, and under the conservative cook, and right through, out at tho door side, up the road that led to the vicarnge, and slipt in through tho back-door of the house. What brought hor to the vioarago ? Was it to gossip with old Mrs. White, the housekeepor ? May bo so ; for Mrs. White was a great gossip, and loved dearly a long talk about everybody's business. If that was Dolly's oeoupation, they must have dis cussod tho affairs of the whole country side, for a good hour had passed before she shook hands with the old lady at the door, and at last turned her steps homewards. Then Dolly slipt quietly into the pretty cottago, whore wo found her at first, divestod herself of her cloak and bonnet, and was soon busily occupied pro paring the noon-day meal for hov husband. Ah ! truo hearted John Moadowcs ! you and your rakish 'prentice, Dickon Grimes, havo beon blowing and sledging away sinco breakfast, not dreaming that littlo Dolly has been all tho morn- ing gadding and gossiping through tho villugo

i\ith-no ono knows who.

OïAfTIÏ III.

TUE HAIiL.

'Tis midday, clear, bright, aud frosty-for the mist has rolled away, and tho sun is shining from a cloudless sky-as a man iwilks through tho groen of Brokeleigh, and down to the rivor sido. He orosses tho steep old bridge i he does not take the highway to the right or left, but goes straight forward to tho great antiquo ontranco to Brokolcigh Hall. A heavy iron gate stands belwoeu two massive square piers, of rusticated masonry, vormieulated and weather stained, each surmounted by a boar, the cogni- sance of the De Brokeleighs.

A ring at the wicket summons tho gate- keeper's wife, who, with a ourtsey, admits the visitor. A cheery greeting, a kind word of inquiry for the good man and tho ohildren, and he paseos on up tho broad, straight avenue of

noble chesnut trees. A fow words will make

you acquainted with the man, so that you shall know the Vicar of Brokeleigh boforo ho reaches

tho hall.

You see a tall, thin, sinowy man, under thirty years of age, with a face palo and emuciuted, a forehead high and white-all the whiter for tho iiiassos of raven hair that iall on either sido-and the black, piercing eyes that glitter from beneath his bushy eyebrows. His faco, when in repose, has an air of sternness, almost of acoticism ; but when ho speaks, a rich musical voice, and, at tiincB, a smile of peculiar sweetness playing about his Ups, tell of a noble

and benevolent nature. Newton Eerbort took a double first at Oxford, and was a follow of his college ; the family borough WOB at his com- mand, und his friends looked upon him as ono who would yet take a prominent place among the statesmen of his day. But he sud- denly changed his mind, took holy orders, and, declining a metropolitan choploinoy, accepted the offer of his father's old friond, and buried himself amongst tho primitive folks of the remote parish of Brokoloigh. THO years of earnest, manful labor had wrought wonders in the parish. Vico and immorality ho assailed with unsparing vigor. In tho pulpit ho de- nounced tho sin with a power so pointed, that the sinner, though unnamed, was conscious ho was meunt, and trombled at the thought of tho visit, wTiich lie well knew the vicar would pay him ne^t day, and the reproof, sharp and severe, which ho would administer. With tho penitent ho «us gentle and consoling, and at tho bed-side of tho 'reformed proiligato he soothed the departing soul, that he had first ii« akoned to a eonse of guilt by his stern de- nunciations, and then softened by tho offers of morey und pardon. And so Nowton, Herbert waB feared, loved, and honored by all.

And now ho has passed by the stono steps that lod to tho torraco, from which the old hall rises with arched doorway- und mullioncd window, and turret and gable, and steep roof ; and in another moment ho is seated in the

library, awaiting tho appearance of the master

of the house.

A mau of about fifty years of ago enters. Ho is abovo tlio middle height, strong built, and inclining to Btoulness, willi ft face somowlmt florid, that tells of exposure to wind and weather. His bearing is frank and manly ; but you soon detect an air of something that looks liko pride, und au oxpi-CBsion cf flrmnoss amounting ulmoat to obstinacy, with non and then a shade of sadness passing over his foaturcs. This is Roger do Brokeleigh, of Brokeleigh Hall, with Norman blood in his veins, whose lounlain-head is to bo sought for in the fields of Cressy mid Agincourt Brokeleigh of Brokeleigh, as ho is called by his acquaintances, and better known as " tho squiro" in tho neighborhood for miles round. A fine specimen in his way of tho old English country gentleman (whoBo characteristic peculiarities wore even thon dying out before tho equalising influence of increasing knowledge) ; full of class prejudices, proud of his lineage, and somewhat exacting of the respect due to it) standing

stoutly by , his order ; hospitable, generous, loving, and kindTo^his tenantry, whoso rights ho 'will suffer* no ^ôûo to invado ¡ but" whose voles at vestry or hustings ho considors his own property, resisting the progress of domoorutie power and the innovations of popular institu- tions j bolioving iú haudlooms and spinning wheols, and hating mills and maohinory.

Herbort is gazing thoughtfully upon the firo in tho antique grate as tho squire ontors, and, coming up to him, cordially oxtonds'his hand.

"Delighted to seo you, myt dear florbort. Anything new in theso days of novelties ? Havo tho slaters repairod tho roof of tho vicarago for you, as I direetod ?" ' .

* " Not yet, sir. Thoy are all employed atpro-,

Bent at Mr. Plant's sow sohool-houso. I can wait very well, as-long as this Ano woathor

lasts." *

" Wait I Why should my work wait on Mr. Plant's ? Bosidos, I do not seo what need there is for a new sohool-houso at Brokoloigh ? Is not mino well managed ? I novor heard of any com pluint."

" Excellently managed ; but tho population has lately increased u good deal."

"Ay, and whose fault isthat? Doosn't itali como of that fellow, Plant, and his new-fangled mill, bringing vagrants from tho country round

to work at it ?"

" Not vagrants, Mi-. Do Brokeleigh, but hard- working men and .women with their familios.

Mr. Plant is nu honest, intelligent, onorgetio, man, that doos much good. Ho gives the people a great doal of employment, and fair wages."

" Ay, and works thom from morning to night in oloso, imwholesomo rooms. Look al the littlo 'factory children's faces and hands, white and thin from toil and confinement-poor things ! Thoy ought to bo rod and chubby at

out-door work in the Holds."

" I havo Bpbkonto Mr. Plant on these matters, and suggested an improved mode of ventilating tho rooms, and asked bim to shorton the time of the children's labor, and I must say he readily and ohoerfully adopted my views. 'Twos his own proposal to build tho school-houso. He said to mo, in his own blunt, business-like way, ' If I get so much out of the littlo ones' bodies, it is only fuir that I should put something,into their minds, and so inako the debit and credit sides of my books balanco.' Twas a sentiment worthy of an honost English omployor."

" Well, well, we'll soo. I supposo it is for tho good of the people's health he has built this big chimney that is to fill the air.with soot and smoko ?"

'Tis for his own good, sir. The river, though flooded in winter, is too low in summet' to work his now maohinory,"

" May bo so"but I shall seo whether his good or the good of Brokeleigh is to bo prefored. I shall try and provent it as a nuisance."

" Tako my advico, sir, and do no such thing. Depend upon it, wo cannot, and wo ought not if we could, resist tho spirit of enterpnso and improvement that is making our pooplo prosper- ous and groat."

" Pardon mo, Mr. Herbort, I must decline to take your advieo in matters wlioro my own rights aro concorned. I shall cortainly try to resist this tliit you aro pleased to call an improve- ment. Why, sir, I shan't bo Bafo from the aunoyanco, oven up hero. Come into my room, and look at it, and judge for yourself."

Tho squiro openod a door ut the far end of tho library, aud crossing a retirod corridor, led tho vicar into an apartment at tho othor sido of tho

house.

OïïiPIEIl IV. TICE SCJUIIIE'S noon.

THE room into which the vicar and his host ontered was known from time immemorial as

" The squiro's room." It was an apartment of modorate Bize, panelled in oak to tho coiling, and decidedly what may bo called snug. In this the lords of the Manor of Brokeleigh had for generations ensconced themselves as their sanctum. Except tho servants to arrange tho room, and the steward occasionally to sottlo his accounts, . or receive his master's directions, fow persons had access into thiB apartment ; indeed,'

Herbert now ontorod it for tho first timo. Ho and the squire went to tho window, whoro thoy had a full view of tho obnoxious chimney, and disoussod ita merits aud domerits, both iu a utilitarian and sanitary point of view. Betweon mon who, on many questions of tho day, onlertainod sentiments widely differing, and each likely to take deoidod views, it wasnot very probablo that tho discussion would make a convort of oithor to tho opinions of tho other. At length, Horbcrt turned away with a sigh and glancod at somo oflho pictures on tho wall: a portrait of a young mun iu rogimonlals attracted his attention, mid ho slipped over to

oxtuniuo it.

" Ah, ) ou aro looking at Reginald's picture," said the squire. " I hud a lottor from him lately from India ; he is daily in expectation of his majority."

" I um glad to hear ii, sir. Tho prosperity of a child is always a happiness to a fathor's hoart. Children aro a great blessing."

" No doubt, and sometimes a great care," replied the Bquiro, with a sigh. " Thoro ÍB Charley's portrait beyond. To-day, you know, ho is of ago, and ho is coming homo to eclebruto his birthday. I expect him in the uftornoon ; wo shall have a litio foto to greot him."

" So I understand. And what's this, sir ?"

As bo asked tho question, Herbort stood oppo sito a picturo-fruiuo that was placod botwoon tho two others, but tho face of the picture was turned

to the wall.

" Ha ! a woman !" he exclaimed, as ho rovorsod the frame : " and a lovely one too."

The Bquire sprang forward, and thrust Herbert violently some paces back.

"Sir-sir, prosumption is intolerable! By what right do you dare to interfere with the arrangements of my houso-to pry into my

secrots ?"

Herbert drow himself up to his full height, IIÍB pale faco flushod for a momont under tho senso of an indiguity ¡ but it was only for a moment, the flush passed away, and left him palo and calm as before Then he gazed upon Do Brokolnigh sadly, almost sternly, as ho ropliod, M ith quiet solomnity, " By tho right, sir, which I derive

from Him whoso commission I bear-of Him

from whom no seorots aro hid. By that right do

I seok to look into the secret which liko an ulcer is

outing into your life, that I may, with His bles- sing, cleanse and houl it." And then tho swoot smUo' played about his mouth as ho added, in the tendorcst accents of gcntloncss and affectionate respoct, " By the right, too, of ono who loves you as a son loves a father-who lovos you so faith- fully thal ho braves youraugor lo do you a service, as ho would lay donn lim lifo to save yours. Oldest and best friend ofmv doar father, opon your hoart to mo, as you would to him, I ontroat you."

The squire sank dowu in a seat, and buried his face in his hands. Thoro was a silence of many minutes. A conflict of passions wus raging with- in him moro fierce'than if it liad exploded in audible demonstrations. 'Tis over, and the bolter nature ol'the mau prevails.

" Herbert, you havo for two years past been a loviug son to me, while the sons that I love woro forced to bo ubsont, and left mo childless. Yes,' I will tell you the secret which I had meant to tako down with me to the gravo. Sit down and hcor

mc." '

CnArTEit V.

inn SQumE's STOUT.

" You say truly, Hoi-bort : sho was a lovely woman ; lovelier oven than sho looks in that picture. When my wifo . diodj many v years ugo, she -loft mc thrco children-two sons, as you know, and a daughter-tho girl whoso portrait you liavo just beon look- ing 'at. Tho love I bore my dear Alice would havo gouo down into the gravo nith hor, but that her little pot, Lucy, was left -so like, yet so unlike, her mother, to sport about mo and keep the love for woman from dying out altogotlicr from my heart. To the love for tho pretty child was added, as sho grow up, tho pride in the lovely girl- ripening hito

womanhood. I know well that, with tho ad- vantages of birth and fortuno which she pos- sessed, I had but to chooso amongst tho best blood of the land for her husband. Woll, from'timo to time sho went up'to London to a relative, a widow lady, both to avail -herself of the best masters, and to enjoy the society of the

metropolis. JTpon hor last return home, now more than throe y eora-ago, I'told* her' ono ovoning-we wero alone, for ray sons wore both.' from home, Reginald .«with' his rogiment, and Oharlos at collogo-that I had i selected an eligible suitor, whom I named, for her hand, and expressed my dcsiro that sho should, iu a fow days, prepare to receivo hie - addresses. Judge of my astonishment when sho declarod to mo that it was impossible sho could do so. I asked with somo "impationco how she _,cpuld speak thus : had I not ohosen, a mon in"every way "worthy of hor?,' She "admitted ho was un objcotiqnablo, but--.. ' But what? ' I asked,

with'displeasure. Her only reply for a timo was tears. At last I grow ongry : I ohargod her with.disobedionoo, I reminded nor of her duty to her parent, that I expected implicit obedienco, and that I should bo obeyed. . Then tho girl dushod away hor tears, and drawing herself up proudly-'twus tho first time I had over seen her show au unruly spirit-anawored, ' I will oboy you in all things in which you havo a right to require obodieneo, but in this I am not bound to oboy-I cannot oboy-I love another.' Indignation and amazeinont kept mo for a moment tonguo-tiod.- ' Love another 1' I oxclaimcd. ' Child,-you daro not, and with- out my knowledge.' ' Alas ! ' said she, ' almost without my own.' Then I learned tho humiliating story. A young man,' a painter from whom she had taken loBsons, somo penniless follow, who, for ought I know, or cared to know, had not a drop of good blood hi his voins, dared to win her affections, and disclosed his love at thoir last interview, and and-I blush to ownit, roeeivod the assurance of hers iu return."

Do Brokeleigh hung down ,his head and was silent : tho avowal of the indignity oppressed bim with shaino. Herbort turned away his faco. < Ho would not wituess tho proud man's emotion, but he dared not express a sympathy with a feoling of whioh ho did not approve, and so ho did not speak. At length his host rosumod his narrativo. *

" When my anger had subsided sufficiently to enable ma to reason with a rebellious child, I plaaed before hor tho maduoss and the folly of her conduct. I told her that sho had mistaken a childish and idle fancy for a pormanent and abiding love. I tviod to rouse her pride and self-respect by suggesting that she had suffered herself to bs ontrapped by the addresses of an advontuvor, who sought hor for hor position and expected fortune. But I could not move her, excopt to a pasBionato donial of the motives I attributed to hor lover. I appoolod to her feelings, as I reminded hor of my tendornoss and love to her from the hour of hor birth ¡ and I asked her, could sho bo so heartless and un- grateful as to re-pay that lovo by dishonoring our name, degrading mo in tho oyes of tho world, and making my lifo misorablo? Ali 1, thon, indoed, sho broke down. Weeping and trembling, ^she sank on a low stool at my foot, and hid her faco in hor hands as sho sobbod long and bitterly. At last, she raised hor face, and said (ho« well I remembor every «-ord, as if it wore but yostorday !)- ,

'_' ' Oh, it is hard-vory hard 1 Givo mo bul time, dear father, and,I will try to-to-crush out my lovo from my heart ; and if I cannot do so,- and that you will not relent, then I will try to crush mytboarfc too, and livo only for you. But givo mo time for tho struggle, a fe«' months oven. Dear, doar father ! you don't know how vory dearly I love you-how muoh I am ready to

sacrifice to that love."

" Tho girl's griof and affootion for a moment

ovoroamo mo.

" ' I will give you timo, Lucy,' I said. ' Pro- mise mo that at tho ond of a month, you will receivo Stopheu Cooto asa suitor; "and, till then, I will no t ask you to soo bim. By that time, I havo no doubt that your good sonso and your 'lovo for mo will havo onablod you to comply with my wishes, wid lo accopt a man «.horn youkno«- and esteem.'

" Lucy stood up and looked straight at mo for a moment, without speaking. Then she said, sadly and slowly, but firmly

" ' Father, I cannot givo you that promise. It would bo un«-orthy of mo and unjust to Cooto. I do estoom him, ns you say, and I know how truthful and noblo a naturo ho has. Wore I to

toll him I havo no heart to givo him, ho would not accopfrmy hand. And, oh, father! could your daughter bo so base as to deceivo ono so truthful and noblo by concoaling tho state of ray affections from lura, and becoming his wife when I liad no love to give him ?'

" ' Obstinate, foolish, .disobediont ohild ! ' I cried, in returning displeasure. « You rojootmy kindness, you abuso my loro. Bo it so. I will savo you from yourself. Boforo the month is past, you shall bo Stephen Cooto's wifo. Your prido «-ill prevent you making to him the humiliating disclosure you havo made to me ; and even were you to mako it, ho has too much sonso to mind so silly a fancy.'

" Why should I dwell longer upon the painful scene that passod between us ? To my anger, my commands, my threats, she opposed a strong and obstinate, resistauco, till at last I vowed in my displeasure that I would force obodieneo by my authority, Binoe I had failed to win it by my lovo j and so wo parted for the night. Next day, Lucy did not mako her op pearuueo ; hoi- maid, who was her foster-sistor, brought mo a message from her mistress, begging to be excused from coming down, on the plea of indisposition, BO I was left to myself through tho day to ineditato upon this obstacle that had suddenly arisen betwoon mo and my long-ohoi'ishcd hopes. A sleoploss night did not help to calm my irritation. And BO tho more I thought over the Bceno of the evening bofore, the moro indignant I felt, and the more de- termined I. was to carry my point. The day passod over without our meeting, but late in the ovoning Lucy ontorod the room where I was sitting-this veryroom-looking, oh, so pale and wretched ! and flinging herself at my foet bosought mo to hear her. My heart yearned to take her to it-for it is a hard thiug, Herbert-to drivo tho lovo for a child out of afathpr'sheart, but I crushed down my emotion as a guilty weakness, and ailBWored coldly, that I would hear nothing but her submission. Then she rose slo«'ly and said, .

" 'Father, I cannot j anything .but this! '

" ' This,' I replied, ' or nothing. In three days my'friend comes hore as your suitor. Whou you are prepared to oboy mo, I shall seo you again ; till then wo part.'

"And waving hor from me, I rose.

" Two days more passed overland still Luoy gavo no signs of submitting to my «ill. I leai'iiod from hor maid that sho was very fovorish, and had spent a rostless night, and tho girl 'said that Bhe had requested our family dootor to call in and soo her. Tho day woro on as the rest, and I occupied myself a good deal out of doors.1 1 sat up unusually late that night looking over some papers, and had just risen to retire, when I was startlod -with the report 0f

fire-arms at the far side of the houso. I throw up ono of the windows of tho room, stoppod out on the terrace, and hurried round to tho placo from which the sound carno. Thero I saw a dark object lying on the ground at a littlo distance from the -house, and a man with a gun in his baud standing over it. I called out to him and ho answered, and then I re- cognised one of my gamokeopcrs; the dark object 'was'a man weltering in his blood. Wo raised him ¡ ho was quite dead. I saw at onoe how it «-us : tho gamekeepor had, as I directed him, boon on tho watch for somo timo past to catoh tho poachers that wore "destroying my presorvos. Passing near the house, as ho told me, ho saw a figure moving ' stealthily along. Ho challenged him, whon the man began to run away; the keeper called upon him to stop and, surrender, but in vain, aud ho then pursued and ovortook him ¡ a struggle ensued, and tho keeper fired in his own defence By this time some of the servants, who had also heard tho shot joined us. I had tho corpse brought into an out-house, which I locked till tho morning, whon an inquest was boldon. The gamekeeper doposed to tho facts that I have montionod, and the jurv found that ho had aoted in the disoharge of Ins duty and in self defonco. No one identified tho body, and I gave orders for its interment. Ae I sat down to breakfast, Luoy's maid rushod wildly into tho room, crying. As soon as she was able to speak, sho told me that when she went to _ior mistress's room, for the first time that morning, only a few minutes < before,, she; fpuudthat the

bed hod Shot been oooupiod, and that her mistress ,'was nowhoro^ip Tie found. ' I desired tho girl to koep silont, and then repaired to the room. 'Aa I drow back the curtain of the bod, a sealed note upon the pillow caught my eye. "I thrust" it into my pookot, -wont toT my bed chambor, and, tearing it open, the mystery was solved: tho wretched girl had fled with her lover, and that lover was-the" horriblë^èonvio

tion flashed in a moráoñt 'across my mind-the corpse that lay outside, for ho had not the ap- pearance of a pottchor. I sank 'down upon a chair, as if strickon by a thunderbolt, and it was somo time boforo I could reeovov myself so as to think calmly upon what was to be done. The first thing I felt should bo done was to make searoh for my ohild. I hurried out to givo orders for that purpose, whon one of the farm servants mo with a sha«l in his hand. It was dripping wet, and ho stated ho had drawn ii, out of the rivor, about a mile below tho bridge, where he saw it floating down the stream. I recognised it instantly as being Luoy's, and though ready to sink, I mastered mysolf by a strong effort, that I might not betray my

omotion before tho man. '

" Herbort, Herbert !' I cannot proceed with tho details of this dreadful calamity. All search was fruitloss, and I felt that the un- happy girl, who had, no doubt, left the houso with her lovor, had flod away when he was shot, and had cither thrown herself in despair, or had' fallen acoidontally, into the river, then swollen with tho winter floods, and was swept a« ay to the sea. Tho story that woñt abroad to which the account of the dootor and the

maid gave some plausibility-was, thut Miss Do Brokeleigh hud beon seized with brain fever, and, in a moment of delirium, had escaped from hor room and wandered to the river, where she had fallen in and was drowned. Now, Herbert, you havo my secret."

It «-as a long time before the silence that followed this Bad revelation was broken. At

length Herbert roso, and approaching his host, took his hand respectfully, and said

"Sir, I feel for you profoundly. If you have orrod, God has heavily punished you for

that error. Even from this tako comfort.

May I speak freely, as God's minister and as your friend ?"

Tlio squire drew away his hand quickly, as if Eaincd by Herbert's words. Thon recovering

is composure, he said, with somewhat of'IIÍB wonted spirit

" Speak, Mr. Herbert ; I am sure that in neither character will you forgot what is due to yourself or to me."

" When I said that you erred," proceeded Herbert, " I felt how sorely you wore tried. God, who has punished your sin, will doubtless remeinhor how muoh you wore tried-how much you loved. But tho past is irrevocable-we look to it but to warn us for tho future j and so I bid you take comfort. Whonyouaud thedaughtor you lovod and lost shall meet horeafter as, in the greatness of God's meroy I confidently believe you shall-she will know and confess that sho was not blameless, «hilo you will admit that you taxed her obedience beyond a father's right."

" It may bo that I did. But did she not des- troy all ray long-cherished hopes ? Did BIIO not count my lovo as nothing, compared with the light fanoy of an hour ?"

" Yes ! and heavily BIIO had suffered for

it."

Thoro was a long pause.

" Dear and honoured friend," resumed tho vicar, " I know you fcol tho truth of what I havo said in tho discharge of my duty. Lot mo now solemnly put this test to your heart and conscionco. If it wero possible that the grave could yield up that lost ohild, and givo hor to you again, would you not tako her to your arms as lovingly as evor ?"

" I «'ould, I would !" sobbed the man, in a burst of unwonted feeling ¡ " all forgiven, all for- gotten, all-"

" My father, my father 1" and one rushed for- ward and flung herself on his bosom, sobbing and wailing ; and then she slid down to the ground on hor knees, and olaspod his limbs in her arms, and wopt exceeding bitterly.

Herbort tumod away and left them. Lot us do so likewise Tho joy and the sorrow of that mooting aro too sacred for othor eyes than their

own.

OHAtTBB VI.

" KNTBEAT ME NOT TO LEAVE THEE."

WE aro again in tho library. The fathor knows not, and caros not yet to ask, how all this resur- rection from the doad has como to pass j ho only knows and fools that his daughter Uves and sits beside him. After a time Herbert ontered, and ho said to Luoy,

" It is timo that you should go."

" Go ?" askod tho fathor, in bewilderment. " Why ? Where ? Is sho not at homo once moro ? Who shall take her from mo again ?"

" Fathor," said Lucy rising, " my homo is with my husband. For him alono would I leave you !"

" Husband ! husband, Luoy-«ho is ho ?

whore is ho ?"

" Ho is hore !" said Herbert, as he oponed the

door.

A young man, in tho prime of life, walked for- ward and stood besido Luoy, who put her hand

in his.

The squire drew himself up haughtily.

" Sir, may I ask by what right you outer my houso or approach my daughter ? Who are you,

sir?"

" Mr. Do Brokeleigh, I am that daughter's husband. By that right I take hor haud. I confess I havo no right to enter your houso." ,

" May I request then, sir, that you will leave

it?"

The young mau looked with toudor sadness at Lucy, and then replied, respectfully, " Sir, you shall bo oboyod ; I ask your pardon for my intrusion. Como, Luoy !

De Brokoloigh movod forward to separate

thom.

" Nay," said Herbert, " this moy not bo, sir ! * Whom God bath joined let no man put asunder.' In God's namo I requiro you to hear «'hat the husband of your daughter has toJ say !"

" Father! in the name of my dead mother, the wife whom you loved, hoar my husband for his wifo's sake."

" Proceed, Bir," said tho squire, as ho motioned the young mau to a chair, and sat do« n hirasolf ; " I am ready to hear you."

" Mr. Do Brokoloigh, you will asl how a poor painter dared to love your daughter. I dared to

do so in obodieneo to the instinct that God im-

planted in my nature, «hen ho taught my bye and my heart to delight iu all that was lovely and good in his creation. How I dared to teÜ hor that love, I scarcely know. I had determined to keep tho Beeret within my heart for over. But whon she gavo mo her hand at what I believed was to bo our last meeting' on earth, lovo and despair overmastered mo, and I spoke, in the deepost respect and humility, that lovo whioh after all, could never dishonour her-the lo\e of

an honost man. Tho avowal that she returned

my passion fillod me with joy, and I resolved that if circumstances ever permittod, as I hoped thoy would, I would seek heros my wife at your hands. That resolution you, Bir, forced me to abandon. When Lucy informed me that you not only forbad your daughter to marry tho man »ho loved, but also commanded her to receivo at once the addresses of another, duty and in- clination aliko pointed out my conree. I lost not an hour in coming hither with a faithful servant ; I contrived to see Lucy. I ovorcamo all hor scruples-though it was difficult to do so, and arranged hor flight with me in the night. Wo succeeded ; but tho poor fellow« bo remained behind to watch lest the alarm should bo given, and to mislead you should you seek to follow us, was shot by your gamekeeper. This wo soon loarncd, as' also the finding of Lucy's shawl, which fell off as she crossed the bridgo, aud the report of hor death. Within a few hours after sho loft your houso, I placed your daughter in tho caro of an aged female relative till I mado hor my wife. * Then we went to Gorraany, where I contrived to earn a livohhood, «ith no sorrow to como botwecn our loro, but tho one unceasing yearning of my wifo for her father's forgiveness, At last, circumstances lately occurred which enabled us to return to England, and wo deter- mined, at all risks, to seek pardonand reconcilia- tion. Last evening we reached the village, and learning that Luoy e foster-sister was married to

your imith, I contrived by a"etrSf»gem'tomoké* myBelf known to her. To-day," by her'adyieef

we had a conference with Mr. Herbert, add told

¿ira all. With < the assistance of_ Dorothy

Meadowes, wo gained an entrance into yr>Ui? houso unobserved. Oh, sir t the husband (,( the ohild that you"have,to-day receiovd f'om'the dead entreats that you will narden him t¿o !"

" An unknown man, without birth, or ineaus,

or position," muttorod the squire, as if debating

with himself ¡ " to receive aim as the husband of "aDo Brokoleigh! 'Tis too hard. I cannot!"

" Yos, sir, you can," Baid Herbert. " Hard as itis, you can. Asamau ofsenso, youcan. Asa Christian, you must. If this young man springs from the people, he has their virtues -manliness, energy, solf-relianeo. He has won your child by his worth, and supported her by his industry. They are happy independently of wealth, but if wealth can olevato them, you can supply it. This man, sir, is worthy to be your daughters husband -to be your son." * '

Roger de Brokeleigh threw himself bookin his chair and covered his face with his hands. A ter- rible conflict was being waged in the hoart of the man. Angels, and greater than angels, it may be, < lookod down upon that spiritual battle-field. The fight is long, but at lost tho light has conquered tho darkness, and the man rises to his fcot, liberated from the thraldom of his baser

nature.

" Sir," said ho, extending his baud, " let the past be forgotton ; my daughter's husband is

wolcomo to her father's house."

Tho young man'took the squire's hand aud raised it respectfully to his lips.

" Sir Waltor Marlay," said Herbert, " I give you joy."

" Marlay, Marlay!" oxolairaed tho squire, ia astonishment. " What1 are you the Bon of Sir Jasper Marluy, of the North ? I knew him when we wore boys."

*' No, sir j he was my unole. His younger brother, my father, displeased him by marrying a ponnUcsB woman, who had no better recom- mendation than beauty and worth. They never met afterwards ; and, when I was loft an orphan at eighteen years of age, I scorned to seek assistance from him. Dot many months sinco his only son was killed by a fall from his horse ; and a few posts afterwards brought me the in- telligence of my unele's death. I hastened from Germany ; and my rightsweroatonco recognised. As your daughter loved me for my own sake, so I determined to owe nothing to my position in Becking your favour." '

A pound of wheels crunching the gravel, inter- rupted tho discourse, and the next moment OharlcB de Brokeleigh was in tho arms of his

father.

I don't mean to toll all that followed. Why Bhould I ? The joyful surprise at finding a dead sister restored-the frank embrace of tho new brothers. Nor ho«' little Dorothy Meadowes, laughing « ith the tears in hor oyes, slipped into tho room, and her husband after her, whom she bookonod from outside. How Sir Walter kissed her before John's faco and asked him when ho should have anothor job for him.

Thore wore great doings that night iu Broko- loigh-tar barrels, bonfires, and what not, And Rouben Plant, Uko a fino honost fellow as ho was, who bore no grudge, lit up ovory window of his mill iu a blaze of light, and hung a hugo lantern on tho top of tho obnoxious chimney.

. And tho portrait of Lady Marlay was nover again " Turned to the Wall."