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same time, by some trick of fancy, the blooming and vigorous nature of the country girl whom he had seen in Maria's company at the farm-house, returned to his heart. Thus cutting short all his perplexities by one violent resolution, he breathed upon his ring, pronounced to himself the name of James Wilson, and his wish was accomplished.

The Sir Charles Harcourt, who woke the next morning at Beechurst, was he who had always possessed it. He now remembered the events of the past week as if they had been parts of his own life. There appeared no break in his self-consciousness, nor had he the slightest notion of the gap in his existence which had been filled by the presence of another person.

CHAPTER X.

Early on Sunday morning, James opened his eyes in the old farm-house, dressed himself hastily, and went to look after the different little matters in the stable and the farm-yard, which, even on Sunday, must be attended to. He then returned to the house to make himself smart, which he succeeded in by dint of clean linen, a new blue coat with large gilt buttons, a white handkerchief round his neck, a yellow waistcoat, and a drab garment below terminating in top-boots. He certainly looked very well; and while he gazed into the little twisted looking-glass, he even ventured to think so, but somehow he feared not well enough to please Ann. She, too, after helping to prepare the breakfast, had put on her best clothes. Her long dark hair, indeed, was almost hidden under a cap, but still formed a glossy shade around her forehead. The face it crowned was as winning as bright health, and brighter spirits, high complexion, and pretty features, could make it. Nor did her figure look less graceful in the white cotton-gown, with little blue flowers all over it, which James had given her, and which she had tied with a blue sash. The white stockings and neat shoes set off the smallness of her feet, and showed that her hands, but for a life of labour, would not have been less delicate. When at work, she often sang half-inwardly some verse of a gay or sad song, and still went earnestly about her task; but when resting, or at meals, and especially when James was with her, her face was in a perpetual play of blushes, and downcast looks, and hearty laughter; and eyes, and teeth, and cheeks, and lips, and soul, all seemed possessed by some imp of heedless merriment. So was it this morning. As soon as breakfast was over, she put on her

bright straw bonnet, with its blue ribbon, and James his new hat, and the father his with its brim at least six inches broad; and, leaving the mother at home to take care of the house, the three set out to walk through the fields to church. The old man often lingered or turned a step aside, or stopped to speak to some of the neighbours, and Ann and James could talk almost as freely as if they had been in a wilderness. The church was more than usually crowded with people come to hear a new organ played, which had been presented by the kind-hearted squire, for it was not Sir Charles Harcourt's parish; but Mr Musgrave, the curate, preached a sermon, in which he laid bare to the astonished culprits the erroneousness of the motives that led them to attend public worship only when some strange novelty attracted them. But the Wilsons were unwrung, and enjoyed both the organ and the sermon, except that Ann was sorry for the poor people who had acted so foolishly, and were now so severely reprimanded. The old man pronounced the sermon a right good one, and said that their parson was the best man in that country, only now and then a little too sharp upon people's faults. In the afternoon, Ann staid at home, and the other three went to the service. In the evening the mother undertook to milk the cows, and the father to attend to all other matters, while Ann and James went out to walk.

They strolled arm in arm, saying little to each other, along the deep and warm lanes overgrown with grass, and enclosed between high banks and bushy hedges. The nightingale was still heard in the distance. The wild rose and the honeysuckle climbed on either hand, and were interwoven with

the flowers of the bind-weed and the nightshade. The perfume from the white and purple clover fields filled all the air. Now and then James caught at a wild flower, and gave it to Ann, who took it, and only said, in a low voice, "Thank you." And still they wandered on, till they turned through a gap into the thick dark copse. They passed forward through the green shadows, broken here and there by some straggling beam of yellow light, till they reached a point on the banks above a little stream, glancing away under its screen of hazel and alder. Here they found the broad grey table left in cutting down an enormous oak-tree. On this Ann seated herself, and James sat beside her. He poked the ground before him with his stick. She settled her nosegay, and stuck it in her breast. At last he said, " Ann, I have something something something - to say to you."

-

"Well-well-well-James, what

is it?"

"It is a very fine evening." Ann drew a long sigh, as if relieved from a great fright, and answered, "Yes, it is, very fine."

"Our hay is very well saved this year, Ann-and it is very pleasant to be here with you-I mean, I like us to be together."

"So do I."

"Ann, will you marry me?"

A long pause followed, and then a low "Yes," and she hung down her head. Their happiness need not be described. But marble balconies, or silken pavi lions, never witnessed a fonder kiss than that in which their lips united, as they sat upon the old oak-stump.

When they returned by moonlight to the farm-house, Ann's manner was much altered. She went silently through the kitchen, where the old couple sat, to her own room; and James, too, who remained with his parents, held his tongue for a few minutes. Then he burst into a loud laugh, and jumped up and told his story, and hugged his mother in his arms, and asked his father's consent, and could not finish a sentence till he ended in a fit of tears, which changed again to laughter.

That night their supper was peaceful and joyous, as if it had been a meal in Paradise before the Fall of Man.

CHAPTER XI.

The next day, at Burntwood farm, was strangely in contrast with this Sunday evening. A letter came in the morning to Mr Wilson, written in the name of his lost daughter-for she was herself too ill to write-entreating his forgiveness, and telling of the loss of her husband and child. Their hearts were divided between joy at hearing of her, and grief at the thought of her sufferings. It was immediately determined that James should go to London and see her, and, if possible, remove her to Burntwood. He set out that afternoon. He wrote from London to his father, giving an account of his sister's state, and announcing that he would return with her at once to Burntwood. Ann also received, by the same post, a letter from him, which was the longest and most elaborate composition he had ever attempted, or she had ever seen. The greater portion of it ran as fol

lows::

"Dear Ann, I cannot be so long

away without writing to you. I reached London at noon on Tuesday, and in the course of that day, I found out poor Elizabeth. But as I have written all about her to father, I shall not say the same things over again to you. I was advised to take a bed here at the Black Bear, by Smithfield, where there are very decent, civil people, and a great many farmers and graziers. But some of them, as I am told, are only these London chaps dressed up to look like us from the country, and so cheat us unawares. And clever knowing fellows many of them look. I feel as much ashamed when I look one of them in the face as if he could see through me, and knew I was never in London before. But when any one seems cross with me for staring at him, I take off my hat like a gentleman, and make him a low bow, and I notice that then they mostly seem pleased and good-humoured like. But, dear Ann, all the farmers and the farming men too, in our country would

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make no difference in this big crowded place, if they were all here together. When I came into the streets, on the top of the coach, I thought, to be sure it was fair-day. So I asked a man who sat next me, and he said, Aye, to be sure, man. In London its always fair-day for fools. Many a one of them comes here to look for a purse, and goes back without a pocket.' I knew by his way of speaking he was jeering of me. But another gentleman spoke to me milder, and said, 'It is always the same in London, for there are people enough living there to crowd all the fairs in England.' And so, to be sure, there are unaccountable many of them, and carriages, and carts, and drays. Oh, Ann, it is altogether a perplexity! The coach could hardly go along the street for them, and some of them were long things, like big hearses, only painted bright colours, and full of live rich people; but the poor walk along the sides of the streets, and yet some of them are as finely dressed as lords and ladies.

"Since I came, I have walked about and looked at the different things and people, and a wonder the place is to see. The crowd goes along past one, as many and as busy as ants, and none of them seem thinking of each other, any more than if they were all trees or stones. In our country, and when I go to market or fair, I know most of the people by look, and shake hands with half of them. But here, in London, I felt quite lonely among so many who cared nothing for me, nor I for them. I saw many scores, ay, hundreds of fine ladies, some of them riding in their carriages, with their beautiful silk, and lace, and feathers, but none of them said how d'ye do to me; and I would have given them all in a bundle, and their carriages too, for a look of yours, though they seem so proud and high. I daresay they would be pretty much surprised at it. And, oh, Ann, the shops! all the clothes, and meat, and wonderful things, more in one shop than I could tell of in all my life! I have seen eggs enough to fill our barn, and frying-pans enough to fry them all at once, and bacon enough to eat with them. I do suppose, that in the front of one shop, there is glass enough to make a glasscase for our biggest rick, and silks, and satins, and shawls, and I do not

know what all inside, that would make a cloth larger than our great net-cloth. There are some big shops, too, full of nothing but boots and shoes. But, no doubt, when the King wants shoes for his army, he comes here and buys them, and they must wear out a power of them in those long marches, when they are going after glory, which I suppose must be all one with walking against time. I judge, too, that the King must use a sight of things for himself; for I counted eleven tailor's shops that had, Tailor to the King'

written up upon them. So you may guess what a deal of clothes he wears. I saw, too, nigh as many cake-shops with Confectioner to the King;' confectioner means a man that makes cakes; but if he eats too many tarts and things, and makes himself sick, there is at least one doctor's shop for every cake-shop, with Apothecary to the King' upon it. I have been by St Paul's Church too, which is the biggest thing in the world, since the Temple of Solomon, and Noah's Ark; and I thought my eyes would never get up to the top, it is so high. It has a roof like a punch-bowl, with a spike sticking out of it. Only, I think, the punch-bowl must be a good half-mile round. And it is all built up with pillar work, and windows, so strong, that it seems it would stand for ever. Thought I to myself, I wonder will that fine place burn in the great fire that you know, Ann, will burn down every thing in the Day of Judgment. What a blaze that will be! For I am telling no lies when I say, that if you could lift up the church, you might set it down over Burntwood, dwellinghouse, and barns, and trees, and all, just, as I could clap an extinguisher over your thimble, and room to spare too. Now, you must know that all the while I was going along the streets, there was such a whirling, and a clatter, and a squeaking, and a buzzing, and a smoke, quite unaccountable, that altogether it made my head turn round inside, as if it had been a millstone. And I began to have all manner of queer fancies as if I never should get back home. And I saw ever so many black kings on horseback, stuck up in different places, and looking grander and fiercer than the judge at assizes, just as if they had only to come down from the stone places they were

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on, and ride over all the people like a donkey among the chickens. But I suppose they were put there to keep them out of mischief.

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vered with roses, and she stooped her head upon her hand, and gave a great sigh, and said, 'But when that is done, still I shall not be married to the man of my heart, but quite the contrary. Suppose then I also poison my detested husband. Then, alas! I shall not know which of the others to choose, for my heart is too tender and cannot decide for either of them.' Thought I to myself,-Young woman, for all your good looks and finery, I am glad you're not my wife. Then first her father came to see her, and wish her joy of the marriage, and she gave him a glass of wine to drink her health, and, do you know, that very wine had the poison in it? We should never have thought of that down at Burntwood, would we? Then he went away, and in came one of her two lovers, and wanted to kiss her; but she treated him very properly, and would not let him touch her, only at last she whispered him, loud enough for me to hear, that he must go kill her husWe band.

"Last night an oldish sort of a farmer, that the people here tell me has a deal of grazing land down in Essex, sat near me while I was taking my supper, and he says to me, quite friendly, Young man, will you come with me to the play? So I said, Yes, to be sure, when I have done this plate of beef.' So he told me to leave my watch and my money with the landlord, all but a few shillings for use, and off we went, for, as I had had something to eat and drink, I was as fresh as a colt. When we got to the playhouse, there was a big paper stuck up with red letters on it, saying they were going to act" Woman's Miseries, or the Victim of the Heart," translated from the French. Well, thought I, if it is any thing about those French that we beat last war, it must be good fun, because as how they cat frogs for mutton, and tadpoles for lamb.

paid at the door, and went into a place that Grub-an odd name, isn't it, Ann? -he's the Essex man-told me was called the pit, and there we sat down in a big room all full of candles, and people making noises and faces, and looking as strange as could be. Then the fiddles played very loud and pretty, and then the play began; and they pulled up a big cloth, and there was a place behind it for all the world like the floor of our barn. There were gentlemen and ladies walking on it, and one of them was called Felicityan odd name, isn't it, Ann? She was to be married to a gentleman immediately, and it was all settled, and she seemed mighty fond of him. But after she was married, she came forward close to us, and told us quite as a secret, that she did not like him at all, only she did not say so beforehand, for fear it should stop the marriage; but that she liked two other men better. Then she said her father was an ungrateful tyrant, and a Saracen's head, or something uncommon, for not having guessed her dislike, and spared her de-li-ca-cy that was the word the pain of telling it. So, to revenge herself, she could do nothing but poison the poor old gentleman, which I thought very hard upon him. Then she sat down on a green seat all co

"Just then the other lover came in, and as they were both officers, and had their swords by their sides, they drew them, and fought together, while the lady fell down on her knees and looked up to the ceiling. Then one of them was killed, and fell close by her, and he gave her such a look before he died-O dear! Then she got up and ran to the other, and put her arms about him, and said, Brave Henry, you have won my heart.' So they talked about it a bit, just as if they had been bargaining for a pig at market, and they settled they would hide the dead man under the garden seat she had been sitting on, and she sat down on it again, so that nothing could be seen. Then the lover went away behind the bushes, and she turned up her eyes, and groaned, and said, Now her life was a burthen to her, for she had seen the death of the only man she loved.' Just then her husband came in and wanted to talk to her in a friendly way, but she pushed him off, and called him a faithless monster, and an oppressor of innocence, though I thought him a very nice civil gentleman; and then she upset the seat, in the way a cow upsets a milk-pail, and showed him the dead body, and said, There is the man I loved, the true husband of my

heart. Oh, that you had died instead of him!' Then the lover heard her speak, I suppose, as listeners never hear any good of themselves, and he came in and said, What, ma'am, was it he you loved? Perfidious woman, then will I send you to join him.' He was going to run her through with his sword, and I never saw the squire angrier at a preacher than he was with her; but the husband came in the way to save her, and the officer killed him instead, and said that would do as well. Then the father came in with a great many constables and soldiers to carry the officer away to gaol. They got hold of him, and took away his sword, and put a chain upon his wrists, and then

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he began to struggle, but it was no use, and they were going away with him, when the father said, My daughter, some one has poisoned me, I hope it isn't you.' And he fell down, and rolled his eyes about, and clenched his hands, and died. Then the lady said, Alas! how am I devoted to misery! My destiny has made me wretched; but my principles have always been sublime. Henry, while you go to death, and I into a nunnery, know that my heart has always been true to you. We shall meet in a better world, where it is not a crime to love. Take this kiss.' Then the cloth was let down again, and I said to Mr Grub,I wonder does all that come of eating frogs?'"

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CHAPTER XII.

Before the end of the week James returned, and with him his suffering sister. She was too weak to stand, but was lifted out of the market cart that had brought her from the next town, and was received in her mother's arms. Her own well-known chamber had been prepared and arranged with all the little objects familiar to her from childhood; the oaken cupboard, the walnut-wood chest of drawers, the queer oval looking-glass, and the pictures of Spring, in yellow ribbons, and of a brown Abraham about to sacrifice a pink Isaac. The small bed, with its cross-barred curtains of red and white, in which the careless girl had slept so tranquilly, seemed like a quiet grave opening its arms to receive the weary widow. Her mother undressed her, and laid her down to rest, and then sat beside her and held her hand, restraining her own grief at the sight of the wasted faded being before her, while a long flow of tears came from the daughter's closed eyes. At last she seemed about to sleep, but looked up feebly, and said,-" Would my father kiss me as he did when I was a good child?" The mother went for her husband, who came in with a tenderness of aspect such as he never showed before, and, bending over her, kissed again and again her hot lips, and murmured," Bless you, my child! God bless you!" "Oh, father!" she said, "can you still love me?" His tears mixed with hers, and when he

VOL. XLIV. NO. CCLXXVII,

left her to her mother's care she fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamed that she was again a child gathering cowslips in a wellknown green meadow near the farmhouse, and that suddenly she saw standing close to the high bank, two figures, one in a white cloak with a white hood over its head, and the other similarly dressed in crimson. They seemed taller than men, and with stately looks and gestures each invited her to approach and to drink of his fountain, which gushed out of the bank. The fountain of the white figure she saw was milk, and she thought that she had often drank of that; but the other stream was red wine, which she had never tasted, and she turned to it, and drank of it from the bowl which the crimson figure held out to her. Then the white figure sank down, and in sinking, uncovered its face, which she saw was that of Mr Musgrave the clergyman, and the cloak spread over him and round from him in a circle, wider and wider, and the white stream poured forth and foamed, and met it, and the whole turned to white snow and ice. But the red figure seemed all wrapped in red fire, and the wine-stream turned to fire, and flooded the field around her, and beat against the snow; and the figure raised its hood and showed the face of her husband. Then suddenly she felt herself no longer a child, but a woman, with her arms around him, and her clothes caught fire from

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