you; and helping him up, placed him in the vacant part of the seat, while she sat down at his feet, and looking up at him fondly, and wrapping the silken handkerchief closer round his throat, as the mild breeze was wafted towards him, she continued to coax and address him in words of infantine endearment. Sarah wondered, for he was too old she thought to be thus fondled. When she lifted her eye off her drawing to look at him, she saw that his eyes were fixed upon her sketch, and that he seemed to start with surprise, as she added, now a touch of light, now a shadow which gave it a truer likeness to nature: and then he gesticulated with delight, and pointed to his mother, who seemed enchanted with his enchantment, and nodded assent.

Sarah asked him if he thought her drawing like the view, pointing to it. He laughed, and stared vacantly, but answered not. Sarah looked at him again, and saw by his countenance, that he was an idiot. The expression of pity which passed quickly over her speaking features, told the mother that, which the latter did not like to tell, but which she felt grateful, should inspire the sympathy she saw it did; so shaking her head mournfully, she said,

"Ah! mademoiselle, you are aware my poor René does not understand what you say, he has long been ill, and I came from Monaco here, in the hope of saving him; for though he is senseless to most things and to most people, he is not so to me or his father; and is so fond of us, and so good, and was so useful till this weakness came on him! Yes, I assure you, there was not a better vigneron for miles round than Réné; but he is dying now, I fear. How do you think he looks?"

Sarah had not the heart to confirm the mother's fears, and replied kindly,

Oh, I hope this mild air will restore him, you have done right to bring him here, there is life and health in this breeze. I came to Nice very ill myself, and see, I am quite strong now!"

"Ah, yes!" replied the peasant, with an expression of melancholy, mingled with admiration, at Sarah's beauty, as she looked from her healthful countenance to that of her own sickly child. "But what a difference between you and him!" she said; "there never could have been that awful look in your face, mademoiselle, which never leaves his features."

"Hush," rejoined Miss Herbert, "he will understand you and be shocked.”

"No, he understands nothing, mademoiselle, except my caresses, or the bleating of one of our goats if it loses its way in the mountains, or the priest's blessing; these are the only things he seems to care about, or to comprehend."

Poor thing!" said Sarah, as she looked intently on the idiot boy; and yet, she thought, perhaps you are not so much an object of contempt or commiseration as I may suppose; "you understand all that any one need care to understand, the love of those you love, and faith in Heaven."

While gazing at Sarah, Réné appeared to take pleasure in her loveliness. "Yes," said his mother, smiling, "every thing that is beautiful pleases him:" and as if to confirm her words, his eye was caught by the glancing of a gem on Sarah's finger, and he gesticulated vehemently, with delight at the brilliant hues of the stone, as it glittered in the sun, and she almost envied the idiot his facility of being pleased.

But the morning was now advancing, and the sun growing too fierce to remain longer exposed to its heat; she sought for a trifle from her reticule, and put the money into the mother's hand.

"Thanks, thanks, mademoiselle, and your kindness is even more than your money!"

"I shall meet you here again, and bring something for René, I hope I shall see him better," and she left them with a deep feeling of interest. When she communicated this incident to Sir Edward Mowbray, he half-envied the idiot boy, and said, reproachfully,

"Ah! Miss Herbert, your heart is open to every one except him who loves you best."

"You shall come with me to-morrow," she replied, not pretending to notice this speech, "and you will see how interesting the mother and child are."

Any thing which afforded him an excuse for being with her was welcome to Sir Edward. So he thought," if I am summoned to be the companion of Miss Herbert's early walk, what matters it to me the cause which procures me such happiness!”

The next day at the same spot, Sarah met her new protégé. When he saw her approach, he evidently betrayed some tokens of recognition, which temporarily lit up his fine features with intelligence, and showed what they might have

been, if the mind had not owned eclipse. His dark hair hung in long curls about his shoulders, unlike the general character of the Nissard children's chevelure, which is generally more like a matted furze-bush than hair. But André's glossy locks were smoother and glistening like the raven's wing; for his mother's pride was in those ringlets. The general expression of his countenance was (if that can be called expression, which implied an exemption from pain or pleasure:) unruffled serenity; but at certain sights or sounds, an irradiation of the mental faculty cast a transient glory over his marble brow, and shone in his deepsunk eyes.

Even Sir Edward Mowbray confessed himself interested in this dying boy, and he had never won so kindly a smile from Sarah, as when he evinced a participation in her feelings respecting Réné. Sir Edward spoke of the wonderful power of the famous Arzerotti, of Genoa, who could almost he said to awaken the dormant faculties of nature in those born deaf and dumb, or blind. "Who knows," he added, "what a judicious treatment, and constant assiduity might bring to pass towards the restoration of the senses, if they be not wholly lost?" and then he explained to the mother, what he had been saying in English, and promised, that if he could engage Arzerotti in such an attempt, he would pay the mother and son's expenses to Genoa.

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"How kind you are!" said Miss Herbert to Sir Edward, in English. How kind and how good you are!" And she looked in his face with a feeling of admiration, which was quite new to her in respect of him, but its expression put every thing out of Sir Edward's head, save the inebriation it produced, and he almost hoped, that at last he might gain a place in her affections which would lead on to love.

Like those bodies in chemistry which cannot amalgamate without the aid of an intervening power; so this approving sentiment of Sir Edward's kindly intention towards the afflicted, effected a greater union of feeling between him and Sarah Herbert, than any other circumstance had hitherto produced. It is strange to observe throughout life, how an apparently accidental incident, will bring about great events, which the labour of years perchance has failed to effect. To what can this be ascribed? Surely, not to chance; for, properly speaking, there is no such thing as chance; it is only another word for the inscrutability of the ways of Providence. A few weeks passed, and Réné died. The pa

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tience with which he bore his sufferings, had endeared him even to those who had no other tie than that of compassion; and the nearer he seemed to his end, the closer his mother's heart clung to him. Every kindly attention, every alleviating balm, that the tenderest pity could supply was bestowed upon her, but "she refused to be comforted," and her constant wailing repetition of "O my son, my son!" reminded Sarah of those touching words, written in the inspired book, which are the very echo of the heart's grief. To such sorrow there is no human barrier: it must, like the torrent of the mountain, spend its fury: and it was not till Sir Edward Mowbray thought of going himself to Monaco and bringing her husband to her, that the poor peasant-woman seemed to remember she had still something dear to live for. They went to their own homes again, richer than they had ever been, but in happiness far less so; and though they were grateful to their benefactors, they did not themselves feel that they were the less miserable, for being less poor. In after time, another and a softer feeling came over them, and they not only blessed their benefactors, but had a sense of being themselves blessed.

;1

CHAPTER XX.

'Twas strange-in youth, all action, and all life,
Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
Woman-the field-the ocean-all that gave,
Promise of gladness-peril of a grave,

In turn he tried.

Chained to excess, the slave of each extreme,
How woke he from the wildness of that dream?
Alas! he told not, but he did awake,

To curse the wither'd heart that would not break,
LORD BYRON'S LARA.

WHILE Such was the state of Lady Herbert's present life, and that of her associates; news reached them from England both from public and private sources, which could not fail of bringing back sad thoughts; and though already sufficiently convinced of the desperate character of Sir Charles Lennard, the tidings which now confirmed and consummated his dark career of vice, had the effect of reproducing the wretched remembrances of Lady Herbert's past life; and she said,

"I feel as if I were again in danger, on hearing that he lives to perpetrate fresh crimes.

"Sir Charles Lennard's dinner-parties had long been famous for being the most recherché in London, not less for the choice and quality of the wines and viands, than for the company assembled round his board: so much so, that it passed into a proverb amongst the members of what were called the first circles, when they spoke of a dinner worth going to; "That was a Lennard," or they would ask before accepting a doubtful invitation, "Will it be a Lennard?" Whatever Sir Charles might do respecting reputation, in the common acceptation of the meaning of that word, he valued this reputation highly, and strove to main