that artful woman, and read the secret letters he has written and received. For how long, did this returned prodigal mention to his female confederate, that these intended disclosures were to be delayed?”

"The phrase was vague," replied the steward. 'In a few days'— ay, that was the term he used."

"A limited time, indeed, for action-but brief as it is, I will avail myself of the lull, and not await the bursting of the storm," observed the confessor.

"And will you leave me alone to face the coming tempest?" inquired the steward, with evident alarm and surprise. "Holy fatherhave I not ever been to you a faithful friend? Have I not acted as you directed? Have not my own interests been frequently sacrificed to yours? Has not your word with me been law-your advice implicitly followed-your plans zealously carried out? I was ever your ready and your willing agent-and now, in the hour of need and danger, will you desert me?"

A pause of a minute ensued.

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Morley," returned the confessor slowly-"I cannot see how my remaining here could serve you. You wish to delay events-to

avert them would now be idle as to war against the elements. But how can breathing-time be gained? Mine own interests would make a short interval before discovery shall take place, as desirable as is respite to the criminal; but, by mine order--I cannot devise any plan that could promise even probable success. We stand upon a loaded mine—and who can say the moment when the engineer will fire the train ?"

"Still, reverend sir, continued the steward-" have we not days to count upon-and what might not hours, were they but well-einployed, accomplish?"

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"Yes," returned the priest-" days certainly may be reckoned on—and, under ordinary circumstances, much might be effected in the mean-while. But in this case-one so hopeless and so desperatewhen the very grave would seem to have given up its dead— and when-”

"The grave must receive the living in return. Ay, father, there is but one chance left,-Clifford dies-no alternative remains but death for him-or disgrace, and poverty, and banishment for me."

"Pause

"No more of that," exclaimed the cautious churchman. ere you act--and weigh well the consequences. England, for such 'experiments, is a dangerous country. Remember your former attempt on young O'Halloran. What a disastrous failure! Four lives were sacrificed-while he, the destined victim, passed through the trial unharmed!" "Twere better, possibly, my friend, to yield to circumstances, and

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"See myself impoverished and insulted. I am no favourite with the country, they view me as an upstart—and often has that cutting truth been told me to my face. The tenants on these estates secretly dislike me. As matters stand, their bad feelings are not exhibitedbut let the change come that we anticipate-then, like a cry of hounds, every voice will be united against me, and I must either skulk cowardly

away, or be hunted to the death, while the man I hate, have hated and will while life remains detest, he will be received with acclamation, and trample on a fallen enemy whose neck is already in the very dust. No-no-though life be lost in the attempt, near as he fancies himself to this, his long estreated inheritance—he never shall be nearer. Father, I start instantly for London. We must act— ay, and act immediately."

"Of these things I remain in ignorance," returned the confessor. "But if you risk this perilous attempt-safety and success in every mortal venture, depend upon two simple qualities-prudence and promptness. These two, in human actions, are worth every cardinal virtue beside. Farewell-I too have cares which, for hours to come,

will keep me watching."

The confederates separated-each to carry out his own particular object. The confessor had only the future to regret—the past he had secured and consequently, he had neither a necessity or a wish to join in Morley's dangerous experiments. With the steward, matters were altogether different. In rash confidence, all that he had cared for hitherto, was to accumulate-and hence, his ill-acquired wealth had been so clumsily invested, that time was absolutely necessary to enable him to regain possession of his property. That time could only be obtained by a fearful and perilous attempt. But no course besides remained—and Morley started that night for London.

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The evening was wild and blustering-doors creaked-windows were unusually noisy for that season of the year-and those who had a fire-side, were too happy to find themselves at home. "The George" was entirely deserted; for the stragglers who had dropped in after sunset, alarmed at the threatening appearance of the weather, took a hurried refreshment, and pushed forward to gain their abiding places before the fury of the night should break. Three travellers, however, still remained. They had required and obtained an apartment for their especial use-and a fire having been lighted in the parlour of the hostlerie, the wayfarers there bestowed themselves.

One, who seemed to play the host, was a man of respectable appearance, and beyond the middle age. He might be a farmer, a lawyer, a trader-but it was clear he was not, in common parlance, a gentleman. The others were of a caste immeasurably inferior. One was tall, burly, and dark-visaged the other, short, slightly-framed, and sandy haired. The countenances of both were particularly repulsive and a stranger would have found it hard to determine whether they were knaves, or ruffians, or both.

He who appeared "lord of the revels" seemed ill at ease. He rose from his chair-looked for a moment from the window-muttered something about "foul weather out of doors-" returned, sounded a hand-bell which had been placed beside him-ordered supper to be hastened, and brandy and water to be brought in, to fill the tedious interval.

The order was obeyed-" the maid of the inn" departed—the door was closed-and each of the company, by an involuntary impulse,

looked over his shoulder to ascertain that no eaves-dropper was near. He who played the host seemed in no mood for revelry, and merely sipped the glass before him-the lesser of the strangers also drank sparingly-but the tall ruffian turned down the tumbler considerably below its centre, pushed its diminished contents further on the board, and then leaning a pair of overgrown hands upon his knees, and bending forward until his head, by slow progression, had made a Turkish obeisance to the superior of the company, in slow and pointed terms he begged respectfully to inquire, "what business had brought himself and-" he merely pointed to his companion-" on such short notice to the country?"

"Business-and that, too, of consequence," was the brief reply. “All right, "returned the stouter ruffian. "Business is very well in its way but I'd like to understand the nature of the job before I undertook it. Light work is well enough, but when it comes, Mr. Thingembob-for I don't know y'er name-to what we calls heavy, wot means, ye know, hemp or transportation-why then men must look about them, and ax a question or two before they takes on."

To this judicious remark the smaller of the two assented by a gracious inclination of the head-while the question, so homely put, appeared to have disconcerted their respectable patron, for he did not answer for a minute, and then the reply was evasive. After passing a flattering encomium on the character of the late Mr. Slomanwhose irreparable loss was deeply to be regretted-he hinted that, in his line of business, there was now a blank. His unhappy death, and the equally unhappy consequences which followed, had left a dreary void. It was impossible to find a professional gentleman equally talented and trustworthy. Undoubtedly, men of high honour and strong nerve could be found-and therefore, rather than run risks, he, Mr. Jones, as he was pleased to call himself, would prefer doing business with principals, and having no humbug among friends.

What a strange epitome of life the scenes enacted at an inn would furnish! How dissimilar in rank, in object, in vocation, are those whom every apartment of this human halting-place receives in turn! The care-worn and the careless- the miser and the spendthrift. Opulence, with unassuming carriage-penury, vainly attempting to brazen out its wretchedness. A noble, in title old as the conquest, rests in this chamber to-day-to-morrow it will be tenanted by a bagman, who never heard that such a being as his grandfather had existThis evening a bridal party occupy the inn. They dream of naught but happiness-theirs is a fancy world-their road of life is carpeted with roses-they leave next morning. Who, next in succession, fill the same apartment on the morrow?-a coroner's inquest, to ascertain what caused the suicide of a village beauty," who loved not wisely, but too well.”

ence.

While Mr. Jones and his friends were thus engaged in the large parlour upstairs, in a small back room behind the bar of "the George," two other personages were comfortably located. One was the jolly hostess, whom nothing but "rum and true religion" could have upholden, seeing that, in the brief space of ten years, she had