she must solve all my perplexities, for I am not going to waste my time and my money for nothing."

She spoke in so determined a tone, and tossed her head first on one side, and then on the other, so pertly, that Ally's companions looked at her with astonishment; they however answered not, but drawing mechanically around her, by their actions showed as if they voluntarily placed themselves beneath her banner.

Deborah Priestly was picking a few pot-herbs in her little garden, for the purpose of rendering her scanty meal more toothsome, when the voices of the party reached her ear. She looked hastily over the low hedge, and perceiving their approach, gathered her herbs together, at the same time exclaiming,

"So, so, an my old eyes deceive me not, there is more profitable work in store than gathering of pot-herbs. -Well, 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody good,' as the proverb sayeth, and Where no counsel is, the people fall!'-Aye, aye, it's all right."

The Dame had leisure, not only to gain her dwelling, but to place herself in her high narrow backed cane chair, with all the usual solemnities and formalities customary on high occasions, ere the youthful party entered her habitation. When they did, she was sitting with her back towards the door, one leg crossed over the other, and a hand, whose lank sinewy fingers seemed to have long disclaimed kindred with any thing like mortality, resting carelessly upon a blue linsey-woolsey apron that covered her knee. She neither moved nor spoke, as Ally and her companions with light step advanced into the interior of the dwelling, but sat with eyes uplifted and lips that moved without sound, apparently altogether unconscious of her present intruders. But Ally was not easily intimidated; she placed her basket upon the hewn block, and advancing towards her, peeped into the old woman's face, with a look in which anxiety and impertinence were almost equally blended, at the same time exclaiming :

"Be the weirds abroad, or at home, good Dame?-Ah,-I see it is the latter."

"The weird of destruction will hover over you, ye silly fool," said

the beldame bitterly, withdrawing her sharp grey eye from the object it had hitherto rested upon, and fixing it upon the maiden with an expression of contempt and anger. "What, is it you, Ally Spenser, who cannot let a body rest?-And why are you here again, troubling decent orderly people with such silly crotchets as float through your brain?— Have I not warned you to desist from such fooleries?"

"You have, mother, but-"”

"Well then, I say again, get you gone, silly wench; aye, and all of you, for Deborah Priestly hath higher work to perform than what can appertain to such love's geer, as you desired to be informed of."

She waved her hand authoritatively as she finished, but the maidens, either appalled by her manner, or unwilling to return without the intelligence they sought, stood motionless, gazing on her with an expression quite the reverse of what their countenances had before exhibited. A pause of some moments ensued; at length Alice ventured somewhat more diffidently:

"Will you really send us back through all this broiling sun with out one word?”

"Aye, marry will I," answered the Dame spitefully, "and all the like of you, ye silly butterflies.And so, you would be scorching your wings, forsooth, and expect that Old Deb should lend a hand towards hastening your destruction?-Nay, nay, the country might well cry out upon me then, and say I did them wrong.-But it must not be. So get you gone, I say again; and see you come no more hitherward, till the tide of war shall have ebbed, for there will be bloody work of it.”

Despairing of success, and accustomed to her intimidating manner (for Dame Priestly ruled the neighbourhood with a rod of iron), the mortified damsels moved in gloomy silence from the hovel, watched by the old woman till several had disappeared; then, as if suddenly recollecting herself, she added, in the

same stern accents:

"Yet stay, I see two among you who even now may tarry.-I mean yonder tall fair one whose lip speaketh disdain, whose brow teemeth with pride!-Let this damsel remaiu,

She regarded them doubtfully, as she uttered the question; indeed so peculiarly forbidding was the expression of her countenance at the moment, that the younger one involuntarily shuddered; the Lady Hamoise replied:

"Had the fame of Deborah Priestly been less abroad, good Mother, perhaps neither my present companion nor myself had now visited you. As it is, I at least would know (since doubtless you profess not what you cannot vouch for), whether Ralph of Ravenstone and the bold Baron who so recently rode away beside him, may prosper in their undertakings? Whether those they honour with their affections may expect them to return triumphantly, laying laurels at their feet?"

The voice of the maiden was slightly agitated as she spoke, but her manner savoured so much of pride and sarcasm, as she touched upon the peculiar calling of the old woman, that Deborah felt highly offended.

"We are not ignorant of the lofty character of the Lady Hamoise, she replied disdainfully, nor the condescension she has stooped to, in seeking our humble dwelling; and we shall answer faithfully."

She fixed her eyes keenly upon her, as if she would have read what was passing in her mind, remained a few moments silent, and then in à slow and solemn accent began:

"Brief be the tidings that have ill on them!-Shall the house of Ravenstone go free?-No. Ralph of Ravenstone must return to the walls of his forefathers, shorter by the head than when he quitted them! They

shall bury him silently, for there shall be no tear shed over his remains, save what shall flow from the eyes of her who now asks his destiny! Aye, and the bold Baron whose gilded rowels are now sheathed in the sides of his courser,-he shall flee for safety over the great waters! and the lady of his love shall behold him no more!

"Such is your fortune, fair dame; accuse me not, if I have dealt honestly by you."

She gave the usual token for departure as she ceased, and reseated herself in the chair she had risen from at the commencement of the Lady Hamoise's address. Her manner seemed to indicate a determination not to be troubled with farther questions; but her auditor did not appear inclined to put any; for haughtily gathering up her robe once more, with a look in which terror, malice, and disdain were strongly blended, she moved from the cottage.

"Aye-aye, get thee gone, proud daughter," said Deborah, relaxing somewhat of the severity before so conspicuous in her features; "for the day is not far distant when that heart must grieve, that eye change its present lofty glance for one of sorrow and affliction!" She turned towards the other damsel. "Well, my pretty lapwing, and what wouldst thou crave with old Deborah?"

"Alas, need you ask that question," said the young girl tremulously, "you who are so fully aware of all that hath befallen me?"

"Say rather, those who are dear to thee," returned the old woman. "Well, well, I see I have touched a chord that vibrates, but I seek not to pry into young maidens' hearts. Thou art worthy brave Leonard's love, and 'tis pity the knot was not tied ere these bloody feuds began. But what wouldst thou now with me?"

"When I think on the evils that this unhappy contest has heaped upon the dear Countess and her family!-when I think upon her sonestranged as he now is from friends and home-and when I heard you, my good Dame, heap misery upon the daughter of Ravenstone

"Soft ye, soft ye, fair damsel, couple not the proud Hamoise with

thine own gentle heart. Why, maiden, thou wert not formed in the same mould! Such a doom as thou hast just heard me pronounce over her would drive thy lowly spirit from its earthly tenement! But it will sit light upon her. She hath courage for that, and more too." But to thy own affairs now.

"I doubt but few beams of joy may light upon them," said Marian. "Why, look ye, sweet one, for I love you too sincerely to deceive you. When a son is opposed to his father!-when the hand of the brother struggles with that of his own natural kinsman!—what think you must be the result of all these things? Woe to the wife who caresses, woe to the mother who bore them. And such is the Lady at Bradgate's lot. Such is thine, fair Marian !"

Marian sighed.

"Where hath the young lad hid himself?" demanded Deborah. "Is he sick of strife and of bloodshed? Will he turn to the anxious hearts of those who love him?"

"I would ask that of you," said the maiden," that is my errand here; of you, Deborah, who know every thing."

"Whist, silly one, impute no more knowledge to me than is becoming

me.

Yet thus far I will enlighten thee. The hour is not yet come that shall restore a son to his parent!-a husband to thee, Marian! Leonard still struggles with fate. When that hour does arrive, I will myself inform thee of it. So hie thee home to thy patroness, and say to her that old Deborah devotes herself to the weal of her family-the care of her son; nor hound nor hawk of his shall be injured, whilst he listens to the advice of those about him.”

"Oh, keep your faith, good Dame, keep your faith but in this instance, watch over the life of young Leonard, and the blessing of every heart be with you."

"Of thine too, fair maid; is it not so? I love to raise a blush upon that cheek," said the old woman patting her.

The face of Marian rested for an instant on her shoulder; she pressed her ruby lips to hers, and her whole countenance was lit up with gratitude, as receiving some instructions from the beldame for the private ear

of the Countess-she turned her steps homewards.

It was in the memorable year 1647, when the King's affairs had become so desperate that even his firmest friends seemed ready to give way to despair, that Dame Priestly kept her promise towards the inhabitants of Bradgate. With camblet gown, hood, and coif, of the purest white, the old woman seized the knob of her ivory-headed cane, and with more agility than might have been expected from her years took the way to the hall.

Leonard, a younger son of the noble owner of the domain, had adhered firmly by the Stuarts, whilst his father and elder brother had been no less strenuous in the cause of the Parliament. Many had been the broils and heart-rendings this unhappy division of opinions had brought upon the family; for the fiery and high-spirited Leonard, impatient of control, and reckless of aught that might be urged unto him by his more prudent relatives, stuck closely by his king. Nor was it till that monarch was too completely encoiled in the web of his enemies to admit of relief, that he suffered himself to be prevailed upon to listen to the wishes of those who loved him. With his family he had but little intercourse; a few hearts leaned unto him, but those were of the softer kind. Yet, desperate as the situation of Leonard seemed to be, there was still one alternative, and this, after due consultation with the shrewd Deborah, the anxious Countess determined to adopt. It was to unite the fates of her discarded son and the betrothed Marian together, to send them from her into temporary banishment, and to trust to fortune for happier hours!

Harsh as the measure might seem, as regarded the welfare of the gentle girl, the lady deemed it wise to adopt it; for she well knew the influence she possessed over the mind of Leonard, and she hoped that much good might be the result.

It was late one evening, and after a long and final conversation with her maternal guardian, that Marian quitted the hall, to steal silently into the spacious park which surrounded it. Her countenance was mournful, and the trembling drop of sorrow yet rested on her cheek-she moved

onwards beneath the stately rows of chesnuts that led from the mansion, whose thick foliage shaded both her and its walls from the rude gaze of the stranger; but it was with the feelings and the air of one who is half doubtful, half wishful of what she is about to do-whose heart is anxious for the success of her expedition, but who trembles under the performance of it.

When she had gained the extremity of the spreading chesnuts, the last glimmer of twilight was fast fading from the hills. A dark mist had already spread itself over the valley, which, as she immerged into it, communicated its chilling influence to her face and bosom. But Marian heeded it not, her mind was too sensibly alive to the task she had undertaken to regard either the moisture of the air or the approaching darkness. She took her way across the park, nor paused until she reached one of the pastures which opened upon the forest. Here Marian rested; for the noise of fifes and of drums at that moment sounded fearfully upon her ear, and made her heart beat with terror. A few seconds she listened the sounds died gradually away, and the tinkling of the solitary sheep bell was the only noise which succeeded them. Encouraged by the tranquillity that again appear ed to reign, the affrighted maiden advanced with cautious foot into the open waste; but she had not wandered far, when she was again startled by the sharp voice of some one near to her. It was Dame Priestly, on whose countenance sat so much wildness and apprehension as to communicate itself to Marian.

"The lark of Bradgate from its nest at so cheerless an hour? Wot ye not that hawks and buzzards are abroad, fond girl? And what if they should crop your flight, pretty maid?"

"Gracious powers," said Marian eagerly, “what mean you? Those sounds,

"Aye," said Deborah, all the cant of her profession rushing into her voice and words, "Those sounds savour of captivity and murder! You left the Lady Countess free to walk through the domains of her husband, unfettered by the commands of any one; could you behold

"You may say soon, poor child. The commands of tyrants lack not agents to put them into execution. Suspicions are abroad that young

Leonard hides him hereabout.'

"And what of him?" shrieked Marian.

"Aye, there is indeed the danger." She laid her finger wildly upon her lip, glanced her phrensied eye upon the maiden, and resumed in the same appalling accents." But never fear, pretty one, my faith is pledged to thee, and when was it ever broken? Where no risk is, small must be the glory. I will guide thee to him; nor shall all the followers of Cromwell prevent me."

She laid her hand upon the mantle of the trembling Marian, and urged her forward, till they reached a low hovel formed amidst the excavations of the rocks, and as the door opened, a hand half thrust out caught the maid and drew her hastily within. "Is it you, dear girl? So long, and so impatiently expected! Oh, how drearily have the moments passed."

They were the well known accents of love, and they sank upon the ear and heart of the damsel with ten-fold sweetness, as contrasted with the shrill notes of Deborah, which even still dwelt upon them. For a short period the old woman suffered them to enjoy the transport of meeting without interruption; it was but a short one.

"Away, away," she exclaimed impetuously, "ere the chains of your enemies encircle you. But there is one task yet." She looked mournfully upon them. "Come, unhappy. pair, a last look at the Countess you must take. To her embrace you cannot now go."

She quitted the hovel with a rapid uneven pace, followed by Leonard and his Marian, nor rested, till the walls of Bradgate became perceptible amid gloom and distance.

The mansion was built in a quadrangular form, of brick, so strongly cemented together as to appear capable of withstanding the ravages of many ages. A Gothic chapel, de

corated with the tomb of many a noble ancestor, reared its head in the centre of the building, at the corners of which rose four square towers, serving the double purposes of staircase and vestibule to the apartments severally connected with them. Between two of these towers, looking full west, was the range of rooms usually devoted to the Countess's use, and the only side of the building not encircled by the stately chesnut trees, in which it was almost entirely embosomed. The view from these apartments was lovely and picturesque, looking up a fair romantic valley, through which the youthful fugitives now trod.

The roar of the waters, rushing over the steep declivities on one side of them, the occasional hoarse croak of the raven, disturbed from his repose as he sheltered among the rocks, and the distant hum of men's voices, pacing to and fro between the walls of the mansion,-all contributed to the dreadful emotion with which the hearts of the travellers were already fraught-added to which, the pale beams of the moon, partially breaking from behind a cloud and shining brightly upon the windows of their home, rendered those emotions still more keen. Involuntarily they paused. Leonard and Marian pressed their hands upon their hearts. It was a painful struggle betwixt affection and necessity. "Alas, my mother! and my friend!” burst at once from their lips, as, scarcely conscious of the action, they sank upon their knees and gazed with wild and eager looks upon the building.

Deborah regarded them earnestly. "Poor wanderers! dearer at this moment to the heart of your parent than when you glided in costliness and pomp within the walls of yonder stately hall! Well may you mourn to go hence. But let it be a lesson unto you."

"Hush, Dame," said Marian, gently, forgetting her own sorrow in her anxiety to spare the feelings of

her companion. "Drive not the arrow beyond its barb, the point is quite keen enough, believe me. And you, dear Leonard (turning towards him), when you behold those fair walls, on which the moon plays so mildly, does not your heart carry you beyond them? Are not the cheering scenes of infancy present? The tennis court-the bowling-green-the latticed summer-house by the river, on whose banks, beneath whose willows we have sat together, little dreaming of such an hour as this -"

She covered her face with her hands as she ceased, and resting it upon them, sobbed bitterly. The distressed youth threw his arms fondly around her; but Deborah, who, notwithstanding her rugged nature, loved the lady and her children with an affection as ardent as it was sincere, interrupted them hastily.

"Nay, waste not the precious moments in grief which can now avail you not. Look rather to the brighter side of the picture; and see, the Countess herself, the noble dame who reared you, appears to greet and bless you!"

The words of the beldame were correct; at an open casement, with arms stretched out, and eyes that seemed as if they would dive into futurity, stood the anxious mother watching for the objects of her solicitude, wistful, yet almost dreading to behold them.

"There she stands!-the best of mothers, and of wives!"-cried the energetic Deborah, waving her hand triumphantly over the prostrate couple, and pointing towards their agonized parent.

"But again I say to you, Weep not, for the lot is cast into the lap, and the whole disposing thereof is from above!'"

She raised them gently, and having succeeded in sufficiently tranquillizing their spirits, so as to admit of their receiving the farewell wafted by the lady, she conducted them in safety beyond the skirts of the forest.

S.