pulous, and he may have heard of this unlucky business."

"Whew! Masther," said the servant, with a knowing grin, "axin' your pardon for takin' the freedom to spake sir, shure it is'nt you that id be afeard to see Miss Ewing. God bless her purty face, the darlin' its well I remimber it-the women's cute sir, ay, be me sowl, cuter nor we, a great deal, an' if you let on to her any way at all, she'll soon see what she's to do."

Having so decided, he rung the bell, which was soon answered, and in a few minutes he was introduced to the room where old Samuel sat reading, while his niece sat at her needle-work in the window beyond him, I have come to you, sir, about some business which this latter will explain," said the stranger, scarcely looking at the old man to whom he spoke, but fixing his view with deep earnestness upon the young lady. She started, and raised her head at the sound of his voice, then colored deeply and seemed about to arise and speak, when the stranger raising his hand to his face, intimated, as plainly as he could by gesture, his desire that he should not be recognized. His signs were understood by the young lady, who did not speak, but resumed her position in evident astonishment and embarrassment, while old Samuel, intent upon his letter, was wholly unconscious of the wordless intelligence which passed between the stranger and his niece. Thy name is Henry Thompson," said he, as he concluded the letter, and looked towards the young man. The stranger bowed, and fixed his eyes on the ground as one bitterly ashamed, while Miss Ewing's astonishment evidently increased. "Thou art welcome to my house," continued the old man; "tomorrow I shall inquire for thee, respecting a ship. My friend who has given thee this letter, says thou art upon a business of haste."

"So much so," replied the young

man, "that if it were possible I should be glad to know this evening whether any vessel is ready."

"This evening! it would be quite useless, young friend; thou wilt lodge with me tonight, and tomorrow I shall go with thee into Ross, and learn what vessel will first sail. Come, take off thy riding coat. Mary, thou wilt order some refreshment for the young man."

Mary, glad of the excuse to escape from a scene which both surprised and annoyed her, rose and left the room, while the embarrassment of the stranger, who remained, left him unable distinctly to reply to what had been addressed to him. As the young lady crossed the hall, the servant of the stranger, who stood at the door, caught a glimpse of her, and throwing down on the ground the reins of the horses which he held, ran towards her with his hat in his hand: "Oh, thin, miss, jewel, but it's a joy to my heart to see your sweet face agin-did you see himself, that's the young masther, miss, that's here, sure, and jist gone up stairs to see you, miss."

"See me!" said the young lady. Something is the matter," she continued in an agitated tone, "why does your master come here, Patrick, and what is the reason that he pretends to my uncle that he is some other person ?"

"Raisin enough, miss," replied the man. "I suppose he had'nt time to tell you of it yit, an' myself does'nt rightly know the ins an' outs of it, but sures its throuble we're in-something about the law, bad look to itan' my young masther thinks of goin' out of the country."

"Out of the country!" exclaimed the young lady, with astonishment.

"Ay, in troth, miss, an' divil a sorrier boy-barrin its himself, missthere'll be in the whole country, or upon the salt say, than Pat Mc Cabe, for that same. An' sure it's myself that doesn't know, this blessed hour, whether I'm to go with him or no. hadn't the heart to ax him, but may be you would, miss."

I

"I-how can I ask him? he seems not to wish that I should even appear to know him-but what is the matter ?” she again repeated with increasing anxiety.

"It is a long story, miss, an' I'd

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"There now, may be I haven't put my fut in it," said Patrick, soliloquizing; why the divil couldn't I hould my tongue, and leave my master to tell his own story, whatever it is, for it's little enough of it I know, though

it's no use lettin an to be such an omadthaun, as to be runnin away from one doesn't know what. But how cute she is, never purtending to guess why he should come here, when all the country side knows how the young master was smit, and gev up all his

ould wild tricks for her sake. It's a pity her relations isn't all the real quality, but only making their money in trade-it's out o' the mother's blood, they say, she has that illegant look, but purty and simple, too, as a child. An' where's the great harm of trade either? After all, this is a mighty dacent comfortable looking place, an' it all come by thrade. I hope, though," he continued, taking up again the reins of the horses-" I hope they don't

mane to lave me an' the horses out here all night; we want bit an' sup as well as our betthers."

Here his soliloquy was interrupted by his master, who, coming out into the hall, directed him to go round to the stables, and put up the horses, and then to betake himself to the kitchen, where Mr. Ewing had ordered him to be taken care of.

"More power to you, sir ; you never came to a wiser detarmination in your life, and the horses id say the same, only they can't spake, poor bastes."

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"I almost wish that you were in the same condition upon the present occasion," said the young gentleman, "but since you can speak, Patrick, do be very cautious what you say. You are to know nothing of me, but that my name is Thompson, that I have come from Dublin, and that you rode with me to show me the way from Kilkenny to Ross."

"You wouldn't suspect me, sir, of tellin anything?"

"No, not suspect; I rely on your fidelity-on your affection for me; but what I fear is, that without intending at present discretion is everything, and it, you may say more than you ought to say. I am sure you would be as sorry for it yourself as I should be, if I should be prevented from accomplishby any thing that was heard from you ing my escape."

"Wouldn't I die sooner ?" rejoined Patrick with earnestness; "but_sure I know it's far easier for an Irishman to fight than to hould his tongue, but even that same I'll do, wit the help o' God, barrin it's the priest himself that bids me spake."

"And would you betray me to a priest?" said the young man hurriedly, and with an air of anxiety and indignation.

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There's no betrayin' sir, in what one says to one's clargy," replied the servant, gravely.

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Well, Patrick," said his master, with a sigh, we cannot discuss this now, but be discreet, and be ready very early in the morning, if I have occasion for you."

"Never fear me, sir," replied Patrick, "I wont pay their bed the compliment of stayin in it after daylight, any how."

The young gentleman now returned into the parlour to old Mr. Ewing, upon whom his conversation after Miss Ewing left the room had made a very favourable impression, though it afforded very little information as to the cause of his eagerness to take ship without delay from New Ross. "You were so good, sir," said the stranger,

as to send to order refreshment for me, will you permit me to postpone it

until your usual hour of supper? and in the mean time, if you will allow me, I shall go to my chamber, as I have something to write, which I must do without delay."

I thought refreshment needful for thee, after thy long ride," replied his host," but if thou dost indeed prefer to wait, and would rather dispatch thy business at once, a resolution for which thou dost deserve praise, be it as thou wilt; I will myself conduct thee to thy chamber."

With these words he led his guest to a chamber as comfortable and neat as even a much more fastidious traveller could have desired, and pointed out to him, with courteous but Quaker-like exactness, where every convenience that he might be likely to stand in need of was to be found. Writing materials, which, in these days, formed part of the ordinary furnishing of bed-chambers in gentlemen's houses, were the only things that were to be added to the conveniences of the apartment.

Thou hast two hours for thy business before our supper time," said the mild and attentive host; we shall then send for thee, and hope by that time thou wilt have finished." He received with evident pleasure the earnest and grateful thanks of the young gentleman, and withdrew.

The stranger, as soon as he was alone, threw himself upon a seat, and covering his face with his hands, thus meditated" What will she, what can she think of me now?-I must seem an impostor in the sight of one who, more than any other in the whole world I desired might think well-think more than well of me! O fatal result of folly-where shall I now look for the honor that I might have won-the love that, perhaps, I might have inspired-had I but deserved it? All now is lost to me, a fugitive and a criminal! But she must not deem me worse than I am I cannot hope to speak with her, nor to express myself as I ought, even if I could-I will write, and trust for an opportunity of giving into her own hand an explanation of my present situation. There is no time to be lost, let me at once set about it." He rose, went to the writing table, and exerting all the self-command he possessed, to repress the agitation of his mind, rapidly wrote the following letter

"I am sure Miss Ewing must have been much surprised, and I scarcely dare venture to hope that she has not been much offended by that which must have appeared to her myvery unaccountable appearance and conduct this evening. I fear that I may possibly add to that offended feeling by the liberty I take in writing this letter, but even with that consciousness, I cannot bear that my conduct should remain unexplained. I dare not attempt to describe the agony of the thought that you might despise me. You have seen

to what the necessity of circumstances has driven me. I entreat you o listen to the brief account of these circumstances which I shall attempt to give.

"You, perhaps, do not rememberI can never forget the occasion on which we first met, very shortly after you arrived from England. That meeting, and the subsequent meetings which made your aunt's house an earthly paradise to me, wrought in me an utter change. I became another man. New thoughts-new feelings - new views opened upon me. Nobler, better, wiser aims were set before me by the gentlest and most unconscious of monitors. The impetuosity-the waywardness-the contempt for that which I ought to have respected-all the faults which were destroying me were by your society-by pondering in delightful admiration on your disposition and your accomplishments, made obvious to me. You have beheld me this evening enduring the disgrace of previous errors-it is to you I owe it, that I am not now proceeding in a guilty and desperate career.

:

"It is probable that you may have heard, that at an early age, after having lost my father, I was sent to school to England, where a naturally impetuous temper was not improved, but rather made worse, by the tyranny which, in great schools, one class is permitted to exercise over another :from thence I went to Cambridge, where, for an offence against the discipline of the University, which I then thought of very trifling moment, or rather of no moment at all, I was severely censured. I left Cambridge in disgust, and returned to my home in Ireland, where an indulgent mother was easily persuaded that I had acted

with becoming spirit in refusing to submit to the harshness of College discipline. The fortune which my father had left me, made it unnecessary for me to choose a profession as a means of living, and having a taste for reading, and political disquisition, I soon found enough, and, ere long, alas! too much to engross my time and attention.

Although a Protestant myself, I deemed it just, or at all events generous, to exhibit the utmost liberality of sentiment towards my Roman Catholic neighbours. I cultivated the acquaintance of the Roman Catholic clergyman, and through him became intimate with his brother, who had shortly before returned from abroad. He, too, had been intended for the ecclesiastical profession, but for some reason which I never heard explained, he had not taken orders. He was exceedingly well informed, particularly on subjects connected with political discussion, and no man could use his information with better effect; he was equally subtle in reasoning, and earnest in declamation. His persuasive powers were irresistible-at least I found them so, and he soon obtained a complete mastery over my opinions and actions. It was then he revealed to me certain views of great political changes to be wrought in the first instance, by secret associations, and in process of time by open force. My folly, or his eloquence, was such, that what I heard, though it astonished, it did not deter me. On the contrary, I thought it a noble enterprise, and admired the depth of deliberation with which the plan had been marked out, from the first suggestions of popular discontent, to the final overthrow of the existing powers and privileges. I need not tell how I was led on, step by step, to take a leading part in the secret conspiracy that even then was at work among the people. Without at all committing himself, (as I now perceive, but did not then,) my false friend led me into taking the oaths of confederacy, and attending the secret meetings, which made me a criminal in the sight of the law. I soon saw that I had gone too far. Even if the apparent ruffianism of those with whom I

found myself associated, had not taught me this, I should have learned it from the tyranny which he who had so entangled me, now attempted to exer

cise over me.

He made me painfully sensible, that neither my house, nor my purse, nor my time, was my own-he commanded all when it so pleased him, and I saw, with deep indignation that he used me as a convenience.

"It was at this time that you came to reside at your aunt's house in our neighbourhood-the result I have already attempted to describe to you. That which I had begun to perceive to be a course of hazard and of guilt, soon became to me immeasurably disgusting. Do you think this was a mere reaction of caprice-the mere fickleness of one whom passion and not reason guided? Oh! do not think so. My understanding was convinced that there were far better-far more honest, far more honourable pursuits, than those of a political conspirator, and if I felt with all the sweet intensity of passion, that life could also give more exquisite delights than the gratification of fierce and turbulent ambition, deem me not, therefore, to have for this alone repented me of my guilt. The calm good sense, enshrined in feminine gentleness, which you pos sessed, taught me what was right, while it inspired feelings that now I do not dare to dwell upon.

"But I must proceed. I endeavoured to disunite myself from my political associates, and had to bear first the ridicule, and then the reproaches of the man who had led me into the conspiracy. Against all this your society, which I then had the happiness frequently to enjoy, sustained me. You left our neighbourhood to come here, and the thoughts and feelings which you left with me, sustained me still. Moylan-for that was the name of my tyrant, and you may remember him—a dark, quick-eyed man, who in company was either totally silent, or the leader of the conversation. Moylan bore more and more hardly upon me. At last I resented his intrusion, and we openly quarrelled. I knew that 1 did so at my peril, but I still thought that, considering the part he himself had had in leading me into the political conspiracy, he would not dare to denounce me to the government. There

I

deceived myself-ten days ago I learned, with consternation and shame unutterable, that information had been given against me, and that officers were

ordered to apprehend me. Since then I have beeu a fugitive-a criminal flying from the officers of justice-I have no course but that of escaping out of the country. I have been to Dublin and beyond it, hoping to advise with my uncle, who is a clergyman, but I found he was absent in England. My steps were traced, by information which I have no doubt Moylan must have furnished, and I could not embark from Dublin. I thank him for that, for it has led me here, and I shall once more see you before I leave this country, perhaps for ever. I know not what informa. tion may have been forwarded even to this place, and therefore I have obtained a letter of introduction to your uncle as for another person. Pardon this poor degrading deceit to which I am reduced. I hope it will be the last. "And now farewell. Once more forgive me forgive me for thus telling you all that my bursting heart will not allow me to restrain, and yet I do not tell you all-no, it would be idle and presumptuous daring to do that now. I did once fondly indulge the hope, that extricated from the fatal errors into which I had plunged, I might not unworthily visit this house, to pour out with trembling solicitude those vows which now must burn untold within the heart of a miserable exile.Alas! the agonising thought of what might have been contrasted with that which is! I can now only ask your pity-you will not refuse me that I venture to hope that you will not.

"Where I shall go, I know not; but wherever I go, remembrance of you shall dwell with me-the one sad, sweet thought of an otherwise tasteless existence. May Heaven ever bless you with its choicest blessings. Farewell.

" HENRY TREVOR."

The stranger had scarcely finished this letter, which, hurriedly as it was written, had many pauses between, when he was summoned to the supper-table. Had Mr. Ewing been

a younger man, or one more accustomed to society, he might have discovered something to excite his curiosity in the peculiar manner of his guest towards his niece, and in the unusual reserve which distinguished her demeanor; but, solely on hospitable cares intent, and altogether unconscious that

those sitting with him took any particular interest in each other, he did not observe anything out of the usual course. In spite of the unfortunate circumstances which hung over young Trevor, the presence of one whose favourable opinion he so ardently desired to win, led him to put forth all his powers of conversation; and although sobered and saddened in all his remarks, compared with what he had been when Miss Ewing had last met him, he certainly appeared to no disadvantage upon this occasion, especially in the sight of the good old Quaker. "I would thou wert not in such haste," said the old man; "we would gladly lodge thee for a few days, and show thee all that is to be seen in this neighbourhood. My niece could show thee many delightful views about this place which she has led me to. I did not know half the beauties by which I was surrounded until she taught me, old as I am, to perceive them. This is the benefit of education in matters of taste. I wish that thou couldst stay and accompany us in some of our little excursions. I should be pleased to hear thy remarks."

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He did not perceive the deep sigh with which his guest assured him it was impossible. "I must depart," he said, "early in the morning." Well," returned the old man, "if it must be so, I shall get thee an early breakfast, and go into Ross with thee: but I must get for thee one of Mary's drawings; it will show thee one of the views which I wished thee to see."

If you will excuse me, uncle, I will say good night," said the young lady, rising to go away.

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Ah, Mary," replied the old man, "thou art afraid of thy praises; and so it is best; I love thee all the better;" and he kissed her forehead: "thou art a good child; good night: but I must show our guest thy pretty sketch"

and so saying, he walked into a recess, where his portfolio lay upon an oldfashioned desk, to seek the drawing.

"Mr. Trevor," said the young lady, in a low tone, "good night. Your appearance here in this way is, to say the least of it, surprising: you must judge whether it is right."

"For Heaven's sake, Miss Ewing," he replied, " do not condemn me until you have heard-I mean read my ex