that nested in the thatch, as if they also had been disturbed by the noise which sent the master of the cottage forth with his rifle. Presently the whistle sounded near, and then, away-away-away-into the forest. "The devil's in the wind," said the forester's wife, who stood outside the window, anxious to gather the sounds of night, and calculate as to their cause-" the devil's in the wind, or Mad Ciss has blown that whistle. Why, what could HE be about, to let her grasp such-like--the wild cat with a pipe in her mouth!" "And who is Mad Ciss ?" inquired Rosalind. "It's easy known you're a stranger in these parts,” replied the woman; "or, boy as you are, you would have known Mad Ciss-pretty Cicely Maynard, the flower of the forest, whose beauty broke half the hearts in the parish and crazed her own wits. Heaven save my child from beauty, say I ; though there be some who call her handsome; but handsome is that handsome does. What good has her beauty been? -why, her curse--a curse to herself and to every one who loved her. And now she's taken up with a set of mountebanks or morris-dancers, and goes showing off, not fit for a creditable woman to talk of, in hose and buskin,—to think of any thing of a woman ever wearing aught but a stiff petticoat, full and modest. Augh! it's easy to see what popery does.. Why, they do say that in Rome the great pope himself, though he be a man, wears petticoats; and the popish women, leathers like our men! I knew they'd be at it!" she continued, as the flash of a rifle sparkled in the distance, and was succeeded by another, and another. " My poor Bob! but he'll not go too deep in it, I know. I think I'll creep up a little way, and see if I can make him hear me ;" and away she went into the covert, leaving Alice and Rosalind in quiet possession of the hut. She soon, however, returned, and trimmed the fire, and prepared food; and when Rosalind timidly inquired if "she could tell her what had chanced," she replied, that doubtless it was some of those who had got scent of the Outlaw. They be hard times," she added; "people can't sleep in their beds, nor eat their food, nor live like Christians. But times will mend:" and at this juncture in came her husband with a few other foresters; some wounded and bleeding, but all in a state of high excitement. Then was the story rapidly discussed 66 from lip to lip, how the Outlaw had been assaulted, though his friends and partisans had set fire to the brushwood to effect a diversion in his favour; how red lights had been sent up to warn him; how the devil had come into Ciss along with her wits; how she had danced through the forest like a will-o'-the-wisp; and how-and here they spoke lowly and reverently-they believed that some holy power had loosened the Outlaw's bonds; and then, how he fought as with a sword of fire rather than an arm of flesh. Then they talked by a succession of signs, which Rosalind could not comprehend; but they were of dangers-and princes-and ships-and soldiers: and at last she again sunk into a sweet and refreshing sleep. CHAPTER XVII. Believe not oaths, nor much-protesting men ; The heart doth live ten regions from the tongue : SYLVESTER. "Now God bless the boy, how sound he sleeps!" exclaimed the forester's wife the next morning, as she looked upon the crimsoned cheek and pulpy lip of the disguised maiden. Alice Murrough, who had been long awake, was seated by her side, telling over her rosary; which, however, she had tact enough to conceal on her entrance, having gathered from the woman's allusion to popery the night before her opinion thereon. "Is the lad your son?" she inquired, peering into her face. "The crow does not lay dove's eggs," replied Alice, sharply, "nor does the blackberry-bush ripen cherries." "But won't you wake him?" continued the woman; "the sun is high and they do say that the whole forest is to be put under martial law, which my husband vows is a terrible VOL. I.-Q : thing, preventing people from walking or sleeping, and making them go to bed by the ringing of a bell, as they used in some king's time-I think in his time who was shot by an arrow yonder-though I'm not sure." "Let the child sleep!-whisht, woman, whisht, and let the child sleep!" interrupted Alice; "sleep strengthens the body and eases the soul; and the crathur is foot-sore, and half-dead, worn down with trouble: let him sleep as long as he can, a-lannan !-and may your own eyes never be kept open by tears !" Sleep and welcome," replied the woman, at the same time pinning a kerchief as a blind across the window. "Sleep and welcome, as long as he likes; and God bless him with it! He puts me in mind of a lad I loved when I was young, -not my present Jo, but another-who was all too good for this world, and died, poor youth! when he was just eighteen." The sun-burnt and rugged features of the forester's wife relaxed as she looked upon Rosalind, and the tears that rose to her eyes prevented her seeing the look of scorn with which Alice regarded her. The nurse resumed her beads, and jabbered prayer after prayer upon the sparkling glass of sober jet that passed through her fingers. O consolatory but perilous faith, that supposes such easy sacrifices can atone for a life's sin! "God bless the child, how she sleeps !" murmured Alice at last; "what a beautiful sleep! just as she used upon my bosom in our own country, far away from sin and sinners; but no, not far away from either. Och my grief! if 'twasn't for these blessed beads, what a heart I should have! but they save me from distraction intirely. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us! Holy Saint Bridget, pray for us! Holy-" But at this last repetition Rosalind awoke! The forester's wife entertained too high a respect for the power which had placed Rosalind under her care, and had indeed too much kindness of heart, to neglect such hospitalities as she could offer; and when they were about to resume their journey, she filled a small basket with wheaten cakes, which she had baked upon a flatted piece of iron; and with a benevolent smile, and a motherly kiss upon the cheek of one whom she often afterward spoke of as "the fair boy," she sent her lodgers forth with her blessing. Rosalind turned on the threshold, and offered her a coin as a gratuity, with an apology for the smallness of its value. 66 No, no,” she replied; "he who brought thee here, lad, would be angry at the thing; and whether or not, thee art too like a boy I loved for me to touch thy money. Go thy ways with a blessing! and remember not to play with the love of women; for when they love young, they love for ever. Bless thee again! Thou'st brought him back who's been seven-and-twenty years, come Lammas-tide, under the aldertrees in yon churchyard; and I was then-but it doesn't matter, I shall be happy enough by-an'-by-though somehow I care less about things and people than I used when he was with me. 66 "I wonder," thought Rosalind, as she wended on her way, was she right, and do those who love young love for ever? It was of women she spoke. I wish I had not been born a woman, and yet I should make but an awkward man.' And as some of her gayety had returned, invited by her long repose, the certainty of the Outlaw's safety (which she heard from her hostess), and the freshness of the day, she cast a laughing look upon her metamorphosis, and a blush stole over her cheek as she thought within herself how pained she should be if Basil saw and recognised her thus. She endeavoured to enter into conversation with Alice, but the cunning Irishwoman assured her she had taken upon herself a three days' vow of silence, only allowing her tongue liberty to utter a very limited number of words. Rosalind easily penetrated this flimsy excuse, and smiled to herself at her nurse's craft. Her mind then returned into itself, and she commenced speculating upon her destiny. She would have hailed, as the brightest hope of her existence, the knowledge that she was no base-born child; but then her uncle, the guide, the companion, the very playmate of her early days, to learn that he was not her father's brother to whom then could she look up? She was a woman, and young,-had cherished the delicious feeling of being protected by Sir Everard, her only friend,—of being loved by him. Had she relatives? and if she had, who were they? Exchanging alternately hope and mistrust, anxiety and disappointment, she toiled on-and on-and on-her spirits reviving with the morning, and flagging with the night; rising with the sun, and setting with the same. She still carried the caged birds, and often lamented that Brano had deserted her. Her faithful, yet faithless, nurse walked sullenly behind her, too much influenced apparently by some secret cause to offer consolation to her brokenspirited charge. Gradually, as one day succeeded another, the maiden's slender purse became exhausted; and the bitterest of all degradations, that of knowing you have not wherewith to discharge the honest demand made upon you for a morsel of food, pressed heavily on her heart. She had still more than thirty long miles to journey to London. Her shoes were worn, and her tender feet lacerated with walking: and as the houses became more closely clustered together, and the ways more crowded, she shrank from observation. When we know our poverty, we fancy it is known to all who look upon us, and we dread the scorn that awaits those who can count neither gold nor silver. Its bitterness was the more deeply felt, for it was the first of the kind she had experienced. In accordance with this feeling, she sought the by and private roads; by which her difficulties were increased, for they were hard to travel, and she frequently went two, when she needed only to have gone one mile: she also felt ashamed of her boy's-dress, though she had covered it with a frock, similar to that of the wagoner, and slouched a peaked and broad-crowned hat over her blushing face: still every thing so widely differed from what she had been accustomed to, all was so new, so terrifying to one who had led a forest-lady's life, that she would fain have run into the burrow of the wildest cony when she saw a crowd. Tremblingly, as the night darkened, she left a lonely path she had pursued, and entered, with a palpitating heart, a low and straggling town: she crept, rather than walked, into a small hostelry by the roadside; and seating herself on a vacant bench, while Alice followed her example, requested a glass of water and some brown bread. There were many in the common room, all talking of the coming war; and there was also a troop of comedians, or rather strolling morrisdancers and sword-players, who had appropriated a corner of the place to their company, and were talking, and trimming, and painting themselves, at no small rate. There were also two or three females among the small group; one particularly, |