up wonderful; but the little thing has been gone from here many a long year."

"Lived, and taken away?" he demanded, in a loud voice.

"Yes, sir. He was the finest child possible; downright brave boy, when he was took." "Where does the nurse live?"

"In the village, sir; the cottage on the right, after passing the churchyard."

Down the village street he went, where now the doors were being opened. Past the rectory, by the churchyard gate where the dark trees threw long shadows in the early sunshine, to the first cottage. There a decent-looking woman was standing in the doorway, swathing her cap with a band of black ribbon, her mouth being the receptacle of the pins necessary for this portion of her toilet; to use her own expression, she was struck all of a heap, when she saw the grand-looking gentleman, but guessed in one minute what he came after.

66 Are you the nurse that took charge of an infant some years ago?" he asked, jerking out his words.

"Yes, sir," replied Mrs. Lobb, curtseying low, scarcely knowing whether she stood "on her head or her feet."

"Ah, you had a good deal of trouble with it?

Was it quite strong and healthy when the ladythe child's mother-sent for it?"

He concluded, of course, that she had done so.

66

Well, sir, the boy was as fine a child as need be," said Mrs. Lobb, evasively.

"Do you ever hear-from-the lady?” "Frequently, sir." But Mrs. Lobb was too honest to let him continue in his belief that the mother had the boy; so, faltering, she said, "Oh, sir, it wasn't that lady as took him away.”

"Who then?" he asked, sharply.

"Oh, please, sir, not to ask too particular; he is right well off, I can say that."

"You must tell me where he is," said Stephen, decidedly.

"Please, sir, I must write and ask whether I may or not."

"Write and ask! Why, woman, there is some dishonesty or other. Perhaps you have sold the ring too?"

Now Mrs. Lobb could not brook this; besides, she remembered she had been told to confess, if it was needful for her own sake.

"No, sir," she said, indignantly. "You can have it for the asking; but it's a long way from here. Maybe the name of the lady is quite unbeknown to you.'

"What is it?" he asked, sharply.

VOL. II.

16

"Miss Gwynne of Woodford," said the nurse.

Stephen, clapping his hand to his side, staggered back, and fell against the wall, as if struck by a blow.

"Miss Gwynne! Woodford! the boy with her!"

Mrs. Lobb was just running for assistance, when Stephen sprang up, and, between quick gasps for breath, asked hurried questions. Then he heard the story, which brought the tears to her motherly eyes in narrating. Stephen, when the story was done, turned away in silence; and in a blundering, stunned kind of way, he turned into the churchyard.

66

Hugh Gwynne, the friend of his boyhood, Maud's brother-Hugh! that in those degrading years he had quite forgotten, that he had left unsought, whose living place even he was ignorant of. Just Heaven! Hugh was the rector of Westcliffe, and died here soon after that time; caught cold, the woman seemed to think, from going out to baptize the child. Oh, Maud, my good angel! never can I dare to seek your love more never more."

He sat down on a tombstone, feeling as if his brain must burst: he thought he should go mad. The shame, remorse, pain, wretchedness of his whole life pressed upon him at this moment,

tenfold; and he felt the best thing for him to do would be to end his miserable existence. Just then some one touched his arm; it was kindhearted Mrs. Lobb, who, being well skilled in the signs of human suffering, had understood his misery, and followed at a little distance.

"Oh, sir," she said, "be not angered with me. We are all weak; but there's One as is very merciful in forgiving us our wrongdoings: he that lies there would tell you that, sir. Just draw a little nigher to the place to see the grave; the hawthorn tree above is beautiful and sweet-smelling, reminding one of himself in a way, all in white, so pure: yes, this way, sir,—yes, this is it; here's the name on the cross, and all."

"Poor gen'leman," thought Mrs. Lobb, as she wended her way back, "he'll be all the better for that fit of crying. I always thought there was wrong in that business. Well, if he's sinned once, he's sorely sorry in consequence, I know, poor gen'leman."

And Stephen bowed his head by Hugh's grave, while the birds sang joyously in the sombre yewtrees, the sunshine flashed amongst the shadows, the dew glistened like drops of glory on the grassy graves, and the morning breeze bore the scent of the hawthorn tree afar.

CHAPTER XXV.

AN ADVOCATE.

"Oh, how can beautie master the most strong,

For many years of sorrow can dispense;

A dram of sweet is worth a pound of soure."

EVERYTHING looks so fresh after early summer rain: the rich deep green of the mountain slopes; the sparkling emerald of the young shoots in the leafy woods; the bright, yet soft, tints of the refreshed pastures; all is vivified, and pleasant to the eye! Down the glen the torrent foamed, purple and turbid with the soil it washed; rushing past the grim rocks and black boulder stones, which, now that winter desolation was over, cherished in many a chink and cranny bright bits of moss or wavy fern and grass.

Up the path, the short way to Rhiw, Philip strode, shouting, whistling, singing, and spring