in which he was warmly joined by Caroline. Their grateful language appeared to pain the guerilla, who, begging them to be silent, assured them each act of service rendered to a friend of the Marquis of Santalina, was only a poor return for a debt which never could be cancelled. Clanranald liberally dispensed the contents of his purse among the inferiors, receiving in return good wishes and plentiful benedictions. Proceeding by the pathway from which they had entered, attended by the chief, Caroline and the earl departed from the cave.

The eyes of Caroline were directed towards the place where first they had sought shelter, and, with a shudder at their near escape, she beheld nothing remaining save a shapeless mass of ruins; the lightning had performed its work of devastation, levelling the old walls of the chapel to their foundation. Her gratitude towards the instrument Heaven had sent to warn them of their danger, was expressed with all her wonted warmth and feeling. The glowing countenance of Caroline was surveyed, whilst she spoke, by the guerilla with a look of admiration so intense, as to excite a feeling of displeasure in the mind of the earl. With instinctive quickness Caroline defined the emotions of the earl, and with painful embarrassment she turned from the gaze of the piercing eyes so long bent upon her

countenance.

A change was given to those feelings by the return of the guerilla, who had been des

patched in quest of the horses; he led the steed of the earl, but reported Caroline's was killed by the lightning. With poignant sorrow Caroline heard the fate of her favourite steed, but much as she regretted its loss, the present was no fitting time for the indulgence of her feelings. Her mind was occupied by the considerations of how they were to quit their unpleasant situation, for the castle was many leagues distant. She was relieved from this dilemma, by the chief issuing an order, that a litter should be prepared for her conveyance. To this proposal the earl could not object. When the litter was in readiness, Caroline was assisted by the chief, who seemed to claim this honour as a right, and respectively pressed her hand to his lips ere he resigned it. The bearers then commenced their march, and the earl rode close by the side of this conveyance, apparently determined to watch over her safety with a lover's vigilance. Arrived at the castle, the free sons of the forest immediately departed, bearing with them a munificent token of the earl's liberality.

The arrival of Caroline and her companion was hailed with delight by their friends, by whom the most lively alarm had been experienced for their safety during the brief continuance of the terrific tempest. The marquis started involuntarily when the appearance of the guerilla chief was described; questioning the narrators minutely respecting all they had observed when sheltered within the haunt of the outlaws. He then cautioned the earl and

Caroline against alluding to their adventure in the presence of strangers, observing there is much of mystery connected with this singular individual, who is now in a situation little accordant with his early life. Many years ago it was my fortune to be of service in rescuing him from a state of imminent peril. Since then he appears to consider himself bound by the strongest ties; and, indeed, I may say that the swords of his followers are at my command, were I disposed to claim their service, which assuredly I am not. I may, however, justly congratulate you upon your identity as my friends, otherwise I fear you would have been exposed to dangers greater from those lawless foresters than the tempest's blast. I must again caution you, to never, under any circumstance, allude to the guerilla chief-the very breathing of his name bears with it danger; and let the occurrence of this day be erased from the tablet of your memory.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Blest be those feast, with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale."

THE simple festivities of Christmas were continued at the light-house of Fern Island, and enjoyed with a relish only to be felt by those simple children of nature, whose tastes are unvitiated by the artificial luxuries of society. The board of the ever liberal and hospitable Mr. Darling, was supplied on this occasion with unusual profusion; the munificent presents received from their generous friends yielding additional means of exercising the dictates of his heart; for the good old man possessed a heart and hand open as melting charity.

Bright and glowing were the smiles with which the worthy Mr. and Mrs. Darling watched the gambols of their grand-children, now for the first time visitors at the island. Grace participated most heartily in the amusements of the children, joining in their little games, telling them tales, and singing portions of her favourite ballads. It was a sight full of interest to behold the heroine in whose praises the lyres of a hundred bards had been strung, and whose fame has reached every part of the kingdom, unbending all the powers

of her comprehensive mind for the amusement of those little ones.

In place of the active amusements, with which, on the previous visits of the young people to the light-house, the time had been wiled away, all were now disposed for conversation. Grace was, as might be supposed, the object of attention; and she was questioned respecting each particular connected with the late events that had so completely changed her before recluse and obscure existence, with a pertinacity and minuteness enough to have wearied a less amiable person,

On an evening when all were assembled around the blazing hearth, the wild wind whistling and blowing without, accompanied by the dashing of the waves against the rocky shore-Tell me, Grace, exclaimed Robert, what were your sensations when you found yourself along with my father on the boisterous ocean? Did no feeling of fear paralyse your arm—and when you witnessed the distress of my poor mother, were you not almost persuaded to resign the attempt of proceeding to the wreck?

No, Robert, replied Grace, with her usual modest ingenuousness, my every feeling was so completely absorbed in the cause of the poor sufferers, whose agonising shrieks even yet at times haunt my fancy, that my only fear was, lest we should be incapable of attaining the wreck in time to be of service; this was the only subject which occupied my mind. Had I considered the danger, per