the sickness of soul under which she laboured, had passed the last months of

Herbert's captivity, up to the period of the arrival of the stranger in the cave. Small progress appeared to have been made in Margarita's good work; still Herbert was better; and she hoped for further amendment. The sight of a countryman was beneficial, and seemed to revive the drooping spirit of the poor exile.

We must now, once more, bid him farewell, and leave him to the guardianship of his faithful friend, Margarita. Happily we leave him in the first peaceful sleep that he has enjoyed for months, which Margarita watches with breathless intensity of delight. A slight smile is on his lips, and the flush of excitement on his cheeks, for he dreams of those to whom he has sent messages of love. The first streak of dawn has just pierced through the opening of the cave, and falls upon the pallet, and Margarita's anxious face. It contrasts painfully with the dismal walls of the

cavern, where it would seem that nothing so bright and beautiful could enter. But where cannot sunshine penetrate? Like, the grace of God, into the most sombre places-even to the innermost recesses of the human heart, often more gloomy than the cave of the bandit.

CHAPTER II.

"Excuse me if I say with Euryalus, Nequeam lacrymas perferre parentis.' A rigid divine may call it a carnal tie; but sure it is a virtuous one : at least, I am more certain that it is a duty of nature to preserve a good parent's life and happiness, than I am of any speculative point whatever."

Pope's Correspondence.

WHEN the carriage, in which Clare Llewellen travelled from Wales to Bath, drew up at the door of her aunt's handsome house in the Royal Creisent, her feelings were not of the most enviable nature. She had been endeavouring, during her journey, to form plans for her proceedings with the Countess Sforza; but they all vanished

from her mind as she set foot on the stone steps of the entrance, and finally found herself in the drawing-room. Never had she returned her aunt's usually cold embrace with such frigidity before; never had she met her after an absence with such a chilling salutation. But she could not help it. Not all her resolution to conceal her feelings until a fitting opportunity of disclosing them, could conquer the disgust she felt at the sight of one, who had, for so many years, acted so deceitful a part, and kept her in ignorance of the dearest and nearest tie that can bind heart to heart -nay more, had endeavoured to instil into her young mind, unkind thoughts of the gentlest, fondest, dearest of parents. Clare had self-command enough in the mere fashionable, common-place world she lived in-but she had none when the best feelings of her soul were interested and concerned.

"I am glad you are come, my dear," said the Countess, evidently without notic

ing the change in Clare's manner. "Lord Hastings told me you would certainly be here to-day, and it really is essential that we should pay every attention to this Colonel Llewellen, when he arrives. He has been an age in India, where he has made himself as rich as Croesus, and has not a nearer relative in the world than ourselves. He has been travelling through Europe on his way home, and found out my address some how or other in Italy. He does not say when he will be here, but

it

may be this week or next. It will be a great bore to have to entertain a fussy, old Indian, and quite out of my way; so you must do the agreeable, for the sake of his ten thousand a year.'

"I never would play the agreeable for the mere sake of gain, to any living creature," said Clare, "therefore, cannot undertake Colonel Llewellen."

"Nonsense, my dear," said the Countess, "that is all romance. You had better go