conversation, and Lady Llewellen has sunk into a kind of dose in the corner of the carriage, when they stop at the last stage. The horses are put to in no time, and before Lady Llewellen can arouse herself sufficiently to look out at the little country town, they have rattled through its streets, and are again rolling on between two hedge-rows. She just hears the bells ring merrily, and again relapses into a dreamy reverie.

It gradually grows darker and darker, and the moon has not yet risen. Tennine-eight-seven-six-five-fourthree-two miles to Pontavou. The carriage turns to the left; it must be the Lodge, but the gates are open, if there are any. A single light suddenly gleams and disappears. On they drive, and the only change seems to be, that the road becomes darker, as if it wound between trees or hills. It is now evidently an avenue. The plashing sound of water arouses Lady Llewellen. She looks out of the carriage

window, but can see nothing but the fitful gleaming of the lamps across the road. Now they emerge from the avenue, and a huge bonfire is seen blazing upon a hill close by; and at a short distance in front, a brilliant illumination. Out sounds a peal of bells-forth burst the notes of a hundred instruments-but every other sound is lost in the tumultuous shout of thousands of human voices. Now they approach the huge house, every window of which is illuminated above the great iron gates is a transparency, in which a lion couchant figures conspicuously, and around which, in various coloured lamps, are emblazoned the words "Long live the Llewellens of Plas Llewellen." The carriages pass through the huge gateway, into a large court, and the shouts are redoubled.

Long live the Llewellens of Plas Llewellen," seems to echo from the inscription above the gates; and "Welcome Home!" Welcome to Plas Llewellen! Long live the old family," succeeds the cry.

The young people have alighted, and Gwenthlean is gazing with wonder around her. A sudden bustle, and a hasty call for water from Colonel Llewellen. Lady Lewellen has fainted. She is born into an immense hall, where David the harper is playing, "The march of the men of Harlech," on his harp. The sounds arouse her, and she recovers and looks round. Her children are on either side of her, and they are again in the old entrance hall of Plas Llewellen. Servants, some with familiar faces, stand respectfully around, and the old butler opens the drawing-room door. She enters the room, and sinking down upon a seat, bursts into a flood of tears. Gwenthlean casts her arms round her, and Clare takes her hand, and kneels by her side, both mingling their tears with hers. They are left alone for a few minutes in the great drawing-room of Plas Llewellen, whilst the shouts of welcome are renewed without.

By and bye Lord Hastings and Herbert

entered, and joined them. They looked about for Colonel Llewellen, but he was not to be found. David came in, and Lady Llewellen asked what it all meant. Tears streamed down the poor man's cheeks, as he answered

"It means, my lady, that you and yours have come to your own again, and God be praised for it! It is all Master Herbert's and Miss Gwenthlean's now."

David put a parcel and note into Herbert's hand, directed to him and his wife. He opened the note first: the contents were as follows:

"MY DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE, "Welcome to your new parsonage it is yours. Your father, Lieutenant Llewellen, who fell on the field of Waterloo, was my only brother. Plas Llewellen is my wedding present to his son and daughter. I ́am the ninety-ninth cousin to whom it must have descended, had not the entail been cut off. Remember! I quit you, if I hear

any thanks. You have the warmest wishes of your affectionate uncle,

"ALFRED LLEWELLEN."

The parcel contained deeds and documents, legally drawn-up, in which Plas Llewellen, and its belongings, were given to Herbert and Gwenthlean, and to their heirs for ever. Herbert glanced over the papers in silence, and then gave them to Gwenthlean, by whom they were in turn presented to the rest of the party. Every one turned to David for an explanation, who gave such information as he had gained.

This was, briefly, as follows:-Colonel Llewellen had discovered, at Glanheatyhn, that Herbert was his nephew. When he found that Herbert and Gwenthlean were engaged, and saw, by chance, the advertisement of Plas Llewellen, he determined to purchase the property, if possible, and to present it to them as a wedding-gift; thus restoring it to the old family. When

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