Colonel Llewellen was determined to have a jollification, so after a few more shouts and congratulations, down tumbled the crowd upon the sands, to drink Herbert's health in good Welsh ale, standardbearer, musicians, sailors, ladies, and all: and capital justice, be it said, they did to the worthy Colonel's liberality.

The "gentry," meanwhile, re-entered the cottage, where Herbert was soon overwhelmed with congratulations and enquiries from his friends, all anxious to prove their joy at his escape and return. Oh! why was there one person present, who destroyed, like a blight, the happiness of the rest?

CHAPTER IX.

DURING these stirring events, Clare had slipped away to visit Margarita, who, aroused by the sounds of music, had arisen from her bed, bewildered, and scarcely conscious of where she was. Clare's long residence in Italy, her foreign accent, and, perfect knowledge of the language, soon set Margarita at ease, and she burst out in every expression of gratitude that her beautiful tongue afforded her. She thanked Clare for her kindness to the poor stranger, asked for Herbert, and then enquired if she were Gwenthlean. Clare told her that she was not Gwenthlean but her sister.

Margarita asked the particulars of her escape, which appeared to her like a dream, and when she learnt that she owed her life, under God, to Gwenthlean, the dear friend of Herbert, she entreated to be conducted to her preserver. Clare assisted her to dress in her own graceful Neapolitan costume, which she had not laid aside, and begged her to take some refreshment; but she would not break her fast, she said, until she had expressed her gratitude, and seen her of whom she had heard so much.

She went towards the window, and inquired the meaning of what was passing without; but her chief object was Herbert. Tears filled her dark eyes, when Clare explained to her that the crowd had assembled to welcome him back from his captivity, and were expressing their love towards him. She knew every body by name; even picked out David, the harper, and the miller from amongst the throng, and clasped her hands in ecstasy when

K 2

she saw Mr. Lloyd standing near Herbert, exclaiming

"His grandfather lives! his grandfather lives! then all is well."

As the crowd descended to the sands, and the family party returned to the house, she started suddenly, pointed her finger, and was about to ask one more question; but scarcely had the first word escaped her, when they disappeared beneath the verandah, and she again requested to be taken to Gwenthlean.

In the drawing-room, Mr. Grant was by Gwenthlean's side, watching her pale face with a jealous attention, commenting on her absence of manner, and addressing her alone. She was, indeed, absent from him. She was pulling to pieces a rose she had heedlessly received from him, and eagerly listening to the congratulations, and animated conversation that was passing between Herbert and his friends.

"You are not well, Gwenthlean," said

Mr. Grant, softly, whilst a frown passed over his face; "I fear the fatigues of last night were too much for you."

"Oh, no!" replied Gwenthlean, absently, "I am very well."

"Perhaps you are startled by the grave having given up its dead," he said, with a sneer; "you had better nurse yourself tomorrow, that you may recover the shock sustained, against our bridal."

This was said with a voice full of meaning, and was understood. Gwenthlean made a comparison. The one would wed her, knowing her heart to be another's— that other would resign her, because he considered she might be happier without him. True love, she thought, is unselfish, and prefers the happiness of the object beloved to its own.

Lord Hastings had long suspected Herbert's attachment to Gwenthlean, Colonel Llewellen knew it, and they had compared notes, guessing at the origin of Gwenthlean's sadness and dejection. But it was