"Oh, help me!" he supplicated; "for the love of God, help me!" "Poor little one," said Coit, laying Lizzy's cheek gently to his, "she's gone."

>

"Oh, I have not killed her! I did not mean she should be harmed-I swear I did not," continued Hewson. "Oh, help me! I'll give you gold, watches, silver, and jewels-I'll give them all to you."

"You are wounded, my dear boy, you are covered with blood," said the general to Eliot, as he suc➡ ceeded in disengaging him from the superincumbent burden of his horse.

"It's nothing, sir; is the child living ?"

"Nothing! bless your soul, the blood is dripping down here like rain." While he was drawing off Ehot's coat sleeve, and stanching his wound, Hewson continued his abject cries.

"Oh, gentlemen," he said, "take pity on me; my life is going-I'll give you heaps of gold-it's buried in-in-i-" His utterance failed him.

"Can nothing be done for the poor creature?" said Eliot, turning to Hewson, after having bent ever Lizzy, lifted her lifeless hand, and again mourn. fally dropped it.

"We will see," replied the general," though it seems to me, my friend, you are in no case to look after another; and this car'on is not worth looking after; but come, we'll strip him and examine his wound-life is life-and he's asked for mercy, what we must all ask for sooner or later. Ah," he continued, after looking at the wound, "he's called to the general muster-poorly equipped to answer the fall. But come, friends-there's no use in staying here there's no substitute in this warfare-every man must answer for himself."

"Oh!" groaned the dying wretch, "don't leave me alone."

"Tis a solitary business to die alone," said Coit, looking compassionately at Hewson as he writhed

on the turf.

"It is so, Coit; but he that has broken all bonds in life, can expect nothing better than to die like a dog, and go to the devil at last. I must be back at my post, you at yours, and our young friend on his way to the camp, if he is able. General Washington a'n't fond of his envoys striking out of the highway when they are out on duty. There's no use there's o use," he continued to Eliot, who had kneeled beside the dying man, and was whispering such counsel as a compassionate being would naturally administer to a man in his extremity.

"Repent!" cried Hewson, grasping Eliot's arm as he was about to rise; "repent what's that? Mercy, mercy-Oh, it's all dark; I can't see you. Don't hold that dead child so close to me!—take it away! Mercy, is there?-speak louder-I can't hear von-oh, I can't feel you: Mercy! mercy!" "He's done the poor cowardly rascal," said the general, who, innured to the spectacle of death, felt no emotion excited by the contortions of animal suffering, and who, deeming cowardice the proper concomitant of crime, heard without any painful compassion those cries of the wretched culprit, as he passed the threshold to eternal justice, which contracted Eliot's brow, and sent a shuddering through his frame.

"There's something to feel for," said the general, pointing to Eliot's prostrate horse; "if ever I cried, I should ery to see a spereted, gentle beast like that cut off by such villanous hands."

"Poor Rover " thought Eliot, as he loosed his girth, and removed the bits from his mouth," how Sam and Hal will cry, poor fellows, when they hear

of your fate.' Ab, I could have wished you a longer life and a more glorious end; but you have done well your appointed tasks, and they are finished. Would to God it were thus with that wretch, my fellowcreature."

"You're finding this rather a tough job, I'm thinking," said the general, stooping to assist Eliot; "our horses, especially in these times, are friends; and it's what Coit would call a solitary business to have to mount into that rogue's seat. But see how patiently the beast stands by his master, and how he looks at him! Do you believe," he added, in a lower voice," that the souls of the noble critters, that have thought, affection, memory-all that we have, save speech, will perish; and that low villain's live for ever? I don't."

Eliot only smiled in reply; but he secretly wondered who this strange being should be, full of generous feeling, and bold speculation, who had the air of accustomed authority, and the voice and accent indicating rustic education. It was evident he meant to maintain his incognito; for when they arrived at a road which, diverging from that they were in, led more directly to Cuit's (the same road that had proved fatal to poor Kisel), he said, "that he must take the shortest cut; and that if Eliot felt equal to carrying the poor child the distance that remained, he should be particularly glad, as Coit's attendance was important to him."

Eliot would far rather have been disabled than to have witnessed the mother's last faint hope extinguished; but he was not, and he received the child from Coit, who had carried her as tenderly as if she had been still a conscious, feeling, and suffering being.

Coit charged Eliot with many respectful messages to Mrs. Archer, such as that his house was at her disposal-he would prepare it for the funeral, or see that she and her family were safely conveyed to a British frigate which lay below, in case she preferred, as he supposed she would, laying her child in the family vault of Trinity Church. Eliot remembered the messages, but he delivered them as his discretion dictated.

As he approached Mrs. Archer's grounds, he inferred from the diminished light that the flames had nearly done their work; and when he issued from the thick wood that skirted her estate, he saw in the smouldering ruins all that was left of her hospitable and happy mansion. "Ah," thought he, "a fit home for this lifeless little body!"

He turned towards the office where he had left the mother. She was awaiting him at the door. It seemed to her that she had lived a thousand years in the hour of his absence. She asked no questionsa single glance at the still, colourless figure of her child had sufficed. She uttered no sound, but, stretching forth her arms, received her, and sunk down on the door-step, pressing her close to her bosom.

Edward had sprang to the door at the first sound of the horse's hoofs. He understood his mother's silence. He heard the servants whispering, in sup. pressed voices," She is dead!" He placed his hand on Lizzy's cheek at first he recoiled at the touch; and then again drawing closer, he sat down by his mother, and dropped his head on Lizzy's bosom, crying out, "I wish I were dead too!" His bursts of grief were frightful. The servants endeavoured to soothe him-he did not hear them. Her mother laid her face to his, and the touch of her cheek, after a few moments, tranquillised him. He became quiet; then suddenly lifting his head, he shrieked" Her

heart beats, mother! her heart beats! Lay your hand there. Do you not feel it? It does, it does, mother; feel it, and hear it too!"

Eliot had dismounted from his horse, and stood with folded arms, watching with the deep sympathy of his affectionate nature the progress of this family tragedy, while he awaited a moment when he might offer such services as Mrs. Archer needed. He thought it possible that the sharpened senses of the blind boy had detected a pulsation not perceptible to senses less acute. He inquired of the servants for salts, brandy, vinegar, any of the ordinary stimulants; nothing had been saved but the elements of fire and water. These suggested to his quick mind the only and very best expedient. In five minutes a warm bath was prepared, and the child immersed in it. Mrs. Archer was re-nerved when she saw others acting from a hope she scarcely dared admit. "Station yourself here, my dear madam," said Eliot; "there, put your arm in the place of mine-let your little boy go on the other side and take her hand-let her first

conscious sensation be of the tonch most familiar and dear to her-let the first sounds she hears be your voices-nothing must be strange to her. I do believe this is merely the overpowering effect of terror; I am sure she has suffered no violence. Put your hand again to her bosom, my dear little fellow. Do you feel the beats now?"

"Oh, yes, sir. stronger and quicker than before."

"I believe you are right; but be cautious, I entreat you make no sudden outcry nor exclama tion."

Mrs. Archer's face was as colourless as the child's over whom she was bending; and her fixed eye glowed with such intensity, that Eliot thought it might have kindled life in the dead. Suddenly he perceived the blood gush into her cheeks-be advanced one step nearer, and he saw that a faint suffu sion, like the first perceptible tinge of coming day, had overspread the child's face. It deepened around her lips-there was a slight distension of the nostrils -a tremulousness about the muscles of the moutha heaving of the bosom, and then a deep-drawn sigh.

Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon,

Are of two houses,

It is reasonable to suppose that the disclosures which occurred in Sir Henry Clinton's library would be immediately followed by their natural consequences that love declared by one party and betrayed by the other, would, according to the common usages of society, soon issue in mutual affiancing. But these were not the piping times of peace, and the harmony of events was sadly broken by the discords of the period.

The conflict of Mr. Linwood's political with his natural affections, at this eventful meeting frightful attack of gout in the stomach-a case with his son, was immediately followed by a faculty, who locates the sensibility in the mucous to verify the theories of our eminent friend of the tissue of that organ. Isabella, afflicted on all sides, and expecting her father's death at every moment, never left his bedside. In vain Meredith besieged the house, and sent her message after message; not he, even, could draw her from her post. My life depends on you, Belle," said her father; the doctor says I must keep tranquilhe might as well say so to a ship in a squall. But, my child, you are my polar star-my loadstone-my sheet anchor-my every thing; don't quit me, Belle!" She did not for an instant.

"

"Bless me, Mr. Meredith," said Helen Ruthven, on entering Mrs. Linwood's drawing-room, and finding Meredith walking up and down with an expression of impatience and disappointment, "what is the matter-is Mr. Linwood worse

"Not that I know."

"Lizzy!" said her mother.

"Dear Lizzy!" cried her brother. "Mother!-Ned!" she faintly articulated. "Thank God, she is safe!" exclaimed Eliot. The energies of nature, once aroused, soon did their beneficent work; and the little girl, in the perfect consciousness of restored safety and happiness, clung to her mother and to Edward.

The tide of gratitude and happiness naturally flowed towards Eliot. Mrs. Archer turned to express something of all she felt, but he was already gone, after having directed one of the servants to say to her mistress that Coit would immediately be at her bidding.

It was not strange that the impression Eliot left on Mrs. Archer's inind was that of the most beautiful personation of celestial energy aud mercy."

My meaning is simple enough a woman must be an icicle or an angel to hang over an old gouty father, without allowing herself a precious five minutes with her lover."

"Miss Linwood is very dutiful!" said Meredith half sneeringly, for his vanity was touched.

"Dutiful!-she may be-she is undoubtedlya very, very sweet creature is Isabella Linwood but I should not have imagined her a person, i her heart were really engaged, to deny its longings, and sit down patiently and play the dutifu daughter. I judge others by myself. In he

situation, precisely in hers," she paused and looke at Meredith with an expression fraught with meaning, "I should neither know scruple no duty."

There was much in this artful speech of Hele Ruthven to feed Meredith's bitter fancies when h afterwards pondered on it. If her heart wer engaged!" he said "it is, I am sure of it-an yet, if it were, she is not, as Helen Ruthven said a creature to be chained down by duty. If wera!-it is-it shall be her heart is the onl one I have invariably desired, the only one I hav found unattainable. I believe, I am almost sur she loves me; but there is something lacking do not come up to her standard of ideal perfectio

Others do not find me deficient. There's poor Bessie, a sylvan, maiden she. But there's Helen Ruthven the love, the just appreciation of such a woman, so full of genius, and sentiment, and knowledge of the world, would be-flattering." These were after thoughts of Meredith, for at the time his interview with Miss Ruthven was interrupted by Rose putting a note into his hand, addressed to Sir Henry Clinton, and requesting him, in Miss Linwood's name, to deliver it as soon as possible.

"Pray let me see that," said Miss Ruthven; and after examining it closely on both sides, she returned it, saying, "Strange! I thought to have found somewhere, in pencil, some little expressive, world-full-of-meaning word. As I said, some people are very different from others."

Meredith bit his lips, and hastened away with the note. It contained a plain statement to Sir Henry Clinton of the motives of Herbert's return, and every fact attending it. The note was thus faished:

"I have told you the unvarnished and unextenuated truth, my dear Sir Henry. I think that justice will dictate my brother's release, or, at least, require that he be treated as a prisoner of war; but if justice (justice perverted by artificial codes and traditionary abuses) cannot interpose in his behalf, I commend him to your mercy. Think of him as if he were your own son, and then mete out to him, for the rashness of his filial affection, such measure as a father would allot to such ofience.

"If my appeal is presuming, forgive me. My father is suffering indescribably, and we are all wretched. Send us, I beseech you, some kind word of relief."

Late in the afternoon, after many tedious hours, the following reply was brought to Isabella, written by Sir Henry's secretary:—

"Sir Henry Clinton directs me to present his best regards to Miss Linwood, and inform her that he regrets the impossibility of complying with her wishes,that he has no absolute power by which he can remit, at pleasure, the offences of disloyal subjects. Sir Henry bids me add, that he is seriously concerned at his friend Mr. Linwood's illness, and that he shall continue to send his servant daily to inquire about him."

"Yes, no doubt," said Isabella, in the bitterDess of her disappointment, throwing down the note, "these empty courtesies will be strictly paid, while not a finger is raised to save us from utter misery.'

"My dearest child," said her mother, who had picked up the note and reverently perused it, how you are hurried away by your feelings. Sir Henry, or rather his secretary, which is the same thing, says as much as to say, that Sir Henry would aid us if he could; and I am sure I think it is extremely attentive of him to send every day to inquire after your poor father. I do wonder a little that Sir Henry did not sign his name. It would have seemed more polite, and Sir Henry is to strictly polite. I am afraid, my dear, you were not particular enough about your note. Was it written on gilt paper and sealed with wax? Isabella-do you hear me, child?''

ence of her sex.

Meredith took her hand; his eyes expressed the emotion she produced, and his lips all the sympathy and none of the vexation he had felt for the last few days; and then reverting to Sir Henry, he said, "I trust the current of your feelings will change when I tell you that I have obtained an order for Herbert's release."

"God bless you, Jasper. Oh! mamma, do you hear?"

"Pray go, my dear madam," added Meredith, "and prepare Mr. Linwood for good news. You interrupted me, Isabella," he resumed, when Mrs. Linwood had left the room; "your wishes always fly over the mean to the end. A moment's reflection will show you that your brother's release cannot be unconditional."

"Well-the conditions are such as can in honour be complied with? Sir Henry would propose no other."

Honour is a conventional term, Isabella." "The honour that I mean," replied Miss Linwood, "is not conventional, but synonimous with rectitude."

Meredith shook his head. He had an instinctive dislike of definitions, as they in Scripture, who loved darkness, had to the light. He was fond of enveloping his meaning in shadowy analogies, which, like the moon, often led astray with a beautiful but imperfect and illusive light.

"Even rectitude must depend somewhat on position, Isabella," he replied. "He who is under the pressure of circumstances, and crowded on every side, cannot, like him who is perfectly free, stand upright and dispose his motions at pleasure.'

"Do not mystify, Jasper, but tell me at once what the conditiors are."

Isabella's face and voice expressed even more dissatisfaction than her words, and Meredith's reply was in the tone of an injured man.

Pardon me, Miss Linwood, if my anxiety to prepare your mind by a winding approach has betrayed me into awkwardness. Certainly, Herbert's honour, the honour of your brother, cannot be dearer to any one than to me."

"You have always been his friend, I know," replied Isabella, evading Meredith's implication; "watchful nights, and more anxious days, have made me peevish-forgive me.'

Meredith kissed the hand she extended to him. "You cannot imagine, Isabella, what it cost me to in use another bitter drop into the cup already overflowing with accumulated anxieties. But your aunt's disasters are followed with new trials.

Do not be alarmed the threatening storm may pass over."

"O, tell me what it threatens !" ***Sir Henry has within the last hour received a despatch from Washington, disclaiming all part and lot in Herbert's return to the city, and expressing his deep regret that the sanctity of a flag of truce should be brought into question by one of his own officers."

"This was to be expected."

"Of course. But we all know that Washington has his resident spies in this city, and emissaries continually passing to and fro, in various disguises, and under various pretences. However, assuming that he is exempt from any participation in this disastrous affair, common humanity would have dictated some plea for a brave and faithful officer --some extenuation for a rash and generous youth. But Washington is always governed by this cold, selfish policy-"

"Is there not one word ?"

"Not one! There is indeed a private letter from Eliot Lee, stating that the motives of Herbert's return were wholly personal, and containing the particulars you had previously stated, and a very laboured appeal to Sir Henry, with a sort of endorsement from Washington that these statements are entitled to whatever weight they might derive from the unquestionable integrity of Captain Lee."

"Thank Heaven! Eliot Lee has proved a true friend."

"Certainly, as far as writing a letter goes; but, as you must perceive, Isabella, Sir Henry cannot act officially from the statements of a sister and friend. He will do all he can. He has empowered me to offer Herbert not only his release, but favour and promotion, provided he will renounce the bad cause to which he has too long adhered, and expiate the sin of rebellion by active service in the royal army."

"Never, never; never shall Herbert do this!" "You are hasty, Isabella-hear me. If I convince Herbert that he has erred, why should he not retrieve his error?"

"Ay, Jasper, if you can convince him, but the mind cannot be convinced at pleasure-we cannot believe as we would-I know it is impossible.'

Her voice faltered-she paused for a moment, a moment of the most painful embarrassment, and then proceeded with more firmness-"I will be frank with you, Jasper. Herbert is not-you know him as well as I do he is not of a temper to suffer long and patiently. He is like a bird, for ever singing and on the wing in sunshine, but silent and shrinking when the sky is overcast. He may -it breaks my heart to think it possible-but he may his spirit broken by imprisonment and desertion, and stung by what will appear to him his commander's indifference to his fate, he may yield to the temptation you offer, and abandon a cause that he still believes in the recesses of his heart to be just and holy."

Meredith fixed his piercing eyes on Isabella. It seemed that something new had been infused into her mind. He forebore, however, from expressing a suspicion, and merely said, “You place me in a flattering light, Isabella-as the tempter of your "brother."

"Oh, no-you mistake me-you are only the medium through which temptation comes to him : but remember his infirmity-the infirmity of

human nature, and do not increase the force of the temptation- do not make the worse appear the better reason, Jasper. I know you will not-at least. I believe. I think, I hope"

"For Heaven's sake, my dear friend," interrupted Meredith, " do not reduce your confidence in my integrity to any thing weaker than a hope. Now, as I perceive that you would choose accurately to limit and define my agency, I entreat you to do so my hope, my wish, my purpose, Isabella, is to be in all things moulded and governed by your will. Let us understand each other. I go to Herbert the advocate of a cause in which I, at least, have unwavering confidence"

"Thank Heaven for that!" said Isabella, replying courageously to the equivocal curl of Meredith's lip.

He proceeded-"I am permitted, am I not, to communicate Sir Henry's generous offer?"

"His offer-but do not call it generous. Nothing remitted-aothing forgiven. His oblivion of the past, and his future favour, are to be dearly paid for."

"Sir Heary's offer, then, without note or comment."

Isabella nodded assent.

"I may report, à la lettre, Washington's renun. ciation, disclaimer, or whatever you may be pleased to call it."

"Literally, Jasper."

"I may suggest to him-or do your primitive notions prohibit this?-that Washington's communication and Eliot's letter enabled us to give an interpretation to his return to the city that will relieve him from the appearance of having been forced by circumstances into our ranks. Indeed, without any essential perversion, this return to the path of duty may appear to have been his de liberate intention in coming to the city. This, of course, would very favourably affect his standing with his fellow-officers-you hesitate. Isabella, forgive me for quoting the vulgar proverb-be not 'more nice than wise.' Why should not Herbert avail himself of a fortunate position-a favourable light?"

"Because it is a false light-a deceptive gloss. Do not, Jasper, over estimate the uncertain, imperfect, and ignorant opinions of others-pray do not be offended; but is it not folly to look for our own image in other's minds, where, as in water, it may be magnified, or, as in the turbid stream, clouded and distorted, when in our own bosoms we have an unerring mirror?"

"Your theory is right undoubtedly, Isabellayour sentiments lofty-no one can admire them more than I do; but what is the use of standing on an eminence a hundred degrees above your fellow mortals with whom you are destined to act? It is certain they will not come up to you, and as certain that, unless you are unwilling to live in the solitude of a hermit, useless and forgotten, it is wisest to come down to them." Meredith paused.

"We do not see eye to eye," thought Isabella; but she did not speak, and Meredith proceeded.

**God knows, Isabella, that it is my first wish to conform my opinions, my mind and heart, to you, but we must adapt ourselves to things as they are. Herbert is in a most awkward and fearful predicament. Sir Henry, like other public men, must be governed by policy. If your father's fortune or influence were important to the royal