soul, I must say; though he's three parts a Papist. Here, you come in and take a cup of tea. Well, if you won't, I can't help it. But as for Squire Nugent, you ought to know, better than I do, that he can't move, because of the kicks and blows that bad man Harrill gave him."

"I was running to Beaumont House when George Weston met me, and asked what I wanted the squire for, and said he thought the squire had gone home, and so I came back here."

The two ladies now came out of the drawing-room, and spoke kindly to the boy, who, gaining a little confidence, explained that Margaret was near her end, and had something on her mind she wished to tell Nugent.

"I've no friend in the world but she!" said the boy, as, melted by the gentle voices and looks of the two young women, the tears rolled down his cheeks fast but silently.

"Let us go to her," said Gertrude; and, Miss Beverley at once assenting, they started for the cottage, the boy going first to show the way. At the little garden-gate in front of the cottage, a bony-looking horse, covered with foam and dust, was fastened.

"That's Mr. Grierson's horse," said Miss Beverley. The boy, after looking back, ran across the garden into the cottage, and, as he opened the door, the loud wail of several of the children burst upon the ear. Miss Beverley laid her hand on Gertrude's arm, and said, “My dear, remember! Your mother, Lady Maud, has forbidden your entering cottages without her express permission."

"That was when I was a child: I am now old enough to judge for myself;" and, so saying, the young girl opened the little gate with an energy that nearly shook it off its wellworn hinges, and hastened towards the cottage. At the door she was met by the surgeon, whose countenance was so much graver, or we should say so much less cheerful, than usual, that she scarcely recognized him.

"This is no place for you, Miss Usherwood!" he exclaimed, in a low voice. "I must beg you will not enter." Gertrude, however, followed by Miss Beverley, persisted in entering; but stopped, after taking a few steps into the room, as if awestruck. Upon the bed lay the corpse of Margaret; her countenance pale as marble, but free from any trace of pain. Indeed, after the anxious expression the living face usually wore, its present aspect seemed mild and peaceful. A clergy

man stood by the bedside, and gazed through his tears upon the handsome, though lifeless, features of the form stretched on the bed. Struggling round, and endeavouring to reach and touch their mother's corpse, were three young children, al crying dismally. The boy Edward had caught up a fourth child, the youngest of them, and, sitting on a low stool, hed him on his lap, and tried to pacify his cries.

“Oh, what will become of these little ones?" asked Gertrude.

Mr. Lovell, the cleryman, looked with a sorrowful glance at the group round the bed, and for a moment said nothing. He was a good-looking young man, with clear gray eyes and a thoughtful expression of countenance. There was something, though you scarce knew what, quaint in the fashion of his dress, which was scrupulously neat and well made.

"I have offered the lad to take him home and keep him till he could earn his bread," at length answered Lovell, “but he will not leave the little ones."

66

They must all go into the House," said the surgeon, kindly but emphatically; "that is their proper place."

Gertrude, not knowing what the House meant, and confused by the scene around, gave all the money she had about her to Lovell, and asked him to lay it out for them.

Miss Beverley hoped she made a "happy end."

Lovell, thanking Gertrude in a low voice for her kindness, turned to Miss Beverley, and replying to her question, said"Pardon me, but I should wish to be excused alluding to our departed sister's last moments, except in strict confidence. I would only state this much, that I felt warranted in uttering the absolution over her, and I believe she died a sound member of our beloved Church." Miss Beverley was puzzled, and set him down as a Papist and a disagreeable young man.

Margaret had derived from Lovell's visits the chief consolation that had chequered the last years of her apparently disastrous lot. She did not understand half he said, or all that he read to her; but there was something in his soothing voice, and in the sympathy showing itself in his every look and gesture, that gave a deep meaning to all she did under

stand.

Gertrude and her companion now left the cottage, and found outside Mrs. Finchley and the coachman. The latter was gazing into the interior of the cottage through the little window, raising himself on tiptoe by resting his hands on the

sill, and occasionally interrupting his observations, in order to rub his eyes violently with the cuffs of his coat, forgetting for a time the dignity of his profession as a coachman, and a conservative of moderate principles. Mrs. Finchley, adorned with her capacious bonnet, and bearing a huge basket, containing everything apparently that could possibly be neededfrom baby-linen to beef-tea-looked positively tremendous, like some genie in an Arabian Nights' tale, at first sight malignantly hostile, who ends (nobody knows why) in being extravagantly benevolent. As the ladies took their departure through the garden-gate, Mrs. Finchley bustled into the cottage, and commenced distributing buns, stockings, and religious tracts with extraordinary rapidity; not forgetting to present Lovell and the surgeon with one or two of the latter article, selected with as much regard to their appropriateness as circumstances permitted. John, the coachman, ventured in after her, and thrust a shilling into the boy's hand, with a grunt, which would have expanded into a consolatory observation, only he found he was in imminent danger of bursting into tears, and therefore made a rapid retreat into the garden.

"How is Lucy?" asked Gertrude of Mr. Grierson, who was just mounting his bony steed.

"Lucy? what Lucy?" answered that gentleman, fumbling in his memorandum-book. "I have five Lucys on my listtwo in the House, three out. Oh! to be sure; you mean Weston ?-she's better. I think she'll do. I saw her this morning, and I only wish I had as many guineas as I have ridden miles since then! This is a large union, Miss Usher

wood!"

And with a deep groan, but a broad smile on his countenance, the surgeon bowed, spurred his steed, and was soon out of sight.

CHAPTER V.

SIR ELIOT PRICHARD.

LOVELL called at Beaumont House next day, and gave Nugent full particulars of Margaret Harrill's decease. It had been precipitated by the fright given her on hearing the news of Nugent's encounter with Harrill. Exaggerated accounts in the first instance reached her, and told with severe force upon

E

1

her sickly frame. It was her earnest wish to speak to Nugent on some subject near her heart. The boy Edward discovered what was on her mind, and, as we have seen, started forth in search of him.

Nugent's first wish was to take Edward into his service; but Lovell assured him that the lad angrily refused to be separated from the children.

Lovell was asked to stay dinner, as a few friends were expected, and Nugent had also been permitted to join the party. Nugent could with difficulty walk, even with the aid of a good stick, so was scarcely competent to hand a lady in to dinner; but it was settled, after much debate, that he should be safely seated at the dinner-table before the guests entered the room. It had rather a solemn appearance, this spectacle of a gentleman already seated, and put Gertrude in mind of the skeleton at the table of an Egyptian feast. Nugent was introduced, with as much ceremony as circumstances allowed, to Sir Eliot Prichard, who was the lion of the party. With the rest of the guests, Mr. Rubbley the great mining proprietor, Colonel and Mrs. Clair, Mr. Lovell, and other residents in the neighbourhood, Nugent was well acquainted.

Sir Eliot Prichard was a gentleman who had recently succeeded to a large property in an adjoining parish to Okenham. He was a man of large views and philosophic principles, a consistent advocate of toleration, liberal in politics, but no slave to party-at least, this was the character he wished people to attribute to him. However this may be, Sir Eliot Prichard seemed tolerably satisfied with his own position in the world. His voice was soon heard at the table preponderating over others, not offensively or loudly, but decidedly, as we see a stout man of great weight push his way through a crowd without seeming to wrong any one individually, yet mildly displacing all in his way. The conversation turned naturally to the cause of Nugent's accident.

"Is the fellow caught yet?" asked Mr. Rubbley, the coal proprietor, who, with lace front to his shirt and well-oiled whiskers, looked as if he had never seen a mine in his life.

"No," said Lovell, "he is supposed to have concealed himself somewhere in your subterranean neighbourhood.”

Mr. Rubbley did not like the mines to be mentioned in his presence, and looked hurt at even this vague allusion to them.

"I wish we could unkennel him," observed Clair, who was

a magistrate; "I should enjoy committing the fellow. have little doubt he is a poacher."

"In my opinion," said Mrs. Clair, who was a lady of decided views on most subjects-" in my opinion, he ought to be hanged."

66

Madam," said Sir Eliot Prichard, "without taking into consideration the important question whether the individual. Harrill has committed an offence which the law visits with capital punishment, I would venture to hope we shall one day see punishment by death abolished in toto."

Mrs. Clair looked up at Sir Eliot as if he had said something personally insulting, and exclaimed,

"Sir Eliot, I am amazed! I love our good old English customs too much to hope any such thing!"

"We must look at this question in its broadest bearings," continued Sir Eliot-pausing in the act of carving the haunch of venison, much to the distress of Mr. Usherwood, who was waiting in an agony to be helped-and glancing round at the company in general-" what is the object of death punishment? Clearly, the benefit of the survivors. Now, consider that ghastly spectacle, the cold-blooded execution of a human being-Mr. Usherwood, I believe you are partial to fat-a human being like ourselves-the same limbs, thews, sinewsa little more gravy, Mr. Usherwood?-the same feelings, fears, and hopes-and the same soul, Mr. Lovell "-he added, dropping his voice to a solemn whisper as he glanced towards the clergyman-"and the same soul as we have. What a scene of vice, rioting, and intemperance!"

"I can't help that," said Clair, gallantly taking up the cudgels for his wife; "Government ought to put all that down."

"Put it down, sir !" continued Sir Eliot. "This is a free country; we don't want one of your paternal Austrian governments over here. No, no, my good sir, you can't make men virtuous by Act of Parliament! Can you, Mr. Lovell?" he added, turning to the young clergyman.

Lovell answered, that he thought capital punishment wiped out the stain of blood from the land, and was commanded by Holy Scripture.

"Excuse me," said Sir Eliot, drinking a glass of champagne, and pausing to appreciate the flavour. "Much reflection has decided me to totally discard the antiquated interpretation of the texts to which you refer."