affection to his new protector; and when preparations were made for his visiting the land where his future home was to be fixed, the eager curiosity that prompted his inquiries respecting it was with difficulty satisfied.

It was ordained that he, indeed, should reach that home, but that all connected with it should undergo a fearful change. Little was young Ormond aware of the fate in store for his gallant benefactor, as, roused from slumber by the side of his Italian nurses, he was snatched up and hurried off in the arms of his adopted parent, to be a witness of scenes which might cause the sternest heart to tremble. He was, as we have seen, rescued from impending death, to find himself on English shores an orphan and alone.

CHAPTER V.

"O death, what art thou? An husbandman that reapeth always,

Out of season as in season with the sickle in his hand."

LADY LISLE had been aware that on returning to England Sir Harry was to bring with him the orphan child left in his charge by the dying cardinal; but with the exception of the outline of his history, of which the world in general was likewise aware, she was ignorant of aught respecting him. In truth, the safety of her husband had been so uppermost in her thoughts, his subsequent terrible fate had so absorbed every idea, that the very existence of Ormond Greville had been utterly forgotten,

Annie Mowbray, who, during the awful

night of the shipwreck and the miserable days that followed that catastrophe, felt to have lived years, and to have gained an insight into life which years often fail to give, had throughout the sad scene acted with a prudence and decision of which she had considered herself incapable. She felt that the bitterness of her friend's grief would not for many days to come admit of interruption or consolation, or of the intermingling of the everyday duties and cares of life. Young Ormond was certainly the last link between the widowed wife and the husband she mourned, and, in process of time, might consequently serve to inspire Lady Lisle with feelings of a new interest. But at present his introduction to Ashton Park was too closely connected with the fate of his unfortunate preserver for it to be advisable that Clara should be made aware of the child's existence, and even presence, under her roof, His arrival was therefore kept a secret from Lady Lisle, until day succeeded day, and she was still in the solitude of her own apartment and of her own grief. Of such grief who

would pierce the mysteries, or behold its effects during such hours as Clara endured ere the rites of religion had removed from her gaze him whom on earth she was no more to behold? The setting sun shed his quiet gleams on the funeral procession, as, wending its silent way towards the village church of Ashton, it turned an angle, and the last mourning follower was lost to sight.

Clara gazed until the darkness increased around, and she felt an unknown dread of solitude. The last knell told that the sad ceremony was concluded, yet still she shrank from the soothings of kindness, or the innocent, endearing fondness of her child. Annie Mowbray entered, for she feared for her friend the effects of solitary grief.

"Forgive me, dearest Clara," she gently said, as she approached, leading little Alice by the hand. "See, I have brought your child to say good-night."

It climbed upon its mother's knees, and twined its arms around her neck. Clara pressed her to her heart, The floodgates of her tears were opened, and she wept.

The child, half in fondness half in fear, tried to kiss away its mother's tears, but they only flowed the faster.

Tears were foreign to Clara's nature. Hers was the feeling, but not the impassioned heart the strong, but not the impulsive will. Self-controlled and gentle, those who knew her but little pronounced her cold and inanimate those who knew her well valued the silent energy which was as allied to perseverance as it was removed from enthusiasm.

With natures such as hers grief has the strongest, the sternest, the most enduring hold.

Annie, with impetuosity of feeling opposed to Clara's general self-possession, could scarcely be said to enter into or understand her mental constitution, but now with this strong outburst of grief she could sympathise entirely. It was almost a relief to her to witness it, and silently she allowed it to run its full course, unrestrained and unsoothed.

Annie longed to introduce the subject of little Ormond Greville, but hardly knew how