by the fire. And there Florh sat from that mid-day until night; rocking herself to and fro in the darkness, and weeping and moaning over the wilfully blasted fortunes of her illgoverned son: she "neither rose up to eat nor to drink." When the sun went down she opened the window shutter, and at last Esmé awoke in the gloaming light; but there was silence betwixt her and her foster-mother, save that once Esmé faintly said, "Florh, let me lie here until to-morrow, and then I'll go home." That return home, and the meeting with her father and sister, may be imagined. As one rescued from the dead was Esmé welcomed back by them. Holy and happy was their rejoicing deep and grateful the joy at Glenbenrough. Esmé was much weakened by her accident, and her nervous system had received a severe shock: she was confined to her room for a time, and the doctor recommended a subsequent change of air and scene; but in the meantime the quieter she was kept the better. And what of the wretched murderer? Dragged along by his mother's arm, he was hurried, raving and cursing, to the sea shore. With frantic bitterness she goaded him on with Jeanie's dying confession that his friend and confidant, Gupini, had been his enemy and her seducer. She assured him that, though the Providence which had saved the life of his innocent foster-sister had put the rightful victim in his way, yet as he had not known that at the time, he must still ever consider his revenge as denied to him, while yet the bloodguiltiness was on his soul. Had he not now, by his frowardness, ruined his mother and himself? By his sullen vindictiveness he had brought her old age to sorrow, and heaped ignominy for ever on his name. Four Highlanders of his clan forced him, against his will, into a boat waiting there; they pushed off and rowed him along the western coast, and out until they reached a rocky island, where a ship, bound for foreign lands, lay harbouring. As the boat went lessening in the distance, with Ewen seated in dogged and gloomy silence, Florh stood upon the rocky beach and, with outstretched hands, waved him off, crying shrilly-her voice heard above the noise of the sea birds "Go! go! I never may hear o' thee more; and thou darest never, never return!" When they reached the ship, Ewen was put aboard. On a far distant burning shore he was left, to find his own way and live as best he could; or die, if so he chose. He lived: but in Scotland he was never heard of more. About a week after Esmé's escape, the night before Marchmoram left Dreumah, he came out from the lodge at midnight to take a long walk. His face was as pale, and his eyes burned as restlessly, as on that night when he rode from Thistlebank to Glenbenrough. Outward nature was very similar too : it was a fitful night of alternate bright and gloom: the wind went soughing and moaning through the crazy mountain pines, and the shadows flitted in grim, grotesque shapes over the rocky heights, darkly and silently vanishing, exactly as they did on that former night when he went, as now, to visit his sleeping love. The moon came floating out upon the deep blue heavens, and poured down her silver floods of light upon the gray old house of Glenbenrough, as Marchmoram reached the heights of the Roua Pass and sat him down full in view of it. He took from out his breast a crumpled letter which had been written by Esmé four-andtwenty hours after her escape. Several times he read it over; though he knew it almost by heart. There he sat and gazed on the old familiar house: her window was darkened; all was cold, silent, and still. Thus she had bidden him fare well: "I write to bid you adieu. You will have been sorry to hear of my accident; but, so far as I am concerned, it was well for me. "It was on that night I heard of your intended marriage. You must well know the shock it gave me, for I heard it cruelly from yourself-how, matters not now: from that night my life henceforth commenced anew. I have prayed God to enable me to forget and forgive you. I never, never wish to see you again on earth; and willingly I will not. 66 Sincerely do I hope you may find happiness as well as prosperity in your marriage. "ESME MAC NEIL." After again reading the letter, he tore the paper into small pieces and scattered them down the Pass, watching the stream float the fragments away. There he sat alone, brooding in bitterness and grief on the past, and waging war against all earthly ties; devoting himself anew to the master passionthe mocking phantasm of ambition-to whose allurements he had so ruthlessly sacrificed the gentle and guileless girl, who loved him as no other had done. As the early dawn broke, wild-eyed animals-the fox, the hare, and the roe- -came out of the birch-wood coverts and gazed wonderingly upon him, ere they turned to scent or nibble through the dewy heather and glistening grass; the birds began to sing, and the hawks to cry from the giddy heights as they wheeled to and fro in search of prey; and soon the sun's rays, struggling through the mists, shed warmth and brightness over the grand solitude around. With sealed lips and dark steadfast eyes, March-. moram retraced his steps, to proceed in a few hours from Dreumah to England, bearing with him that last sad memory of the Highlands. For many months Esmé made slow progress towards recovery; but when her father proposed a tour for her, himself, and Ishbel, as the best and most agreeable tonic, she gently resisted, saying she was better in the Highlands: she only required time and quiet there to get well. At last he proposed moving to Arduashien for a time; a wild and secluded place, where the air was more bracing than at Glenbenrough. Thither Esmé did not object to go; it ever had been as a second home to them all. So they went, and remained there nearly a year. Esmé and Ishbel were as daughters in the house, and under the constant motherly care of Mrs. Mac Alastair, they led a healthful and quiet life. Esmé's bloom slowly returned, as the past faded away into the dim realm of forgetfulness; but as yet she seldom smiled. Norah and her husband were still abroad. Florh remained at Lochandhu, but went occasionally to Arduashien: she was still sad and restless; and Ishbel would try to get Esmé away when Florh burst forth into one of her wild laments for her son. Yet there were gleams of sunshine cheering her strong heart, for she always spoke of the certainty of her Normal's return; and then in her love for him, she would exclaim that he was left to her as a son: now the nearest and dearest of all. Normal was still a wanderer abroad, and he did not write very frequently, though Florh sometimes wrote to him; yet there was a deep and strong sympathy that bound him to his Highland home, and he counted the hours until that time should arrive when he could feel he might return. At other times a feverish sort of life or hope seemed hanging over Florh: she would say to Esmé, 66 Think ye that I would bear up 'gainst my weary weird as I do, methal gaolach, were there no a purpose left for me yet in life? No, no, my darling; it's not any hope for mysel'! All that is done: Ewen banished and Huistan dead! Poor old withered Florh, lopped of her branches, is now but a blasted, dying trunk. Even though the bright time come to those she still loves, there will be no transplanting for her: "Where the tree fell, there let it lie.' I'll die in my ain old hame at Lochandhu. But I hae a mission yet to go through wi': a bit travel to take, and a message to gie; an' I am longing it were over before I may die." She would also sometimes ask Ishbel quietly if there were no news in the English papers. At last Ishbel said to her one day, "Florh, I see by this morning's paper that Mr. Marchmoram is to be married on the 29th.' CHAPTER XXVII. ` TIES THAT SEVER AND TIES THAT BIND. LUATH.-But will ye tell me, Master Cæsar, Sure great folks' life's a life o' pleasure? CESAR.-L-d man, were ye but whyles where I am, BURNS'S Twa Dogs. Speed on, O time! the happy day.-CAMPBELL. On the day when the Lady Ida Beauregard accepted Godfrey Marchmoram, the intended marriage of her father with Lady Jane Trevor was publicly announced: and it was supposed that both weddings would come off about the same time. It was from a firm conviction of her father's coming marriage that Lady Ida took that opposing step of safety, and she hurried on the day of her own escape. It was now too late to retract, when she suddenly found, only the night before, that the duke had quarrelled with his intended bride, that the match was broken off, and that he had foresworn from that day all further acquaintance with the Lady Jane Trevor. This unexpected turn of events strangely affected Lady Ida. She, being blinded by passion, had entirely overlooked the possibility of the match being broken off; a want of foresight that The lowered for ever her own estimation of her skill in social diplomacy. Could she have foreseen that the duke would have acted thus, she never would have married Godfrey Marchmoram; for the idea of marriage was to her hateful and repugnant; she rebelled against the tie. Her interest in Marchmoram had ever been strong; but she would fain have kept him to her chariot wheels, and enjoyed the triumph of seeing him there: never, never would she have permitted him to share the seat with her; much less to direct its course. She now yielded to what seemed bitter necessity. It was too late to draw back: she would be compromised, humiliated, were she to do so; for she would be regarded as rejected. wedding-day arrived; a brilliant throng of rank and fashion witnessed the sacred rite which joined two proud, ambitious, and rebellious natures in a bond that both loathed, and would fain have evaded, but dare not. With serene, smiling fortitude, these two lofty and strong spirits bowed themselves to the matrimonial yoke, compelled by false shame and worldly interest. Unholy to them were the solemn vows, that were belied even in the act of taking; unblessed the union of these two beings, whose hearts now revolted from each other, and whose souls more than ever dwelt apart. The honeymoon was to be passed at Mr. Marchmoram's country seat, about thirty miles from London. On the morning after the wedding and the arrival there of the " happy couple," Marchmoram sat alone at breakfast; Lady Ida had not made her appearance yet, and would not, perhaps, for some hours. He sat at a table luxuriously spread, but his appetite seemed cloyed, and he was evidently in one of his absent moods, for a powdered footman had addressed him twice ere he turned round to ask, rather sharply, what the man wanted. The reply was strange: a peasant woman, peculiarly dressed, who said she was from the Highlands of Scotland, was most troublesomely anxious to see him her name was Florh Mackenzie. Marchmoram desired the man to show her up, and then he rose from his seat; his cheek flushed, and a rush of ideas passed through his brain. Had Esmé sent a message to him through her foster-mother? Was there any dying call to Glenbenrough? He drank hastily a glass of water, as the door was thrown open and he heard the firm step of the Highland woman advancing. Florh wore her Highland clanking brogues, and her shepherd plaid was thrown over her shoulders and head. As the footman ushered her in he put a pocket-handkerchief |