Were I to live a century, I should never forget the horrors of Sunday night and the whole of Monday (28th and 29th). There was nothing palpable, nothing tangible, nothing that could be resisted. There was a mysterious power underneath our feet, around our walls, in the whole atmosphere about us, before which we could only bow and tremble; and devoutly grateful was I when the roar of the thunder died away in muttering sounds, and left us in peace yesterday morning.' In some parts of Naples, the ashes were a foot thick. They were in the form of a soft gray powder. Professor Puzzo says they contain sulphuric acid, which, if wetted, might yield injurious exhalations, so that the watering of the streets was discontinued.

A WOMAN'S VENGEANCE.

CHAPTER VIII.-A RIVER LEGEND.

ONE more wooded reach, through which the sun, now low in the unclouded heavens, rained gold, and then the river inn came full in sight. It was a picturesque building, standing in a garden, and without hedge or boundary of any kind save the stream itself, down to which it sloped. On the lawn were two ladies looking eagerly towards the approaching galley, and waving their pocket-handkerchiefs in sign of welcome. At the landing-place was a cart, with servants.

'Is that the cart for the luggage, Arthur?' inquired Mrs Somers, still fidgety respecting her goods and chattels; 'why, it can surely never take all our things.'

"Your aunt and Miss Blanche are waving their handkerchiefs to us,' remarked Helen at the same moment. 'Why don't you take off your hat,

Arthur?'

But Arthur heard them not. There was a fascination for him in the place before him, of which they did not dream, and it held all his thoughts in thrall. He was still young in years; but travel and peril, and a wild and rough career, had made him something wholly different from the boy who had bidden adieu to that fair scene five years ago. A score of times he had leaped ashore where yonder skiff was moored, and in the summer twilight hurried across the noiseless grass to greet his love; a score of times at that latticed window looking to the south, he had seen her face on the watch for him. By that red beech, under the harvest moon, he had parted from her, with vows of eternal fidelity-at least on one side. Suppose, in spite of what he had heard from the boatman, she should be at the Welcome still! Yet, if so, her father, plump and portly, would be standing at the inn door; he always came that far to welcome the county folks; but as for the ordinary water wayfarers-the barelegged jersey-coated tenants of eight-oars and fouroars; the arrival of a whole argosy of such would never have drawn him from his snug parlour behind the bar. Once, years and years ago, to meet Squire Percival, who had carried the county in the Whig interest, Jacob Renn had been known to come down to the landing-place; but a great political principle had been involved in that movement, and it had never occurred again. Still, Jenny might be there. The garden, that was her pride, looked, indeed, not quite so well cared for as of old; but the old house was aglow with

flowering creepers still, and what if, at her chamber window yonder, the purple blossoms of the westeria should be pushed aside by a white hand he knew, and a face should shine forth, 'looking ancient kindness' on his pain and falsehood! The soft shock of the barge as it skimmed the shore awoke him from these reflections, and he hastened forward to do the honours to his new guests. They were to be passengers on board the Lotus for the short remainder of its voyage-a mile or so of the most beautiful portion of the river; then, dropping through Swansdale Lock, they would emerge, not in view of the Hall, indeed, but quite close to it, and glide along its garden-grounds to the landingsteps. The ladies were already acquainted with one another. What a charming day you have had for your expedition!' 'O yes, it has been most delightful. How I wish you had been with us.' &c. &c. Mr Wynn Allardyce alone had to be

introduced.

'My dear Arthur,' whispered Mrs Tyndall, 'do, pray, take some notice of the new landlord of the Welcome; it is not old Jacob, you know, as it was in your time. He has been bowing and scraping for these five minutes.'

"The new landlord! How very remiss of me!' If Tyndall's acknowledgments were tardy, the good man of the house had certainly no cause to find fault with their cordiality.

'What a lovely boat! what a beautiful cabin, Arthur!' cried Blanche enthusiastically. 'It is like a boudoir.'

"Yes, and these are not all its beauties, cousin. We have a picture in panel here, painted by Bargee, after Rembrandt.''

He drew back the wooden partition that divided the apartment from the steerage, and disclosed the grimy features of Mr Paul Jones, who had hoped to pass unobserved. This was rude in Tyndall, and, as he had his own reasons for knowing, highly imprudent; but he was once more in tearing spirits,' and scarcely cared what he did. In vain Blanche courtesied to the Pirate' with all due solemnity; her fair face was purple with suppressed mirth, and when the laughter of the rest broke forth, she could no longer restrain it. Even Allardyce roared. Adair alone did but smile; perhaps he felt how dangerous it was for his friend to anger this man. The humour of the scene entirely did away with that stiffness which always follows the introduction of new elements into a social gathering. But for it, Mrs Somers would without doubt have put on her company manners,' which did not become the good old soul, and Helen would have been feverishly polite; as it was, with a rustle of silk, and a Plenty of room here, Mrs Tyndall,' the former lady welcomed her contemporary, while their olive branches forgathered in less formal fashion.

The new-comers were of the same type as those they met; that is to say, they were dowager and daughter, plump and fair, well-dressed and well-looking, but personally they were very different people. Mrs Ralph Tyndall was said to have the best manners of any lady of her age in Belgravia; we do not say of her rank,' because, unhappily, manners culminate at a certain comparatively low point in the social scale, and by no means improve with elevation. Her voice was low and gentle, but perfectly distinct. She talked with ease, but avoided subjects with which she

was unacquainted. Her face, in place of the stereotyped smile of fashion, wore an about-to-be-pleased look, which charmed and encouraged the beholder. When she was displeased, the offender said to himself, not, 'How particular this old woman is!' but, 'What a fool I have made of myself,' or (if a rogue), 'I am afraid I have shewn my hand.' But such occasions were rare. She was the idol of young men, to whom she was very plain-spoken in her sweet way, but intensely charitable. The worst things she said of any one were courteously couched, and always spoken to their faces. She had her enemies (as such women always will have, so long as there are jades and scoundrels in the world), but they were at a loss for a bad name for her, and obliged to confine themselves to telling one another that her husband used to beat her, and had died of delirium tremens. The latter statement was a fact. She had suffered much as a wife -patiently, heroically-yet wept honest tears over her poor sottish husband's grave. Fair as she had been as a bride, she was scarce less attractive now even as to mere beauty, while a life of kindly deeds and honest thoughts had left upon her face such a serene reflection that any saint might have exclaimed: Here's the wife for my money !' (or whatever expression seems a saintly equivalent). 'I may have steeled my heart against a woman, but this is an angel!' And yet she was dressed in purple and fine linen, edged with real lace, and lived in Eaton Square.

Miss Blanche, as a step-daughter, would have astonished the saint. She doted on croquet, and when at a ball, had a preference for round dances; but she was an honest-hearted English girl for all that, and a gentlewoman from the crown of her Dolly Varden hat to the sole of her high-heeled Balmorals. Of course, she had never been one of a shipwrecked party of three-and-thirty 'waiting' for a sick boy, but in such experiences of life as had fallen to her share, she had been always fully equal to the occasion. She was always perfectly at ease, whether in the company of princes (she had danced with one once at a garden-party, and had had the courage to confess she thought him dull) or of the peasants about what had once been her Berkshire home, for she entertained the rare idea that they were equally her fellow-creatures. For the rest, she sang a little, painted a little (though not on velvet, so her cheeks were safe), read a little (novels, mostly, Heaven bless her!), and had a sharp tongue for a rival. She had an eye, too, for the picturesque, and pointed out with enthusiasm to Helen various points of beauty on

their way.

'How good of you,' said Helen, not quite knowing what to say, but bent upon being friendly, since all these things must be so familiar to you

as almost to be wearisome.'

'O no,' replied Blanche gravely. "The more I see of the river, the more I love it. It has always new charms, as you will find. How I shall envy you when you come to Swansdale for good!' Of course she will,' laughed Arthur. She will envy you me, my dear.'

At this Blanche beat him with her parasol; and Helen looked on well pleased. If there really had been anything between the cousins in old times, thought she, it was certainly all over now, or he would not have ventured on such a pleasantry.

'We are now coming to my favourite “bit,' "said

Blanche, and what used to be Arthur's too; before his outlandish experiences put him out of conceit with dear old Father Thames. He denies that, of course; but how a man can possess a place like Swansdale, and not visit it for months after he comes to England, is to me incredible.'

'I kept that pleasure,' explained Arthur gravely, until the time (which has now arrived) when it should be doubled by being shared by the loveliest of her sex.'

It was now Helen's turn to administer chastisement. 'What a naughty story-teller your cousin is!' she said. 'Hush! What is that?'

'That is the thunder of our Niagara, the lasher,' said Blanche. All day long you will hear its dreamy music at the Hall, and when at night you would fain sleep, you have only to picture its tumbling depths of foam to insure it. That great chalk cliff opposite is haunted.' Haunted!'

'Certainly. There used to be a ferry-house yonder, but it has been done away with on account of the ghost. Nobody could be got to put people across after nightfall.'

'Oh, pray tell us the story, Blanche.'

'I am so frightened,' whispered that rogue Tyndall; 'might I get a little nearer to you, Helen?' There was not the least occasion for him to do that, but she did not forbid it.

'Well, once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a lock-keeper at Swansdale who had a very charming daughter. Her name was Janet, and she was the toast of the river.'

'They called her "the Fair One of the Golden Locks," interpolated Tyndall.

'Be quiet, sir. Well, her pretty head got turned by the attentions of the gentlemen-boatmen, and instead of wedding the young ferryman to whom she was engaged, and in whose company she would doubtless have crossed safely the river of Life, she married above her station. She had no one to blame but herself, for even her father disapproved of the gentleman she had chosen-a wild extravagant young man, belonging, if I remember right, to some regiment quartered at Windsor: but she would have him, and paid a sad penalty for it. He ill-treated her, and she ran away from him.'

With somebody else,' observed Arthur, by way of chorus.

'I am afraid she did,' continued Blanche; but, at all events, what her poor father heard of her was so bad, that it was almost a relief to him when he heard nothing at all, and began to conclude that she was dead. Just before dawn on a certain summer morning, he was aroused by that cry of "Lock, Lock, Lock!" which you have heard so many times to-day; but musical and melancholy as it always is, there was something in its tones that sounded to the old man's ear much more pathetic and plaintive than usual. It was a woman's voice, too, which it was rare to hear, and especially at such an hour. He rose and dressed himself, and came out upon the little bridge. The day was breaking, and the mist lay on the river, so that he couldn't see up-stream; but the low sweet call came nearer and nearer, and he began to open gates. There was no sound of oars, however, nor beat of hoof; nothing save that pitiful cry and the roar of the lasher, which he was too familiar with to hear, broke the silence of the dawn. Presently, the cry was repeated, apparently at his very feet,

and though simply dressed in very sober colours, looked every inch a lady. And yet it was neither her beauty nor her grace that struck the observant eye, so much as the extraordinary intelligence of her expression. Her face did not need a smile to win you; her brow and eyes attracted you at once. To be sure, on most occasions, her eyes did duty for her lips in the way of smiles; but they did not do so now. They were very grave and steady, though not sad, as she stood at the cottage-door with outstretched hand to greet Arthur Tyndall.

'Why, Jenny, how you are grown!' said he. Though the rest were out of earshot, thanks to the roar of the lasher, his tone was studiously careless, but there was a tremor in it which all his efforts could not conceal.

'Yes,' answered she significantly; 'grown out of all knowledge.'

'O Jenny, spare me!' answered he, in low earnest tones; you don't know all.'

He would have retained her hand, but she withdrew it from his passionate grasp.

I

'Why should I know?' said she quietly. have neither the right nor the desire to do so.' She had drawn herself up to her full height; but her eyes spoke neither haughtiness nor reproach, only quiet decision.

If you have not the desire, Jenny, you must think me in your heart a scoundrel.'

The colour mounted to her glorious forehead; but she shook her head.

'Give me ten minutes,' he went on, only ten minutes-alone'

'Not five, not one,' she answered. 'It would be both wrong and cruel.'

"That is what you said, when, in your unselfish generosity, you forbade me to write to you; and see what has come of that!' replied he bitterly.

The warm blood left her cheeks even more quickly than it had come; her whole frame trembled, and she put out one hand, and grasped the pole of the verandah. He saw her weakness, and would have given the world to have rushed forward and placed his arm around her, but he dared not.

'For what is past, I do not blame myself, nor you-Mr Tyndall,' answered she faintly. 'But I should blame myself, indeed, if I suffered you to renew-I mean, if I assumed a right to ask for an explanation of your conduct, or permitted you to give one. Your friends are waiting for you

yonder.'

"To-morrow and every other day,' gasped Arthur desperately, at the same hour and place asJenny, Jenny!' But, with a gesture of annoyance and disdain, the girl had withdrawn into the cottage, whither he felt it would be madness to follow her. The barge was full in sight, waiting for him by the shore beneath the lock, and all eyes might be upon him. One pair of eyes, which he had not bargained for, was watching him with great intentness, the owner whereof stood on the little bridge across which he needs must go to gain

the boat.

off the weir! Welcome home, Tyndall! And especially do I give you joy upon another account. Hark! that is what our bells are saying also.'

Above the roar of the waters came plunging through the air the first notes of a merry peal from the church-tower, just visible above the more distant trees.

'In a few weeks more, I suppose, they will be ringing on a still more joyful occasion?'

'I suppose so-that is, I have every reason to hope they will,' returned Arthur. 'Have you been introduced to Miss Somers?'

'Yes; Adair did me that honour; then sent me back to call you. You paid no notice to his outcries, he said, but would doubtless hear the church. Our friend Jack is as funny as ever.'

My ear is not so accustomed to the noise of the lasher as it used to be,' explained Arthur; 'I can scarcely hear myself speak here; so let us move How is your flock? I see by your looks that

on.

I need not inquire after the shepherd.'

The Rev. Charles Glyddon was certainly a healthy-looking man enough, though far from handsome. He was very tall and angular; had such high cheek-bones, that he seemed to look over them with difficulty, as a cow looks over a wall; and though a college contemporary of Arthur's, at whose recommendation his father had given him the living of Swansdale, had no air of youth about him. Notwithstanding his present pursuit, he wore full canonical attire; videlicet, a silk waistcoat without buttons-how he got into which, was a standing miracle to most of his congregation-and a white tie of great stiffness and altitude.

'The flock is well,' he said, ' and especially the lambs are flourishing, thanks to the good teaching of Miss Alice Renn"

'What! does Jenny still teach?' asked Tyndall with a sudden interest, that contrasted strangely with his previous lukewarm manner.

"Certainly; though we have given up calling her Jenny. Our school could ill spare her services. She has fortunately plenty of leisure on her hands; for the old man seems to have made his fortune at the Welcome, where, however, she was sadly out of place.'

"Yes, indeed,' laughed Tyndall. 'Do you remember how old Jacob used to boast of her having had an offer of marriage from a lord? And so she had, I believe: a lord in the upper remove fifth form at Eton, aged fifteen years and a half. She used to be called the Toast-of-the-Thames.'

'I remember to have heard so,' said the rector gravely. 'It was a very painful position altogether.' 'What on earth has kept you all this time, Arthur!' exclaimed a chorus of female voices, for the two had now reached the barge.

'The church,' answered Arthur piously: 'I was listening to this reverend man. He wants subscriptions for the repair of the chancel.'

'Really, Tyndall, you are too bad,' said the rector reprovingly.

'I told him, from what I knew of Allardyce, that I was sure he was good for a painted window, and we have put down Paul Jones for a gargoyle.'

'You have only to take a cast of his expressive countenance,' observed Allardyce.

'Or, if you want any brass ornaments, melt it,' suggested Tyndall.

I owe you one for that,' muttered Mr Paul Jones between his teeth.