Lady Constantia went to a wardrobe, and be- in the place of the heart of lead which had lain gan to take down her dresses. there like a stone since his engagement. "I am going to pack my trunk, so as to leave Mr. Pryne to Lambert. "It's a warning to the Ilshey to-morrow." "Yes; and you will get ready to accompany me. Mr. Clydesdale can come to see you in your own home." "So it seems that I was the only one who thought him to be a marquis," said Emily to herself. At the dinner-table Lady Constantia announced her intention of leaving Ilshey the succeeding morning. "We will not allow that, will we, Clydesdale ?" said Roland, who appeared to be in uncommonly good spirits for one who was in the unpleasant position of a jilted man. "Certainly not," said Emily's lover, with his mouth full of salad; I am not going at present." Emily bit her lip, and blushed. 46 'You are very kind, Roland, but Emily is my only daughter at home, and I feel as if I must have her with me." "Doesn't it make you feel like a wretch, Clydesdale, when you think that you are about to rob my aunt of her only remaining daughter?" said Roland, desirous to relieve a certain constraint which was visible in different members of the party, and which he knew was caused by their knowledge of his position and the fear that they might inadvertently reflect upon it. "How did you feel?" said Clydesdale, to whom Emily had revealed her former relation to Roland, fearing that he might hear it from some other person. The glaring coarseness of this question made Emily wish to sink into the earth that she might hide the shame which burned her cheeks like fire, and branded her forehead like flame. What would Roland think of her, who could prefer Clydesdale to himself? rest of us not to commit ourselves in a hurry. If I were in his position I should feel like a fool." I presume you would," said Lambert. There was quite an awkward pause after Roland's reply, which Fra broke by saying "Isn't this the refectory where the Shadow Lady danced with the bishop?" Yes," said Stephana; and every one, glad of a change of subject, began to inquire who was meant by the Shadow-Lady. "Oh, it's a long story," said Fra, "a regular legend. Stephana knows all about it." "Tell us it after dinner, will you not?" said quite a chorus of voices, "You must wait until we join you in the drawing-room," said Roland. "I have a very indistinct recollection of it, having heard it when a boy, and I really should like to find if I should again experience those mysterious thrills which its relation then sent through every nerve." " 'Is it very horrid ?" asked Chip. "If I recollect rightly, it is quite mysterious and ghostly," said Roland. "Oh! are there ghosts in it?" said Lalla Pryne. "How delightful! I do so love ghosts!" "How she must love herself!" said Lambert, in an aside to Chip. "She looks like the ghost of an old maid." "They say there is a portrait of her in existence somewhere in the house," said Lady Constantia. "I used to be crazy to look for it, but my grandmother-my father's mother-would never allow me to make the search. She said that it was hidden away after the baroness's disappearance, and every one of the name who had found that picture had met with misfortune. I said that I did not believe in ghosts or phantoms, that this was an age of progress, not of delusion, and the ghosts of the last century had vanished since the discovery of the powers of steam and electricity. It was some time before she would forgive my disbelief in the family demon, and I was obliged to appear to have recanted my error before she would tell me another legend." Shadows are not ghosts," said Chip. "Wait until you hear the legend," replied Stephana. It was a soft, warm summer night, with a vaporous sky, in which the moon hung in a haze, the centre of one of those dull, livid, | circles which portend a storm. The air smelled of the coming rain, and the trees in the park rustled, and shivered, and moaned as if the dryads in their boughs dreaded the impending storm. The falling waters of the fountains had a melancholy cadence, and a far off breeze began to pipe with a thin, weak voice as if complaining of the strain upon its airy nature. The falling lace which veiled the windows, the shadowy and broken reflections in the panelmirrors, the white aspect of the whole room had a ghostly effect. "Just the night for a legend," said Roland, as the gentlemen came in from the dining-room, and threaded their way through the spectrallooking furniture, with its soft lustre of velvet, and cold gleam of marble, "and you all look like ghosts in your white dresses. Why are you all dressed in white?" "Everything looks white in this peculiar light," said the Countess. "I'm afraid we shan't have our drive, Emily," said Clydesdale, seating himself on a sofa which was overflowed by Emily's abundant skirts. "Pray begin the legend, Miss Brandon," said Emily. As Stephana began to speak, the sky began to darken, and when she reached that part of the legend where the nun comes to the Priory, a narrow fissure of flame appeared in the black bank of clouds which showed itself above the line of the trees, and emitted a sheet of vivid lightning which illuminated the darkened room, and showed a black, shrouded figure standing near the door. There were two or three screams, a rustling of silks and muslins as the wearers started from their seats, and a voice from where the now invisible figure was standing, said "Where is the baron ?" (To be continued.) FAINT-HEARTED. BY ANNA. Faint-hearted, falter not. ging Why are you lag- Then on the drooping oars vigorously bending, Pass the wild rapid and buffet the flood. Grief-stricken now in the midst of the stream? While in your inmost heart fond hopes are flagging, Daylight is passing you swift as a dream. Why on your oars are ye motionless lying, Gather the strength that a Father is sending, Wrap it about you like mantle and hood, Work your own destiny. Daylight is glowing, But if your work is accomplished at gloaming, Calm grows your heart with the set of the sun, Peacefully o'er you the shadows are looming, For when night cometh, your work will be done. ORVILLE COLLEGE. BY THE AUTHOR OF EAST LYNNE," THE CHANNINGS,' THE TRANSFORMED VILLAGE," ETC. CHAPTER XXI. THE OUTBREAK. (Concluded from page 595.) It was the morning following the arrival of Mr. Trace. The boys filed out of chapel: but instead of hindering, lingering, dallying, as it was generally their pleasure to do, those of the first desk threw off their gowns with remarkable haste, and rushed into school. As sheep follow their leader, so do boys mostly go in the wake of their fellows; and George Paradyne, who appeared to be the only one of the class not act ing in concert, and who had rather wondered wherefore the bustle, hastened in also. But he found no place for him. His seat was occupied. By dint of sitting wide instead of close, the first desk contrived to fill the whole space. Brown major was before Paradyne's particular compartment, had got it open, and was disposing his own books and belongings in it. What are you doing with my desk, Brown major?" demanded George. "Move down lower, will you?" It Paradyne's place now was next to Trace. had been curious to note in the past weeks the tacit antagonism of the two boys, sitting side by side; Trace ignoring Paradyne always, Paradyne having no resource but to be ignored. Brown major took no heed to the request, and did not move down. and if the Head Master insists, there'll be a rebellion. But it's thought he wont insist in the face of things. I am not speaking for myself," he continued, idly running his fingers through his luxuriant curls with a cool indifference that might have been laughable but that it was so real, and so characteristic of him. "Being, as may be said, a remotely interested party, I hold myself neuter: I have neither counselled this, nor do I join in it. But I can't have a disturbance, you know. Brown, pass me that Homer." There'd better be no row over this, Paradyne. If you flung me out of the place—which perhaps might turn out to be a bit of mistaken boasting, if we came to try it-another would fill it up. You ought never to have come among us, and that's a fact; there has been a feeling against you always, but it's only since a day or two that we've known the cause. If I were you I'd go quietly out at that door and through the "Will you go down, I say, Brown? I shall college gates, and have done with it for good. have to pull you out if you don't." Not a word of answer. The boys had their books out now and were bending over them, putting up their backs as if some great draught were behind. George Paradyne laid hold of Brown to swing him out, when Loftus major interposed. Gall was at home with a temporary indisposition, or it might not have occurred, since the senior was expected to keep peace. And upon my word and honor I say this for the best: it's the only thing left for you to do." "If you don't tell me the meaning of this, I'll fling you out, I say," repeated George. "I give you three seconds. One! two! The meaning is, that you can't be tolerated here any longer," interrupted Brown, "neither may you go in for the Orville." Bertie Loftus acted in a degree for him, but as- I ask you for the meaning-the reason-the sumed little authority. cause. Are you stupid?” added George, stamp sant. There was no time to lose, for the under- | George Paradyne, who was standing before one masters were coming in. of the slates, following out its diagrams, turned round to answer. I don't know the rights of it as well as some of them, Paradyne," said Brown at length. "Of course I'm sorry for you; but we are gentlemen here. Ask Trace the particulars or ask Lamb." Before another word could be spoken, the hall had to rise at the entrance of the Head Master. Instead of taking his seat when he reached his table, he remained standing, and addressed the first desk. 'Gentlemen, in consequence of the absence of Mr. Henry this morning, the order of studies has been changed. You will go at once to Mr. Baker's room for mathematics." There was a moment's lingering; either in surprise at the command, for it was completely out of routine, or for some other purpose. Could it be that the boys were deliberating, each in his heart, whether then to declare their feud against Paradyne? If so, nothing came of it. Bertie Loftus led the way through the room, and the rest followed him, including Paradyne. Mr. Baker was waiting for them. Mr. Baker was an irascible sort of gentleman who might have settled any dispute, any incipient rebellion by caning around him indiscriminately. The room was large, too, the table spacious, the diagrams on the walls were plentiful, and there was no chance of shutting out George Paradyne from a seat here. So the class had to bottle up its resentment for the present. Trace had not outwardly joined in the movement by word or look. Not in obedience to the advice given by his father the previous evening, but in accordance with his usual policy. Mr. Trace had casually remarked, "I'd not interfere with young Paradyne, Raymond, to oppress him. What passed was no fault of his, you know." Advice which Mr. Raymond had not the slightest intention of following. Some inward speculation was arising in his mind touching the cause of Mr. Henry's absence, as just announced. Had he been dismissed? Had the boast that the Head Master knew who he really was-been a false one, and had Mr. Henry, in consequence of the discovery, forced himself to declare his deceit, and been met by an abrupt dismissal? Trace would have given his two ears-as they say in France for the knowledge, but did not see his way clear to get at it. As if to gratify him, Mr. Baker suddenly inquired of the class generally, if they knew why Mr. Henry was absent. Mr. Henry is gone out, sir. I went round this morning to borrow Ollendorf's key from him, and found him away. Mother Butter thought he had gone off somewhere by the train." "I feared he might be ill," remarked Mr. Baker. "He has looked ill lately." "His wicked conscience smited him, sang Whitby in an undertone, quoting the lines from a once popular song that Mr. Lamb carolled on occasion for private benefit at bedroom festivals, and protested it had been composed by Tennyson. 64 'Attend to your business," roared out Mr. Baker by way of acknowledging the information. And they did it, one and all, bottling up their private grievances, as previously remarked, for a more auspicious opportunity. Which did not arrive until the close of morning school, so cross-grained and inconvenient a turn did the order of studies take that morning. Mr. Henry had taken the train to London, to pay a visit to a great physician. Not in obedience to Mrs. Butter's remonstrance, as disclosed to us by George, but because the time for doing So was come. He had been intending to see a doctor, long and long; had put it off in a sort of vague dread, as many of us do; and now it could no longer be delayed; no, not for a day. As George said, he had another fainting-fit the previous night; but, instead of recovering from it blithely, as was usual, he had lain all night in pain, his heart fluttering strangely. Medical aid, and that of the best, was necessary now, although he felt well again in the morning. The dread was not for himself, but for those dependent on him. Who would help them if his help failed? The whole night long he lay awake, tormenting himself. With morning light--daylight does not come early when November is on the dawn-he rose and took his breakfast. Dropping a note to the Head Master, explaining the cause of his absence, he went off by train to London, taking things quietly then. Times and again it had been in his thoughts to go to this gentleman, who was one of fame, especially in diseases of the heart. Very nearly an hour did he wait in the ante-room, before his be. The physician did not say much; it is not turn came. He was examined, questioned, talked to; and then the doctor sat down to his table and took up a pen. But he laid it down again. "I am about to write you a prescription; but I tell you candidly it is not medicine you want. One thing may do you good; and one thing only." "What is that?" "Rest. Rest both of mind and body. I do not mean tranquillity only, but entire rest from all kinds of exertion. Great or sudden exertion might be" the doctor paused; and, as it struck Mr. Henry, seemed to change the word he had been about to speak-" prejudicial to you, excessively so. You must avoid alike fatigue and emotion." I gather, then, that my heart is not sound." "Not quite as sound as could be wished." "Is it so unsound as to place me in danger?" questioned Mr. Henry, his luminous eyes bent earnestly on the physician. "You need not fear to speak freely to me. I have come here to ask you to do so." "In a case such as yours there is no doubt danger," replied the doctor. "We can do little. It lies chiefly with the patient himself." "What does ?" "Well, I had almost said life or death. So long as he can keep himself perfectly tranquil, the danger is comparatively very little." "But it is always there, nevertheless, even with tranquillity. Am I to understand that?" "It is. In a degree." . I had a friend once; a fellow-student at Heidelberg, who had heart-disease. The German doctors recommended perfect tranquillityas you do to me. He followed their advice; he was of wealthy family, and could do it; but the disease made rapid strides, and shortly killed him. He lay ill less than a week." customary to do so; but when Mr. Henry went, he had gathered that death sooner or later must come to him. It gave him no shock: he had seemed to know beforehand what the fiat would be. Notwithstanding, it was altogether a very serious vista, and yet a sensation of strange peace seemed to fill his heart. How he had shrunk from ascertaining the true nature of his disease and the consequent absolute cessation from toil, which he knew would be imposed, he alone knew. All for the sake of his mother, her home, her interests. Over and over again he had asked himself, who would work for them when he could not, as if the delay would alter the evil, it was for this he had put off seeking to know the truth; he had dreaded it as one, unprepared, dreads death; and now that it was spoken instead of the torment and trouble it might have brought, he felt nothing but resignation and sweet peace. It was but another great mercy, this feeling, from the loving and merciful Father: and Mr. Henry had learnt to trust Him in all things, with the simple, reliant, undoubting trust that a child feels in its earthly parents; in darkness as well as light; in gloom as well as brightness. Oh, my boys, how I wish I could make you understand what this trust is, and how to acquire it! It is the one great blessing in life, the only true peace; a pearl of great price. It is a sure and safe refuge; an ever present comfort in sunshine and in storm; a resort that is never closed. Every grief, every care, every doubt, had Henry Paradyne learnt to carry THERE, and he knew that it could not fail him. "Things seem dark and dreary; I cannot see my way; undertake for me, Lord!" had been latterly the burden of his prayer. He never failed to rise up comforted, to know that God had been with him, lending His gracious ear, listening compassion "Ah, yes," replied the doctor, evincing no ately to his cry: there were times when he surprise. Mr. Henry, who displayed and felt entire calm throughout the interview, then proceeded to mention the strides his own sickness had been making. He was quite aware of the nature of his (possibly) inherited malady; recent symptoms had brought the knowledge to him. But, had he been differently circumstanced, in the enjoyment of past immunity from work and care and fear, it might not have shown itself for years and years. As it was-he frankly spoke of what the ending must in all probability soon seemed to have been talking with Him face to face, a joy so heavenly was diffused throughout his spirit. My boys, you perhaps hold an idea that religion (as it is very commonly called) is but a gloomy thing; let me tell you that the real religion, as experienced by those who live thus near to God, is as a very light of happiness. It will not come to you all at once; but it will surely come with time if you earnestly desire it. Think what it is to possess a refuge always, one that cannot fail! In danger and sorrow, doubt and difficulty, in trouble and storm, there in |