he poured out all his joys before that Friend who loves her too, and invoked His blessing on a scheme so well designed, so providentially accomplished.

I had almost forgotten Julian: wretched, hardened man, and how fared he? The moment he had flung his brother into that dark stream, and the waters closed above him greedily that he was gone-gone for ever, he first threw in stones to make a noise like life upon the stream, but that cheatery was only for an instant: he was alone-a murderer, alone! the horrors of silence, solitude, and guilt, seized upon him like three furies: so his quick retreating walk became a running; and the running soon was wild and swift for fear; and ever as he ran, that piercing scream came upon the wind behind, and hooted him: his head swam, his eyes saw terrible sights, his ears heard terrible sounds-and he scoured into quiet, sleeping Burleigh like a madman. However, by some strange good luck, not even did the slumbering watchman see him: so he got in-doors as usual with the latch-key (it was not the first time he had been out at night), crept up quietly, and hid himself in his own chamber.

And how did he spend those hours of guilty solitude? in terrors? in remorse? in misery? Not he: Julian was too wise to sit and think, and in the dark too; but he lit both reading lamps to keep away the gloom, and smoked and drank till morning's dawn to stupify his conscience.

Then, to make it seem all right, he went down to breakfast as usual, though any thing but sober, and met unflinchingly his mother's natural question

"Good morning, Julian-where's Charles?"

"How should I know, mother; isn't he up yet?"

"No, my dear; and what is more, I doubt if he came home last night." "Hollo, Master Charles! pretty doings these, Mr. Sabbath-teacher! so he slept out, eh, mother?"

"I don't know-but where did you leave him, Julian?"

"Who! I? did I go out with him? Oh! yes, now I recollect: let's see, we strolled together midway to Oxton, and, as he was going somewhat further, there I left him?"

How true the words, and yet how terribly false their meaning!
"Dear me, that's very odd-isn't it, general?"

"Not at all, ma'am-not at all; leave the lad alone, he'll be back by dinner-time: I didn't think the boy had so much spirit."

Emily, to whom the general's hint was Greek, looked up cheerfully; and in her own glad mind chuckled at her Charles's bold adventure.

But the day passed, off, and they sent out men to seek for him: and another and all Burleigh was a-stir: and another—and the coast-guards from Lyme to Plymouth Sound searched every hole and corner: and another when his mother wept five minutes: and another-when the wonder was forgotten.

However, they did not put on mourning for the truant: he might turn up yet: perhaps he was at Oxford.

Emily had not much to do in comforting the general for his dear son's loss; it clearly was a gain to him, and he felt far freer than when wisdom's eye was on him. Charles had been too keen for father, mother, and brother; too good, too amiable: he saw their ill, condemned it by his life, and showed their dark too black against his brightness. The unnatural deficiency of mother's love had not been overrated: Julian had all her heart; and she felt only obliged to the decamping Charles for leaving Emily so free and clear to his delightful brother. She never thought him dead: death was a repulsive notion at all times to her: no doubt he would turn up again some day. And Julian joked with her about that musty proverb "a bad penny."

As to our dear heroine, she never felt so happy in all her life before as now, even when her Charles had been beside her; for within a day of his departure he had written her a note full of affection, hope, and gladness; assuring her of his health, and wealth, and safe arrival on board the Indiaman. The noble-hearted youth never said one single word about his brother's crime: but he did warn his Emmy to keep close beside the general. This note she got through Mrs. Sainsbury; that invalid lady at Oxton, who never troubled herself to ask or hear one word beyond her own little world-a certain physic-corner cupboard.

And thou-poor miserable man-thou fratricide in mind-and to thy best belief in act, how drags on now the burden of thy life? For a day or two, spirits and segars muddled his brain, and so kept thoughts away: but within a while they came on him too piercingly, and Julian writhed beneath those scorpion stings of hot and keen remorse: and when the coast-guards dragged the Mullet, how that caitiff trembled! and when nothing could be found, how he wondered fearingly! The only thing the wretched man could do, was to loiter, day after day, and all day long, upon the same high path which skirts the tortuous stream. Fascinated there by hideous recollections, he could not leave the spot for hours: and his soft-headed, romantic mother, noticing these deep abstractions, blessed him for her Julian was now in love with Emily.

CHAPTER XIII.

NEWS OF CHARLES.

Ay-in love with Emily! Fiercely now did Julian pour his thoughts that way; if only hoping to forget murder in another strong excitement. Julian listened to his mother's counsels; and that silly, cheated woman playfully would lean upon his arm, like a huge, coy confidante, and fill his greedy ears (that heard her gladly for very holiday's sake from fearful apprehensions), with lover's hopes, lover's themes, his Emi. ly's perfection. Delighted mother-how proud and pleased was she! quite in her own element, fanning dear Julian's most sentimental flame, and scheming for him interviews with Emily.

It required all her skill-for the girl clung closely to her guardian: he, unconscious Argus, never tired of her company; and she, remembering dear Charles's hint, and dreading to be left alone with Julian, would persist to sit day after day at her books, music, or needle-work in the study, charming General Tracy by her pretty Hindoo songs. With him she walked out, and with him she came in; she would read to him for hours, whether he snored or listened; and, really, both mother and son were several long weeks before their scheming could come to any thing. A tête-à-tête between Julian and Emily appeared as impossible to manage, as collision between Jupiter and Vesta.

However, after some six weeks of this sort of mining and countermining (for Emily divined their wishes), all on a sudden one morning the general received a letter that demanded his immediate presence for a day or two in town; something about prize-money at Puttymuddy. fudgepoor. Emily was too high-spirited, too delicate in mind, to tell her guardian of fears which never might be realized; and so, with some forebodings, but a cheerful trust, too, in a Providence above her, she saw the general off without a word, though not without a tear; he too, that stern, close man, was moved: it was strange to see them love each other so.

The moment he was gone, she discreetly kept her chamber for the day, on plea of sickness; she had cried very heartily to see him leave her-he had never yet left her once since she could recollect—and thus she really had a head-ache, and a bad one.

Next morning, she would gladly have found any just excuse for absence from the breakfast-table-fever, small-pox, cholera, any thing: for Julian's attentions were more dreaded than them all. But she was quite recovered now, and a ship-letter, that morning arrived from Charles, all well, and merrily bounding over the salt sea, had put her in such high spirits, that, with something of just pride and matronly fortitude, she determined to confront Mrs. Tracy and her son. Verily, her frank and cheerly trustfulness quite staggered the conspiring pair: for Emily had been strengthened by prayerful trust towards God, and felt happy in her well-requited love.

She was the first to speak. "Good-morrow, Mrs. Tracy; how do you do, Julian? I am afraid to say, you don't look quite so well as usual.” Indeed, he did not; for ghastly fears racked him, and unsatisfied desires: he was pale, wasted, miserable. So he awkwardly answered her address with a common "how d'ye do?"

"Julian has lost his spirits lately very much, my dear: I dare say you can guess the cause?" As if either of them could!

"The cause, Mrs. Tracy? I am sure I cannot; at least," she added, somewhat mischievously, "unless he is anxious about Charles.” "What about Charles?" hurriedly asked Julian, in a wild and nerv.

ous way.

"Why, we all know he is missing, don't we, Julian? and has been for these six weeks: I am sure it does you credit to seem so altered since he went."

"Went? whither?" earnestly asked the mother, who really had begun to find out that she loved her now lost child: "whither, dearest Emily? oh, do you know? do you know? tell me tell me."

To Emily's great surprise, Mrs. Tracy shed real tears of evident affection and sorrow; though a silly and weak one, she was a mother still, and Charles a son, although too good for her.

Accordingly Emily, in the fullness of her sympathy, and with some natural exultation of spirits, now that Charles had got a fair start (he was at the Cape by this time), gayly answered

"Dear Mrs. Tracy, I rejoice to be able to assure you, that you need not entertain a fear or doubt of Charles's welfare; though I am a woman, I can keep a secret, you see;" (the dear girl was babbling it all the while, quite unconscious of her contradiction;) "Charles is gone to India, to find out who I am, and I heard from him this morning-all well at St. Helena!"

198

Julian Tracy gave such a start, that he knocked off a cheffonier of rare china and glass standing at his elbow; and the smash of mandarins and porcelain gods would have been enough, at any other time, to have driven his mother crazy.

"Charles alive?" shouted he.

"Yes, Julian-why not? You saw him off, you know: cannot you remember?"

Now to that guilty wretch's mind the fearful notion instantaneously occurred, that Emily Warren was in some strange, wild way bantering him; she knew his dreadful secret-"he had seen him off." He trembled like an aspen as she looked on him.

"Oh yes, he remembered, certainly; but-but where was her letter?" "Never mind that, Julian; you surely would not read another person's letters, Monsieur le Chevalier Bayard?"

Emily was as gay at heart that morning as a sky-lark, and her innoJulian dared not ask to see cent pleasantry proved her strongest shield. the letter-scarcely dared to hope she had one, and yet did not know what to think. As to any love scene now, it was quite out of the question, notwithstanding all his mother's hints and management; a new exciting thought entirely filled him: was he a Cain, a fratricide, or not? was Charles alive after all? And, for once in his life, Julian had some repentant feelings; for thrilling hope was nigh to cheer his gloom.

It really seemed as if Emily, sweet innocent, could read his inmost thoughts. "At any rate," observed she, playfully, "Bayard may take the postman's privilege, and see the outside."

With that, she produced the ship-letter that had put her in such spirits, legibly dated some twenty-two days ago. Yes, Charles's hand, sure enough! Julian could swear to it among a thousand. And he fainted dead away.

What an astonishing event! how Mrs. Tracy praised her noble-spirited boy! How the bells rang! and hot water, and cold water, and salts, and rubbings, and eau de Cologne, and all manner of delicate attentions, long sustained, at length contributed to Julian's restoration. Moreover, even Emily was agreeably surprised; she had never seen him in so amiable a light before; this was all feeling, all affection for his brother -her dear-dear Charles. And when Mrs. Tracy heard what Emily said of Julian's feeling heart, she became positively triumphant; not half so much at Charles's safety, and all that, as at Julian's burst of feeling. She was quite right, after all; he was worthy to be her favour