ment of intoxication was added to that of plunder, and that the stimulant which rouses the savage passions of man had been abundantly found by those who sought it.

But the keenest, the most painful interest of Clara was drawn to the opposite side of the hall, where a party of the Cossacks had flung down with violence some object which they had dragged in along with them on entering. Clara kept her eyes fixed, as if fascinated, upon that spot; till, accustomed to the dim light which faintly fell upon the place, she felt assured of two things, which made every fibre in her frame thrill with emotion. There was life in the object, for it feebly moved; and it was no wounded Cossack that lay there in his blood: the eye of a daughter of England could not mistake the red uniform in which her countrymen have so often fought and conquered. Even personal terror was half forgotten in the painful feeling of sympathy, and her blood curdled in her veins as a Cossack struck the prostrate soldier with his foot, and exclaimed, in a language which her sojourn in the Crimea enabled her partially to comprehend: "As for this wretch, he is a spy, and shall suffer the fate of a spy; but first we will wring from him all that he can tell us of the movements of the English. Raise him, and bind him fast to that pillar. There's enough of life left in him yet for speech now, and for suffering afterwards."

As the Russians obeyed the command of their leader, a heap of papers was suddenly thrown on the fire by a plunderer who had just sacked a chest; the flame rose with brief but vivid brightness, the blaze lighted up the whole place, and Clara beheld, with a horror that seemed to sear her brain with fire, the pale but manly features of George Everton!

"Answer me," said the Russian to his captive, in the French language, raising his horse-pistol in a menacing attitude; "came you not as one of the invaders of our holy Russia, as the enemy of our faith and of our Czar ?"

"I am an Englishman and a Christian," faintly replied the soldier. How lately would the unhappy Clara have given ten years of life to know that she should ever listen again to the tones of that voice; and now it had been less terrible to have seen those lips closed in the rigidity of death, to have been assured that the sufferer was beyond the reach of insult, or the ruthless barbarity of man.

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The Russian pursued his interrogatories in a coarse, brutal manner, to which the wounded man feebly but firmly replied, as one who knew the sentence of death to be already passed upon him-who expected and was prepared for the worst.

"Whither are the troops of England now marching?"
"Wherever their duty may lead them."

"What is the present strength of your army?"
"Courage, a just cause, and a firm trust in God."

It was doubtful what sterner means might have been made use of by the Cossack to force from his defenceless captive more definite information, for he was not one of the officers of the regular army, habituated to civilised life, whose ready exchange of manly courtesies have softened the rugged front of war; but a fierce leader of a fierce band, -rather a robber than a soldier, mad with bigotry, and acknowledging no law but the will of his all-powerful Czar. But as he approached Everton, with a gesture which made Clara shudder and tremble, his attention was suddenly diverted by a shriek from the back of the house, so loud, so thrilling, that it seemed the utterance of the human voice in the last extremity of fear. It was succeeded by a low, hollow groan; and, followed by a savage Cossack, Rawdon staggered into the room, gazed wildly round, stretched out his hands, as if imploring for mercy, and fell a corpse by the hearth of his own home.

In one night, it is said, the fair locks of a suffering queen attained prematurely the hue of age; but the agony which turned her hair white deadened not the senses, nor took away the powers of the mind. Clara stood aghast with horror, her eyes wildly fixed, her hands clenched; but she neither fainted nor fell. The gold which her wretched brother habitually carried about him, fastened carefully in the folds of his dress, soon drew around him every one of the plunderers who were not detained by the contents of the cellar below. And was it for this that that brain had formed its maze of endless schemes?-was it for this that home and comfort had been forsaken, and that honour, truth, and principle had so often been sacrificed upon the altar of sordid Mammon? The life of Rawdon had been one great mistake; deceiving others, but most of all being himself deceived, he had existed in a vain dream, from which he was only wakened by the dagger of his murderers.

The work of plunder was done; intemperance held its reign, and its effects were speedily manifest. The loud shout and brutal song were at length succeeded by the drowsiness of intoxication. One wretched being tottered to the window where stood the trembling Clara; he staggered against the curtain, and fell back into the recess, so near to the young girl, that had he stretched out his arm he must have struck her. She stirred not, however, scarcely respired indeed, till the heavy sound of his breathing told that he was wrapped in unconsciousness. The glimmer of the fire had died away; the only light that entered the hall was from the moonlight from without, which, streaming through the open back-door, and across the narrow passage, formed a whitish strip upon the matted floor, resting on the sleeping form of the leader of the Cossacks, as he lay close to, but not obstructing, the entrance.

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There was a slight tremulous motion in the curtain then slowly, cautiously, was it drawn back, and, like a timid fawn startled by the hunter's bugle, Clara glided from her place of concealment. The key of the iron gate was in her bosom; with a noiseless step she moved towards the door, but paused beside the slumbering Cossack. Oh, how her hand trembled, how fast beat her heart, how fervent was her agonised but silent prayer! A knife was in the belt of the sleeping ruffian, and the moonlight was shining on its hilt. Clara bent down and touched it, then drew back in terror. Again she laid on the cold metal a still colder hand, and attempted gradually to draw it from its sheath. As inch by inch the weapon lengthened in her grasp, the sleeping man stirred, and she paused, as if, in the act of drawing the knife, fear had suddenly transformed her to marble; but, with a muttered oath and an uneasy movement, the Cossack relapsed into slumber, and the pale maiden once more stood erect, with the murderous steel in her hand.

The way to escape was open before her; the passage was empty, the court deserted; and yet it was not in that direction that she turned her straining eyes. Immediate flight did not even cross her mind. Could it be-would she dare to cross that hall, where her first step might arouse the murderers, with her brother's blood still red upon their hands? She would dare; for, to her woman's heart, more than life was at stake; and the maiden would have endured

ten thousand deaths rather than fly and leave Everton to his fate. As the pressure from without makes the liquid silver mount higher in the tube, so trials only raise the devoted soul to more exalted efforts. Clara, while there was light in the apartment, had carefully marked where an enemy lay, or where piles of broken furniture presented an obstruction between her and the captive; but now even the moonlight became suddenly obscured, and the place was wrapt in the profoundest darkness. With nerves excited and brain overwrought, the unhappy girl became confused and bewildered; she was not certain of her own position, nor of that of any object in the hall. A horrible dread that she should never reach George arose in her mind—a conviction that she should stumble over some obstacle and rouse the sleepers.

In that moment of anguish, more acute even than any that had preceded it, a low sound-so low, that it might not have reached any ear whose faculty was not, like her own, sharpened to intensity by fear-reached her through the stillness. It was the voice of prayer, uttered in her native tongue: "My trust is in Thee; save me, for my hope is in Thy mercy." Everton, standing, as he believed, upon the brink of eternity, surrounded by enemies, without prospect of relief, assured of a speedy and violent death when morn should awaken his captors, even if life in the mean time ebbed not silently away, lifted up his heart in supplication to the Being in whose presence he was so shortly to appear. In the midst of his prayer, he felt something touch him like the icy fingers of a corpse; he started involuntarily, but uttered no exclamation, and waited in silent wonder while some unknown hand, with tremulous eagerness, severed the rope which bound him. The action was unmistakeable; some friend must be near-some friend who would risk life to save him; but in the darkness George had not recognised the murdered Rawdon when he fell; and though the form of Clara had been present to his thoughts even when he deemed death most near, never having known of her brother's project of emigration, the wildest dream of fancy never pictured her beside him.

Everton was free; but how could he avail himself of freedom? His brain was dizzy, his eyesight dim, strange sounds were in his ears, his strength was ebbing with the blood which still gushed from many a wound; but the

instinct of self-preservation is strong in the human breast. With a great effort, accordingly, he rallied his failing energies, made firm will supply the place of strength, and leaning on the slender arm stretched out for his support, he made his silent way towards the entrance of the passage, where once again the moonshine served at once as light and guide.

Oh, what feelings thrilled through the bosom of Clara, as she felt the cool air on her brow like the breath of life! Hastily she drew her dark mantle over her head, with the ready instinct which told her that one glimpse of her face might at once paralyze the powers of her wounded companion, and the shock of recognising her at such a moment break the almost severed cord of life. But when they stood at the iron gate, no sound of pursuit behind, and Clara drew from her bosom the fatal key, forgetting which had cost her wretched brother his life, the firmness of the poor girl seemed at length giving way. With nervous agitation she vainly endeavoured to find the lock; and but for George Everton's firmer hand, that gate might have remained a terrible barrier still. He unclosed it; it opened with a loud, creaking noise; Clara passed out, feeling like one in a horrible dream, till startled by a fierce voice from the hall which they had quitted, followed instantly by the report of a pistol, and the violent shutting of the gate

It was closed; yes, it was closed between the fugitives and their pursuers! Oh! for one hour's strength, for on that strength hangs now the existence of both. Can the tortured sufferer spring from his death-bed to action-can strong will string to new vigour the nerves of him who is sinking beneath the benumbing influence of weakness and pain? Oh! there is a power which has worked its miracles of love; that power infused new life into the bosom of Everton. Clara had dropped her mantle at the sound of the shot; he saw her; he knew her; and was no more conscious of his wounds!

Onward they fled; each fearing for, living for, the other; over the rough, uneven ground; over the grass, wet with night-dew, pressing on in the fearful race for life. But the unnatural effort could last but for a while; the impulse remained, but the power to obey it was gone. Everton sank down exhausted on the earth, and in faint accents implored his beloved one to leave him.