I neither may nor can

Longer the pleasure of mine hearte hide;

If that thou vouchesafe, what so betide,

Thy daughter will I take, ere that I wend,

As for my wife unto her lives end. Chaucer.

EDWARD OSBORNE s anxiety on account of the state of stupor in which Anne continued all the next day after the fire, was so great, that upon every occasion he could steal away from his superintendence of the searching the ruins of the Golden Fleece, he had hastened away to his

All the joy poor Osborne had experienced at having been, as he felt, the heaven-directed instrument of salvation of his heart's adored, vanished upon hearing where his master had gone. All the young nobleman had told him, again presented itself to his memory, and he now felt little doubt, that Lord Talbot would at once disclose his intentions to the father. So anxious was he that his own secret should not be guessed at, that he determined at once to acquaint the merchant with his intention to leave England for ever; for as he said to himself-" If I express my wishes before I am supposed to know of the great honour intended to his family, Master Hewet will not set down my sudden determination to any disappointed hopes on my part."

When the merchant did return, he was in high glee; and upon hearing of the rapid progress his child had made towards recovery, during his absence, he exclaimed-" This I shall now for ever regard as the most fortunate day of my life, excepting one, my Alyce dear, and that one was the day on which you consented to be mine !" Upon saying this, he most unceremoniously gave his spouse a hearty kiss of real affection. -" Why, what are you staring at, boy ?" continued Hewet, addressing Edward. " You need not blush at seeing an honest husband kiss an honest wife! And may Heaven grant you the same blessing, of being able to say, after you have been wedded as many years as we have, that the day your loved one, for I suppose you will have a loved one, one of these days, told you she was yours, can still be regarded as the most fortunate day of your life !"

That the merchant should be thus happy did not appear unnatural, considering it was the first day after the finding his child. But Osborne, who delighted in tormenting himself, as all do who really love, felt that there was another cause, and a strong one too, for the merchant's excessive joy, and that was, the proposal, which he doubted not, had already been made to Master Hewet, by the heir of Shrewsbury.

When Anne recovered her senses, the first person who met her dreaming gaze, was the Italian girl, Mona, watching by her couch, as she had seen her watching once before. All that had passed between them, came vividly to her recollection; but looking round, she discovered such splendid luxury on every side, that, for the moment, she fancied she must be wandering in the mysterious realms of sleep. It was some time before Mona could convince her, that all she gazed at was no vision, but reality; but when she learnt that she was once again beneath a father's roof, her senses had nearly flown, so powerful was the revulsion of feeling that had seized upon her heart.-" Oh, no, no !" she exclaimed, " it cannot be-it cannot be ! such happiness is not to bless the wretched Anne ! 'tis all illusion-all illusion !"

Mona endeavoured, by every means, to explain, but the sufferer's mind was too bewildered by the power of the drugs, and by her newborn hopes and fears, to comprehend easily what the Italian girl was saying; but having become somewhat calmer, Mona summoned the merchant and Alyce into the room.

It was now no longer possible to doubt her senses; she felt her arms were really around the necks of her doting parents-that their tears of joy, now mingling with her own, were the true outpourings of a beating heart. When Anne beheld Edward enter, an involuntary blush suffused her lovely face, and her eyes, unbidden, turned imploringly towards Mona, as if to say, " you alone know my secret-do not betray me."

Had there required one more rivet, to fasten immovably love's chain around the captive heart of Osborne, that rivet was soon applied, and proved to be one that could never again be loosened; for when all the dangers, from which she had so miraculously escaped, were related to the now happy girl, and when she learnt that her life had a second time been saved by him, to whom she had in secret given up her whole heart, she cast upon him one look of such intense gratitude, that, with the rapidity of thought, it flew through his own eyes into his heart, and there took root for ever. How such a look would have blessed any other man! but, alas! to Osborne, it seemed a doom.

From that instant, he felt that he could have endured the agony of perishing in the flames, with less of anguish, than he now knew he must endure at parting from her for ever; but every new accession of affection that seized upon his heart, and seemed to bind him closer and closer to her, determined him to fly more quickly then ever from the maddening spell.

That very night, after all the other inmates of the place had retired to rest, he prayed of the merchant to grant him a few minutes of private converse.

So unusual a circumstance caused the merchant unfeigned surprise.

" And what," said he, smiling, " is the mighty matter we have in hand, boy, that should keep us from our couches at so late an hour as this? To-morrow, to-morrow, I'll be sworn, will be time enough, and there is a time for every thing, you know."

" And that this is the time for what I have to say," replied Osborne, " I feel convinced; for what I wish to say, cannot be said too soon."

Edward had put on such a serious look, that the merchant felt himself constrained to feel serious too; so, without speaking, he resumed his seat, and pointing to another for Edward, awaited patiently any communication Osborne might wish to make.

It was not until after some hesitation, and turning deadly pale, that Edward thus began-" That you have always treated-nay, loved me, as a son, and that I have ever honoured and loved you as a father, needs but little effort, on either of our parts, to make apparent. Do not think that I have forgotten all the past kindness that has, since boyhood, been lavished upon me by all beneath your roof. Do not think me ungrateful for what I am going to say; it arises from no selfish feeling-it springs from no wayward love of change; but-but-master, I intend to leave

" Leave me!" exclaimed Hewet, leaning forward, and looking Edward full in the face.

The youth's eyes filled to the brim; and taking his master's hand, he sank his head upon it, as he repeated, firmly as his agitation would permit-" Yes, I intend to leave you."

" Did I not know your character too well, to doubt whatever you may say," replied the merchant, " I should receive such words with doubt indeed; but as I am sure you would not thus pain yourself, nor thus wound me, but for some potent reason, or one you believe to be such, I will listen to all you wish to say; but upon such a theme, I shall find it difficult not to doubt my senses. Tell me first, what has given birth to this sudden thought ?"

"With me," replied Edward, "it is no sudden thought, but one that has never quitted me, in night or day, since first it took possession of my mind, and that is now some time gone by."

" Few men," said the merchant, " ever do any thing without a motive; and I am sure that, of all men, young as he is, Edward Osborne is the last to wish to take such a step as that he now proposes, without some strong incentive-some almost resistless motive. You have called me father: speak openly as a son: tell me all, and I will then advise you truly as a father."

" Alas!" replied Edward, " it is because I cannot speak openly, that I have so long delayed to acquaint you with my fixed resolve. Master, do not press me upon the question of my reason for wishing to quit your roof; but, believe me, I have the best of reasons."

" I never knew a youth yet," retorted the merchant, rather sharply, "that did not believe himself made up of reason. I hope, Edward, this is no boy's whim-no childish fancy. If your reason, as you call it, be one of common sense, why blush to own it ?"

" It is no whim-no childish fancy," said Edward; " but the reason for my leaving this land will die with me. By what I have just said, you will perceive it is my wish to quit England, and it is in your power to let me do so, with honour to myself, and bright prospects, as regards my future fortune lying before me. The management of the English factory at Antwerp, is the post I have the ambition to aspire to; your name and influence will be sufficient to secure it for whom you will. Will you exert that influence for your apprentice, Edward Osborne, and thus, by opening a door, through which he may escape for ever from this isle, render him as happy, as he can ever be, while he exists upon this earth ?"

" This is a subject, from first to last," replied the merchant, " requiring more than a mere thought ere it be determined. Many of your words have given birth to new thoughts within my breast; but this far, I will assure you at once-the idea of Antwerp is one that I will never oppose; there is a sound judgment shown in it, and if it be carried out, may one day lead to city fame, and, what is quite as good, city fortune. I will think upon what you have said, and in the morning we will again speak more fully upon all its varied bearings. Self, self, self," continued Hewet, " yes, self will peep out, do what we will to shut it in. I confess,

" It is a reason you must never know!" replied Osborne, evidently mortified at the now unconcerned manner in which the merchant alluded to their separation. " When I am gone, few, I imagine, will care much either for me or for my reasons."

" Indeed, but they will; all in this house will ever care for what concerns their well-loved friend, Master Osborne; and although the sea will roll between us, I have ships enough to afford you a passage now and then, to pay a visit to your former home."

"When once gone," said Edward, " I never more return-never !"

Oh, yes, boy !" replied the merchant, " yes, yes, you will; upon one occasion, come you shall, even if I myself should have to fetch you, and that is when Anne shall marry, and that may happen sooner than I had thought, notwithstanding my particular ideas upon the subject. When I visited Lord Talbot to-day-But I see you are tired, and want to go to rest; so good night, and in the morning, as I said before, we will speak more fully upon these matters."

" And such is the world," said Edward, when the merchant had retired, " such is the world. Here have I been, for days and days, fearing, dreading, the pain I might give to him I have ever regarded as a father, and now he knows my resolve, so far from feeling sorrow at our separation, he rather evinces a satisfaction, bordering on delight; but it cannot surely be his mere selfish love of gain, which, seeing in the distance, blinds him to what he otherwise had viewed with pain ? No, that cannot be; but, alas! I fear I guess too well the true cause of his satisfaction-his interview to-day with this young Lord Talbot; there the true cause lies Well, be it so; if it but bring to Anne a happy heart, if I love her, as I know I do, I should rejoice, rather than weep. How unfortunate it is that I am compelled to be beneath the same roof with her. Had she been at the Cottage, I might have quitted England, without again looking upon her. I will be up by times-pray of the merchant not to betray my wishes to any one, until all is settled for my departure. I will point out to him how much better it were for Anne, in her enfeebled state, to be in the fresh air of the Heath, than pent up in this close un wholesome lane. If she be once away, I can hurry on my own departure with a freer mind; but were she gone, then should I have already looked upon her for the last time in this life. That thought seems like the parent of despair; I could not bear to leave her, without one last adieu ! But can I bear to say to her farewell? No, no! It were better that we meet no more !"

Osborne spent half the night in devising means of avoiding Anne on

The next morning the whole house was astir betimes, for the Cripple and his adored wife were that day to commence a long journey with Gripclose, to take possession of one of Eoline's estates.

Notwithstanding the bustle in which the merchant was, Edward found an opportunity to express his wish, that no notice might be taken, at present, of their last night's conversation. The merchant too thought, that, until further progress had been made in the Antwerp business, strict silence upon the subject would be advisable; but he promised Edward that not one unnecessary moment should be wasted in bringing about the end desired. So far, Osborne's mind was relieved, but still more so, when the merchant, just as the other was about to speak to the same point, told him, he had determined that Anne should at once depart for the Cottage.

With the exception of Edward, who could not cast off his own sadness, all at the early morning meal wore smiling faces. Anne was the only one absent from the board; but upon this Osborne had calculated, or he would have found some excuse for being himself away.

Before they had sat down, the man of law, Master Gripclose, arrived, and was in high glee, to think how completely they had triumphed over that vile pretender, as he called him, Horton, whom he reported to have absconded, and that now there were strange and horrible tales flying about concerning him, and that it was even affirmed, the officers of justice had received information from some secret source, that, if true, would bring him and the halter into close acquaintanceship-" But for the truth of all this he did not vouch; but such," he said, " was the report afloat."

Edward and the Bridge-shooter now related the strange circumstance of the dagger being left with them so mysteriously, and that there was no doubting but that that dagger, or knife, had once belonged to Horton.

" Where is it ?" said the man of law; " such a blade as that, stained, you say, with blood ?-

"No!"

" Well, stained with something; but which, coming in connection with other evidence, might be regarded as blood."

" It will never come in connection with anything but the bottom of the Thames," said Edward, "for it was in the very room that first fell into the river, one mass of flames."

"We had much better talk of our own happy affairs," said the merchant, "than waste our breath upon so vile a subject as Harry Horton; but that is not his name now, nor does it matter whatever his name may be. You ordered the light barge, William ?" he enquired of the Bridge-shooter, " and the horses too ?"

"All will be ready, Master," replied William, "by the hour you named."

"Well then," said the merchant, " as we shall not be much longer together, let us laugh and be merry while we are, for I never before saw so many in so small a party, who had so much cause for real happiness as we have. For when I look the world around --"

What splendid figures of speech Master Hewet would have adorned his eloquence with, can never now be even guessed at, for just as he was " looking the world around," a servitor entered to announce a messenger from Lord Talbot.

The merchant had scarcely heard the name, ere he had left the room, not waiting even to finish his sentence.

Flora's eyes were immediately fixed upon Edward; his change of countenance too plainly told her, that all she had guessed was true.

The merchant was away but for a minute, and when he returned, his countenance was beaming more radiently than ever; delight appeared in every feature.

When Osborne perceived this, his heart sank within him. He arose, and asked permission-" to away," as he said, "to his affairs upon the Bridge."

" Not to the Bridge, boy," replied Hewet; "what is to be done there, to-day, I myself must do, after I have given audience to Lord Talbot. Think of that-a Cloth-worker and his wife solicited to grant audience to a lord! Oh, money, money ! get money, boy, and you will have no lack of lords."

" Not if you've a lovely daughter too," whispered the Bridge-shooter into the ear of Flora.

"But come, astir, astir," said the merchant, " for we all have our work to do." A great clattering of horses' feet was now heard in the court-yard. "Come, Willy-of-the-Bridge, mount, and away to your fortune, man; or mount and away with your fortune, I should say, for I believe Eoline, in your eyes, is the only fortune, you will deign to look upon as fortune. The Bridge-shooter will with you. Flora must remain with my spouse here, for she must be well attired to receive so great a personage as Shrewsbury's young heir.

" But who then," said Edward, " is to accompany your daughter to the Heath ?"

"Who !" exclaimed Hewet, "why, who is there but you ?"

" I !" ejaculated Osborne. "You! yes, you," replied the merchant; "is there anything so wondrous strange in such an arrangement, that you needs must stare your eyes out ? It is not the first time you have protected Anne by some hundreds, is it ?"

"Perhaps," joined in Flora, maliciously, "perhaps Edward would rather Master Walter Lerue escorted her."

"There is no Master Lerue," said Edward almost savagely. "But am I to take Anne to the Heath alone ?-and when do you follow ?"

" Oh," replied Hewet, "to-morrow, or next day, or the day after that, or, in fact, as soon as we can get away. But do not be afraid of remaining there alone-the Heath is safe enough now; we shall hear no more of robbers."

" I am no coward, master, I fear not robbers," said Edward, rather piqued; "I never trembled, even when surrounded by them-but-I--"

"Yes, dear, quite ready," exclaimed the merchant, turning from Edward, and going towards the door, through which Alyce and Eoline had a short time before gone out.

What annoyed Osborne dreadfully, was to see Flora and the Bridge- shooter laughing in a corner; he felt convinced that he formed the subject of their mirth-but why ? they knew not the secret of his heart, at least he thought so.

Flora having adjusted a warm kind of wrapper round William's throat, now came to Osborne, and with a very grave face, said softly to him, " Now mind, Edward, that you are a good boy; don't let your violentflow of spirits, and well-known gallantry, o'erleap discretion; fortunately Anne is very ugly, and you are about the same, so perhaps my warning is uncalled for: if you should find any lack of subjects to converse on during these long evenings, turn to that most interesting of all games for two- scratch-cradle, you'll find it very agreeable, I can assure you; the only difficulty is, in avoiding your own fingers coming in contact with those of your opponent. I have known two hands get so entangled through that game, that they have never been again disunited until death; so be on your guard not to entangle your fingers with those of Anne Hewet, or you may rue it." Having said this, she gave him two or three knowing nods of the head, and walked away.

So full was his mind of the strangeness of the situation he suddenly found himself in, that he scarcely comprehended what Flora was talking about; and had he wished to have replied, he would have been prevented, for the reality of his unlooked-for position was now made manifest by the lovely girl entering with her mother. Anne was equipped for her journey in cloaks and furs, whose costliness evinced the high respectability of the wearer; for, as we have before observed, fur, in those days, was a distinguishing mark, the different kinds being appropriated to the various classes of society. Mona would have accompanied them to the Heath, but one of the merchant's ships being about to sail for Italy, it was thought advisable for her to remain in safety where she then was, until the moment arrived when she might leave these shores for ever, and return to her native land.

If Edward Osborne had puzzled his brain for a whole month to have invented a most perplexing position for himself to be placed in, he could not have conceived one half so embarrassing as that in which he soon found himself. Not an hour before, and he had been congratulating himself upon the almost certainty of being enabled to fly without even the pain of bidding her farewell, when, all at once, as if by magic, here he found himself, not only in her presence, but, as it were, actually shut up alone with her in a little box; for the weather being still cold, and Anne, remaining still an invalid, all the windows of the cabin of the barge were closed, as well as the front doors.

It was quite astonishing to observe the altered conduct of each to the other, since each had discovered their own new turn of feeling. It is true that Flora had endeavoured to open the eyes of Anne to Osborne's passion, but if Anne had doubted what she heard when Flora spoke, her doubt was doubt no longer, for Edward never once even raised his eyes to hers, indeed, he seemed studiously to avoid such a presumptuous act. Had they been placed in such a position but one little month before, and these two had been the happiest, the gayest of human beings; but now they sat motionless, speechless and all because each loved the

They remained so long silent, that silence became quite painful, Anne, at last, said very gently--" Edward, I wish you could adjust this cushion for me in some way more easy for my head."

Osborne quite started at the sudden appeal- Certainly, dear Anne," he replied, as he hastened to fulfil her wishes; " that will, I think, be much more comfortable."

Not a word more was spoken, and Edward resumed his seat; after another prolonged fit of quietude, Anne exclaimed-" You have made me more uneasy than ever."

" I'm sorry for that, Anne," he replied, as he again placed, and replaced, and altered, and re-altered, the position of every cushion that had been arranged for Anne's greater comfort.

One, she said, was too high, another was too low, this was too hard, that was too soft. " Oh dear, oh dear," she exclaimed at last, " you must think me very fretful, and so I am, and I have been so for a long time; but it is very ungrateful of me to let such trifles annoy and worry me, as I do now; I used not to be so wayward-used I, Edward ?"

Edward made quite a long speech, denying that he had ever found her so; nor did he think her so at that moment.

" You were always kind to little Anne, Edward," she said, looking at him most affectionately; this was the first time their eyes had met, since they had been in the barge alone, and why, no one can tell, but they both felt very awkward; and both once more became silent.

Presently Anne began to rub one hand with the other, and said- "Notwithstanding all these furs, and I am sure we are shut in closely enough to keep me warm, yet my hands are as cold as ice-just feel this one, Edward-did you ever feel anything so cold ? Why, Edward," she said, quite anxiously, "your hands are in a perfect fever-they are burning."

"The better to warm yours, dear Anne," he replied, as he placed her hands between his own: as he gently rubbed them, which Anne said, "made her feel much more comfortable," his fingers passed accidentally between hers; he coloured up, for at that moment, Flora's remark about the danger of fingers becoming entangled, crossed his mind; he heaved an inward sigh, and thought, " would to heaven that these could become, from this entanglement, so united that they should never separate but in death !" It struck him as very remarkable, that until that moment, he had never noticed the extreme beauty of Anne's hand; how he longed to kiss it, and he felt that formerly he should have done so, and neither would have thought it strange, but now he dared not.

The warmer the beautiful girl's hands were made, the more fluent became their tongues, and a very long time was passed over by Anne relating, very minutely, all that she was aware of, as having happened to her, after she had left the cottage on the night of the robbery. He listened with intense interest to all she said; but when she came to relate that part, where she had attempted to escape by climbing to the gallery, he held his breath from sheer anxiety; and just as Anne was describing her falling backwards to the ground, a dreadful shock came

Poor Edward, when he returned, longed to have renewed his former happy labour, but could not muster courage to attempt it, until Anne said-" You must now, Edward, unless you are tired, rub my other hand, as you did this."

Osborne felt that all this was but a bad way of carrying out his resolve to leave and forget Anne as speedily as possible; but his reason, as it does in almost all such cases, gave way to his desires. It now became his turn to carry on the truthful romance by recounting all the anxieties caused by her disappearance, and all their endeavours to recover her. So much interest did his fair companion appear to feel in all he said, and so many kind looks did she cast upon the narrator, that Osborne felt inspired, and dilated so largely upon every point, that just as he had arrived at the moment of his placing her in her mother's longing arms, the barge stopped, and they found themselves at Putney.

As they walked towards the Heath, their minds, unknown to each other, turned upon exactly the like reflection, namely, that how often had they before taken the self-same walk, but with what different feelings to those they experienced now. Osborne, finding no excuse for holding his sweet companion's hand as they walked along, seemed to have lost the charm that had inspired him, and indeed her too, for they spoke very little for the rest of their walk, and what they did say was of no interest to be repeated.

When they reached the cottage, the first thing Anne did was to hasten to her old friend, the old man of the show.

While she was with him, Osborne sat musing over the fire, and murmured to himself-" Well, he who would not be killed by slow poison, should cease to take the drug, however delicious to the sense it be, when once he knows its deadly power; the smallest dose will do if long continued; better then at once to dash to pieces the tempting phial, and thus disperse the baneful influence it surrounds, than treasure an enemy so subtle, merely because it gives a pleasure to the eye to gaze upon the beauties of the vessel in which it lies. Oh, I have taken a fuller dose to-day of that fell poison of my heart-fuller than any yet; my heart feels overflowing with the resistless intoxicating fluid; my only escape lies in instant flight. The merchant will be here to-morrow at least I pray so, and then-but he must be mad to have acted thus Does not he know that his daughter's fair ? does he forget that I have eyes. If he do know, as know he must, how little danger there is for her, it still is cruelty to me, cruelty to place me thus so near a shrine he knows I dare not kneel to, yet before which he cannot but be sure that I, as well as all mankind, would think it bliss to offer up a heart-to sacrifice a life! But why should he think all this ? If I thought it not till now, why should he now think it ? No! I am the madman ,not he! Had I been open to him and told him the truth, he would have

It was a great relief to Osborne when Anne returned, to see the old man with her, and to learn that he would remain all the evening, and tell them all that had passed, and of the strange discovery he had made concerning his brother; for although it was not yet made quite manifest, yet there was but little doubt remaining of the truth.

Thus, then, the first dreaded evening passed over with tolerable safety to Osborne, at least he flattered himself so; for he said to himself- " we have scarcely exchanged one word," but he forgot how often the poison of the heart is taken through the eyes; and that night his eyes devoured enough to have destroyed a thousand hearts-poor Osborne!

We must now take the reader to a very different scene.

It may be remembered that on one particular night the Cripple, who had taken refuge in the ruined dwelling over the Black Arch of the Clink, had witnessed an awful scene of four wretches bearing the murdered body of Ray the Clipper, into one of the other two houses near at hand; and it may also be remembered that Spikely had intimated that the body should be buried in the vault beneath the street; into this vault we will now lead the reader.

Just over the spot where the body had been interred, Horton was sitting upon some damp straw; his legs were tied together, and fastened to the opposite wall in such a manner as to prevent him drawing them up; his body was fastened by a chain that passed round his chest, just below his armpits, thus rendering it impossible, although his hands were at liberty, for him to reach his ancles to loosen the cords that bound his feet together.

Soon after he had left the court of justice, he had been waylaid by some of Spikely's ruffians, and had been brought to the miserable hole in which he now was confined.

The first system pursued by Spikely to torture the unfortunate wretch, was to introduce himself quietly into the vault while it was in total darkness, and then to work upon the other's fears, by speaking as though from the grave, for Horton was not even yet aware of Spikely's escape from death.

It may easily be imagined the horror which took possession of Horton's - mind, when first he heard the well-known voice of him, he believed he had murdered. Not only did the other speak of his own untimely death, but brought vividly before the now-almost phrenzied imagination of his victim, every circumstance attending the murder of Sir Filbut in the wood-"He sends you this," said the awful voice, " in token of his gratitude: use it upon thyself, murderer, and farewell until we meet, where parting we never more shall know."

Horton now heard something fall by his side. A cold perspiration burst from every pore; he listened until his ears seemed pained by the awful silence, which refused to satisfy their craving for some sound; all was still-still and dark, as the grave. Such horrid pictures did his fancy now portray, that they drove him to the brink of madness; he

The door opened, and the gigantic ruffian, known before as Bludgeon Billy, stood in the way, holding a lamp-" What the devil ails you ? exclaimed the ruffian; "have you seen a ghost, that you shiver and shake so ?"

"No," replied Horton, "but if ever a voice came from hell to torture a being of earth, that voice I have heard but now."

" What are you staring at ?" said the other, as Horton riveted his eyes upon something lying close beside him; he answered not, but kept his gaze still rooted, as it were, upon the object of his fear: it was his own dagger, the one with which he knew he had slain Sir Filbut, but which he believed had been for years buried beneath the flood. Before he had power to speak, he heard a horrid laugh come from the next vault, and in another moment Spikely stood before him.

Horton at once saw that he had been duped-that by some strange chance, unaccountable to him, Spikely had escaped the intended doom.

" Have you no kind word," said Spikely, sneeringly, "no burst of joy to welcome an old friend? but absent friends are soon, by some, forgotten-but not by me. No, no, friend Horton; I owe you a heavy debt, and would have sought you round the globe, rather than not repay you, ay, and with my own hand too ! Do you not remember our last meeting? It made such an impression on me," he said, pointing to a deep scar in his throat, " that while this remains, my obligation to good Harry Horton can never be forgotten."

" You mean to murder me ?" said Horton, trembling.

"That may depend upon yourself, mayhap, or, perhaps, upon my humour; but if you are to die by these hands, that dagger shall be the weapon; you know how well it does its work. But first, there is one upon whom I have sworn to be revenged, more deeply sworn than I have sworn to be revenged on you; you must help me in the matter; and upon your willingness to serve me, may depend your own fate, which you must now feel lies within these hands. You know to whom I allude. She baffles me still, although I know her hiding-place. 'Tis you must draw her forth. Here are the necessary implements for writing; write what I shall dictate; she will never doubt her beloved nephew, and will walk into the trap as unconsciously as a mouse."

Horton, who never cared much about sacrificing any one, if, by doing so, he served himself, made no hesitation to Write whatever Spikely desired.

The purport of the letter was to pray of Nan to meet Horton that night at the Cardinal's Hat, and so artfully and temptingly worded, that Spikely chuckled again when it was finished, to think how certain he now was of his long-sought revenge.

Horton having done all that Spikely had commanded, most abjectly prayed for his life; but to all his prayers, his oaths of sorrow for the past, his promises of high reward-for he declared that he knew of a store of valuables that still remained secreted, belonging to the

Spikely turned upon his heel, and followed by Bludgeon Billy, with the lamp, left Horton to his own miserable reflections. He heard the door bolted securely; but had it been left wide open, it had been the same to him, bound as he was. He gave himself up to despair, for lie knew his enemy's unrelenting temper too well to hope for mercy. He made a desperate effort to loosen the chain that bound him, but the effort proved abortive; he felt about the wall behind him-the bricks were old and rotten-had he some tool, with which to work upon them, then it seemed yet possible that he might still release himself from the chain: his only hope now lay in the dagger- a strange hope for him.

The reader will, doubtless, wonder how that weapon, once again, came into the possession of Spikely, but the chance was very simple. When the fire upon the Bridge became known to the "Bishop's Birds," numbers of them flew to their boats to pick up what they might. When the upper portion of the merchant's dwelling fell into the stream, many valuable things floated about in all directions; these were quickly picked up by the " Birds," and it was in one of Osborne's writing-cases, which had fallen into their hands, that the dagger had been found, and it was only just before Spikely had paid his ghost-like visit to Horton, that it had fallen under his notice; the moment he saw it, he determined to use it as we have seen he did; but he little thought in giving Horton that dagger, he was bestowing upon him the means to escape his vengeance; but so it proved.

The instant Horton had formed the notion of a way to escape, he felt about the ground in the direction in which he knew the dagger lay; he could not resist a shudder as his hand touched it; but all sensitiveness was then, to him, out of place, so seizing it firmly, he turned as well as he could towards the wall, and set to work. It was but a slow process, for as he scraped away the bricks around the heavy iron staple, the inner portion he soon found was of firmer texture; but still the progress he made held forth a hope-his only hope, and brought him courage to persevere. After some hours of unceasing labour, to his unspeakable joy, the staple suddenly gave way; the chain was now removed from around his breast, and, with the aid of the sharp edge of the dagger, the cords that bound his feet were soon cut asunder. He stood erect, and felt as if already free; but his greatest labour was still to come. He had guessed, and guessed rightly, from so plainly hearing every footfall that passed from the house into the street above, that the crown of the vault was close beneath the upper surface of the road. The only chance of escape lay in his powers, by the aid of the dagger, which had already worked so well in his cause, to scrape away the mouldering mortar between the bricks of the arch, and thus remove a sufficient number of them to form an aperture large enough for him to force his body through; even this he succeeded in accomplishing, but not until many a weary hour had come and gone: as the loosened bricks fell in, he perceived it was already break of day; he collected all the rubbish he could find; fortunately for him there lay an old trunk in one corner, it was but a small one, yet

While he was thus employed, the agony he suffered, fearing that some of the ruffians might come past, and annihilate every hope, was almost worse than the certainty of death. Upon finding himself really free, his first thought was to hasten to Nan, and warn her of the plan laid for her destruction; he had a double motive in this, for he knew that with her he should be safer than elsewhere, for he imagined that Spikely, upon discovering his escape, would be sure he had flown to Nan to warn her, and that, therefore, her old dwelling would be the last place where it would be likely now to find her. He hastened from the Clink, and we will now leave him on his road to Nan's abode.

Fate seemed to have armed herself against Edward Osborne; at every turn, there she stood to oppose him, do what he would, or rather attempt what he would, for she appeared determined he should do nothing but what she liked. His plan was to have flown the enchantment of Anne's charms-fate placed him closer within their spell; he sought every opportunity to avoid her presence-fate invented new opportunities for continually placing her near him.

" Well," thought Osborne, when he rose the next morning, after arriving at the Heath, " the merchant will, no doubt, come to-day, and until he do, I will manage that the old man shall be Anne's companion, so that I can remain in my own apartment."

Now it so happened that fate had determined just the contrary, for, very early in the day, a messenger arrived with two letters from the merchant-one for Osborne, telling him not to expect his master until he saw him, for a circumstance had occurred of such moment, that it was absolutely necessary he should remain in London, for how long, he could not at that instant say; he might be at the Heath the next day, or he might not be there for a week; at all events he would write again the next morning, and not only acquaint Osborne with the extraordinary circumstance alluded to, but also what he wished and expected Edward to do in the business. There was one sentence, inserted by the express desire of Alyce, which terribly troubled Edward, and that was, " That being so alarmed for the safety of her child, Osborne was not to lose sight of her for a single moment that it was possible for him to be near her. The other letter was to the old man, now addressed as Wilfred Mortley, desiring him to hasten to London as speedily as possible, thus taking away the only stay Edward felt he had to fall back upon.

Osborne proposed accompanying the old man as far as the Ferry; but then the injunction " not to quit his precious charge for a single moment," came across his mind, so that if he went, Anne must go too; and so she did, and Edward then determined, however painful it might prove to him, to do his duty, and to act up to the strict letter of his instructions; therefore not one instant of that day did he quit her presence; and when the day was ended, he was astonished to find how quickly it had passed, and how much happier he had been than he could possibly have expected--" Happy, happy, indeed," he said, " would such a life

It is astonishing, in almost every action of life, how habit softens down the sharp and rugged points, that at first sight cause us dread. He who is surrounded by continual dangers, in time will gaze on danger, and scarcely know it bears that name; so, to a degree, found Edward Osborne, for even on the second morning, instead of feeling dread at meeting Anne, he thought the day broke very slowly, and when it did, it was quite astonishing how quickly he performed his toilet, and yet, perhaps, he never did so with more care. He was down in the lower room, very busy putting on fresh logs to the fire-moving and removing every bit of the breakfast, which, as we have before said, was rather a substantial meal; this he was doing, to render it more tempting to the eye; and then he suddenly ran off to the farm, to scold them for having forgotten the eggs-" things," that he declared, " every one at the farm knew, as well as he did, how agreeable they were to their young mistress." And then he arranged them himself in a very pretty, tasty flat basket, with moss and some winter flowers; and then when he returned with them, he went and passed his hand over every crevice of the window, to feel that no air would come in just at the back of Anne's seat. And then he began to think Anne was a long time coming, and that he had better have the hour announced to her-" But I suppose, poor girl, she was fatigued with our walking so much yesterday, so a little rest will do no harm." Having made up his mind to this, he sat down, and exerted his patience to the utmost. At last her foot was heard. One bound, and he was at the door to open it for her; and now it was discovered, that, notwithstanding the laziness he accused her of, she had come down exactly one hour before her usual time. So much more at ease did he become this day, that long before noon, he said to Anne -" Dear Anne, I trust your father will not put himself out of the way to hurry down on your account; indeed, I almost think I had better write, and tell him -"

"Tell him what, Edward ?"

" Why, that how safe you are, and how well you are, and how happy you are, and that as long as there is the slightest necessity for your father's presence in town, that I shall-or you will- you know I shall say all that sort of thing."

Anne, not exactly comprehending the sort of thing he would say, thought it better to wait the promised communication from her father. Now it was very strange, that, from that moment until they were retiring for the night, it never struck them once that the communication had not arrived. What they could both have been thinking of; or talking of, so completely to have forgotten the circumstance, was very odd; but forget it they most assuredly did.

There was one subject upon which Anne had been talking, during their long rambles of that day, which brought poor Edward down from the airy castles he for a moment had been building, and made him view his unhappy state in the most wretched light, and that was by her having entered upon the subject of the misery that must spring from young girls being thought wealthy.-" In such a case," she said, " how can she ever believe in the unselfish offer of man's love ? That is the one great reason which will ever keep me from wedding. I would be loved for myself, not for my gold. But rich as my father is known to be, how could I ever be sure that no unworthy motive prompted the seeming affection offered me? How could I ever be convinced that I was not deceived ? Oh, would that I were poor!"

" Would that you were," thought Edward, " and that I were rich !"

Now selfish as this wish appears, it was the offspring of a purely unselfish feeling, for in his mind, at that moment, he was picturing to him self with what rapture would he have flung his heart and all his wealth at her dear feet!

Their constant contiguity was causing dreadful havock in both their hearts. Now when Anne placed her arm through his as they strolled about the Heath, it was done with that sweet dependence which tells of love, though with a silent tongue; and then would Edward, still as unconscious as herself of what he did, press that arm much closer to his side than he was wont to do; but so gradually, so imperceptibly had this mutual change of their manners to each other grown upon them, that when on visiting the grave of poor Lillia, Anne wept, and rested her head on Edward's breast, and Edward kissed a tear from off her cheek, neither he nor she felt there was any thing extraordinary in that kindliness of feeling. They read much less that evening, and talked much more; and although Edward wished, or fancied he wished, to speak about his intended exile, somehow or other he could not muster up courage to do so, for he began to fancy it might give Anne pain. Not long before they were about to part for the night, Anne said -" By-the-by, Edward, there is one line in the note dear mother sent me enclosed in yours, that I cannot for my life make out-I wish you would try."

We wonder, at that moment, what Edward would not have done to have pleased the lovely girl who sat before him; so, of course, he assented; and Anne, taking from her bosom a carefully-folded paper, placed it in Osborne's hand. He had not half undone it, before, not only he, but she also, discovered it to be his own " Dream of love." He looked to Anne inquiringly, and saw her face in a perfect flame-" Good Heavens, Anne !" he exclaimed, " how could this have come into your possession ?"

Poor Anne felt like a culprit suddenly detected. If her face just before had been in a flame, it was so no longer; shame had quenched the fire, and left naught but the pale ashes there.-" Oh," replied the confused girl, endeavouring to answer quite unconcernedly, " it was Flora gave it to me; she said it was some waste paper you had thrown aside; but thinking I should like the lines, she brought them to me."

"And do you like them, Anne ?" inquired Osborne.

Otherwise I had not kept them," was her reply.

"But they are half obliterated," and Edward again looked upon the paper.

Anne felt the colour again rising to her face, for she too well remembered the tears she had shed on the night she had first beheld them.

Edward offered to copy them afresh; but Anne replied-" They would do very well for her;" and then carelessly, so she intended it to appear, took them again, but now placed them in the silken purse, which hung from her side, and giving Edward her mother's note, escaped, as speedily as might be, to the seclusion of her own room.

They both experienced that night a strange bewilderment of feeling- a kind of happiness they had never felt before. Peace be upon their slumbers, nor let them dream of the dreadful storm that shall break over them, before the sun again shall set!

Never was a more lovely morning seen than that which followed the night we have just past over. The air, though sharp, was clear and exhilarating, and the sun, as he smiled on all around, seemed greatly to cheer, if not prodigiously to warm all nature in its earliest spring.

As they had not received any further news from London, both Anne and Edward determined to spend that morning in writing very long letters, one to the merchant, the other to her mother. Edward was quite astonished at the happy vein that ran through the whole of his lengthy epistle.

When they had ended their labour, they were about to prepare for a journey to the letter-carrier at the Ferry, when who should arrive but the old man. His face was so brimful of joy, that they felt sure that the news he brought was of a happy nature.

" Yes, yes, my children," said the old man, as they led him to the most comfortable of all the easy seats, " my news is indeed of a happy. nature, and of a nature to make us all thrice happy, for it concerns my little Anne !"

" But of your own affairs, grandfather," said Anne, for she still always called him by that endearing name " what fortune has befallen' you, good or bad ?"

" Too good for my deserts," said the old man, " too good, far too good. There is no longer doubt of Algernon Mortley being my long- lost brother; and although all is not yet quite settled, 'tis next to certain, that the old beggar you purchased, your willing slave of the iron ring, will yet be a wealthy man."

" Oh, that is happy news indeed!" said Anne. " And how is my dear mother, and my no less dear father, and Flora, and all ? And when are they to be here ? and-"

" Stop, stop, child," ejaculated the old man, smiling; " you forget that the memory of age is not so capacious as that of youth: why, I shall have forgotten your first question, before you reach your last, if you run on at that rate. First then, your mother and her spouse are happy beyond expression, and would have written all their happiness down in black and white, had I not craved to have a little share in their happiness, by being their mouthpiece to tell you all that has happened."

"Then tell us quickly, grandfather!" exclaimed Anne, " for good news cannot come too quickly."

" Oh, 'twill make your little heart dance for joy," replied the old man; but you must not let your delight rob you of your reason; so keep a fast hold of your sober senses, while I tell you. Well then, you must know-yes, you must know that when Lord Talbot--Why, Edward, what ails you, boy ?"

" Oh, nothing, nothing," replied Osborne, looking deadly pale, for the name of Talbot seemed now to turn his blood to ice.

" Well then," continued the old man, " when Lord Talbot came- Now I'll defy either of you, clever as you, no doubt, think yourselves, to guess what his lordship came for ?"

Edward merely groaned inwardly; and Anne innocently shook her head.

" Oh, you puss, you puss !" said the old man, pretending to box both the ears of the lovely girl; " it is a lucky thing for mankind, that you have been kept as secluded as you have, or you would have had terrible things to have answered for."

" But, grandfather, dear," said Anne, " what can I have to do with all this ?"

" You have every thing to do with it; for know that young Lord Talbot, the handsome Lord George, the heir to the earldom of Shrewsbury, has formally demanded your hand in marriage !"

Anne screamed outright, and would have fallen to the ground, had not Edward sprang forward, and caught her in his arms.-" It has come at last !" he exclaimed, " the dreaded hour is come! Would to Heaven the earth could open at this instant, and swallow me up in death!"

" What means this madness ?" said the old man. "Why, Edward, Edward, surely you too do not love her ?"

" Love her !" exclaimed Edward, pressing the weeping girl closer and closer to his heart, " love is a word too weak, to paint one tythe of that deep soul-absorbing adoration, that fills my heart for her! I know that what I feel is madness-that what I say is senseless raving, and I feel now that I could tear out my tongue, for having thus betrayed me ! Up to this moment, I have kept my secret closely sealed within my breast; I would not wrong the being I loved, by even disclosing to her my hopeless passion, fearing that pity for my sufferings might have moved her to forget herself. Surprise has wrung from me that which no mortal torture should have caused me to confess ! 'Tis useless now to deny my love; but I will prove its proud sincerity! This moment shall see me fly from all that could render life endurable! Farewell, dear, dear, dear Anne, farewell!"

" Edward, Edward," Anne exclaimed, clinging to him, " do not leave me thus! you know not-cannot know how dearly--"

" Hush, child," said the old man, gently placing himself between them, as he loosened her arms from Edward's neck, and softly placed her, weeping, on the couch. Then turning to Edward, who seemed stupified with grief, he said kindly-" You love her, do you not ? But do not answer-I know you do; then by that love, I command you leave her; she knows not what she says, and now might utter words, that

Edward did not speak; but taking the old man's hand between both of his, pressed it fervently. He made a movement, as if to approach the weeping girl; but the old man gently forced him back. He gave one last look of intense love towards Anne, and burst from the apartment.

When he was gone, the old man approached Anne, and seating himself by her side, took her hand kindly in his own.-" Child," he said, " many a year has now passed by, since, once upon a summer's eve, an old man sat by a weeping child, her hand in his, as yours is now in mine, and the old man tried to dry the tears of that weeping child. Do you remember a picture of the kind ?"

Anne turned her eyes towards the old man, and sadly smiling through a veil of tears, threw her arms fondly around his neck.

" I feel you do," he said, as he pressed her affectionately to his heart. "Well then, Anne, if that same child be weeping now, the same old man is by to comfort her; he brought her hope before, and why may he not try to do so now ?"

" There is no hope, grandfather, there is no hope !" said Anne, sobbing bitterly; " for would my father's pride allow him to refuse, he would not have the courage to deny a suitor of such power."

" Your father has courage to do his will, depend on that. But why this strong, this sudden burst of anguish ? Lord Talbot is handsome, talented, and great."

" Were all his beauties, talents, or his greatness, augmented tenfold, and tenfold that again, I would not have him."

"But wherein lies your powerful objection ?" enquired the old man; "in my eyes he has no fault."

"In mine," said Anne, " he has all faults in one-his wish to wed me."

" I never knew a maiden yet," replied the old man, " who loathed a suitor, were he ne'er so worthless, with such intenseness as you now loath Lord Talbot, unless the little nich that lies in a woman's heart, destined one day to hold the form of love, had secretly been usurped or willingly filled up already; tell me then, child, and tell me with all the candour you used to speak your mind in our olden times-is not that little nich within your heart already filled ?"

" It is," said Anne, looking the old man full in the face, " and Edward's is the form I have placed there. Oh, grandfather," she continued, again losing the little firmness she had for an instant assumed, " I knew not until I thought we were to part, how dearly, how madly I have loved him. Nor did I know his love for me till now. He knows not yet of mine, nor would I have him know it; but you must save me from despair. I want not to wed with any. All I would pray is, that I may not be forced to give my hand to one, while my heart is given to another."

The old man promised to see her father again, and " little doubted,"

We will not relate all the arguments the old man used to convince Edward how foolish he had been in giving way to a passion so hopeless; but we cannot resist stating that he did this in a way that must appear to our readers the very opposite course to that which he ought to have pursued, for notwithstanding the caution given him by Anne, he told Osborne all that had passed between them.

" Now you know, Edward, you know the unfortunate passion you have raised in her breast, you must see how necessary it is, if but for her peace of mind, that you immediately quit this place, and for ever."

Notwithstanding the dread necessity implied by the last words of the old man, Edward could not but feel a proud joy spring up in his heart, as he heard of Anne's confession of love for him; but he also felt that such confession rendered the task of leaving her doubly agonizing.

The old man now acquainted Osborne with his promise to Anne, of again seeing the merchant, and said-" And now, boy, as this will probably be the last evening you will ever pass with poor Anne, I need not tell you to be kind to her; nor that the greatest act of kindness on your part, will lie in not speaking of love. But above all things, I charge you, drop not a hint that I have disclosed to you her secret."

Not long after this, and the old man might be seen trudging along on his promised journey to London. How far Osborne obeyed the old man's injunctions we know not; nor do we know whether Edward told Anne, or Anne told Edward of her affection for him; nor indeed do we know, or if we do, we will not tell, what sighs and tears-what hope and fears were mutually exchanged; but this we do know, and this we may tell, that after passing through many a year of a long life, Edward always declared that that night was the most miserably happy of his whole existence.