thoughtless; and I cannot make out for the life of me whether the prince, his brother, be for or against us. Thus have I permitted time to flit by unheeded, whilst my secret still lay safe within my own bosom; though God knows I have long desired to lay the weight of it on that of another. You cannot know-you cannot guess how I have been tempted." "I can; I know it full well," said Paul, and bis fingers tightened nervously on the packet. "Go on; pray, go on." "Ever since the day when it fell into my hands," continued Arkel, “I am an altered being. My heart was before that time as light as a feather, and my spirit as unshackled as the wind; since that eventful hour when I took upon myself a care far above my wisdom, I have felt the one as heavy as lead within my breast, the other fettered with thought. The voice of temptation was always in my ear. Often have

I been about to seek the sound and hearty slumber that had never before failed me; but the packet, safely deposited beneath my pillow, haunted me like an evil vision, till I have been at times obliged to rise, and lay it on the table, and look at it. I would gaze upon it for hours like one fascinated, until I have often foolishly thought some spell must be attached to it, and reason told me that my ardent, longing curiosity was the only spell that bound me. My very slumbers were disturbed by this baneful nightmare. How often have not fitful, horrible dreams revealed to me its contents-dreadful words written in blood-names most dear to me, combined with strange fantastic signs which I in vain endeavoured to make out; and I would awake from these disturbed visions to see the packet lying there-close by me-within my grasp already open; I need not even break a seal; I had but to stretch out a hand, and the written words could not fly from me as they did in my dreams. Oh! I was sorely tempted." Paul's eyes glistened, but he spoke not.

"By day, too, my gladness was diminished. I no longer partook of our ordinary amusements with the same buoyant spirit as formerly. Often have I checked my horse in his full career because a sudden fear came over me, the precious packet if he stumbled might escape me as it had the regent. My mind, moreover, became full of graver, but not happier thoughts-the life of a conspirator is a very wearisome one after a time," said the youth, with a deep sigh that almost brought a smile to Paul's austere countenance; "but I am engaged in it, so I suppose I cannot honourably withdraw myself, but I confess to you what I have this day heard makes matters look graver than I had fancied them. I wish I knew what side my father will really espouse !"

"Ah! were he but ours!" exclaimed Paul, passionately; of these papers might, perhaps, make him so!"

"the contents

"I scarcely think so, let their import be what it may," said the youth. "But I, for one, have, thank our Lady, rid myself of my chief care-the packet is now not only in your hands, but I gladly give up all interest in it. My conscience will be all the lighter for having got rid of the load, and, please St. Andrew, who, I hope, will become my patron, I shall now sleep as sound by night, and be as merry by day as ever."

"Perhaps not," said Paul, with a mournful smile. "Life has no retrograding step. No thought, no impression, however slight, but leaves a trace on brow and heart, imperceptible at first, but which time will deepen. We can never be to-morrow exactly what we were yesterday. But this pocket-why not entrust it to your noble father?”

"That were giving it to the regent," answered the youth, promptly. "No! you are the man; of the same party with myself, having embraced a cause with which my heart will ever be, though my spirit begins to quail at its possible consequences, and though, I frankly confess, many of its partisans are to me rather objects of disgust than respect. You, at least, are honest; and in trusting you with this responsibility, I feel as if I had done what was right; I am sure that it is safer with you than with me."

Paul's brow was again overcast and his eye fixed. "No," said he, after a somewhat protracted pause; keep it."

66 no, messire"Why-what should I do with it?" asked the perplexed youth, his features overclouding fast. "What would you advise? Shall I pass it to

Brederode?"

"Return it at once to the regent."

"The regent! through my father ?”

"No, with your own hand. You might cause your noble father to be unjustly suspected of having detained it. Irresolution may be forgiven in one so young as yourself, but might injure greatly the prince your father. No; carry it back to the regent. Confess frankly how you came by it, and the feelings that made you detain it so long. Tell her the whole truth; mark me, she will overlook the offence in favour of the restitution."

"But the Protestants whom it may harm ?"

"If again we suffer aggression we will resist, and bid defiance to tyranny in a fair open field, with arms in our hands; we leave to our unjust oppressors the viler means of fraud and treachery."

"How,

"You are generous!" said Arkel, gazing wistfully at him. think you, would the Prince of Orange have acted had I remitted these documents to him ?"

"He would have read them," answered Paul, unhesitatingly; " and would, perhaps, have acted right in so doing, for he is too wise to make an ill use of aught that comes across him. Princes and rulers have, moreover, a code of their own in such matters, with which the uninitiated and unprivileged should never meddle. Now were chance to put in my hands the papers, private letters, or engagements of one of my correspondents, or rivals in my own walk of life, which might enlighten me, not only as to their speculations but my own chances of success or failure, which might contain timely warnings, or profitable hints, should I think myself justified in surprising their secrets? No-my commercial integrity would speak as loudly in such a case, as the scruples of a chivalric schooling and high blood have done in yours. And shall one grown old in the struggles of the world have less strength to resist temptation than one who has barely entered it, and that, too, as one of fortune's and nature's favourites? No-the world may blunt the edge of our feelings, but it should not destroy our principles. Take this dangerous guest back to your bosom," he continued, returning the papers to Arkel's reluctant hand; "but let it burden it no longer. Bear it back to the duchess; and rest assured the mind that has been superior to a temptation feels a triumph more lasting than any disadvantage won by dishonourable means, even over an enemy, can ever convey. Ride back to Brussels with a light heart, and return no more. There is no blinding ourselves-a crisis

is at hand. You know not, none can tell what side your father may espouse; it is but too probable it will not be ours. A son cannot, must not oppose his father. This division of families is one of the saddest effects of civil war, but surely there is no Fleming who would not spare your father's noble heart so severe a pang, let him side for whom he may. Be advised, my lord, withdraw in time."

"How different is your conduct to mine! how you shame me, Master Paul," said Arkel, much moved.

"I came, in my childish enthusiasm, to seek you in your quiet home, where you lived in peace, to tear you thence from those who loved you dearly, who were then happy too. All this peace, this happiness I have destroyed. I drew you into a net from which escape will be difficult, perhaps impossible. And you, you seek to disentangle me from those meshes, and return me to the freedom and want of cares I so thoughtlessly renounced, and whose value I knew so little. You seek to restore a member to my family, whilst I have deprived yours of one."

The

"You need not feel remorse on that score," said Paul, with a faint smile; "you but hurried by a few days what was unavoidable. feelings the thoughts that had been ripening for years within my breast, must always have come to maturity with the first favouring opportunity. Make yourself no self-reproach, I intreat, but attend to my advice and follow it. Different situations impose different duties."

"I have done so little for the cause I had so warmly, though, perhaps, inconsiderately embraced!"

"You have done much in giving it the first impulse, the first wishes of your young

heart."

"But," said Arkel, "why not give the packet to the Prince of Orange, since you trust his wisdom so implicitly ?"

"That were still coming to the same results. If I thought myself justified in surprising any man's secret, it should be King Philip's, and then I should do it myself; but as it is-Besides, my lord, in restoring you to yourself and your friends, allow me to feel as if I were doing something towards proving my gratitude for your exertions in my poor brother's behalf."

"Do not mention the subject, I pray," said the youth, blushing ingenuously. "I purpose, then, in accordance with your advice, to be on the road by day dawn."

"Conceal the papers!" said Paul, hastily. they are beginning to disperse."

"The door is opening,

He was not mistaken, the conference was at an end: but as no resolution of any sort had been decided on, Brederode had convoked them to a fresh and more numerous meeting for the early part of August at St. Truydens, a small place of no note in the bishopric of Liege. This rendezvous they all agreed to attend, though there were not those wanting among them who intended never even to approach the place, and who had ceased to be Gueux before they had crossed the threshold of the chamber. But whatever their difference of opinions, the hopes or fears that agitated them, they all hurried away, alone or in groups, as caprice dictated.

Arkel bade farewell to his companion, and Paul soon found the opportunity he had desired for a private interview with Count Brederode: but whether its nature was satisfactory to the parties or otherwise, we will suffer the events of this narrative in their due course to unfold.

A STORY OF AN ORGAN.

"IT is haunted with an evil thing, believe me, sir. Never till the ploughshare has passed over the place will men dwell there in peace." The grey-headed speaker turned away, and left me alone to gaze on the mansion he had thus banned. I had heard the same when I was a child; the nurse had been chidden for talking of it in my presence, and my own questions on the subject had always been evaded. Strange that now, after thirty years' sojourning in a far-off land, I should come back to hear the same mystery alluded to, the same destiny foretold! The impressions were more than half effaced; but now, like the colours of a picture brought to light after long obscurity, they returned vividly to my mind. I gazed on the mansion; it was the only thing in the village of my birth that I found greatly changed; but in looking at this once stately Tudor hall I was reminded painfully how long I had been absent. When I last saw it, the sunshine had glowed upon the gables and mullions of a goodly mansion; the clear starlight now only showed a mossgrown ruin. The balustrades and urns were cracked and thrown down; there were no peacocks on the sloping lawn, and its once trim grass was overgrown with nettles and colesfoot. The quaint-patterned beds of the garden, too, had lost the shapes of diamonds and stars, and, no longer glittering with flowers, were scarcely to be distinguished from the walks save by more luxuriant crops of weeds. The roof of the private chapel had recently fallen in, and little remained of the building but an exquisitely-sculptured window, amidst the tracery of which the wallflower and the ivy had long taken the place of the herald's blazon. The shadow of all this ruined beauty was on my spirit; so being just in the humour for a ghostly legend, I determined, on my return, to ask my friend L., with whom I was spending a few days, for an explanation of the mystery. Thus much was readily told. Briarhurst had been suffered to fall into decay ever since old Sir Lambert's death, another branch of the family had become the possessors, and as no tenant stayed there, the present owner intended very shortly to have it pulled down.

"Well, but what is the difficulty of living there ?" said I. "It is quite possible, with the aid of a yearly run up to town in the season, and plenty of books, to exist even in that lonesome lodge' without hanging oneself. Do any lords spiritual interfere with one's repose?"

"Ring for Edward and Hetty, my dear," said L. to his wife. Then, turning to me, “Please don't allude to that subject before the children, or we shall have them both afraid to stir after dark."

My curiosity was baulked again; so, after a more constrained evening than we had yet passed, I wished the family good night. My friend followed me out of the room.

"Look at that picture for five minutes, while I fetch something," said he, pointing to a portrait, evidently just rescued from damp and destruction, that leant against the wall.

I obeyed. It represented a lady in a white morning dress of the fashion of a century ago. She was young and beautiful, with bright hair, and blue eyes of infinite depth and lustre. In her bosom she wore a curiously-shaped ruby brooch; a bracelet, set with the same stones, was clasped round the white arm that supported her head; and on her knee was an open book. Inscribed on its page was the name Cicely Clay

66

ton," and the initials "L. E." She was apparently seated in some church or chapel, for over her head was a grotesque Gothic corbel, and the polished oak of a sombre-looking organ was visible in the back-ground. My eyes had wandered from the mild face, and I was pondering on the significance of the Cain and Abel on the carving, when L. returned.

"I see you are bent on hearing the legend. Professionally connected as I am with the Evrards and their affairs, it is not my place to encourage such tales; but you are nobody; and," he added, smiling, "I rather want to know your opinion of my style: I may turn author one of these days." So saying, he handed me a few sheets of exceedingly legal-looking paper, and, wishing me pleasant dreams, left me to the perusal of the following story.

From the time of the fourth Henry to the beginning of the present century, Briarhurst was in the possession of the Evrard family. The last baronet was a Sir Lambert Evrard; at the time I speak of, a gallant, hearty gentleman, who, after a youth spent amidst the brilliance and gaiety of the court, the acquaintance of Walpole, and the worshipper of Lady Montague, had, in the evening of his days, settled down at his country seat a quiet country gentleman. He was not rich, for his father's extravagance had mortgaged and wasted everything available. Worldly wisdom, undoubtedly, would have had Sir Lambert marry an heiress, but, most perversely, he chose the Daphne of his early love sonnets,-a lady whose sweet voice and sparkling eyes had captivated him on his Italian travels. His wife had no fortune, so he could not afford to keep up a town house, and, soon after the birth of his first son, came to reside permanently at Briarhurst. They had two sons, whom the father, before they were three years old, had respectively destined for the bar and the army, and his time was principally occupied in their education. It was natural, in the then state of his affairs, that he should look forward to his sons distinguishing themselves as the only means of restoring the family to its former position. Circumstances, however, pointed out another way by which the desired wealth might be more easily secured. On the death of a distant relative, Sir Lambert became the guardian of an orphan heiress; he earnestly hoped his eldest son would marry her, and thus fulfil the wish of his life. Contrary to the custom of the heroes and heroines of romance, who always wantonly thwart the desires of their parents and guardians in affairs of matrimony, young Lambert Evrard and his beautiful cousin, Cicely Clayton, glided imperceptibly from childhood's pretty playing at man and wife to the more serious kind of love-making, and by the time they had reached respectively the ages of twenty and seventeen, their union was fixed on. The young man was of a strangely meditative turn of mind; he was very studious, too, and had imbued his ladye love with a taste for the sombre musings and sage books he loved himself. There is one spot in the old garden-a knot of lindens shading a broken figure of Niobe-where I have often fancied those two lovers might have sat. It seems just the place for such an earnest, thoughtful love as theirs was, to hold communion in. Lambert inherited from his mother a rare skill in music, and he and Cicely would spend hours at the organ in the chapel, his fingers seeming unconsciously to wander over the keys, and his spirit apparently floating heavenward in the tide of glorious anthem and solemn symphony his art awakened. He was a painter, too; and many an hour would she sit before him as he sketched