that I promised to see you about them; we have been waiting on this spot for some time, to catch a sight of you, and I shall be mainly glad, for his sake, if you can give us any comfortable tidings of the poor gentleman."

There was that, indeed, in the time-worn but speaking countenance of the aged domestic, which was well fitted to attract attention; for it was, on this occasion, in a very high degree indicative of fidelity and attachment: "If I lose my master, Sir, he exclaimed, my next sad duty will be to follow my dear young lady to her grave, and then, the sooner I am laid in the kirk-yard myself the better."

"Be of good cheer, my friend,” replied his kind auditor," for your master is, I trust, recovering fast. To-morrow he will be under my roof, and you and I, Peter, and your young mistress will nurse him and take care of him until he gets well." Tears of gratitude gushed from the brightening eyes of the old man ; whilst Shakspeare, turning to the honest landlord of the Falcon, added, "As for you, mine host, I think I know you sufficiently to believe that you will not murmur at the motives which induce

me to rob you for a season of

your guest; and I request you, therefore, to tell Dr. Hall, when he leaves his patient, that I will thank him to step over to New-Place for a few minutes before he returns home."

With a heart satisfied as to the part he had performed, Shakspeare re-entered his dwelling, and hastened to acquaint his wife with the company he had reason to expect on the following day. With her and his daughter Judith, and the little Elizabeth, he now found Mrs. Hall, who, having heard from Shaw an account of the accident, and likewise understood that her father had interested himself in behalf of the strangers, was anxious, more especially as her husband was detained longer than she expected, to learn further particulars.

"And who, my dear Sir," said Mrs. Hall, as her father entered the room," is this unfortunate gentleman? for, from the description, imperfect as it was, which I received from Shaw, I cannot help feeling much both for him and his daughter." "His name," replied the bard, "is Montchensey, and it is one of which I have a faint recollection as somehow or other con

G

nected, though many years ago, with the concerns of my unhappy friend, Raymond Neville; but we shall soon be in a way to obtain further information, for I have been so greatly struck with the appearance and manner both of him and his child, that I have asked them to make New-Place their home, until the former shall have sufficiently recovered to be able to pursue his journey. They will be here,” he continued, turning to Mrs. Shakspeare, "to-morrow morning; and I am pretty certain, from the little I have already seen of Helen Montchensey, that you, Susanna,” addressing Mrs. Hall, “will be delighted with her, so much is there of filial tenderness and guileless simplicity in all she says and does. Indeed I may venture to say, from the strong and heart-felt interest which their aged servant seems to take in their behalf, that our promised guests will, in all likelihood, prove characters of no common value; for I have ever found the attachment of a long-tried domestic an almost unerring index of the moral worth of the master. But I perceive," he added, “that your husband is crossing over the way, and it is probable, from the extensive knowledge which

his profession gives him of the families in this and the neighbouring counties, that he may throw some light on the subject of our enquiry."

"I can only say," replied the Doctor, taking his chair," that our newly-acquired friend, Eustace Montchensey is, I understand, a man of considerable property in Derbyshire; that he lives in a very ancient manor-house on the banks of the Wye, and that, notwithstanding some peculiar traits in his character, and some singular occurrences in his family history, the particulars of which are said to be mixed up with no little mystery and contrariety of report, he is held by his neighbours in high respect and esteem. Beyond this I cannot go, but the accident which has now occurred, and which I am happy to say is not likely to be attended with any serious consequences, will, doubtless, in a short time render us familiar, not only with the characters of him and his daughter, who, by the by, is one of the most pleasing young women I have lately seen, but, in all probability, with some portion too of their domestic history."

With this communication, scanty as it was, though at the same time calculated to excite

considerable curiosity, were the ladies of the party, for the present, compelled to be satisfied; consoling themselves with the reflection just suggested, that in a little time they should have ample opportunities of observing and judging for themselves. Soon after this, Dr. Hall and and his lady took their leave, after promising to be at New-Place early on the next day.

The morning rose bright and lovely, and immediately after breakfast Shakspeare, accompanied by his son-in-law, stepped over to the Falcon. They were received by Helen Montchensey with a smile, which told them, more emphatically than words could have done, that all was well; and, accordingly, Dr. Hall, on returning from the chamber of his patient, declared, that he thought him sufficiently recovered to venture on a removal.

With the assistance, therefore, of Peter, and the worthy landlord of the Falcon, Montchensey soon found himself securely lodged beneath a roof which he had often wished, and as often purposed to visit, though he had little calculated on an introduction to it in any manner approaching that to which he was now under the neces