mined depredators had committed serious ravages upon the forest trees. Many of the windows were broken in the front of the house, and these dila pidations gave it a sordid aspect very different from the appearance which the venerable pile had worn in the preceding year. Taking his usual route, he perceived that the flowerbeds were choked up with weeds, and trodden down by cattle; the hedges rioting in unclipped luxuriance and the garden so utterly neglected, that all its ornaments were either running wild or reduced to ruins. Even the Peacocks seemed to be aware of the change, and moping drooped their gorgeous trains. Shocked at the disorder which reigned where neatness had been triumphant, he made his way with considerable difficulty into the interior of the mansion. The situation of the steward explained the cause of the general devastation retaining his health and strength, and not unequal to the management of accounts, on all other points he was indifferent even to imbecility. The inferior servants, no longer under the command of Mrs. Yates, who had for many years ruled ail things, and even the steward himself, performed the few duties which their own comfort obliged them to continue in the most slovenly manner possible. The domestic offices were the only habitable apartments in the mansion. A small douceur obtained Mervyn permission to range over the whole building, from a woman whose untidy costume of fered a striking contrast to the prim garb of the late housekeeper. Sufficient light came through the divisions of the shutters to shew the wretched state of those rooms which had for merly been so delicately kept: a glance sufficed for the greater number, but he unclosed the windows of the picture gallery: there was his own performance covered indeed with dust, yet otherwise exactly in the same state in which he had left it, and on the floor beneath lay the shrivelled leaves of a rose with which Lillias had sportively crowned the

canvas on the last evening they had spent together. He carefully collected the scattered fragments and placed them in his bosom, for they were a treasure to a romantic lover.

The

Knowing the situation of the chamber wherein Lillias had reposed from infancy, an irresistable impulse urged him to ascend the stairs: it was a small apartment, and the confusion of its furniture betrayed the haste in which it had been vacated. empty drawers were still open, the toilet table disarrayed, and pieces of paper torn from the walls apparently by a summary mode of detaching the drawings which had been pinned against them. The honey suckle which the fair hand of Lillias had been wont to 'twine, now darkened the casement which it was intended only to shade. The lover sighed, and passed into the next room, which he recognized as that occupied by Mrs. Yates, and where she had probably breathed her last. Impressed with melancholy as he recollected all the minute particulars of their acquaintance, the asperity which marked her reception, and the gradual softening of her manners, until they assumed an almost parental regard; he looked round the room anxious to espy some relic of her notability of which he might possess himself: there was nothing to seen; but the key had been left in an old fashioned cabinet, and he unlocked it, imagining that even in the general rummage which seemed to have taken place, some trifling and unvalued object might have been despised or overlooked. His search was for some time fruitless, so well had the old lady's hoards been gleaned; but in endeavouring to reclose one of the numerous divisions which intersected the interior, the door struck upon a secret spring, it flew open, and discovered a pale-green satin lettercase curiously worked in different coloured silks. It contained papers, and Mervyn hesitated for a moment whether he should peruse them; but, committed to his care by accident,

he deemed it incumbent upon him to ascertain whether they were of any importance, in order that her survivors might derive the benefit. Several long and confidential letters from Sir Arthur occupied the first packet: they were couched in terms which rather surprised Mervyn, since they expressed a sense of obligation and a deference to opinion which he scarcely expected to find from a gentleman to a domestic. They also contained long family details, an account of large expenditures which he wished to persuade her were necessary and inevitable, and these were stated to be the cause of non-compliances with wishes on her part which were only alluded to. Altogether, there seemed to be a mystery; but the suspense of the reader was not of long duratien, for, arriving at the next compartment, he found a copy of the marriage certificate of Edward Courtenaye and Lilias D'Almaine, and a second of the register of the baptism of their only child, the heiress of that property which, through the connivance of Mrs. Yates, the Baronet had so long usurped. It appeared that the marriage had taken place in London, at St. Anne's, Soho, and the date corresponded with the time in which the unfortunate Lillias had left her native village. Mervyn's cheek burned with indignation as he reflected upon the brand of illegitimacy which had been cast upon her daughter, the shameful neglect she had experienced, and the hardships to which she was now in all probability exposed. His resolution was immediately taken to set off that very night for the metropolis. Evening was now advancing; but as he knew that a coach passed his inn at twelve o'clock, he was not in any hurry to leave a place which was now more than ever interesting to him. The occupation of his thoughts made the time slip imperceptibly away, and he was roused from his reverie only by hearing a clock strike ten. He then prepared to depart, but, ashamed of being seen at such an unseasonable hour, he shunned the inhabited part

of the house and proceeded down the principal staircase.

On reaching the bottom, he saw with some surprise a light glimmering in the hall, and stepping behind a pillar, he perceived it to proceed from a small lanthorn held by a man who had apparently gained entrance through one of the windows, and was now stealing quietly along as if fearful of making the slightest noise. The light which he carried flashed full upon his face, and revealed a set of features of a very peculiar and striking style of beauty, wrapped closely in a coarse dark cloak of brown camblet. His rank was not indicated by his dress, but the air was that of a gentleman; yet Mervyn had seen sufficient symptoms of extensive robberies to suspect that, notwithstanding this seeming superiority, he came for the purpose of plunder. At one moment he resolved to seize him; but recollecting that he could not give a very credible account of his own appearance at so unseasonable an hour, and be ing moreover anxious to escape the delay which such a measure would necessarily occasion to his journey to London, he left the picture and other moveables at the mercy of the thief, who was perhaps too well attended to render his interference of any avail. The latter suggestion induced him to turn down a passage leading to the offices, whence he soon found the means of evasion, and reached his inn without encountering any other person.

A search in the parish books of St. Anne's convinced him of the legality of Edward Courtenaye's marriage, and he instantly took the route to Paris in the hope of eliciting some information from the Baronet's agent there. In this he was disappointed; but happening to meet the friend through whose interest with Sir Arthur's son he had obtained permission to copy the picture, he repeated his inquiries with somewhat better success. This gentleman said he had heard that the family were travelling incog. in consequence of some

pecuniary embarrassments, and be lieved Germany to be the scene, as he had met with young Courtenaye by accident at Vienna, where, how ever, he had but just arrived, intending to depart the next day. Thither the indefatigable lover immediately proceeded. No trace of the Courtenayes was to be found in the capital of Austria; yet unwilling to leave the place whilst a single chance remained, Mervyn continued to reside in it for several weeks, making excursions to such parts of the neighbourhood as he understood to be tenanted by English families. Satisfied at last that he was only wasting time, he quitted the city, and more by accident than design, pursued the road to Frankfort. He arrived late in the evening, and taking up his quarters at an hotel in the Zeil, lounged to the window for amusement, listlessly observing the passengers who perambulated the street below. Whilst thus employed in gazing upon the strange and busy faces around him, he experienced a feeling of solitariness of which he had never been susceptible in the wild glens and woods where he had so often sought spots the most lonely and unfrequented. His situation was one peculiarly adapted to his romantic disposition, the inmate of a dark cathedral city, whose ancient and pictorial architecture realized the visions which his fancy had derived from the pens and pencils of others, and wandering in search of a being infinitely dear, for whom he hoped to perform a service which would call forth her most ardent gratitude. The intensity of his anxiety, however, prevented all enjoyment of circumstances which in the relation would have excited his envy, and he felt forlorn and comfortless. Whilst idly glancing over the scene without, a man stopped underneath the opposite lamp. Mervyn recollected the features as seen by the yellow light they were the same which he had remarked in the hall of the manor house. Astonished at the coincidence, he stepped out into the street;

:

the stranger was still standing there, but in a minute afterwards walked away. Francis followed, keeping him in view: he crossed the bridge, and entered the suburb of Saxenbausen, where, knocking at the door of a small house, it was opened and he was admitted. Having marked the place, Mervyn returned to the inn. The next day he learned that the young man who had excited his curiosity was a Frenchman, Gaspar Duporte by name, and that he was well known as frequenting the gamingtables. Convinced that he could not be deceived by a resemblance only, and suspecting that he was in some way connected with the Baronet's family, he determined to keep a watchful eye upon him. At night he visited a house at which Duporte generally played, and found him there. Mervyn unconsciously fixed the most earnest regards upon him, and felt vexed at his want of caution when he found that it had been observed. He attracted the attention of the stranger in turn, who seemed to shrink from the scrutiny, and, the instant that he was assured of being an object of some interest, quitted the table and went away. This conduct incited Francis to watch him still more closely. He repaired to the suburb. The window-shutters in an upper room of Duporte's residence were unclosed, and a lamp revealed a female figure. Mervyn's heart beat quick-was it possible that it could be Lillias? Leaning against a projecting buttress on the opposite wall, he breathed a few notes of a duet which they had often sung together, and gradually raising his voice chaunted the first stanza: it had the effect of bringing the lady to the balcony; she leaned over it, and Mervyn saw, not indeed that fair and innocent girl, but a handsome young woman gaudily dressed, whose appearance and manners were those of the most unfortunate class of her sex. answered the song with a German popular air. He replied; for he hoped to make some advantage of her willingness to commence an ac

She

quaintance; but a few words only had been exchanged, when, uttering a faint exclamation, she waved him to retire. He stepped aside under the shade of the buttress, and soon after Duporte knocked at the door. As soon as it was shut upon him the window above was closed, the light removed, and silence and darkness prevailed in the house. The following morning the traveller renewed his visit from a distance he saw Duporte go out, and, after looking once or twice behind him, take his road to the bridge. He now approached the window, invited by a white hand wandering amongst the flower-pots. He stayed long enough to convince the lady of his admiration, and to identify himself with the minstrel of the preceding night, and again a lamp and an unclosed lattice proved a beacon to his steps. Mervyn disliked this mode of prying into the secrets of Duporte, but, hopeless of gaining information by any other means, he put a painful constraint upon his feelings, and continued his visits, trusting, that could he once gain entrance into the house, a few pieces of gold would put him into possession of all that the lady knew concerning her protector. It was not long before she gave him the opportunity which he desired: she asked him to sit an hour with her and partake of a collation, and he followed her up stairs, producing a rich trinket as the prelude to his intended inquiries. She had scarcely expressed her admiration of its beauty, when, suddenly starting up, she exclaimed that somebody was breaking in; and, overturning the table, they would have been in utter darkness, had not Mervyn, suspecting treachery, promptly seized the lamp. At that instant the door opened, and, ere his female companion could strike the light out of his hand, he had seen Duporte. He sprang upon him as the only chance of escape; a struggle ensued; but the Frenchman was armed with a dagger. Mervyn felt the point twice in his body: despair lent him desperate strength; he forc

ed himself from the murderer's grasp, rushed down the stairs and into the street, and staggering a few paces, fell insensible on the ground. Fortunately the city-watch were at hand, and relief being instantly accorded, the quivering lamp of life was reillumed.

Many days elapsed before Mervyn could give any account of the assault which he had sustained; the perpetrators were beyond the reach of justice long before he had been able to describe them to the police. His recovery was slow; but, anxious to continue his almost hopeless search, he left Frankfort for Mayence, and commenced a desultory journey along the banks of the Rhine. Putting up one night at a small inn, he was shewn into a bed-room, which had been recently vacated by a countryman. Amidst the rubbish which seldom fails to strew the ground after the operation of packing, part of a letter closely written was lying in a conspicuous situation. It had been apparently torn in haste for a wrapper, and then thrown aside as too small for the purpose: the language being English caught Mervyn's eye, and the name of Courtenaye occurring, he perused it with avidity. The paragraph which interested him ran thus:" This is an odd world-the Courtenayes are here in masquerade, living in the most recluse manner and passing for Swiss. All this I learned by the folly of the daughter; she saw me, it seems, at Pisa, and wrote to inform me that she was in the neighbourhood, immured like a nun. As she was to be approached in disguise only, I rather liked the adventure, though the lady flattered herself miserably if she fancied that I ever remembered our flirtation in London with any thing save disgust: and one visit would have satisfied my taste for the romantic, had I not caught a glimpse of a sweet creature, a poor relation I believe. Yet there is something strange here, for the Baronet is actually forcing her into a marriage with his heir, and unless I take compassion upon her she is des