commenced her task of prevailing upon Stanley to say nothing displeasing to her father-a task which she accomplished with ease.

"For your sake, my dearest girl," said he affectionately, "I will on that point be silent. I, of course, perceive that it might produce an unpleasant feeling, and will, therefore, not indulge in a single word."

From this time until six Amelia was lost in contemplation. She endeavoured to think herself happy, but her happiness was then most imperfect. Her feelings of delight were mingled with those of apprehension, both struggling for the mastery, but neither gaining the ascendant.

When the time for their departure had arrived she became still more nervous. The blood left her cheeks, and she trembled with violence on the carriage being announced. Stanley tried with the most affectionate zeal to cheer her. He strove to convince her that her father's object was not to inflict an additional wound upon her feelings, but to heal that which his anger had already induced. Still she dreaded to meet him, and became so tremulous on reaching the General's residence that she had scarcely sufficient strength to alight.

"Courage-courage! my dear girl!" cried Stanley as he placed her arm in his, and led her gently into the house. "You are not my Amelia to-day!"

Another effort was made to assume an air of calmness, and they were received with the most cheering warmth.' Miss Johnson, with the familiar love of a sister, took Amelia at once under her own especial care, and exerted her enlivening influence with some degree of success. Stanley was under the command of the General, who marched him into the library, and remained to entertain him until Captain and Mrs. Joliffe arrived, when he introduced the lady into the library, and conducted the Captain at once into the drawing-room, to which Amelia had been led by her affectionate friend.

The very moment the Captain entered, Amelia flew into his arms, which were extended to receive her; but for some moments neither had the power to speak. She sobbed convulsively, while the big tears rolled down his cheeks as he kissed her, and fondly pressed her again and again to his heart.

"My girl!" he cried at length, "my own dear girl!-for dear you are still to me, my child,-nay, dearer than ever. Look up, my love!

Kiss me no more sadness now."

"Dear papa!" cried Amelia, in tones the most touching. will forgive me, papa? Pray, forgive me?"

"I do from my heart!-from my soul! Bless you! both!-be happy!"

"You

bless you

A fresh flood of tears was the only rejoinder Amelia could make ; and as her father with the most affectionate tenderness led her to the sofa, the General, who had laid his whole plan, went for Stanley and Mrs. Joliffe, with whom he speedily returned; and while Amelia was being caressed by the latter, the Captain was shaking the former cordially by the hand, thereby perfectly realizing the conception of the General, who felt that his task was complete.

Amelia was now most happy. Restored to those who from her earliest infancy had cherished and loved her most fondly, her heart was filled with that pure joy whose natural element is silence.

During dinner not a syllable was uttered having reference even remotely to the cause of their meeting that day. They appeared to be afraid to speak, lest they should happen to drop a word which could be supposed to apply to it. Miss Johnson, however, did eventually go so far as to explain how excessively disappointed she had been on ascertaining that Stanley was married, inasmuch as, in the event of his having been single, what the consequence of her rescue might have been she really could not at all pretend to tell. Upon which Stanley condoled with her in the most happy vein, and she was rallied on the subject by all but Amelia, whose heart was too full to allow her to join them.

The ladies retired early, and their retirement appeared to be the signal for silence. This part of the business seemed to have been altogether forgotten by the General; he had, at all events, omitted to include it in his plan. He now saw that the grand subject must of necessity be alluded to in some way; and while he was considering which ought to speak first, Stanley and the Captain were waiting anxiously for each other to begin. At length the General, by dint of much reasoning,for he remembered no precedent by which he could be guided,-safely arrived at the conclusion that they both expected him to break the ice; and, as he could not clearly recognise any incorrectness in such a course, he replenished his glass, and resolved to pursue it.

"Well," said he, having taken a deep inspiration, "you understand each other perfectly now, I presume? You consent to receive this desperate young gentleman, and he, in return, consents to act so as to render his alliance a source of pleasure to all concerned. Is it not so?"

"That seems to be implied," said the Captain. "But I have to make one stipulation, which is, that as I have certain scruples on the subject, we must have this marriage celebrated according to the rites of the Church of England, and in an English church. You will consent to this?" he added, addressing Stanley.

"With pleasure," replied Stanley. "I shall be happy in any way to meet your views."

"Then from this hour not a single word on the subject which caused our estrangement shall ever escape my lips. All shall be as if I had given my consent in the first instance; and nothing that I can do to promote the happiness of you both shall be left undone."

"Excellent!" cried the General. "When is it to be?"

"As early as you please," replied Stanley. "Perhaps the sooner the better."

"Well, then, let me see," said the Captain, "to-morrow is Saturday, the licence can be procured in the morning. Suppose we say Monday? The thing can be confined to ourselves, and we can all dine at Richmond, and be happy. Shall it be so?"

Stanley at once consented, and the preliminaries were discussed and satisfactorily arranged; and when the arrangement was communicated to Amelia, she experienced the truest, the purest delight.

UTTERING an exclamation of rage, Catesby turned fiercely upon Fawkes, and for a moment appeared disposed to accept his invitation to continue the combat with him. But as he regarded the other's haggard features, and perceived in them the traces of his recent struggle with death, as he saw he was scarcely able to wield the blade he opposed against him, his wrath changed to compassion, and he sheathed his sword. By this time, Humphrey Chetham had sprung to his feet, and picking up his fallen weapon, stood on his defence. But finding that Catesby meditated no further hostilities, he returned it to the scabbard.

"I owe my life to you," he said to Guy Fawkes, in a tone of deep gratitude.

"You owe it to Viviana Radcliffe, not to me," returned Fawkes feebly, and leaning upon his sword for support. "Had it not been for her cries, I should have known nothing of this quarrel. And I would now gladly learn what has occasioned it ? "

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"And I," added Chetham; " for I am as ignorant as yourself how I have offended Mr. Catesby."

"I will tell you, then," returned Catesby, sternly. "You were a party to the snare set for us by Doctor Dee, from which I narrowly escaped with life, and Father Garnet at the expense of a broken limb."

“Is Garnet hurt?" demanded Fawkes, anxiously.

"Grievously," replied Catesby; "but he is out of the reach of his enemies, of whom," he added, pointing to Chetham, one of the most malignant and treacherous now stands before you."

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"I am quite in the dark as to what has happened," observed Fawkes, "having only a few minutes ago been roused from my slumbers by the shrieks of Viviana, who entreated me to come and separate you. But I cannot believe Humphrey Chetham so treacherous as you represent him.”

"So far from having any enmity towards Father Garnet," observed Chetham, "my anxious desire was to preserve him;

VOL. VIII.