how your constancy may be tried? I remain where every twig and every gate-post reminds me of our happy rambles together, but it is said that no one ever marries his first love, and you go where all may combine to make you forget me."

"Of course, then, I shall, Beatrice. When next we meet, according to our promise here, that cascade will be flowing upwards on the mountainside, that blue ocean will be turned into marble, I shall have left my heart with some romantic novice in a convent, who prefers a bridal veil to a monastic one, and you will be engaged to a Spanish troubadour who plays the guitar under your window. But come what may, we meet again here, we open our hearts to each other, as from childhood we have always done; and by that hope alone can I be reconciled to the grief of leaving all my kind friends, my dead uncle's tomb, our kind Lady Edith, and my own much-loved Beatrice."

Beatrice now gave way to a stormy burst of girlish tears, and neither could speak as Allan and she walked home together in silence, their steps, usually so airy and elastic, now pensive and slow; but in turning a corner of the shrubbery, Father Eustace appeared strolling slowly along at some distance. Allan instantly, colouring with a look of angry irritation, started forward in pursuit of the priest; but when, after advancing a few hurried steps, he looked back for an instant at Beatrice, she

had fainted. Her swoon was long, during which Allan almost frantically used every means for her recovery, yet she neither moved nor spoke. It was not till he began to fear she would recover no more, that Beatrice slowly opened her eyes, and saw Father Eustace, like an Egyptian mummy, standing immoveable. He seemed as if in deep and stern thought, while Allan, on his knees by her side, lavished every term of endearment on his own beloved Beatrice. No sooner did she seem entirely recovered, than Father Eustace, to her great surprise, offered Beatrice his arm, and did not again take his singularly observant eyes off Allan till they had all safely reached home, when he said in tones of affected regret, "It is sad to sever the hearts of those who love, especially young hearts incapable of anticipating all the difficulties in their futurity, but a time is at hand when you must say a long farewell, and it were well for you both that it should now be a final one. Mr. McAlpine, you have a destiny to fulfil,—an important destiny. Let me advise you, as the best of friends and wellwishers, to remember each other as brother and sister, but as no more, for you never can be more. I know both the origin and the future destiny of Miss Farinelli. She never can be yours."

Allan started with astonishment and consternation while he gazed incredulously on the cold stern face of Father Eustace; but Beatrice

trembled and looked down to conceal the tears flowing in torrents over her burning cheeks; while the priest gave them what he called an explanation of his words, which only left the subject, when he concluded, considerably darker than before, and involved in most inextricable mystery.

"Beatrice!" said Allan, as she hurriedly left him, "for me, this world shall hold no other but you! No possible circumstance can change me."

"I judge of you by myself, and believe you, Allan," said the young girl, turning tearfully back. "Alas! how lonely we shall both feel; how solitary my life will seem! When I read, sing, or paint now, there will be no cheerful companion to criticise or encourage me. Every flower will seem faded and withered the birds all singing out of tune; the sun become darkness; and our own favourite pool, when I look into it, will now reflect no face but my own, looking sad, lonely, and perhaps, Allan, even cross, as you used to call me always, if I felt dull."

Ah, Beatrice! those were happy days," said Allan, watching tenderly the blush on her cheek and the tear in her eye. "I wish you found it as hard to part from me, as I feel it to part from you.

"Fruitless as constancy may be,

No chance, no change, may turn from thee

One who has loved thee wildly, well,

But whose first love-vow breathed-farewell! "

Byron.

CHAPTER X.

"The man who first invented speaking the truth was a mnch cunninger fellow than the world is apt to give him credit for."-GOLDSMITH.

GREAT had been the unforeseen changes of the last few weeks to Allan, for they had produced within their narrow bounds events encugh to have occupied a life-time. Strange alterations were now gathering round a house, lately the happiest and now one of the saddest in the world; but final separations are and ought to be indescribable. Allan was leaving home, to grapple with life in a new scene, and to his own surprise as much as to that of Beatrice, he found himself submitting to the companionship of Mr. Talbot, who put so plausible and pleasant a face on everything, that it was impossible for the young people to look upon him, even though he had evidently sided with Father Eustace in his interference, as anything worse than merely a blundering friend, meaning kindly, but acting indiscreetly.

"Do not be alarmed," replied Allan, in reply to an anxious remonstrance of Lady Edith's, on ac

count of the increasing influence she observed that Mr. Talbot had recently gained. "Some very singular circumstances once transpired between us, that entirely alter my view of Mr. Talbot. His character is so strictly upright that he means to set the leaning tower at Pisa straight as we pass it."

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Allan,” replied Lady Edith, with tears of anxiety filling her eyes, "I thought that nothing could have aggravated all my present sorrow, but to lose you in company with Mr. Talbot overpowers me with alarm. You tell me he is improved, but I fear only in external manner. The adder may change his skin, but the poison remains. Surely your uncle's decision to banish Mr. Talbot should be sacred."

"He did not know a circumstance which, to relieve your mind, dear Lady Edith, I must now reveal in confidence. You may remember that my grandfather, infuriated at my father's marriage, put a codicil to his will, that if my uncle, Sir Evan, ever knowingly brought an Ambrose into this house, he should forfeit the enormous sum of ready money Sir Allan left. Guess, Lady Edith, who Mr. Talbot really is!"

"Who?" asked Lady Edith and Beatrice in breathless suspense.

"You remember, perhaps, to have heard that a brother of my mother's was adopted by a Popish