opening the lattice, he entered the passage in which Curts was stationed. The guard was sleeping vigilantly at his post. With noiseless step Mat moved about him, and, having removed the barricades from the fastened door, unlocked and opened it; advancing then, on tip-toe, to the window, he beckoned Edward. Both lightly took up between them the snoring body of Curts, and, carrying it into the inner chamber, laid him on Kate Westrill's bed. Retiring to the outer room, they made fast, as well as they could, the door Edward had forced open; and taking no notice whatever of Spenton,-who, wearied by exertions to get free, lay now dreaming where he had been placed by Heringford,—they returned to the passage, once more locked and barred the door, carefully replaced the barricades, and, descending the ladder, having fastened the lattice, found themselves again in the open air.

"There!" said Mat: "now Curts and Spenton have changed places with you; in legal warfare we have but made an exchange of prisoners, and if they intended to starve you, which is very likely, they will find that they have starved themselves. But we have left your lattice open; it were as well to close it, else may Curts catch cold."

The lattice was closed, the ladder returned to its place, and Mat, with the two released prisoners, proceeded to the old priest's cottage.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.

THE VILLAGERS' SABBATH.

THE next day was the Sabbath; the day of rest. It broke peacefully upon the waking villagers. Snow had fallen during the night; and as the sun, brightly shining in the clear, wintry sky, poured its beams upon the whitened roofs of the cottages, the water trickled from them in glancing, diamond drops. The snow, as it lay upon the winding road, bore impress of no footsteps; for this was the day of rest, and man went not to his labour.

How calm, how placid is the Sabbath of those happy men who, apart from the cares and anxieties of the restless world, live amongst one another in a community of peace; men whose minds have not been warped by one prevailing passion, whose only thirst for fame

is sated by the approbation of their associates, whose only ambition leads them to the right performance of the task each day brings with it. These men are truly to be envied; they know not the bitterness of disappointment; they feel not the painful excitement of an expectation overstrained. Their necessary duties honestly fulfilled, there ends their care; wearied with a healthy labour, an undisturbed rest yields each night refreshment; and, ever in its turn, the peaceful, holy Sabbath comes to reunite the divided family, imparting to each household bliss, the purest earth affords.

Bright wood fires, faggot upon faggot, glowed within each cottage; and the light, as it would have been seen through the windows, was intercepted by those crowding around them. There was comfort throughout the village. From cot to cot the good priest might have been seen to pass, in every one of them joyfully received by old and young. Spending with each of his family a short time in such converse as befitted the day, (and this was a constant custom,) he passed the time previously to public prayer.

Heringford, meanwhile, had left his own cottage to visit the old priest and the orphan whom he once more sheltered. His way lay by the village church, a building with which the reader ought, long since, to have been made acquainted.

Ellerton church was situated in the midst of the village, among the houses of which it arose, greatly predominant. It was an old building, in the Gothic style, formed of grey stone, rendered by age yet darker; its square tower was already crumbling, overgrown with ivy and moss, that crept around the whole of the sacred edifice. In the church-yard were a few yews, and many evergreen shrubs, but the bloom of rose and violet that, in summer, decked the graves, was then lost for a season. Snow now lay upon those resting places of the dead-snow where the daisy and buttercup had grown; snow thawed upon trees that the hands of love had planted; snow sprinkled the grey walls of the old church, in which those who now slept silently around it had once met their fellows in life and health; but that snow, like the chilling influence of the world in which they had moved, was but the incumbrance of an hour, for a bright sun shone forth from above, beneath whose beams it soon would disappear.

As Heringford pursued his walk through the church-yard, he encountered Sir Richard Ellerton and Andrew Westrill, walking slowly towards him, in eager conversation. Edward might have

avoided them, but this his pride permitted not. It was not until they met that he was perceived by the opposite party: Sir Richard was alarmed, Andrew astonished, at his appearance.

“Thou wert, last night, our prisoner!" said Westrill.

"I know it,” replied Edward," and this morning I am free." "Even so!" cried Sir Richard: "even so! Secure as we were, I felt that his life could not be taken. But I will conquer yet! The boy shall not thus ever foil me. man!” added he, turning to Edward; "I have sworn it, I have sworn not to leave thee! - thyself didst hear my vow!-my designs are deep, and I am determined to succeed."

Rest not secure, young

"Wherefore this hate?" asked Edward.

"Wherefore!" cried Sir Richard, in fury; "wherefore? thou art in my path, is not that enough? But I do not hate thee—it is impossible! And if I do, what then? thou hatest me." "I pity thee," replied Edward, "not hate."

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Pity!" cried Sir Richard; "pity from thee is loathsome! I pity thee sometimes,—and yet I hate-would slay thee."

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Obey," said Edward, "the voice that sometimes prompts to pity. Desist from this persecution; I will be first to forget the past."

"Could I believe that," said the other, "it would tempt meAndrew Westrill was about to interrupt;-Sir Richard continued :

"Fear not, Andrew, I know what thou wouldst say; I am not to be tempted, for I believe him not. He promiseth that which is not in man's nature to perform."

"My word is good," replied Edward; "but why should I urge a promise thou art resolved to disbelieve? The bell already tolls for church; I have business with the priest ere the service of the day commence."

"Is this the Sabbath?" asked Sir Richard.

"Ay," replied Westrill, "to those that keep account of days, this is. Why! Sir Richard! what aileth thee?"

The man was in tears.

"I know not," replied he, "why it should come thus suddenly upon me; but, as the bell now tolls, I remember one bright day when I was a child; I heard it then as I do now; I was on this spot, sitting on a grave, my mother near, watching as I wreathed a basket of flowers into garlands-they were for little Beatrice, then a girl. Strange that the thought of this should now return!

How changed is all since then! I was then light-hearted and happy; but now my brain endures a ceaseless torment. Beatrice was a pretty little thing, and used to love me dearly for my childish favours:-she hath loved me since that time; and now, -now she is in the cold, silent tomb, and it was I that sent her there! Poor little child, she little thought that boyish lover, mine accursed self, was destined to blast all her fair, peaceful prospects! She little thought that, in bestowing upon me her guileless love, she was cherishing the thankless viper in her bosom! Oh, for one hour of that fleeting childhood's time, that Beatrice could rise from her grave-clothes and her mouldering dust, to be again a child,-to love her Richard as of old she loved, that I might sit with her upon this grave, and tell her of affection pure as mine then was! Oh, but for one such hour,that it may be our last! Alas! alas! why did we not perish then, ere all the years of sin and misery commenced?"

"This is folly!" said Andrew, "weakness! Thou art still a child!"

"Am I still a child?" cried Sir Richard; "would thou hadst spoken truth! But I remember deeds of blood that no child could have committed; murders, none but a foul villain could have perpetrated; ingratitude, no viper would be guilty of; deceit; crime in every ugly form, causing misery to those who should by nature have been happy! Whose, whose are all these noble actions? They are mine,-mine,-they are mine, I say! They all proceeded from this brain; there the memory of each one remains, branded with fearful, ghastly distinctness; I cannot forget one, no, not the least one of mine offences; in long succession, each night, do they stand before me, and grinning, fright me from my sleep! Can I be a child to have done all this, to feel this horrid retribution?"

Edward shuddered-Andrew Westrill turned away with a contemptuous smile.

"Relent then," said Edward, "I have already forgiven thee; attend at the church to-day, it is not yet too late."

"It is too late," replied Sir Richard; "think you I dare set foot of mine within that holy building? Would the stones bear the polluted burthen? But it matters not; my hour of weakness is at an end: I cast forgiveness in thy teeth, and remain thy bitter enemy. But two lives more, and I have gained mine ends-then shall the devil help me to repentance."

Edward urged farther, but in vain; the vindictive rage of Sir Richard Ellerton had returned, and remained as violent as before: they soon parted; Heringford sincerely compassionating the wretched man, whose conscience, thus acutely sensitive, punished him so severely for the crimes that his corrupted nature still did not scruple to commit.

Edward waited now for Father Francis at the church-door, and soon saw him approaching, surrounded by villagers, whose children played in sport around him. Staying only to inquire after Kate's health, and receiving a satisfactory answer, he joined the rest within the church.

The interior of Ellerton church, simple as it was, lost thereby nothing of its solemnity; there were arches, it is true, and sculptured tombs; marble columns, and carved seats; but no pageantry of adoration; no choristers attended to the fair sound of a worship in which the sense was forgotten; no incense-bearers to perfume the sacred house, and offer a sacrifice of scented drugs rather than that of a pious, humble heart. The old priest, attired in a simple robe, hallowed to the occasion, stood in the pulpit, before his assembled family of villagers, and explained to them the contents of that volume, which the then religion of the state would have sealed, had not the scarcity of books of any kind, and those but manuscripts, placed it beyond the general possession.

With a candid tongue, the good old man explained his Master's doctrines; with reverence his words were attended to; and the lives of the villagers showed that his precepts were well remembered and obeyed. If the hymn that concluded their service was rude, it came from the heart; if the singers had not previously practised their parts, at least they knew what and wherefore they were singing. There is, no doubt, more solemnity to the ear, when the praise or thanksgiving is chaunted by a chosen few; but where all join in a heartfelt adoration, the effect is far more lasting and beneficial. With slow and thoughtful step the congregation departed; nor was the churchyard, through which they passed, entirely without its lesson: most, ere they returned home, wandered awhile amid the narrow homes of their departed relatives and friends. A son stood over a mother's grave, and made her a pattern for his children; a mother bent over the grave of her son, it was newly filled, and the tear that fell upon it, although one of sorrow, was not of vain repining, for, as she wept, her thoughts had winged their rapid flight to heaven and a bright eternity.