yellow, dingy piece of paper, which Trevenna recognised too surely as the compact-the dreaded compact -made and drawn up betwixt his brother and himself in the days of their youthful love and confidence. He was expecting and prepared for this.

"This paper, you see, uncle, I found," continued he, "when searching in father's desk for some documents about the estate and the niggers; and our lawyers tell me it is good in law. You know all about it, I daresay. It is an agreement betwixt John and Roger Trevenna, regularly dated and signed-to the effect, that they will share and share any wealth or property they acquire; and that the survivor shall inherit all--or that the male heir of one shall succeed if the other die childless or leave no son; and that if one have a daughter, and the other a son, that the children should marry; or that, in default of this, that the eldest son of either should be sole and entire heir. This reads plain enough, uncle, and 'twas precious lucky I hit upon it. We should soon be in the market, otherwise. 'Twas quite a godsend, you see, and father never mentioned it to us, or gave us a hint of it. Now, I shouldn't wish to make hard terms; but fact is, it's neck or nothing with me, our case is that desperate, and we must help ourselves. I thought we might have made a sort of compromise; and that if you would have given over the plantation to us at once-niggers and all-we would have shared profits; said nothing more about other little things, and torn up this bit of paper. You ride so rusty, however, about the niggers, that we must stick to our bond. And now, too, that I've seen Cousin Rose is so pretty and likely, I would rather stand by the text. There is some little nonsense about her, but that would wear off in Barbadoes; and she would make me a nice wife. We would send mother tramping off to her place, for nobody, you know, could live with her."

Trevenna's brow had darkened and darkened from sentence to sentence, and at the mention of Rose's name he looked as though he could have struck and crushed the man before

him down to the earth, and his whole frame shook with strong, terrible emotion.

"Rose-Rose-to you. Rose your wife," he gasped out at last. "My child sacrificed to you-tied to your nature-living your life. Never, never. I would sooner see her working, starving- begging even- than that. God defend her from such fate,” and he wiped the thick drops of perspiration from his forehead as he spoke. "Hear me," he said, speaking now more calmly. "That bond is binding-binding to me-binding by a stronger hold than law. It was given freely, and with the impulse of love and honour. In honour it shall be kept. To the very letter it shall be fulfilled. The estate must go-so it was willed by us. But my daughter is mine-mine shall she be-mine in life; and if I must leave her to poverty or dependence, I will trust her to the providence of God, rather than doom her to the miseries of such a life as you would inflict on her. After my death the West Indian property shall pass over to you-so says the deed. How that will profit you, meanwhile, I cannot see.'

"I will tell you, uncle ;" and there flashed on his face at the words a glance of dark, vengeful cunning. You see, if I show this deed in London or Barbadoes, approved by legal authority as law, there will be plenty ready to buy the reversion of such an estate as yours; and mind you, after that was done, you would not have power to manumit or part with a single nigger. They must all pass over with the land. So you see, the daughter or the niggers must be sacrificed. That's a point for your conscience. Now, then, hear me; this is the end and upshot of it: I shall go to London, and try if this bond is good enough to act upon. I shall come back by a certain daythis day twelvemonths, let it be-and then 'twill be for you to say the word -Rose or the niggers. I shall have the working of those fellows yet. Good-by, uncle-love to cousin," he said mockingly, whilst the savage scowl lowered on his face, threatening and lurid.

Trevenna stood, still and silent, stunned and dumbed by this new

difficulty-a difficulty he had never seen or anticipated; and he felt in his soul that the doom of retribution was not yet fulfilled, and that there was coming yet a sterner, sterner trial, betwixt his conscience and self. The slaves, whom he had resolved should pass from his hands into freedom-whose emancipation he was gradually progressing and working out-they must be again subject to a cruel and unprincipled thrall. "Twas a hard trial-hard after so many years of atonement; and the thought-the agony of this thought so absorbed him, that he saw not his nephew depart, or said a word of farewell.

"Out of my way, nigger, and take that for your sauce," said the West Indian to Quamino at the gate, striking him at the same time sharply on the shins.

"P'rhaps no more nigger than yesself," yelled Quamino after him, dancing at the same time, and rubbing the afflicted part. "You hab the heart of black Guinea nigger, surely-you hab; and you hab not all white blood, too."

The West Indian turned, with the impulse of taking vengeance for this insult; then stopped, shook his whip menacingly, and strode off into the town.

A grand old name, a grand thing is that gentleman-a name and a rank it has been ever among the hierarchies of men. Throughout the generations and the ages, through the nations and peoples, from the grand old gardener" downwards, it has been recognised as a name and a power. It has had a different sound in different tongues. Sometimes it has been expressed by certain letters, and sometimes by others. Under every synonyme, however, it has been recognised and acknowledged. Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Normans, Celts, Saxons, the American Indians; all the ramifications of the great tribes of men; all the dispersions of the Shem, Ham, and Japhet divisions, have set it up as a dignity and a principle. Those who would not bow down before king, or uncover to a noble, have done instinctive homage to the gentleman. That homage is an intuition-a recognition of the qualities which man feels to be great, and high, and gentle. The title asserts itself. It depends not on patents, on accolades, on coronets, on principalities and seignories, on muniments and pedigrees. It is a nature. Where are generosity, highmindedness, honour, courage, truth, faith, love, there is given the name, there is the thing, gentleman. The name may be paraded where these are not, but it is then only a sham and a mockery.

Gentlehood, too, has its own fashions and manners, apes not those of the times, and therefore may sometimes have a homeliness in externals to vulgar perception-to those who see not the grandeur of the heart. To the true kin it has its symbols and insignia plain and manifest; for all it has its influences. Our Squire, had he appeared there, would have raised all the glasses in the Brighton pavilion. The most fledgling attaché would have ridiculed his bow, and a Marylebone vestryman would have made a better speech; but there was stamped on him the name and nature of gentleman, and his words had weight, and his character had power. Vulgarity and pretension quailed in his presence, and those below him owned him intuitively as a superior.

It is the property of these gentlemen to come to the front, to stand forth, grand and true, when worldliness falls back, and selfishness shows recreant, to attest then the nobility of man, and set it above the paltry accidents of fortune, trouble, and adversity-to do this without effort, and as from involuntary impulse.

Our Squire was about to illustrate this.

We have returned to an old scene -the summer-house by the river. The party is dispersed much as before. The Squire and his friend occupy the mossy seat; the mothers

have the old trunk-tree; Gerald and Rosa are sitting on a sloping bank, a little apart. I was lying on the grass, reading apparently, in heart surveying all the persons of our little drama. Nonsense! Roger," said the Squire, halflaughingly-"offour engagement! Rose give back his troth to Gerald, because you may chance to be poorer than we thought. If I thought the fellow had such an idea in his heart, I would disinherit him. But I know he hasn't. No, by Jove, he is a true gentleman. Not wish to hold us to our word! What are gentlemen held by, then, if not by their words and honours? Is every little change and shift in the world's circumstances to blow our honour and faith about like thistle-down? The fact is, Roger, we foresaw this. We guessed that the nephew's coming was a sign of bad weather-of coming trouble; so we determined to be beforehand-to secure sweet Rose, so that, once a Grenfell by plighted troth, no afterclap could change or alter that. The Dame planned it, and that puppy there certainly played his part very well. Luckily it jumped with his own desires, otherwise he would have been obstinate enough, I dare say. Rose has been chosen as a daughter of our house, and so it stands. Rich or poor, with lands, or without lands, it is the same, unless you wish to draw back, and object to that fellow there as a son-in-law."

"John, John, this is too much, too generous. You must think of all that is before me of what is impending over us, ere you cast your lot in with ours. Wait at least until this year of ordeal is passed, and the event shows itself. Let the young people

be free till then."

"Wait we must, Roger, for they cannot marry yet, and must bide a while. That fellow must go forth, and make his way in the world, and prove himself a man, ere he comes back to make his dovecote here; but as for being free, that's a matter neither you nor I can arrange. can't say to their hearts forget,' you know, Roger; and you don't intend to act the great Bashaw by locking up Rose; nor shall I do the part of melodramatic father, by sending forth Gerald with a command to for

We

sake the woman whom he has chosen, because it turns out that she may not have a dower. No, no. Let them alone. Let them love, and be loved. The future will make itself for them. Rather let us talk of what more nearly concerns yourself in this strange business. This compact, and its conditions -you hold yourself bound by it?"

"Yes, John, yes. I have my doubts whether it would be ratified in a law court; but it is my bond, and therefore law to me."

Right, Roger, right. Lawyers' quibbles are not rules of honour. Stand by your word. Rose will be dearer to us, if thus she comes to us poor and dowerless, than if she brought plantation on plantation with her. In fact, we could not consent to accept a wealth which a mere technical objection would give. But do you know how far, and how much you are bound?"

"Scarcely, indeed; the impression of the nature and provisions of the deed are very vague. It was executed in a generous, mutual impulse; remained with my brother as the elders; and I remember little of it, except that the general meaning or intent was, that as our labours and endeavours were in common, so should be our gains and interests. Whether it applied only to the present possessions, or also to future savings, I know not: this, of course, will appear when the document is produced; but the consequence, which troubles me most, for your generous resolve has made the loss of property a lesser evil, is, that the slaves, the poor dependants, whom I believed that I had once wronged, and had determined to recompense by a future well-being, must be wrested from my hands, and thrown back into a worse state than before."

Well, Roger, it appears to me that this is a point on which you are well justified in getting every opinion and every evidence. It involves the interests of others more than your own. Consider the West Indian estates as a lost inheritance-as beyond your power of willing and bequeathing to others, but let your conscience reserve the right of seeing how your act can affect those concerned by it. There is a year left

you for counsel, for inquiry. Use it well; take opinions; send an agent over to the property to examine and report on everything connected with it. Recognise the letter and the spirit of the bond, but be sure, for the sake of others, that you do not more."

"Yes, John, you counsel well. Without any departure from my word, I may and will gather all the facts and proofs which will enable me most truly to fulfil it."

Thus soberly spake the eldersgrave men, talking gravely of honour, conscience, duties, interests: hearts, young hearts, were softly hovering over the same subject. The difficulty fell on them, with a difference. The cloud which masses heavily on the banked rock or dark thicket, passes only with a light shade over the open glade, the garden, or the running brook. Rose and Gerald whispered and murmured the doubts and fears raised by the cousin's visit. He laughed at them, tossed them to the winds in sport, blew them forth as bubbles which would expand and burst. It was the inauguration of the man's mission, inspiring trust, inspiring strength, breathing hope. She felt them as mysterious agencies, boding influences, gathering round her young love; but the loving soul still looked through them clear and hopeful.

"Twas well, Rose, I think, that I took heart and spoke that night, before the cousin, with his dark curls and large eyes, put in his claim," said Gerald, laughingly; "or I might have had to play the part of a lovelorn cavalier, have taken to gambling or melancholy, or gone forth to seek some foreign wars, since our own seem ended now; and you would have been queen of a plantation, with I don't know how many slaves under you. What a destiny you lost!"

Rose gave a little shudder, and drew closer to her lover, looking up in his face half fondly, half reproachfully, even at such a jesting thought. "Oh, Gerald, what a dreadful day that was! how frightened I was at cousin's talk, his stories, his swearing, his passion, and his compliments; and then such a happy evening. What a comfort and protection your com

ing seemed to us all! And then the next morning, when everything was so bright and glad, to see the dark spirit come back on poor papa-the dark spirit which the memories and recollections of that old time in the West Indies ever brought back, and the evil news which was spread over Oh Gerald, 'tis a sad trial! I know how papa will brood over it, and how the peace which he has felt of late will be disturbed."

us.

"Yes, my bonny Rose, he will feel it doubtless; but we must lighten his burden; and, after all, 'tis only the loss of so many acres, so many pounds; and my father laughs at that, and says, if Penhaddoc is not enough for us, we must be more extravagant in our desires than our forbears have been."

"No, Gerald, 'tis not the loss of wealth which distresses him so much, though I think he had some little pride in thinking his daughter would not be undowered; but the thought of the poor people, whom he believes that he had formerly wronged, passing into other hands, to be subject to any oppression, or neglect, or illtreatment, grieves him sadly."

"Yes, I suppose that is the hardest part; but I heard the Squire say that he hoped that might possibly be averted without breach of word or contract; so let us hope, my bonny Rose hope that the storm may pass over; and meantime, like the summer birds, and the summer things around us, we will joy in the brightness of our present. For a time of parting is nigh-don't look so sad, sweet Rose-it will be short, but it must be. The Squire insists that I should go forth into the world, and approve myself a man, before I settle down here. He says he will have no milksop, no Corydon, no Lumpkin, loitering, and piping, and fattening about the old place. And he is right, Rose. "Twill be a sore struggle to quit thy dear side, and leave all the dear old haunts; but I feel that, to do the work and play the part before me worthily and well, I must become a man, and learn the ways of men.”

"Oh, Gerald, you will leave me for so long-leave me here alone in the old walks and over the old books, and you will come back so world

made and so world-wise, that you will care no more about the old simple pleasures; and even poor simple Rose will have to become fashionable and modish, and learn to do the fine lady."

"Out upon you, little mocker; you know my love for home and home scenes, that 'tis the strongest thing in my heart, perhaps next to love of thee and the dear old people, and is mixed up with it too; for there's not a glade, or a walk, or a tree that is not knit with some memory; and I shall come back at all the old holiday times, when we used to ramble in the woods, or stroll by the brook, and always at the Christmas-tide, the old hearty, pleasant time. And say not you will be alone, Rose; there will be many loving hearts around, all looking to you for comfort and joy now. The Squire, let him_say what he will, will mope when I go, and the mother will pine, and you must cheer them with your smiles, your laugh, and your happiness; and then there is your father-remember what is hanging over him, and how he looks at all times of trial and distress to his light on the hearth.'"

There was a tear-drop in her eye; but her bosom swelled at the same time, as woman's ever does at the thought of a duty, and in it she saw a mission and a consolation.

turing, all my tutoring, fits me best for soldiership. "Tis thus I must see and learn life, if at all. Besides, the Squire has set his heart on it. He thinks it the proper sphere for a Grenfell. At one time there was a thought of my being an attaché to some embassy; but he has a strange prejudice, some way, against our dipfomatist ancestor, who was, I believe, the most noted man among us. So that was given up, and the army fixed on. The cavalry, too, was a point with him. He clings to the old idea of the Eques and the Cavalier, and thinks a gentleman should only fight on horseback, though our foot men have done such noble work of late."

"But there may be war, Gerald, and you will be in those terrible battles, and we shall have to watch and pray for you, and tremble at every post and every despatch, and wait with agony and dread for the list of killed and wounded, like the poor lady in the village, whose husband was away in the late wars. Oh, 'tis horrible to think of!"

"There is no chance of such thing, I fear, Rose; for our old foes, the French, are quiet enough, and their great man is safely locked up in Elba; so I shall have to listen only to tales of hero deeds and wonderful adventures. I must confess, however, though you and your mother would call it naughtiness of heart, that I should like to see a foughten field— to stand in the stern strife between man and man. I think that the manhood and man- knowledge the Squire talks so much of, would come upon me at once, as a nature and an inspiration. But enough of this, sweet one; look up-let me see the bright face."

And she did look up; and he pressed the red lips, the fair forehead, and pressed the soft form closer and closer to him; and then there were those soft gentle murmurings, whisperings, and wooings, as unintelligible and meaningless as the cooings of doves or the soughing of winds to those without; but to those who utter, and those who hear, they have the eloquence and joy of a life.

And so the shades of eve crept softly on, and the brook rippled, and