resume my sway before it is too late, for you must know that I am extremely ambitious, and will be queen or nothing.'

The domino, catching her hand with a passionate gesture, exclaimed, as he pressed it to his lips-Queen! would you were so indeed! None could wear a diadem with so much grace! You are already empress of my heart!'

But you are a stranger, and a disguised one,' replied Anna gaily. 'How can I tell if I have any glory in my conquest? I care not for undistinguished lovers.'

'I am the very meanest of those who dare to love you,' replied the stranger, and have no dignity but what your eyes can confer. You are the sun which has drawn me from the earth, where I have hitherto been rooted in darkness; but while you shine, I shall continue to bloom, and you will, you must prize the flower whose fragrance you have yourself created.' At that moment the cardinal advanced towards them, and taking the hand of Anna from the stranger, said with peculiar meaning, 'Sir Domino, the moment is come when all disguise ceases in these halls, and when my illustrious guests are known for what they really are, and receive the homage which is their due.' The domino laughed; and with one hand resuming that of Anna's, which the cardinal had taken from him, with the other he removed his mask.

'My Lord Cardinal,' he said, 'I cannot consent to this usurpation, in spite of all I owe you this night. This fair lady will be the cause of dissension between us; for though I see you intend to take possession of her, I claim her as my own.' So saying, he led the astonished Anna, who had not paused to reflect on the possibility of her unknown admirer being beyond the rank of an esquire, into another hall, where a banquet was prepared. All the guests fell back as the pair, followed by the cardinal, advanced, and a whisper of admiration, felt or feigned, accompanied their steps. Anna's heart beat quick with a thousand emotions as she recognised King Henry in the stranger, and as she rapidly reviewed the events which so short a time had produced. She had conversed unconsciously with the first personage the kingdom; she had felt flattered, she scarcely knew why, at his evident admiration; she had said anything and everything that had occurred to her mind, had criticised courts and courtiers, drawn characters, and commented on passing circumstances, conceiving that she was talking to a stranger whom she might never meet again, and who, although a most agreeable and intelligent person, was probably her inferior in rank, and could never have an opportunity of challenging her opinions.

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Henry, on his side, was in a state of extraordinary excitement: he had been forced to the fête against his will, he had avoided the sight of this dangerous beauty, and had been drawn into the vortex of her power in spite of all his struggles. She had spoken to him naturally, ignorantly, and with a charm and simplicity heightened by her native wit and spirit: never had he met with anything so piquante, so surprising, so novel, so out of the common way: never had he beheld any one he thought so fascinating, and at once he yielded to the delight of her society.

What that night begun, frequent interviews confirmed, and his passion increased from day to day, till he at length conceived no sacrifice too great for so divine an object. At first, startled by his ardour, Anna endeavoured

to regain the ground she had lost by the encouragement her vanity had given him. She reflected on her position and his own: she thought on all her experience at the court of Francis I., on her early horror for the woman who ventured to receive the addresses of a married man, on Louise de Savoy and Bourbon, on King Francis and the fair De Foix, and she shuddered at the position in which she stood. But the more resolute she became in her refusals to receive the king after he had openly avowed to her the passion which he could not resist, the more that passion increased; and with his protestations, his tears, his entreaties, his promises, and his assurances that no power on earth should prevent his annulling his marriage, and making her his wife, her scruples by degrees vanished, and the last faint gleam of probity and honour faded from her mind.

The cardinal was disgraced, Queen Catherine was divorced-and Anna Boleyn was crowned queen of England.

It was on the day after the fatal 1st of June 1533, when the public ceremony of her marriage had been performed, that Queen Anna entered her private apartment, and there seated herself in a recess of a large window, her mind bewildered with the excess of her prosperity and the rapid rise of her fortunes. She was agitated and pale, and had commanded all her attendants to withdraw, that she might be left for a few brief moments alone to commune with her own thoughts.

In spite of all her efforts to the contrary, throughout the gorgeous ceremonies which had attended her marriage, one form was constantly present to her view, one voice sounded constantly in her ear; and when she felt an unknown hand press into hers a small packet, as she extended it to receive the salutations offered by hundreds of her subjects, she had an instinctive knowledge from whom that missive must have arrived.

She looked fearfully round the chamber in which she sat, as she opened the packet which she still held, and her trembling fingers with difficulty broke the seal which disclosed to her the ring she had restored to Percy on the night they parted in the garden of the Tower of Fontenay.

THE HEIRESS OF THE VAUGHANS.

VA

"AUGHAN HALL was a stately but cold-looking mansion, and seemed to spread a chilling influence over its immediate vicinity, although the county in which it was situated was richly wooded, with verdant pasturelands and shining water intersecting hill and dale. But the land just around the Hall was flat and uninteresting, and formed an oasis in a picturesque wilderness of sylvan sweets. There were park-like grounds, and shrubberies and lawns; and the house itself was a substantial, huge mass of brick and mortar, with windows in abundance glittering in the dazzling rays of every splendid sunset. But here was no joy, no festooning greenerie for the flickering rays of gold, and purple, and vermilion, to disport among and coquet with ere saying adieu for the night. No: all was cold and stern propriety at Vaughan Hall; the very sunset itself was kept in order. And never surely did mansion typify more clearly the character and disposition of its head- formal and uninteresting, yet standing forth conspicuously with perfect self-satisfaction. Not, as is usually the case, had the dowager lady of Vaughan gracefully vacated her place to an only son's wife: she had continued to reside with her son during the period of his first marriage, when at her instigation he had espoused a well-born but penniless girl, a near relative, and dependent on his mother. People said that this mother had chosen such a daughter-inlaw on purpose to gratify her love of rule. However, there was not time given to prove how right or wrong the judgment might be, for the young wife died within a twelvemonth of her marriage, leaving behind her a babygirl, to be brought up by the all-important dowager, who had perfectly succeeded in impressing her son with the notion that 'no one could manage like his own mother.' Affairs, whether of the head or heart, were best beneath her rule; her will was law; and the fidgety, exacting Madam Vaughan reigned supreme at the Hall, governing her son, and striving to govern every one else. Truth to tell, she generally succeeded; and in the particular of having her own way, by dint of scolding or cajoling, Madam Vaughan deserved to be called a clever woman.

At a very tender age it became evident that the little motherless Gertrude also possessed a strong will of her own; and even the dowager, used to command and to be obeyed, had a task almost beyond her powers in bending the high-spirited and beautiful child to her will. Perhaps she did not find out the secret in time, that a kind word, a persuasive look, would

effect more than all the peremptory or harsh dictates she was so fond of trying; the old lady had managed her own son, only child as he was; he had obeyed and feared her why was it that the same rule did not succeed with her son's child?

It did not, however; and the dowager was puzzled, wondering 'who the girl took after?' As years progressed, the bickerings between the heiress and her grandmother became more frequent; and Mr Vaughan, who stood in awe of his mother, and loved his daughter as well as he could love anything, found his situation between them a rather difficult one. Gertrude was generous, affectionate, and full of youthful animation; her grandmother was penurious, narrow-minded, and an enemy to innocent fun and frolic of all kinds. Gertrude almost hated the snuffy dowager for grinding the poor, and doling out scanty aid to the needy; and this was the first occasion of open war, and of the young lady asserting her right to be treated at least on a footing of equality. The domestics of course all sided with her; but Gertrude was too delicate and refined to encourage domestic division or disrespect towards her grandmother; nevertheless, at fifteen she asserted her own power and will with rather more decision than was becoming; not because she was ungentle, but because she was intolerant of oppression and meanness in all their forms.

It might be that Mr Vaughan was glad to escape from the responsibility of directing a daughter whose strength of mind and intellect so far surpassed his own; and indeed he was dimly conscious of this himself—jealous of his prerogative, yet proud of his fair child, the most rare and precious treasure he possessed, though his wealth was abundant, and entirely at his own disposal, subject only to his mother's jointure, and left to him by father and grandfather, both lucky speculators in merchandise to the East. On the plea of failing health, and with his mother's approbation, Mr Vaughan determined on visiting the continent alone. The dowager was induced to consent to this step, in the hope that when her refractory grandchild was left alone with her, a series of lectures, enforced if necessary by punishment, might yet break her stubborn spirit. Vain hoperash permission! In a year after his departure Mr Vaughan wrote to his astounded and incensed mother, conveying the tidings of his second marriage with a widow lady, who likewise was blessed with an only daughter; also notifying his intention of bringing his bride home immediately, accompanied by her little girl, who, he mentioned, was named Aliz, and was three years younger than Gertrude. Whether it was that Gertrude was delighted because her grandmother was so furiously enraged, or that she really rejoiced at the prospect of a companion, her joy was open and unbounded; and when Mr Tresham arrived at Vaughan Hall to condole with the afflicted dowager, she set him at defiance, and laughed in his face, although this gentleman was her father's contemporary and friend, and she had ever before treated him with respect despite his ill temper and eccentricities.

'Take my word for it, Miss Gertrude,' said Mr Tresham, helping himself to a huge pinch of snuff out of the dowager's box-'take my word for it, you'll be punished for these highly - improper demonstrations. This Miss Aliz, the new Mrs Vaughan's hopeful daughter, she'll work you some mischief. I prophesy it; remember my words. As for me, I wash my

hands of womankind in the lump; wherever they are there is mischief, unless, indeed, they have arrived at your years of grave discretion, madam' -bowing to the dowager.

Mr Tresham was a favourite of hers because he took snuff copiously, and rebuked Gertrude, and snapped and snarled like a quarrelsome cur. Why Mr Vaughan and Mr Tresham were friends, or were called such, no one could tell; they had been at school and college together, always intimate, Mr Vaughan peacefully bearing Mr Tresham's ill-humours, and Mr Tresham always seeking Mr Vaughan, as if for the sole purpose of venting them at leisure. Mr Tresham was a professed woman-hater, derided the whole sex, railed at matrimony and pretty faces, and was, in short, one of those peculiarly - privileged, disagreeable people who are tolerated in society because they are so 'very odd and eccentric.' Mr Tresham had scarcely been civil on the occasion of the first marriage made by his friend at his mother's express desire; but now the mother herself was his ally, and two to one being too many, poor Gertrude retired in tears. She was subdued at length, and trembled for her father's future peace and happiness when she listened to Mr Tresham's direful prognostications and her grandmother's vengeful tirades.

'What a home we shall have!' thought Gertrude as she retired to rest. 'If my new mother and sister have any spirits to break, the war will rage fierce and thick; if not-poor, poor things, I don't envy them. I wonder what little Aliz is like, and if I shall love her? At anyrate, I can protect her from grandmamma if she cannot protect herself. Aliz is to work mischief for me, says Mr Tresham. I wonder if Miss Clifford will approve of papa's second marriage, and what Mr Clifford will say when he hears of it?'

Gertrude Vaughan, young as she was, had formed an ideal standard of perfection, which, strange to say, had been permitted a realisation: strange, because Gertrude Vaughan's standard approached the highest of religious and moral beauty. In Mr and Miss Clifford she found the realisation of her dreams; and well had it been for the motherless girl, so unhappily placed, that so gentle and amiable a being as Miss Clifford in a great measure checked and kept in abeyance those exuberant outbreaks which might otherwise have degenerated into absolute violence. Miss Clifford was what the young denominate an 'old maid;' certainly a lady on the wrong side of forty, looking even older than she really was, notwithstanding the placid and resigned expression of her sweet countenance— a countenance which betokened sorrow and suffering, past, indeed, but not forgotten. Mr Clifford was his sister's junior by nearly twenty years: he was her sole remaining brother out of four. They had been absent from St Cuthbert's Priory (their ancestral seat, distant a few miles from Vaughan Hall) for six months in quest of health for Mr Clifford, in whom symptoms of incipient consumption had appeared-the fatal malady which had carried off his brothers.

Although detested secretly for their superiority, the brother and sister were openly tolerated-nay, even courted-by the dowager, Mrs Vaughan; for they were of an ancient and proud race, and it was the old lady's boast that she claimed kin with the noble Cliffords, impoverished though