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was unavoidably prevented from keeping her appointment that evening. Mr. Montresor being from home, the ladies had dined early, that the equestrians might get away in good time, and Geraldine was so disappointed at losing the anticipated pleasure of a ride to Carib Bay, that even Mrs. Montresor, for once, forgot her prudence, and allowed her to go alone, attended, of course, by a trusty black servant on horseback.

She enjoyed the canter along the well-kept country road excessively, and was delighted with the refreshing breeze as they passed over the table-land which crowned the hill above the only part of the island that was fraught with historical recollections. Still more pleased she was as, directed by Paris-who could not be accused of being so handsome as his namesake of Homeric celebrity-she entered on the sloping path that was to take her to the picturesque rocks beneath. She was obliged, however, to walk her horse, for the road, besides having several sharp turns, was encumbered with loose stones, through which the animal had to pick its way. But she had scarcely proceeded half way down when the sky became suddenly overcast, the wind arose, and the sea below looked dark and troubled.

"It is going to rain, I think," she said to Paris; "perhaps we had better turn and go back."

But just there it was not so easy to turn, for the path was extremely narrow; therefore Paris advised their going a little way farther down, where "p'raps de road might come wider !" But it did not "come wider,” and the threatened storm soon burst over them in all its violence. It seemed, in the emphatic language of the seventy-seventh Psalm, that "the clouds poured out water, the air thundered, the lightnings shone upon the ground." It was with difficulty that Geraldine could keep her seat on horseback; she was almost blinded by the lightning and the rain, while the sudden fierce gusts of wind nearly blew her slight form off the saddle, and the path had become so wet and plashy, from the torrents that were coming down like waterspouts from the skies, that the poor horses slipped at every step.

"Don't let us go a foot farther," she said to the dripping Paris; “we may be carried over the precipice if we do."

"But, missis, we no can tan here all night, wid de tunder roaring, and de lightning bleazing, and de wind blowing one hurricane, and de reane falling enough to drown de eart like de Flood in de Bible."

"In spite of all that, there is nothing for it but to wait here awhile," replied the young lady. "Keep your horse as quiet as you can, Paris." But Paris could neither keep himself nor his horse quiet; the latter kept starting, and shivering, and throwing up its head, while Paris jumped about in his saddle, and gazed by turns down at the now boiling ocean, and up towards the desolate-looking cliffs, as if he had hoped that help would come from one or other.

In the midst of her perplexity, Geraldine could not help smiling, as she thought: "Poor Paris! he is looking out as if he believed in sea-nymphs, or the fairies called hill people,' or gnomes, dwelling among these dreary rocks, for it is quite certain that no human being will seek this wild spot in such weather." But just as the thought passed through her mind, Paris shouted:

"Missis! a gentleman riding fast, fast, up yander! I tink he see us, and yes, ma'am, he coming down!"

Geraldine stretched her neck to look up, and presently she saw a horseman dashing down the zig-zag road at a furious pace. Who could he be? Not her father, for he was dining at the other end of the island, and was to stay there that night. Possibly Mrs. Mackenzie, who lived on the nearest estate to Carib Bay, had heard of her intended excursion that evening, and when the storm came on had sent Mr. Thornley to her rescue. Whoever the horseman was he rode incautiously, and with such frightful speed down that steep and unprotected road, that Geraldine feared, in one of the sudden sharp turns, both horse and rider would go over the precipice, and be dashed on the rocks below. She forgot herself in her terror about the unknown rider, and her heart beat violently as she listened for the clatter of the horse's hoofs, which was now heard distinctly, and then seemed to subside into silence. At length the sound came nearer, the horseman was galloping round an angle in the rocky path; in another moment he had sprung from his saddle, and was leading his horse down the steep declivity. Geraldine pushed back the wet hair that had partly escaped from under her riding-hat, and was blown by the wind almost over her eyes, and, to her great amazement, beheld at her side Mr. Le Vasseur!

"What a frightful storm for you to be out in, and among these lonely rocks, dear Miss Montresor!" he exclaimed.

"Thank IIeaven you are safe!" she almost gasped. "I feared the daring horseman, who was coming so rapidly down yon terrible road, would have been hurled over into the abyss below."

Le Vasseur smiled, pleased at the interest she had taken in him, even though, at the time, he was unknown to her. He told her that as he was riding hurriedly over the hill above, having also been caught in the sudden storm, he had met a negro, who informed him that Miss Montresor had just gone down the path towards Carib Bay. He knew, he said, that there were some dangerous passes in the neglected road to the beach, and he hastened after her, in the hope, if she required any assistance, of being able to render it to her.

Geraldine, of course, returned him the thanks he deserved, but at the same time she regretted that he had taken so much trouble on her account. The storm, meanwhile, instead of diminishing, was increasing, and Le Vasseur expressed his anxious wish to find some shelter for her. There was

a cavern in the rock, he said, a little way farther down, and if she would allow him to lead her horse he thought she might reach it safely. He then desired Paris to dismount, and lead down the other two horses; but Paris was more inclined to trust to his horse's footing than his own, therefore sturdily maintained his seat. However, Mr. Le Vasseur soon settled the matter, for, approaching the negro, he promised him, in a low voice, a handsome douceur if he would do as he was bid.

What will not money buy? It secured the obedience of the sable attendant; and while Mr. Le Vasseur led Geraldine's horse carefully down the narrow path, Paris followed at a respectful distance with his more troublesome charges.

"Here is the cave, Miss Montresor," said Le Vasseur, as he stopped her palfrey near to an opening in the rock, which a vivid flash of lightning rendered distinctly visible. Geraldine put up her hand to shade her eyes from the overpowering glare of the lightning, and at the same moment Mr. Le Vasseur, with a "Permit me, there is no time to lose,"

lifted her from her saddle, and carried her in his arms into the cavern, where he gently placed her on her feet upon dry ground.

He immediately went out, and as the cavern, though not lofty, was wide, he brought in her dripping horse, and presently after Paris arrived with the other two. The horses were ranged on one side of the aperture, close to the rock, and Paris squatted himself down near them.

"Is the ground you are sitting on damp ?" asked Mr. Le Vasseur. "No, massa, not damp; but he berry hard!"

“I am afraid I shall not be able in this rocky recess to find any seat for you, Miss Montresor," said Le Vasseur, "and as you may be detained here some little time, you will be fatigued standing.

my arm, and lean on me."

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As he spoke he drew her arm within his, and she thought it would be ungracious to withdraw it; but she did not lean on him. He lamented her having got so wet, and trusted it would not bring on fever; while she thanked him again for his kindness in coming to her aid. She added, however, that she hoped the storm would soon pass over, at least sufficiently to admit of leaving the shelter of the dismal cavern.

"Oh! Miss Montresor," he exclaimed, "do not grudge me the happiness of being near you for a few fleeting minutes! To me, this rough cave seems a paradise

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What more he might have said she did not hear, for his voice was drowned in a fearful and prolonged peal of thunder, which sounded as if the rocks were crashing around, and roared and reverberated among the cliffs above and below. Geraldine had never heard such thunder in England; she fancied that the rock beneath her feet was heaving, and in her terror she involuntarily clung more closely to her companion. Le Vasseur felt strongly tempted to throw his arm round the slender figure that was trembling at his side, but he checked the impulse, and only clasped her hand in one of his.

"Have no fear-there is no danger, dear Miss Montresor," he said. "You are quite safe in this retreat. I have often experienced earthquakes, and there is no sign of one at present, happily. It is a tropical storm; they are terrible while they last, but they are not generally of long duration. It will soon be over now."

They both remained silent for a time, while the thunder still roared at intervals, and the forked lightning, darting in, illuminated the sort of grotto which afforded them a shelter. At length the flashes of lightning became less vivid, and the thunder seemed to roll away over the foaming sea.

"Do you remember," said Mr. Le Vasseur, "the evening at Clare Hall, after that charming maroon? You dropped your little bouquet, and I ventured to take possession of it. You were not angry at me, I hope ?"

Geraldine did not answer, and he continued: "I pressed the sweet flowers that had been worn by you, and now I keep them in a silver box in my private writing-desk. Dear Miss Montresor, these withered flowers are my greatest treasure!"

Geraldine was at a loss what to reply; she must not appear to take seriously what he had just said, even though he had spoken in a melancholy tone; her best plan would be to pretend to think he was joking.

"If you are so exceedingly gallant as to pick up and preserve all the

bouquets that young ladies drop or throw away, you will soon have quite an herbarium," she said, with a faint laugh."

"I would care to keep no one's bouquets but yours. I wish I could hope" He stopped suddenly, and looked wistfully at her.

;

"What is he going to say now?" thought Geraldine. "I must rattle on to stop him.-Gentlemen take strange fancies sometimes. I know one who certainly was what is called a male coquette; he used to flatter ever so many girls, until he induced each to give him a lock of her hair, and when he had collected a good quantity, he said he was going to have a variegated wig made out of all their black, brown, red, and fair ringlets. But it is clearing now, and I think I must try to get home my mother will be miserable at my long absence, and in such weather!" Le Vasseur was neither pushing nor opaque; he perceived that Geraldine did not choose to hear what he wished to say, and he determined not to annoy her by another word relative to his own feelings. He went out to reconnoitre, and on returning told her that he thought she might now venture to leave the cave. He helped her to mount her horse, and then walking at its head, he guided the animal up the steep ascent, until the top of the hill was fairly gained. The moon was by this time struggling through the still dark masses of clouds, and casting her fitful beams over the more level road they were then to follow. Le Vasseur proposed to ride home with his fair charge, but she had the fear of her mother and her strictures on prudence before her eyes, and did not dare to accept his offer. In order to escape his accompanying her home, she said the weather looked still so bad, that she would only ride as far as Mrs. Mackenzie's house, and would borrow that lady's carriage to take her to Prospect Hill. Le Vasseur escorted her as far as the foot of the avenue, which, bordered on either side by a hedge of limes, and rows of tall mountain cabbage-trees, with their smooth pillar-like trunks, led to Mrs. Mackenzie's dwelling. There he took his leave, after having again received Geraldine's thanks, and her having cordially shaken hands with him.

She did not say a word to the gossiping Mrs. Mackenzie of her having met Le Vasseur, but on her return home she mentioned to her mother his having ridden down the dangerous path in the midst of the storm on her account, and that lady graciously permitted Mr. Montresor next day to despatch a note of thanks to the preux chevalier.

Geraldine never mentioned Mr. Le Vasseur's name to any one, not even to her friend Helen, but it is not so certain that she never repeated it to herself. Sometimes in her dreams—she could not control theseand perhaps occasionally even in her waking moments, the deep blue eyes and sweet smile appeared before her. And assuredly her image was almost constantly in his mind's eye, though he never spoke of her at home. Was it fear of the domestic ruler of his establishment, or some better feeling, that prevented his ever naming the pleasing girl of whom he thought so much in the presence of one so different from her?

Geraldine did not meet Mr. Le Vasseur again so as to have an opportunity of speaking to him, but she saw him now and then at a review, or on the race-ground, when she invariably made a point of bowing to him, a recognition with which he seemed always much pleased. She observed that he was never accompanied by any female on these occasions, and she took sufficient interest in him to hope that this was a sign of reformation on his part.

RANSACKINGS IN A ROYAL WRITING-DESK.*

the

"LETTERS are the key to history; they unlock difficulties, detect false convey interpretations, and expose erroneous deductions. Written to knowledge of facts, we gather simple and unvarnished facts from them; and, if it were possible to discover a full and unbroken chronological series of them, most of the obstacles which the historian now finds in his way would be removed."+

Mr. Hingeston does not overrate the value of the materials with which he has been appointed to deal. No more useful contributions to our historical store were ever made than the volumes of "Original Letters, including numerous Royal Letters," published some years ago by that veteran scholar Sir Henry Ellis, and the extensive work on the English Privy Council, consisting mainly of letters, edited by the late Sir N. H. Nicolas, in the The present volume is the first of a series which 1834-7. years will supplement and, in a manner, bring to completion these earlier works for a period of our history of which we know comparatively little-the reigns of the Princes of the House of Lancaster. We trust, however, that the editor's labours may not be limited to a few years, but that the publication of all the extant royal and other historical letters will be steadily proceeded with. One volume of such material is worth half a dozen of second-rate chronicles, one-third of which consists commonly of deliberate piracies of earlier MSS., while the writers' bias and prejudices too frequently disfigure and mar the usefulness of the remainder. "Characters," says Sir Henry Ellis, truly, "are drawn by those who could not know the they describe; facts are imperceptibly diverted to the uses of party, and events which owe their origin to the simplest are often traced back to the ." But letters "bear the impress of their respective remotest causes. times; and whilst many of them regard affairs in which the writers were actively engaged, all afford a closer and more familiar view of characters, manners, and events than the pen of the most accomplished compiler of regular history, even if he might be trusted, could supply. They unravel causes of action which, without their aid, would be impenetrable, and even throw new light upon parts of history which superficial readers suppose to be exhausted."

persons

Another characteristic of Letters is, that they are not only the most useful of all our historical materials, but they are the most interesting also. They are even-to use an expressive word-entertaining. Of course we know that in most cases the reverse of this is generally true; at least, we have a feeling, right or wrong, that the more practical a But about this there can be no science is, the harder and duller it is. Mr. Hingeston has enabled them to mistake, as our readers shall see.

* Royal and Historical Letters during the Reign of Henry the Fourth, King of England and of France, and Lord of Ireland. Edited by the Rev. F. C. Hingeston, M.A., of Exeter College, Oxford, Incumbent of Hampton Gay, and Domestic Chaplain to Viscountess Falmouth, Baroness le Despencer. Published by the Authority of the Lords Commissioners of H. M. Treasury, under the direction of the Master of the Rolls. Vol. I., A.D. 1399-1404. Longman and Co. 1860. † See the Preface, page x.

Quoted by Hingeston, page ix.

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