dead. The attendant was told to conduct the stranger into the hall.

That voice, that mien, that figure! Had the grave given up the dead?

"Have you quite forgotten me?" asked the visitor.

"Forgotten you !"

"Aye," said Biron, throwing off his coat; "farewell to my disguise-My Isabella !”

She fell, cold, pale, and trembling into his arms. This dreadful excitement the fond husband attributed to overwhelming joy. But alas! though that joy was great, fear, nay, absolute horror, helped as much to bring the livid pallor to her thin cheek, the wild gaze to her eye, and the sad heaving to her bosom.

He had been hurt at Candy, but, recovering from his wounds, had been sold to slavery, whence at times he had written to his father and his wife, but had received only a few answers from the first-named. But all should be explained on the morrow; he was tired with his long pilgrimage, and would seek rest. His wife would attend him in a few moments! Would she? She, married to two men, deceived, mocked, and undone, dwelt so long, after Biron had retired, upon the theme of her misery, that her husband returned and asked her the cause of her long delay. A sudden blow, she thought, and all would be ended

She tried to conceal her secrets, but suspicion gradually dawned upon the luckless Biron; it amounted to frenzy when Isabella rushed ruthlessly from his presence, telling him to remember her when she was dead. The agony occasioned by these fearful doubtings and misgivings were distracting; some mischief was about to burst into light, Biron might as well know it now as delay the fatal hour, and from her he would hear his doom.

He had learned it, and was reposing upon a couch. He wrote a letter; and then, worn out with countless troubles, he fell into an uneasy slumber. Whilst in that state, Isabella, driven to madness, and armed with a dagger, entered the chamber. She did not see who was on the couch until he, in his dreams, called upon her name. She rushed to the bed, demanding to know what man was in that place, and, raising the glittering blade aloft, was about to plunge it into Biron's breast, when he rose up. Terror stricken she hurried from the room, and Biron was preparing to follow her, when a loud knocking at the door called him thither. He went forth into the street, believing that Belford wanted him, when he was set upon by a party of ruffians, at the head of which was Carlos, who, having heard of Biron's return, had decided to complete the ruin he had begun.

But from these dangers Biron was rescued by Villeroy, who

had returned; but the sufferer had been so badly wounded in the fray that he had just strength to return to Isabella, and give Villeroy a letter before he expired.

Here Count Baldwin, who had also heard of his son's return, accompanied by Carlos and others, came upon the scene. To clear himself, the assassin taxed Villeroy with the crime. Nor was the accusation without a show of reason; Villeroy, rather than give up his bride, had procured the death of his rival; and so Carlos hastened for the magistrate.

In his absence, Pedro, one of the wretches, made a confession that cleared Villeroy At this juncture Belford read Biron's letter to his father, who was thunderstruck; he had never received any letters from his son, much less answered them; and always believed he had been killed at Candy.

When Carlos returned, he was questioned about their existence, he denied any knowledge of them; but upon examination being made, a note, in his handwriting, as from his father, was found in Biron's dress. The evidence of guilt became stronger, Pedro was brought forth, and seeing all chance lost, the villain admitted his guilt, and was passed over to justice.

But all was not yet over, Isabella, frantic and despairing, sought her peace at the dagger's point.

Nor was Carlos loath to explain the motive of his crime, saying that

"That which damns most men, ruined him,

The making of his fortune."

FAITHFUL.

WE have been parted long, yet how the years
Seem back to roll to-night! Do you recall,
In that far country where our mortal tears
Ne'er dim the eyes, the sunlight on the wall?

The waving of the trees; the incense from the flowers;
The low sob of the distant, sunny sea?
The sun-dial marked by flying feet of hours,
Which long had joined the great Eternity?

Across the golden river and the strand,

Where your tired feet so peaceful found their rest,
From o'er the borders of the Unknown land,
Can you look on me desolate, deprest,

Without an outward reaching of your hand?
An inward beckoning to join you, there?
A standing silent from the white-robed band,
To pass a little while in low-voiced prayer?

Or in that silent touch of God which we,

Knowing no better, call death-our life's endWhen all of the hereafter's mystery

Was unto you revealed, did you, old friend,

Forget the past? the olden time which lay,
In the dark valley of earth's pain and strife?
Knowing but that the Resurrection-day

Had brought to you a never-ending life?

It may be so-yet I who sit alone,

Hearing all day the sighing of the sea, Looking through darkness to my Father's home, Where my worn spirit shall at last be free,

Pray that the friend best loved of old will speak
In the old accents in the heavenly place,
When God has crowned my life with what I seek,-
The peace and sunshine of the Father's face.

MISS C. R. CRESPI.

JUST TOO LATE.

PART I.

A DOCTOR AND A TELEGRAM-A PORTER AND AN IDEA.

"I NEVER knew what a presentiment was before this afternoon; but for the last four hours I have been haunted by an idea that I ought to be down at the Hall. It is confoundedly odd! I wish I had gone with Charley, for I might have known that old Brooks would die long before the train ti—"

A knock at the door, and a servant entered with a telegram:

From C. Clifton, Riverton Hall. To Dr. Mantyle, St., London, Come down here at once. Momentous issues depend upon your speedy arrival. Catch the six train. The station-master at Dalston has a letter for you.

After a few moments' thought, Dr. Mantyle folded up the telegram, and put it in his pocket. He was a man prompt to decide, and swift to act. He looked at his watch; it was half-past nine, and muttering to himself "This is very singular!" the doctor went to dress, and prepare for the journey he had determined to make. A little before six p.m., he was seated in the train which would convey him to Riverton.

George Mantyle, M.D., was a successful man. By sheer hard work he had won for himself, in the comparatively short space of twelve years, a high position in the medical profession. He was now thirty-two years old; his features were massive, his frame powerful. Altogether, there was something solid and firm in the doctor's appearance, and it stamped him no common man. The porter, who had put his portmanteau into the luggage-van, stopped at the carriage window, aud touched his hat suggestively. The doctor took out his purse, and found a sixpence.

"I say, porter," he observed, "do you live upon your wages?"
"No, sir!" replied the inan. "Hi hexists hon tips."
The doctor dropped the sixpence, and found a shilling.
"What is the largest sum you have ever been tipped ?"
"Twenty pounds, sir!"

The imperturbable face of the doctor never relaxed.

"And what had you done for that?" he asked.

"Well, sir, hit was when we 'ad a smash hin the station here, hand the hexpress was a comin' up like mad, being behind time. Hi dropped Mrs. Walker's baby, hand saved the Duchess of Mountferancy's poodle."

Dr. Mantyle fingered a florin.

"What did Mrs. Walker say?"

"One from twelve still leaves heleven: but you might have laid it down more gently, young man.'

Dr. Mantyle changed the florin for half-a-crown.

This was a porter who loved his joke, and yet the twinkle of his merry eye, just then, very nearly resembled the twinkle of the usually grave and deliberate physician's; but when George Mantyle was not at work, or asleep, he was at play.

"And what is the smallest tip you ever got ?" he inquired. The porter was as quick as before.

66

your eyes, why did you not carry both hof my boxes together; they honly weigh arf a ton each.'

Dr. Mantyle let fall the half-crown, to seek for a whole one. There was a shrill whistle; the facetious porter ran to shut a door two carriages away, and the train glided swiftly from the station. The doctor put his head out of the window, and looked steadily at the man as he passed him.

"I will remember you," he said.

"I will remember the Duchess's poodle.

"The man who can joke after such a disappointment as that porter has experienced deserves a sovereign," thought the doctor, as he settled himself among the cushions; "and yet it strikes me that last observation sounded rather like satire. I object to satire, especially when I am myself its butt-his gratuity shall be half-asovereign. Having thus settled the porter's future remuneration, he began to think about the mysterious telegram he had received from his friend Clifton. That theme occupied him until the train stopped at Dalston, when, just as he was stepping on to the platform of that station, a new aspect of the affair seemed to strike him.

"By Jove !" he exclaimed, half aloud, "it must refer to Isabel Riverton."

PART II.

A LETTER AND A LISTENER—A RIDE AND A POCKET.

HANDKERCHIEF.

Two or three rapid glances of Dr. Mantyle's keen eyes, and the station-master was "spotted."

"My name is Mantyle; I believe you have a letter for me?" "I have, sir."

The missive was produced.

"Thank you!" said the doctor," as, placing it in his breast