storm in his soul-then spoke again. "I came here to ask, after all these years, these long years of remorse and repentance, whether I could be forgiven; but I come in vain; even my mother's voice seems to wake and to tell me that it is in vain."

His companion looked on those dark, sorrowful eyes, on that pale, pure brow, and he understood the character with which he had to deal. He hastened to speak "a word in season to one that was weary."

R

"It is impossible," he said, gravely and calmly," that your mother can so speak; it is not her voice; it is a tempting voice which would say that repentance could ever be in vain." He paused, then continued slowly; and, in that still evening, his words fell with a solemn calmness on Claude's troubled spirit: "rather hear my voice, and believe that your repentance is accepted, that your forgiveness is spoken, that a blessing rests upon you for your future life!".

"You now know all." So Claude concluded

the confession to which he had been drawn on by one who appeared to have been sent to assist and comfort him. "Tell me, then,. and do not think that I shall shrink from hearing it tell me, whether love and earthly joy is forbidden to me for ever?" The anguish of his mind was stilled the terrors of his remorse were past. Calmly and steadily he stood to hear his fate, and prepared to abide, whatever the sacrifice, whatever the cost, by the words which should now be spoken.

The answer was given gravely, but without hesitation.

"It is not forbidden to you rather, I should say, that love has been sent to you, as a ministering angel, to cheer you, and to strengthen you for the toils, the weariness, the penitence, which must follow you, and hang about you through the whole of your life. There are other dangers to be avoided besides those of indulgence; and the suggestions of gloom and despair are no less temptations than the delusive whispers of peace. Therefore, I would say to you, go, without

fear, and receive gratefully the love which has been given to you without your seeking it; and remember, and I think you need to remember it, that God is merciful as well as. just and holy !"

CHAPTER XXII.

All our human joys, most sweet and holy,
Sport in the shadows caught from melancholy.

Oh! ye,

whom broken vows bereave,

Your vows to Heaven restore;

Oh! ye, for blighted love who grieve,

Love deeper, and love more.

King Arthur.

The winds may blow-the waves may swell,

But soon these tempests cease;

And the pure element subsides

Into its native peace.

DE VERE.

The long winter was past, the spring was. come again, with its soft breezes, and bright flowers, and gladdening sunshine.

Margaret Woodvile stood with her father in the garden at Oakley. His anger at the departure of Henry Bruce had been but short-lived. Margaret had gone to him, and though with downcast eyes and a vary

ing cheek, had confessed to him the whole, and he could not be angry, and would not blame; and soon all his hope and anxiety was centred on the desire that Claude Hastings would come amongst them again. But through the long winter he did not return; and a deep calm and quiet succeeded at Oakley to the excitement of the last autumn. With the spring, however, he came again. Within the last few days, he had arrived at the Moat.

66

Well, Margaret," said Sir Richard, "I went up to the Moat this morning, and I saw Mr. Hastings, and we had a great deal of conversation, and what do you suppose it was all about?-Can you guess ?—Well, my little girl, don't blush about it: only I must just say that I should not very much wonder if he came here in the course of the afternoon. And I like him, Margaret, I do indeed; a little too grave, perhaps, but it may go off, there's no telling. I found him writing to Mr. Bruce; he said he was begging him to come over immediately, as he is very much wanted at the Moat. They