manner to Richard. Her spirits, forced before, rose now to a point beyond control, and the fever of victory was in her blood. She was conscious of a glance from Ernest, she was conscious of a dark tremor in his countenance; and she was thrown into a flutter of joy by the belief that she was the cause of his pain. The nearer he came to her, the more exulting was her mirth; and when he finally drew up close by her side, with averted head she looked from him, and sweetly and gaily pressed Captain Warburton to a third trial.

"This,' said she, 'will decide my superiority; it will be the conqueror.'

'Miss Conway, you must use discretion with Blucher,' said Ernest, gravely, if his spirit is roused, you may find him difficult to hold.'

She imputed the caution to a movement of jealousy, and seeming not to hear it, she touched her horse with the whip, pressed her foot against his side, and set off on a wild canter. Captain Warburton kept for a while by her side, but she increased her speed and outstripped him. He smiled as he rode, thinking of her final triumph, lost sight of her for a moment at a turn in the road, longing to recover it again, confounded the sluggishness of the beast he was riding, flogged him, and struck his heels into his sides, perceived Ida again, but so far in advance that he could scarcely distinguish the outline of her form; and he now discerned, backed by a group of pine trees, the Ducal Jagd Haus, fancifully built with foolish pinnacles and unmeaning turrets, but situated on a height which commanded an extensive tract of country, too rich and too beautiful, as Richard thought, for the possession of a petty German Grand-Duke. large concourse of people was discernible now. All the approaches to the Jagd Haus were filled with carriages and horses; and there were groups of figures whose costumes of bright colours showed well against the background of dark forest trees. At the Jagd Haus Ida was to pull up; it was

A

the limit of the race. Captain Warburton increased his pace, watched her progress with eagerness, and with a sensation of alarm saw her pass the appointed spot, while Ernest's voice close behind startled him with its deep sound as he exclaimed in German,

'Oh, thou Almighty God, help us now; she has no more power over the horse!'

'How dare you say so?' cried Captain Warburton, with that pressing fear which is apt to relieve itself by anger, how dare you say so her hand is strong, her hand is true, she guides him, see, they have passed that post!'

'By his instinct, not by her direction,' replied Ernest; 'but, Great God let us lose no time here arguing when a life is at stake, and such a life! Oh, I know that road! it is full of dangerous turns, and beyond the white cottage it becomes rugged, precipitous. Are you riding on, Captain Warburton? Stop! you can do nothing so.'

'Show me, then, tell me, then, what to do;' said Captain Warburton, drawing up close to Ernest, leaning over towards him, all his features disordered, and drops of sweat hanging heavy upon his brow. The man he addressed himself to was still and silent.

'Are you dead?' exclaimed Richard, impatiently, are you dead, that you make no answer? Ernest Wertheim, I beg you will speak, for in Ida Conway's life'-he laid a forcible hold on his arm as he spoke, and lowered his tone-'my own is bound up. You must know it! oh! what a day this has been!'

Count Ernest let drop his bridle from his hand, and his head was bent over his horse's neck as he replied, I thought as much, Captain Warburton; yes, I thought so.'

The dialogue that it has taken too long to record, was rapid in its utterance; but Count Ernest, indicating by his gesture that there was no time for more words, and signing to Richard to follow him, put his horse into a gallop, and rode away off the road down a bye-path leading through a little wood to the green fields beyond.

What is this for?' shouted Captain Warburton, as he followed.

A short cut,' replied Ernest, briefly, across the fields to the white cottage: we must meet her there. Ask no questions; follow me-fast, fast-follow me.'

Captain Warburton obeyed. The ride was impetuous and silent now, and these two young men going on at a pace so furious, with looks so desperate, so unmindful of all obstacles, might have been taken for the wild huntsmen in Bürger's celebrated song. Stupefied peasants suspended their labour to stare at them as they cleared their gates and fences, but they were out of sight before their slow vision could define their forms. Only one sentence was spoken during their hot course; it came from Captain Warburton:

"This cursed brute of yours bolts at a fence.'

And though a man is apt to rise to the defence of his horse, as a woman to the defence of her physician, Ernest made no retort, but rode on-on-on-on-at the utmost speed, till at last the white cottage was reached; then Ernest felt that the prayer of his heart had been heard, for Ida, still firm in her seat, but in a pale disorder, having lost her hat, her long hair streaming out in the wind, was seen coming swiftly along the road towards them.

The young men dismounted and went to meet her, to intercept her progress. Blucher had spent something of his speed, but his eye was still wild, his sides were lathered with sweat. Captain Warburton laid a firm hold of his bridle, and cast the weight of his massive person upon his neck to arrest him, while Ernest's well known voice gave the familiar command in the word 'halt.' Ida, bewildered, terrified, amazed, and nearly stunned, had not yet lost consciousness, and till now had retained a strong resolution to remain fixed in the saddle, but the recognition of Ernest's voice and face, the notion striking on her heated brain of a death like her brother's, so instantaneous, closing all difficul

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ties, all doubts, all fears, in the presence of the man she loved and in his protection, with her heart beating out its brief life close to his, with her failing sight striving to the last to define his image, the increasing faintness of which seemed the only punishment in death; with her thought lifting itself by a last effort up to her God in a prayer for him- this idea, penetrating, swift, triumphant, shook all her nerves, her command was gone, every fibre trembled, the consciousness, so intense for an instant, was suddenly extinguished, and with a last sharp cry of joy and pain she fell forward and was received in Ernest's outstretched arms; and now the stifled passion of his heart for one short minute burst its bonds, it flowed out through his eyes in stormy dropswhile he closely strained against him that unconscious life which

would have been inestimably blessed if it could have returned then to sense. But his passion was momentary; another thought arose, Richard's voice addressed him, he roused himself from that happy trance, and answered with accents that endeavoured to be steady, and with a demeanour that became stiff and hard by the suppression of his emotion.

'True, Captain Warburton, Miss Conway must be for the present your charge; let us first carry her together to the white cottage. I will call the good woodman's wife to your assistance, and then I will leave you. Yes, I will go to Aunt Kitty; you wait at the cottage till a carriage is sent for Ida.'

He spoke the name, and faltered. 'Right,' said Richard; 'let it be so; but what will you do with the horses?

'Let Carl the woodman take charge of yours,' said Ernest; 'I will lead Blucher back, his fire is now quenched, and he is obedient to my command.'

As he finished his sentence they entered the cottage, carrying Ida gently in with them, and then Richard looked round the German peasants' interior with disgust and scorn. All dirty and comfortless,

and the woodman's wife, who advanced to greet them, old, wrinkled, unclean, hideous, talking fast and in a high key, with a loud, unmeaning emphasis, in a hoarse guttural voice. Richard could not understand a word she spoke, but she brought a chair to him, and the action was at least intelligible. He placed Ida upon it, still partly supporting her with his arms. Ernest, as he with slow reluctance parted, recommended Ida especially to the old woman's care, and in consequence she besieged Richard with her cracked voice and harsh tongue till he was almost distracted. He understood, however, by her signs and by her near approach, that she was intending to unfasten Ida's jacket, but he could not endure that her foul and withered hand should touch that charming form, and with vigorous gesture he motioned her away, while he muttered to himself in his native language confidential imprecations against her filth, her ugliness, herstyle of speech, and the vice that she was guilty of in being a German; but he was forced to admit that the measure she proposed for Ida's relief was not altogether ill-conceived, and with his own hands he proceeded to loosen the green velvet jacket that Madame de Valincourt's taste had ordered. It was fastened up to the throat with ornamental buttons; his large, strong fingers shook while he touched them, and with tender reverence proceeded to his task; fearful lest when she should return to consciousness she should start at the sight of him so near, he halted in his work more than once, and when at length he undid the last button and opened the vest, he turned aside from the sight of the beauty that was revealed; with a care, gentle and delicate, like that of a fond mother for her child, he drew across the white neck the folds of the muslin habit shirt that had become displaced, and endeavoured to disencumber the face and shoulders from the weight and heat of the disordered hair. Pushing aside the bright curls, he laid one fur

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tively, and for a single instant, across his lips, and then he heard and felt-felt it all through him, with a keen sensation touching in its extreme of joy, upon the edge of anguish a soft palpitation, and a sigh as of returning life. called the old crone to him now, and repeated in her ear the word 'wasser,' till her dull sense took it in, and she limped away to the brook that ran over a bed of pebbles close by, and brought back a cup of clear water; with it Richard moistened Ida's lips. She breathed audibly again, and made an effort to sit erect. He turned his head away from her as she did so, not to alarm her with his passionate glance, and she felt the support of his protecting arms, but could not see his face. Once more she sighed, a deeper, stronger sigh, and her lips uttered a distinct sound-Ernest.'

It sent a pang through Richard's heart, and came to his hope like a sudden death. He could find no words to answer, till the voice he loved, again and more clearly repeated the name he feared-'Ernest!' He then gathered up his strength, and inclining his head towards her so that his face was discovered, he replied,

Miss Conway, it is not Count Ernest. It is I-Richard Warburton.'

He spoke slowly and with pain; his faithful conscience whispered a reproach to him; he had not dealt quite fairly by the absent man; he had suffered him to misapprehend his position with Ida; but yet it was no fault of his if Ernest misunderstood; and Ernest had no right to think of Ida, being engaged to another woman.

So

he satisfied himself. But Ida was not satisfied; the life that had returned to her asserted itself in a passion of disappointment and of anger and aversion. She had believed herself in Ernest's presence, and this was only Richard. She had fallen away from sense with the musical sound of Ernest's voice in her ear, and this was the rough tone of Richard's.

She had tasted the

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delight of death close by Ernest's side, and she lived and saw Richard. At that moment she would rather have been neglected, trampled on, beaten to death under the horse's hoofs, than cherished and worshipped by Richard Warburton. His company was unendurable. She was determined to free herself from it at once; and she forcibly pushed away the arm that upheld her. Her scattered senses collecting themselves, now became aware, with a burning shame, of the disorder of her dress, and turning away from Richard, while with trembling fingers she adjusted its fastenings, she spoke to him

'I do not know, Captain Warburton, how it is that I am here, or that you are here, but I know that I wish to be alone.'

'You are only just recovered,' said Captain Warburton, 'from a state of insensibility; you are ill, you must be ill; may I not stay by you? may I not do you some service?'

'You may go away, I am not ill; is there no one else here?'

Captain Warburton guessing her thought, replied,

'Count Ernest is gone to fetch a carriage for you.'

And without a word more he left the cottage. He would not impose his presence as a penance, he resented the caprice that made it such. He recalled the charming smiles of the morning, and he marvelled at the change.

Not without a feeling of selfreproach, Ida, from within, watched his large figure pacing up and down under the hot sun outside the cottage door. His tone and manner had told her that he was angry, and her conscience told her that it was not without reason. Her sensitive temperament was ever open to sympathy, and it grieved her to give pain. Her heart was softened too by the hope of Ernest's return. Count Ernest had gone to fetch a carriage, Richard had said, and she wished now that Captain

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Warburton had not left her, wished · that she might question him further, and speak kindly, and soothe his present irritation. But a becoming modesty withheld her from calling him back. She could not venture to go to him, so she sat still and watched, and recalled to herself every little incident of the morning, recalled all that had been said by Célestine in the last interview, and weaved for herself out of these threads a bright visionary fabric.

With the quick fancy of a fevered blood she constructed from these passages a passionate drama, in the closing scene of which she saw Ernest and herself stand hand in hand, while the Countess Rosenberg, with the unscrupulous improbability that distinguishes the revolutions of the brain in sleep, was happily disposed of to Ernest's friend, the Hauptman Otto.

From such delirious dreams she was called away by Richard's abrupt entrance with these words:

'Miss Conway, your Aunt Kitty has just arrived.

Ida ran to meet her, and was clasped in her arms, then looked round her as for some missing figure.

There was no one with me,' said her aunt, compassionately, interpreting her glance with her quick sympathy; the Countess Dorothea did entreat to come, but she was so hysterical I would not let her; so I have come for my love— alone.'

Ernest, then, was not there, had not asked to be there; his sister had wished it, his sister whom she had offended; but he had remained contentedly behind, to share in the festivities of the day, to enjoy them, though when he had left her she was almost dead. His service had been merely the service of humanity, and he was satisfied that another man should take his place. It was enough, and all her spirit died within her.

This was surely the last stroke.