they find I am not in the Mercury, every vessel as it arrives will be searched. I am certain to be caught. I am booked this time. There is no help for it."

He rose, and, throwing down the paper, walked towards the other passengers. But before he had half crossed the deck, he turned back, saying, 66 D-n it! What a fool I am! I cannot command my countenance; I must go below." When in his cabin, he stood abstractedly watching the water as it passed swiftly by the little window. Soon the glare on its surface faded away, and he knew that the sun had set. Then gradually the light diminished; but still he stood in the dusk, with a gloomy despair settling on his features. It grew dark-quite dark; but still he heard the sound of merriment on deck. He turned suddenly round, and hastily struck a light. Darting upon a small portmanteau, "It is here," he muttered, "and ready loaded. There is no other escape."

He nervously turned over the various contents, apparently seeking for something which he did not find.

"I must have left it behind me after all. I was so confoundedly hurried at the last. But what are these? Letters-which I never opened. I remember I had no time to read them."

He opened one, it was a bill; he threw it from him and seized the next. "All bills, of course!" and he tore it to bits. Proceeding to open a third in like manner, he stopped on observing the direc

tion. Frowning, he held it up to the light, exclaiming :

"So the niggardly fool has answered me at last! Can he have sent me the money I have so often asked him to lend?" But no cheque was enclosed. The envelope contained only a letter, which we will take the liberty of reading over his shoulder:

"SIR,-Your disgraceful proceeding with regard to a will, about five years ago, in a certain village in Devonshire, has lately come to light. Legal steps are about to be taken, for the purpose of apprehending you on the charge of having caused the destruction of that will; and as I wish to spare you the disgrace of a public trial, I now advise you to quit the country as soon as possible, and not to return to it until the matter has blown over. I trust that when in another land your conduct will efface the memory of your dishonourable career in this. Do not neglect

Fly at once.

this timely warning from

"ONE WHO FORGIVES YOU."

After reading the above, Mr. Williams stood for some time with an expression of wonder mingled with admiration upon his countenance. He then sat down, and having re-perused the letter, said aloud: "Much as I hate him, I must acknowledge that this is a noble act."

For more than an hour he sat motionless, his head resting on his hands, either lost in deep

thought, or listening to the footsteps of the passengers, as at intervals one or more left the deck and retired to the cabins.

When all for some minutes had been perfectly silent, he rose, saying:

"If she had married me it might have been otherwise."

He was about to leave the cabin, when he suddenly turned back, and took from the portmanteau a roll of bank-notes, which he put in his pocket.

"If they do not find me they shall not find the money," he said; then quietly ascended to the deck.

As the day had been sunny and bright, so the night was cloudless and serene. There was no moon, but myriads of stars sparkled in the heavens. It was silent; no sound was heard, save the usual noise occasioned by the working of a vessel.

For some minutes, in much agitation, Mr. Williams paced up and down the deck. Once he gave a short bitter laugh, as he said:

"Their search will yet be in vain! Sold through their own carelessness!"

For a minute a spasm of anguish passed over his pallid features; he then threw his head back, and gazed long into the azure depths of the starry sky. But no prayer was on his lips, no good thought within his soul, for he was an infidel. How strange a contrast-the placid beauty of that summer night, and the restless workings of that wicked man's heart!

He advanced to the side of the vessel and looked upon the foaming waters; but the dancing spray seemed to laugh at his misery. He turned away, and resumed his lonely walk far into the night.

*

The morning rose bright and joyous. The Ariel was still ploughing her way through the deep; but Mr. Williams was no longer among her passengers.

CHAPTER XXX.

WELCOME HOME!

Enter the gate of life and light,
From sin and misery,

In whitest robes of innocence.

Sweet shall thy welcome be,
New-born to Grace and triple gift
Of Faith, of Hope, and Charity.

WE must again take the liberty of transporting our readers to an entirely different scene, the private chapel at Eaglehurst, which had been decorated and consecrated afresh, after remaining for upwards of two centuries in the possession of Protestants.

The chapel was small and very old, but everything about the altar was new and costly. It was simply but gracefully adorned for the Feast of Corpus Christi. Clouds of incense still filled the air, and the perfume of the flowers was almost overpowering.

Benediction, given at the end of Mass, was just over. The lights were extinguished, and the priest had left the sanctuary. Minute after minute glided away, and still Frances knelt before the altar, for