upon his scepticism, she turned to the hesitating ecclesiastics who formed his council, and roused them into some temporary opposition to the proceeding. The archbishop bent under her denunciations, and, at her earnest request, introduced her to Cardinal Wolsey, then tottering on the edge of ruin, and who, in his confusion and perplexity, was frightened by the woman's menaces, and did not know what to think of her pretensions. She made herself known, too, to the papal ambassadors, and through them she went so far as to threaten Pope Clement, assuming, in virtue of her divine commission, an authority above all principalities and powers. of their crown and of their issue, and the people of this realm in great danger of destruction.' Here, then, we find the nun and her accomplices floundering in the labyrinths of treason. They were in correspondence with the pope, who had threatened Henry with excommunication; the nun had attested her divine commission by miracles, and had been recognised as a saint by an archbishop of Canterbury; the regular orders of the clergy throughout the realm were known to regard her as inspired; and when it was recollected that the king was distinctly threatened with dying a villain's death,' and that these and similar prophecies were carefully written out, and It is matter of history, that after prolonged and were in private circulation through the country, the various negotiations with the pope, with the view matter assumed a dangerous complexion; it became to induce his holiness to annul his marriage with at once essential to ascertain how far, and among what Catherine, Henry at length accomplished the desired classes of the state, these things had penetrated. divorce, with the sanction of the English prelates, Accordingly, in the middle of November 1533, we and on his own responsibility married Anne Boleyn. hear of a commission sitting at Lambeth, composed of This proceeding, though generally acquiesced in by the Cromwell, Cranmer, and Latimer, for the purpose of nation, was nevertheless an occasion of great scandal ravelling out the threads of this strange story; from to the higher papist party, and particularly to large which, when the whole was disentangled, it appeared numbers of the clergy. Prior to the marriage, Henry that the divorced Queen Catherine, her daughter, the had taken the Lady Anne with him to the court of Princess Mary, and a large and formidable party in France, to have her there publicly recognised by the country, had come to the opinion, on the faith King Francis as the future queen of England; and on of the aforesaid revelation, that the king had forfeited returning, having been delayed at Calais for a fort- his crown; that his death-either by visitation of God night by gales in the Channel, Te Deums were offered or by the visitation of man-was expected daily; in the churches for the king's deliverance; since, had and that whether his death took place or not, a revoluhe embarked before the storm, he might have probably tion was seemingly impending, which would place the suffered shipwreck. There was at the time great princess on the throne. No sooner were the comapprehension of such a catastrophe among his loyal missioners in possession of the general facts, than the subjects; and perhaps a sort of hope on the part of principal parties-that is to say, the nun herself, and some that he might thus be hindered from proceeding five of the monks of Christ Church at Canterburyin the course on which he was bent. On an occasion were arrested, and sent to the Tower to be 'examined.' of such interest, it would have hardly been becoming A common method of 'examining,' in those days, was in a prophetess to be unconcerned about what was by that delicate process called 'torture,' which probably going on. Accordingly, we find the Nun of Kent was, the monks endured, to bring them to confession. The with more frequency than usual, admitted to inter- nun, however, was not tortured. On her first arrest, views with angels. Under celestial instructions, as she was obstinate in maintaining her prophetic characshe said, she denounced the meeting between Henry ter; and she is said to have been detected in sending and Francis as a conspiracy against Heaven; and messages to her friends, to animate them to adhere declared that if the former persisted in his resolution to her and to her prophecies.' But her courage shortly of marrying Anne Boleyn, she was commissioned by ebbed away under the hard reality of her position. God to tell him that he should lose his kingdom. She She began to make confession-a full confession, in did not specify the manner in which the sentence would which her accomplices joined her; and the half-combe carried into effect, but, in different revelations, fixed pleted web of conspiracy was ravelled out. They did the date of its infliction variously at one month or six not attempt to conceal that they had intended, if months after the marriage. The marriage, however, possible, to create an insurrection. The five monks eventually took place; and though several consequences-Father Bocking, Father Rich, Father Rysby, Father followed thereupon, the fulfilment of the nun's pre- Dering, and Father Goold-had assisted the nun in diction was not one of them. The one month, six inventing her 'revelations;' and as apostles of dismonths, nine months passed over, and Henry was turbance, they had travelled about the country to still the king of England. His child-the renowned communicate them in whatever quarters they were Elizabeth-was born and was baptised, and no divine likely to be welcomed. When it is remembered that thunder had interposed; only a mere harmless verbal Archbishop Warham had been one of the foremost thunder, from a poor old man at Rome-the poor old dupes of this woman, and that even Wolsey's expope, namely, who, in his aimless vacillation, had not perience and ability had not prevented him from dared either to sanction or forbid the marriage. believing in her power, we need not be surprised to find high names among those who were implicated. Vast numbers of abbots and priors, and of regular and secular clergy, country gentlemen, and London merchants, were included in the list. Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, had 'wept for joy' at the first utterances of the prophetess; and Sir Thomas More, 'who at first did little regard the said revelations, afterwards did greatly rejoice to hear them.' The nun, too, had frequently communicated with the 'the Lady PrincessDowager' (the late queen, Catherine) and the Lady Mary, her daughter. Father Goold was proved to have travelled to Bugden, where Catherine resided, with communications from the nun, 'intended,' says the act of attainder, 'to animate the said Lady Princess to make commotion in the realm against our sovereign lord;' and to assure her, on the strength of a recent revelation, that her cause would prosper. The nun, however, and her friar advisers were counting on other methods of securing the fulfilment of the prophecy of a more effective sort than supernatural agency. The career on which they had entered was too fascinating to allow them to forsake it on the failure of their immediate expectation. The first revelation not being answered by the event, a second was produced as an interpretation of it; which, however, was not published like the other, but whispered in secret to persons whose dispositions were known to be unfavourable towards the king. It was now intimated that, though Henry continued king in the sight of the world, yet God did not acknowledge him; and the disaffected were left to draw the inference, that they were no longer bounden to be his subjects;' which,' said the report of the commissioners, might have put the king and the queen's grace in jeopardy The conspirators, however, had deemed it prudent to wait until the pope should have pronounced sentence against Henry for his contumacy, and absolved the English nation from its allegiance. On such sentence being published, the nun was in readiness to blow the trumpet of insurrection, and had already organised a corps of fanatical friars, who, when the signal was given, were simultaneously to throw themselves into the midst of the people, and call upon them to rise in the name of God, and forcibly overturn the government. The scheme, in the form which it had so far assumed, was indeed rather an appeal to fanaticism than a plot calculated to lay hold of the deeper mind of the country; but as an indication of the unrest and dissatisfaction which was stealing over the minds of men, it assumed an importance which it would not, at other times, have received from its intrinsic character. The guilt of the principal offenders, however, admitted of no doubt; and as soon as the commissioners were satisfied that there was nothing further to be discovered, the nun, with the monks, was brought to trial before the Star-Chamber-a trial which was followed by an immediate conviction. The poor girl finding herself at this conclusion, after seven years of vanity, in which she had played with popes and queens, and princesses and archbishops, now, when the dream was thus rudely broken, in the revulsion of feeling could see nothing in herself but a convicted impostor. Much as we may condemn, we can hardly refuse to pity her. The misfortunes of her sickness had exposed her to temptations far beyond the strength of an ordinary woman; and the guilt which she passionately took upon herself, rested far more truly with the knavery of the Christ Church monks and the incredible folly of Archbishop Warham. But the times were too stern to admit of nice distinctions. No immediate sentence was pronounced; but it was thought desirable, for the satisfaction of the people, that a confession should be made in public by the nun and her companions. The Sunday following their trial, they were accordingly placed on a raised platform at Paul's Cross, by the side of the pulpit, and when the sermon was over, they one by one delivered their bills' or confessions to the preacher, which by him were read to the assembled crowd. The nun's statement ran as follows: 'I, Dame Elizabeth Barton, do confess that I, most miserable and wretched person, have been the original of all this mischief, and by my falsehood I have deceived all these persons (the monks who were her accomplices), and many more; whereby I have most grievously offended Almighty God, and my most noble sovereign the king's grace. Wherefore, I humbly, and with heart most sorrowful, desire you to pray to Almighty God for my miserable sins, and make supplication for me to my sovereign for his gracious mercy and pardon.' After this acknowledgment, the prisoners were remanded to the Tower, and their ultimate fate reserved for the consideration of parliament, which was to meet about the middle of the ensuing month of January. When parliament assembled, the memorable act was passed (25 Henry VIII., c. 21) declaring the abolition of the papal authority in England; accompanied, however, by a declaration that in separating from the pope the kingdom was not separating from the unity of the faith. This arduous business finished, the case of the Nun of Kent and her accomplices was proceeded with. Their offence being plainly high treason, and their own confessions removing all uncertainty about their guilt, the sentence which followed was inevitable. The bill of attainder was most explicit in its details, going carefully through the history of the imposture, and dwelling on the separate acts of each offender. On the 21st of March, after being deliberately considered by both Houses, it received the royal assent, and remained only to be carried into execution. The nun herself, Richard Masters, and the five friars, being found guilty of high treason, were to die; the Bishop of Rochester, Father Abel, Queen Catherine's confessor, and four more, were sentenced for misprision of treason to forfeiture of goods and imprisonment. All other persons implicated, whose names did not appear, were declared pardoned at the intercession of Queen Anne. The chief offenders suffered at Tyburn on the 21st of April 1534, meeting death calmly, as we are told; receiving a fate most necessary and most deserved, yet claiming from us that partial respect which is due to all persons who will risk their lives in an unselfish cause. For the nun herself, we may feel even a less qualified regret. Before her death, she was permitted to speak a few words to the people, which at the distance of three centuries will scarcely be read without emotion: 'Hither am I come to die,' she said; 'and I have not been the only cause of mine own death, which most justly I have deserved, but also I am the cause of the death of all these persons which at this time here suffer. And yet I am not so much to be blamed, considering that it was well known unto these learned men that I was a poor wench without learning, and therefore they might have easily perceived that the things which were done by me could not proceed in no such sort; but their capacities and learning could right well judge that they were altogether feigned. But because the things which I feigned were profitable unto them, therefore they much praised me, and bare me in hand that it was the Holy Ghost and not I that did them. And I being puffed up with their praises, fell into a pride and foolish fantasye with myself, and thought I might feign what I would, which thing hath brought me to this case, and for the which I now cry God and the king's highness most heartily mercy, and desire all you good people to pray to God to have mercy on me, and on all them that here suffer with me.' And so ended, very tragically, a singular delusion and imposture; ended in the only way it could end, inasmuch as it was not successful, which, had it been, the kingdom must have been shaken with prolonged turmoil and misery, and the great event which is called 'the Reformation' might have been indefinitely postponed.* KIRKE WEBBE, THE PRIVATEER CAPTAIN. THE gloomy night-hours which, as they crept slowly of terror that I had for a time cast behind me, did away, brought again into distinctness shadowy images anything but weaken or allay the savage irritation which possessed me; and so insupportable did suspense at length become, that long before the first rays of the gray cold dawn looked in through the one, grudgingly admitted to the cell, I once more sprang high-up, strongly barred aperture by which light was got him partially awake. By dint of determined imout of bed and shook the snoring shoemaker till I portunity, I elicited a confused, fragmentary_account with which I was the more content, that the masterof all that to his knowledge had passed at Honfleur, fear his half-told story had evoked, was, I clearly ascertained, without foundation. * The details of this story are derived from state-papers and manuscripts preserved in the Rolls House collection, and are here condensed and pieced together into a continuous narrative from Mr Froude's History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the adopted, as, in following him, it would have been sheer affectation Death of Elizabeth. Mr Froude's language has been in great part to try to relate the story in different words. I am admonished by a glance at the crowded incidents of the next four-and-twenty hours, and the rapidly narrowing space into which they must be compressed, to give the remainder of Sicard's prolix, disjointed story in my own words: I do so, at the same time helping out the halting narrative with information subsequently obtained. Captain Webbe was apprised by a note from Madame Dupré, left for him at Les Trois Rois, mentioning that Madame Broussard and daughter were already in Honfleur, but, to the best of the writer's belief, were not aware that Miss Wilson and herself had arrived. Madame Dupré had also learned through a chattering servant at her lodgings in the Rue du Marché, who was well acquainted with the people at the Toison d'Or, that Madame Broussard, calling herself Madame de Bonneville, had been followed from St Malo by a fiery-tempered young man, who had made quite a scene at the hotel, and loudly accused the lady, in the hearing of several persons, of being a confederate with the 'scélérat Webbe'- -a phrase which he had twenty times repeated. Madame Dupré added, that the wench's garrulous gossip had given rise to vague feelings of alarm and distrust in Miss Wilson's mind, which, if not set at rest, would, to say the least, cause the postponement of her marriage with Mr Harry Webbe. A glimpse of Sicard as he passed a window of Les Trois Rois, not only shewed Webbe the fiery-tempered young man that had made a scene at the hotel, but suggested to his fertile ingenuity a ready means of dissipating Maria Wilson's suspicions; a result which the impressionable, enthusiastic bootmaker, after being thoroughly crammed with instructions, cautions, and promises, completely achieved. All essential preliminaries being arranged soon after noon, it was finally settled that the wedding should take place at the French Protestant chapel at seven in the evening of that same day. The bride and bridegroom being British subjects as well as Protestants, the civil, which should have preceded the sacerdotal ceremony, and would have required certain formalities to be previously complied with, was not deemed to be essential by the officiating minister; and Webbe kept of course whatever doubts he might have felt upon the subject to himself. Madame Dupré and Miss Wilson would be perfectly satisfied with an ecclesiastical marriage, and should the civil ceremony be thereafter found essential to its validity, it could at any time be gone through with; his son, meanwhile the only important point-being de facto the young lady's husband. Arrangements were made for the immediate departure of the newly wedded pair; and before sundown on the morrow they would, it was expected, be safely landed, L'Espiègle aiding, in Jersey, safe out of adverse fortune's reach. Ten minutes previous to the appointed hour, Harry Webbe and Jacques Sicard left Les Trois Rois, and Madame Dupré and Maria Wilson their lodgings in the Rue du Marché in close carriages, arriving at the Calvinist chapel at nearly the same time. The minister was in attendance; and the trembling bride, clinging to rather than leaning upon Madame Dupré for support, advanced with the bridegroom and Maître Sicard, who was to give the bride away, towards the altar. Meanwhile, the carriage had no sooner driven off from Les Trois Rois, than Captain Webbe sallied forth in the direction of Le Toison d'Or, for the purpose of announcing his vexatiously delayed arrival to his good friend Madame de Bonneville, and especially to keep, in nautical phrase, that dangerous lady well in tow, till Mr and Mrs Harry Webbe had left Honfleur many leagues behind them. The privateer captain's star was not that evening in the ascendant. Madame was out; mademoiselle confined to her chamber with nervous headache; and Fanchette herself in a state of semi-distraction. Her mistress was, she feared, in the custody of justice as a presumedly fraudulent bankrupt, a rigour which the sudden closing of the establishment at St Malo, and her flight therefrom, would no doubt justify. To Webbe's impatient queries as to the grounds of her apprehensions, Fanchette replied that since about noon, madame had been in a state of wild excitement, going in and out as if crazed with rage or terror; that about an hour before Captain Webbe called, several gendarmes had come to the hotel, and demanded to speak with Madame de Bonneville, who, after a brief private parley, left the house with them, and had not since returned. Webbe's explosive malediction indicated a truer interpretation of Madame de Bonneville's furious excitement, and her departure in company with the gendarmes, than Fanchette's. It had, in fact, come to her knowledge that Sicard had arranged with the French Protestant minister to celebrate the marriage of a youthful Englishman and woman, who, she doubted not, were young Webbe and Maria Wilson; although, so cleverly had Sicard managed, she was unable to discover the whereabout either of her ward or the captain's son. Thoroughly determined not to be foiled, she had at last, with much reluctance, placed herself in communication with the authorities of Honfleur; and the visit of the gendarmes, whom Mr Tyler had caused to be despatched in hot haste from Havre, was the consequence. Without further acknowledgment of Fanchette's frank communication than the before-mentioned comprehensive execration of human kind in general, and Madame de Bonneville in particular, the privateer captain hurriedly left the hotel. Not a minute too soon either. The marriage-ceremony had been interrupted almost at the commencement, and Harry Webbe torn from his fainting bride by the rude hands of gendarmes, and marched off to prison; Madame de Bonneville remaining but a few minutes behind, to discharge a torrent of bitter reproaches at the insensible girl and Madame Dupré; which duty accomplished, she seized Sicard by the arm, and marched with him out of the chapel; greatly to that gentleman's mystification and astonishment, he hardly knowing whether he was taken into the custody or into the renewed good graces of his formidable relative. Into her renewed good graces he had, after a few minutes, no manner of doubt, until an hour or more having elapsed, he found himself at his auberge lodgings, reckoning up recent occurrences, and by the brainclearing illumination of a quiet pipe, perceived, to his extreme disgust, that although he had not been permitted a word with or a glimpse of Mademoiselle Clémence, he had been pumped dry of every particular known to him concerning Webbe, concerning me, William Linwood, and my whereabout, which the wily woman was desirous of ascertaining. That information determined her to prevent at all hazards my escape to England with the proofs of her crime in my possession. A primâ facie case to sustain an accusation of robbery was easily made out; and Jacques Sicard was recklessly included therein, when, on the morrow, the desperate woman heard that he had suddenly set out for Havre, after a stolen interview with Clémence. Active search, untiringly urged by the two officers who were maltreated in the mêlée at La Belle Poule, was made for M. Baptiste, but without the slightest gleam of success; and the gendarmes were fain to content themselves with the recapture of Webbe the younger. The morning found me still anxiously, not to say despondently considering the chances of the future; a debate which was before long joined in, though not much enlightened by Maître Sicard. After breakfast, we adjourned to the quadrangle, which served for a that white flag, studded with golden fleur de lis, waving and glittering in the morning sunlight; and I was half-unconsciously whistling the first bars of the old royalist air of Vive Henri Quatre, when I was politely invited by my friend the sergent de ville to return to my cell. common exercise-ground. Harry Webbe was not with the prisoners there, amongst whom we soon noticed a certain agitation of a hopefully expectant, if not positively exultant kind, presently explained to arise from a generally entertained conviction that the last hour of the empire had at length struck-a consumImation which suggested a more or less well-founded My mother awaited me there; and her joyous hope that the restoration would signalise its advent to aspect-joy-heightened by preceding grief and tears power by an act of clemency that would reach many-confirmed my mounting spirits. The streets, she of the inmates of that abode of crime and suffering. said, were full of gaily dressed folk, making holiday In proof of the correctness of the general belief, a of the assured downfall of the imperial régime; and large white flag, 'le pavillon sans tâche,' as legitimists white cockades, it was said, were in the pockets of nine loved to call it, which flew out from the summit of out of ten of the fickle populace; though, from dread the tower of St Thomas's Church at Ingouville, of General Véray and his exasperated soldiers, not as was pointed to. yet openly displayed. 'Drapeau de Capucin!' growled one of the jail officers-most of whom were old soldiers-as he passed us, and noticed the object we were gazing at, 'may be welcomed by Capuchins; but the flag of France still waves over the ramparts and the Hôtel de Ville, and will continue to wave over them for a long time to come yet, traitors and cowards notwithstanding.' It is well known, I may be here permitted to remind the reader, that the soldiery of France refused to believe, even when disbelief seemed impossible, in the final defeat of the empire-a sad illustration of which feeling was the battle of Toulouse, fought by Marshal Soult after he had been formally, though not officially, apprised of his fallen master's abdication. General Véray, a Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour, and military commandant at Havre, was well known to be as stubbornly sceptical upon that point as the marshal, and sternly resolved, moreover, to guard the trust confided to him by Napoleon till la force majeure wrenched the sword of authority from his grasp. It thus happened, that whilst everybody in Havre, himself included, well knew that the French senate had solemnly proclaimed the new government, General Véray remained only the more fanatically resolved than ever to act as if Louis XVIII. was still a proscribed exile, and the soil of France unprofaned by the footstep of a single hostile soldier. It was this, I knew, which excited the fears of Father Meudon. Still, the passionate declaration of the prison official did not seem to me to confirm the good man's fears. The clergy of St Thomas, I must have mentally argued, would not have hoisted the Bourbon banner unless perfectly assured of impunity; and the blessed consequences to myself and mine of the change of dynasty, and all which that change involved, so lifted me, that I sprang forward with a joyous shout to greet poor Harry Webbe, who at that moment dismally emerged into the yard. In such a state of nervous terror was he, that he staggered back with a faint cry of alarm, not immediately recognising me, or at least not my purpose in so boisterously accosting him. Recovering himself, he held out his cold shaking hand, and with a sickly smile returned my greeting. I told him of the great news, but it failed to excite a throb of hope in his fear-palsied heart; and when, taking him aside, I explained to him, as Father Meudon had to me, that his breach of parole would not, if he were brought to trial before the Bonapartist authorities, be visited upon him capitally, or even with severity, except to punish him for the death of Le Moine and his supposed subsequent entry into France as a Bourbon spy; the falsity of which charge he could, if necessary, demonstrate, without destroying or jeopardising me, by simply appealing to the testimony of Auguste Le Moine himself for its disproof-he turned sadly, impatiently away; and I plainly saw that to trust in his firmness or manly feeling, in the trying ordeal to which he might, after all, be subjected, was in very truth to lean upon a broken reed. All the more welcome, therefore, was the sight of "This at length accomplished revolution in French state-affairs,' said my mother, not only assures your safety, but that of Henry Webbe; which, as my indiscretion led to his recapture, I am most heartily glad of. It was only,' she added, ‘in the first moments of bewildering surprise caused by the intelligence of your arrest that your father and I were disquieted by the accusation of robbery-a charge which of course you know from the prison authorities has been already formally withdrawn.' 'Indeed, I know nothing of the kind.' 'There is no doubt, at all events, of the fact. We had it,' said my mother, looking furtively around, and sinking her voice to a whisper, 'from Captain Webbe himself, who called on us soon after it was light this morning.' 'From Captain Webbe himself! You astonish me.' 'You can't, my dear boy, be more astonished than we were to find that "le bon campagnard, Pierre Bonjean, from the neighbourhood of La Heve, called to inquire after the young monsieur whose life he had the honour to assist in saving," was ubiquitous, indomitable Kirke Webbe! Kind, excellent Father Meudon came in whilst we were talking together, and Webbe, with that instinctive sagacity which never misses a favourable chance, instantly avowed himself to be the notorious Captain Webbe, of the late Scout privateer; and having thus thrown himself upon the reverend father's honour, so improved his opportunity, that they left our house together, in furtherance of some plan to render Harry Webbe's deliverance doubly sure." The sergent de ville entered to say that the ten minutes granted to madame, without the usual previous reference to superior authority, were expired, and that it was absolutely necessary she should go forthwith. 'Cannot my son leave this dreadful place with me?' she asked; 'the charge upon which he was apprehended being, as you must be aware, formally withdrawn.' 'It is true, madame,' replied the officer, 'that the charge of robbery has been withdrawn; but-but'the man, I noticed, avoided my mother's eye-but there are certain formalities to be observed which will at least delay monsieur's deliverance.' My mother's glance rested for a moment disquietedly upon the man's partly averted face, and then resolutely putting away, as it were, the vaguely uneasy feeling excited by his manner, she embraced me, and withdrew; remarking that Father Meudon would see me shortly, and by that time she hoped the formalities spoken of would have been complied with. It was about half an hour afterwards when M. Meudon entered the cell, and startled me by his strange air and manner; and the more so, that he evidently strove to appear cheerful and unconcerned. It would not do. The expression of bonhomie habitual with him had vanished, and been replaced by the palely gleaming lustre which the soul, in presence of a great catastrophe or a mighty deed-the light of battle, for instance, seen on the charging soldier's face-seldom fails to impress upon the most common-place features. His greeting, too, was confused and awkward. Seating himself upon Sicard's bed, he first mechanically offered me his unopened tabatière, and immediately returned it to his pocket, without observing that I had no opportunity of helping myself to a pinch, if so inclined: next, as hastily drawing forth two letters, he gave me one, saying: 'It is sent to you by Le Capitaine Webbe. This is for his son. I will deliver it whilst you are reading your own; and return almost immediately.' This was Webbe's note: 'MY DEAR LINWOOD-"Finis coronat opus." I think that was how we used to write it when I sported yellow stockings, and the o'erarching heavens shone, and dripped, at their sweet will, upon my hatless head: yes, Finis coronat opus, freely rendered by it's the last deal and the last broadside which wins the rubber and the battle. Quite true; and it affords me much pleasure to inform you that the final, crowning stroke of our long tussle with the Féron has been the formal, explicit withdrawal of the charge of "vol avec effraction" preferred against you and the bootmaker; she having lodged in the greffier's office at Honfleur, a circumstantial declaration upon oath, that the articles she missed, and believed you to have stolen, have since been found: it would have been absurd, you will admit, for Captain Webbe and the Féron to have fought à l'outrance till, like the Kilkenny cats, they had mutually devoured each other; and the final result is, that my son, whom the Restoration, and not one hour too soon, gives back to life and love-a handsome present you will acknowledge, if he be not exactly Achilles redivivus-will yet espouse Maria Wilson; and Monsieur le Bottier de Paris même may, for any opposition on the part of Madame de Bonneville, raise Miss Lucy Hamblin to the dignity of Madame Sicard. Further, and to you the most interesting item of all, Madame de Bonneville, née Louise Féron, will make a frank circumstantial avowal of the fact and manner of the abduction of Mrs Waller's child; upon the reasonable condition of being guaranteed against a criminal prosecution. Thus then terminates with a flourish of trumpets our tragi-comedy, the green curtain ringing down upon-The Recovery of the Lost One; A Wedding-two possibly; and an uproarious tag, of "Long life to Captain Webbe, and may he live till he dies an admiral"—an aspiration which certainly beats the oriental compliment, May he live a thousand years," into fits.' And I am quite sure, my dear Linwood, that you will not wantonly jeopardise so every way satisfactory a solution of the difficulties in which those dear to you have been so long involved, by any premature boyish boast of your volunteered part in an affair, the real hero of which, but for the fortunate Napoleon-catastrophe, would, there can be little question, have been despatched, before he was many hours older, with military honours, to paradise. Yours more sincerely than you believe, K. W.' I had scarcely finished reading this curious epistle when Father Meudon reappeared, looking as painfully pre-occupied as before. "This letter,' said I, 'from Le Capitaine Webbe is written in more hopeful characters than those which I imperfectly read upon that ominous brow of yours, Father Meudon.' Since that letter was written,' he replied, 'I have met with Monsieur Tyler, and gathered from the outpourings of his unchristian rage that the vieux tête de fer, General Véray, is resolved to avenge the death of his friend, Le Moine, upon the young Englishman who broke his parole, should that deed of blood be the last exercise of his authority. I come,' added Father Meudon, 'from your mother whom the general's vindictive fury chiefly threatens, and I must not lose one precious moment in seeking to shield you from so cruel, so untimely a doom.' 'Surely,' I exclaimed bewilderedly-' surely the general, tête de fer as he may be, will not dare to display his Bonapartist feelings by a murder-for a murder it would be-in the face of a government that will hold him responsible for the atrocious deed?' 'Let us not, my young friend, deceive ourselves,' said the reverend father. The sentence which may doom both you and your young countryman in the next cell to a bloody death, would not be an illegal-at all events, not a grossly illegal one. More than that, the new government has vital need of the support of the military chieftains, who have won so much glory for France, so much renown and power for themselves; and you may be sure that much less legally justifiable deeds than the putting to death, by sentence of courtmartial, of two Englishmen-one who had broken his military parole, the other a traitorous spy, it would be said-would not subject one of those celebrities to so much as a reprimand. General Véray has, be assured, no responsibility to fear. Still, do not be too much cast down. My military friend, Colonel Durand, has influence with the general; and I must invoke his good offices without further delay. Farewell. God bless you.' He left me stunned, struggling as it were to break through a horrible dream-hardly the less horrible that I felt it to be a dream-a fantasy as far as it concerned myself; the instinctive, unreasoning conviction of my own ultimate deliverance, before spoken of, not having been sensibly shaken by M. Meudon's revelation. Of Harry Webbe's doom, on the other hand, I felt an equally unreasoning presentiment-a doom which, it would be said, I had largely, my mother in a less degree, helped to bring upon himand impelled by that strong unreasoning presentiment, I hastened-the cell-doors being left open during several hours of the day to afford the prisoners access to the yard-as soon as I had sufficiently rallied my faculties, to warn and advise with the unfortunate young man. We had, I found, exchanged characters, or at least moods of mind and temper. He was now as cock-ahoop as not long before downcast and despairing. His father's letter, conveyed to him by M. Meudon, had wrought that change, confidently assuring him, as it did, that a brief interval only would elapse before he was liberated. 'Colonel Durand,' said he, 'who is well known for his "legitimate" leanings, will, my father tells me, supersede General Véray in the command here before we are many hours older. All shadow of peril will then have passed away, and I shall be free to immediately consummate the-the He checked the ebullition of his jubilant thoughts, and looked away, as if half afraid that I should observe, perhaps resent, the triumphant, almost insolent radiancy which lit up his handsome countenance. 'Free to consummate what?' I sharply asked. 'To consummate a blessed purpose, Linwood '-he had sufficiently subdued himself to calmly reply—' the accomplishment of which I shall mainly owe to your chivalrous generosity-my marriage, namely, with Maria Wilson.' 'Indeed! There has, however, been already one slip between your lip and that cup, and there may be another.' "There is no fear, my dear Linwood. To-morrow, or possibly to-day-who knows!—I shall be the happiest of men; thanks to you in a great degree. Let me add, whilst I think of it,' he went on to say, 'that after calmly thinking over the suggestion you made this morning, as to the course of conduct I was bound for your sake to pursue, in the event of a court-martial taking place-of which there is now, thank God, no fear-I fully resolved, come what come may, never to divulge that Le Moine fell by your hand.' |