Poor Jessy! it would have been better she had married Hinton than ran off with no one knows who; indeed, Agnes, you were wrong in sending her from us; but troubles never come alone-the last frost has got into the pinery, and Mrs. Cecil Wallingford says it's my fault: that proud lady must alter her tone, or she 'll get served out like her neighbours ways of bringing fine people down-Mr. Flyhill's barns and kennel were burned last night."

there are

"What awful times!" ejaculated Agnes; "but I know you better, Edward, than to believe you would ever approve of such dreadful doings; you know your duty to your God, your country, and your neighbour; and nothing, I am sure, would ever induce you to act contrary to it. But as to Hinton, I believe he is engaged in these horrid acts nay, Ed ward, you cannot deceive me, I have combated your extraordinary infatuation in his favour by every means in my poor power-you will not hear me, Edward; you are deaf and blind as regards that evil man; and nothing now is left for me, but to weep and pray in solitude and silence- to pray for you, my own dear and beloved husband, that God may lead you to see the error of your ways, and conduct you again into the right path!"

Edward kissed her brow, as it rested on her hands, in silence, and almost with the love of by-gone days. That religion which he had once considered her brightest ornament, he now called "the weak point of her character," and thought he was doing what was very praiseworthy in bearing with it so quietly. He immediately wrote to some friends in Scotland, about Jessy, and applied to the nearest magistrate to know what means it would be necessary to adopt to trace out the lost and unfortunate girl. Hinton protested he knew nothing of the matter -swore by all that was sacred he had never heard from her since she left the Mosspits-but failed in convincing Agnes of the truth of one word he uttered.

"You have studied the character of St. Thomas, at all events," said her husband, in a sneering tone, "and taken a lesson in unbelief."

"If I could find out what it is that Hinton believes in, and he would swear by it, then I might believe him," replied Agnes, mildly.

Day after day, week after week, passed, and no tidings came of the lost Jessy. Much did Agnes wish that the wandering girl, whose mysterious prophecy seemed-rapidly fulfilling, would again flit across her path; and often did she watch the highway, hoping yet dreading that the tattered cloak and light form of the strange being might issue from it toward Mosspits. Although Edward was more and more estranged from his home, he thought it necessary to apologize occasionally to Agnes for his absence: ill at ease with himself, he could not be expected to be kind toward others; and she felt how very bitter it is to be obliged to take the cold leaden coin of civility, in lieu of the pure and glowing gold of warm affection. It is utterly impossible to describe how the alteration in a cherished and beloved object affects her who loves more fondly and fervently, after years of union, than she did when, like the most admirable of Shakspeare's heroines, she bestowed herself at the holy altar to the one being almost of her idolatry, wishing

"That only to stand high on his account,

She might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account."

How quickly does the ear note if the voice be not as tender as in former days! To father-mother-friends-all may seem unchanged; but the wife, who has dwelt upon every look who knows, as it were, even the number of rays which that beloved eye throws forth painfully sees and feels the difference. The words, perchance, may be as kind; but their tone is altered. What boots it to her if the universe views her with admiration - if the

wealth of nations be piled at her feet! He is changed! That consciousness is the sword which, hanging by a single hair, threatens, sooner or later, her destruction, and prevents her enjoying any earthly happiness or repose. Not only Edward, however, but circumstances, were also altering at the Mosspits. The disturbed state of the country made each person suspicious of the other; and, as the winter advanced, so did distress progress. In the neighbouring districts workmen of all trades had refused to take employment without increased wages: not a night passed but cattle were destroyed, or out-houses, and in some instances dwellings, burned to the ground. Landlords knew not which of their tenants to confide in; and the misery was increased by soldiers being frequently distributed and stationed where the people absolutely lacked the means of supporting themselves. It was pretty generally rumoured that Hinton was concerned in these transactions, though no one exactly knew how. He was the principal leader of a debating-society in Mondrich, which had the misfortune to attract the attention of the magistrate, who sought to put it down perhaps by measures that might have been called violent. Be that as it may, he succeeded; and it formed a most desirable theme for the disaffected to dwell upon. Hoskins grumbled incessantly at the magistrate's "illegal" proceedings; and Agnes combated his arguments, or rather his opinions, in vain. Christmas, that trysting-time which generally brings an interchange of kindness and social feeling among all classes of society, had come; and a little episode, that occurred at Mosspits, will at once show the state of feeling of both husband and wife. They had been in the habit of exchanging presents, during preceding years, on Christmas day, each anxious to surprise the other with some more peculiar gift. Christmas eve, Edward did not return until the village clock had chimed eleven, and then he went sullenly to bed, without heeding the little preparations that Agnes was making for the approaching festival. She was alone; for, finding that her husband's habits prevented him from bringing home the produce of his earnings, she had wisely parted with her little servant, considering it was better to labour with her own hands than to incur debt. And," said she meekly, when communing with her own thoughts, "if he will be extravagant, the more necessity is there for my being economical."

"

Hoskins was awakened the next morning by the sweet kisses of his boy, while his wife, leaning over his bedside, prayed that he might enjoy many happy returns of that holyday.

"Say we, Agnes," interrupted Edward, "say we. God knows, whatever happiness I enjoy, you ought to share; for I make you miserable enough at times. Will you forgive me?"

The words were spoken in the tone that Agnes so loved, and, unable to sustain her feelings, she flung herself upon her husband's bosom, and burst into tears.

When Edward, dressed in his best suit, was] preparing to go to the Manor, his wife laid her hand on his arm, and, encouraged by his kindness, in the gentlest manner requested him to read one, only one, chapter to her, before he went out it would not take him five minutes. He complied with a tolerable grace; and, when he finished, she took a small heart-shaped brooch from her bosom, and, telling him that it contained their child's hair, fastened it in his shirt.

"You did not forget, Agnes, though I did," said he; "ut I will bring you something from Mondrich, where I must go after Í' the Manor; and I will be back to dinner at two, and remain with yo ne evening." Edward returned at the appointed time, but a cloud was on his brow; he hardly partook of the dinner she had prepared, and had forgotten the customary token. As the evening was closing over a cold and snowy landscape, 66 Agnes,” he said, "I must go: I thought I could have spent

all this day with you, but something has occurred which must prevent it. I will, however, return early, and do more justice to your excellent cheer at supper, than I have been able to do at dinner.

Never had his wife felt it so difficult to part from him. She requested, entreated; and for a long time his child clasped its hands round his neck, and hung by his knees even as he approached the door. His departing footsteps smote heavily on the heart of the affectionate Agnes, and, as the last echo died upon her ear, she wept.

When eight o'clock came she looked from the window; but the fog was so intense that she could see nothing save the fantastic boughs of the old oak, looking more like deepened shadows of darkness than separate or distinct objects. The song and cheerful laugh rang from two of the neighbouring cottages; and at a third there was an assembly of dancing rustics. Agnes thought it was the first time the happiness of others had increased her misery, and she blamed herself for the selfish feeling. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve! - Christmas day had ended, the revellers had sought their homes, and no sound was heard save the rushing of the storm amid the branches, whose outlines were now lost in midnight obscurity. It would seem that the ancient of days sturdily withstood the tempest, and groaned heavily from the exertion; the old rooks, who had made it their habitation for ages, cawed their complainings whenever the sweeping of the mighty blast passed on, as if to remonstrate with the mysterious power that disturbed their repose. She stood at the little window, and pressed her forehead against the glass, that its coolness might be imparted to her burning brow. Suddenly she thought she perceived streaks of light, or rather (so deeply coloured were they) of flame, intersecting the darkness, and gradually illuminating the distant sky.

Before she had time to draw any conclusion from so singular an appearance, she started back with horror on observing, so close that she almost fancied it touched her cheek, a thin, shadowy hand, with the forefinger curved, as if beckoning her forward. Despite her self-possession, she trembled violently, and could hardly prevent herself from shrieking aloud, when she saw distinctly a white ghastly face pressed to the glass that separated her from this untimely visiter. A sort of hissing and exulting whisper now came upon her ear. "Don't you know me, Agnes Hoskins?

don't you remember Lady Jane? Come, come with me, and see how bright the Manor is this gay Christmas night!" A horrid suspicion —too horrid to be entertained-flashed across her mind, as Agnes undid the door; and, before the half-crazed girl entered, she had sunk upon a chair, and with difficulty retained her seat. For a few moments she could not think; and the half-maniac, with that feeling of sympathy which rarely deserts a woman, looked mournfully into her face. At length her eye rested on a flagon of elderberry wine that stood upon the table with the untasted supper; she poured out a large glass of it, and, curtseying with mock solemnity to the trembling Agnes, said, before she drank it off, "Health to you, my lady, and a merry Christmas! -a cellar full, a byre full, and plenty of fagots! See, see! they blaze- they blaze!" she continued, pointing to the sky, that was reddening higher and higher. "Come with me, and I'll tell you as we go how that will be the last fire Harry will light for many a day! He must have other darlings, indeed! but now he can have only me, for none of his dainty dames will follow bim into strange lands-none but poor Jane! The police have him by this time, and Hoskins too; so you'd better go and bring them all home to supper!"

"Woman!" exclaimed Agnes, springing as in mortal agony from her chair, "what do you say?-Hoskins- my Edward my husband- there - at the burning of Wallingford Manor !" She seized the girl fiercely by

the arm, but suddenly her grasp relaxed, and she fell stiff and cold to the earth. How long she remained there she was perfectly unconscious; but, when she recovered, her frame felt paralyzed, theair was bitter and piercing, the light was extinguished, and all around was utterly, utterly desolate. it was some time ere she was restored to the recollection of what she had heard, and it was still longer before she recovered sufficiently to be able to move, or settle upon any plan of action. The very ticking of the clock that gentle, domestic sound-struck heavily and painfully upon her brain; and, when it gave warning that another hour had passed into eternity, she could hardly believe the sense was correct which counted four. She endeavoured to compose her mind by supplication, and the Lord's Prayer occurred to her at once. She repeated the words, until she arrived at the sentence "Deliver us from evil," when the full consciousness of the evil that was suspended over their devoted heads prevented her finishing the holy and beautiful intercession. She arose from her knees, and groped about until she procured a light. She then endeavoured to arrange her plans. Her very soul recoiled from the dreadful idea that Hoskins had anything to do at the burning which had but a little while past streaked the everlasting sky with tokens of the wickedness of man. The heavens were still as intensely black as when first she had pressed her burning brow against the small panes of the cottage-window, and looked earnestly and hopefully for him with whom her heart perpetually dwelt.

While she paused, and paused, she heard the sound of distant voices footsteps approached-not her husband's. Her breath came short and thick, and, instead of passing from between her unclosed lips, seemed to incrust itself upon her tongue, and forbid the power of utterance. Men strangers, entered; one she had seen — - known- the sergeant of police. He respectfully removed his hat, "hoped that Mrs. Hoskins would forgive him for doing his duty." If salvation had depended on it, she could not speak; but she looked into his face with so despairing, so imploring a gaze, that the man turned from her, with more emotion than could be expected from one who had often witnessed distress in so many forms. When at last she was enabled to ask a few questions, the answers she received confirmed her worst fears. "The out-offices of Wallingford Manor had been set on fire; Hoskins, Hinton, and a pedler of the name of Paul Dodder, had been found on the spot; and," added the man, "the Manor itself must have taken fire had we not received intimation immediately after it was kindled-long before there was any appearance to indicate such rapid destruction."

The party then proceeded to search the cottage, but found nothing which they considered necessary to remove. "Matters may turn out better than you think for," said the man kindly. "Can I take any message to your husband? it may comfort him, for he seemed sadly put out stupified like."

--

"I will go! -no- my child-I will-I must wait till morning! Tell my blessing-and I will be with him to-morrow. I shall find him, suppose, in the jail, she would have said, but could not utter the hate

him

ful word.

The man understood her, and replied "Yes," the monosyllable of hope, but, in this instance, the herald of despair. They then departed, and went to Hinton's dwelling, where they remained much longer. The sergeant, with real good feeling, knocked at the door of a respectable resident at Mosspits, who he knew was esteemed by Agnes-told her the circumstances -and the woman needed no farther intimation to hasten to one whom she both loved and respected.

When she entered the cottage, Agnes was weeping bitterly over her unconscious boy, who, despite her loud sobbings, slept as calmly as if the very

breath of happiness had hushed his slumbers. She extended her hand to Mrs. Lee, and said, in broken and hardly audible tones, "They will point at that innocent child when we are both dead, and call him, in bitter mockery, the orphan of the house-burner! And who has brought this bitterness upon us? Pray for me, Mrs. Lee, pray for me! I cannot pray for myself now! Oh, that God in his mercy had left us childless, and then I might have borne it! Wicked that I am! Will he not be, perhaps, the only thing on earth left me to love, when-when--" She pressed her hands firmly on her temples, and her friend almost feared that the violence of her grief would destroy her reason. The feelings that had long been pent up within her own bosom had at last vented themselves both in words and tears, and before nine o'clock she had apparently regained much of her usual serenity. She dressed her child, who added unconsciously to her misery by perpetually inquiring for "papa," and placing a cup and chair for him before the untasted breakfast. She then summoned resolution to change her dress; and, tying a cottage-bonnet closely over her face, proceeded with a sorrowing heart towards Mondrich.

Mrs. Lee kindly took charge of the little boy; and, to do justice to the inhabitants of the cottages, not one but saluted her kindly and respectfully as she passed.

"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Lee, "she has borne a great deal lately; she looks now ten years older than she did this time twelvemonth."

"I am truly sorry for her," responded Miss Nancy Carter, famous for clear-starching and scandal, who had come on purpose to Mosspits to find out, as she expressed it, "the truth of every thing." "I'm truly sorry for her; but she always carried her head very high, as if she were better than a servant, forsooth! I'm very sorry for her, for all that!"

"So you ought to be, Miss Nancy, for she sent you plenty of blackcurrant jelly when you had a sore throat, last winter," observed Mrs. Lee.

"Do you think poor Hoskins will get off with transportation?" persisted Nancy.

"I could never think him guilty of setting fire to Wallingford Manor, for one," replied the kind-hearted Mrs. Lee. He was on the spot, I suppose, or they could not have taken him there; but I am certain it was to save, not to destroy."

"Well, time will tell," said the gossip, who finding that Mrs. Lee was charitably given, thought she would seek some "kindred soul" with which to communicate: "Time will tell; only what did he want with the seven fire-brands, tied in red tape, a cask of powder, and three mould candles? You may smile if you please, Mrs. Lee, but it's true, every word of it! Three mould candles, with the ends scorched, and a quarter of a pound of wax-ends! I had it from the very best authority, for I'd scorn to say anything without a good foundation !" and off walked Miss Nancy Carter.

It would be impossible to describe the feelings with which Agnes entered that abode of misery called a county jail. Snow and ice had accumulated in a little court she had to cross, to such a degree that she could hardly extricate her feet from the humid mass. As the rusty key turned in its lock, she clung to the slimy walls for support; and, when the door was thrown open, she had scarcely power to crawl into the dismal cell where her husband was confined. Hoskins sat upon a low bed, which evidently had not been discomposed, his elbows resting upon his knees, and his face buried in his hands. Agnes could not speak, but she sat down by his side. and, passing her arm round his neck, endeavoured to draw his head so as to rest it on her bosom. He shrank from the touch, and a low and bitter groan was the only reply to her caresses.

"Keep a good heart, measter," said the jailer, "keep a good heart, and