tenance of Mary, and for a moment she gazed upon her father in silence, while she revolved in her own mind what answer to make. She was but too well convinced that any objections she could advance against the determined purpose of her father, governed as he was by Marchmont, would be wholly unavailing. Policy required, therefore, a seeming acquiescence in what they had already decided upon; and she signified to her parent that his wishes met with no opposition on her part. Gillmour was satisfied, and he hastened to communicate the agreeable intelligence to Marchmont ; and Mary hurried to her closet to write a note to Lamart. The two friends were now seen, arm in arm, strolling on the banks of the river. Lamart happening also to be walking there, met them; and this was the first time of his having a sight of Gillmour since the former came to the island. Gillmour was so deeply engaged in earnest discourse with Marchmont, that he passed without observing him. Lamart felt, however, that the risk which he had incurred of exposing himself, and thereby defeating the execution of his designs, was too great to be repeated, and he resolved to keep himself at his quarters as closely as possible. He had held frequent conversations with Marchmont, but he played the part of a blunt, reckless countryman so successfully, that he deceived that worthy gentleman into a belief that he had found in "Apsley" a very desirable acquisition to his gathering band. Yet, as if a vague suspicion flitted through his mind, Marchmont would at times put some abrupt question to his new recruit, for the secret but evident purpose of entrapping him; but Lamart, cool and self-possessed, was more than a match for the crafty fox. The next day was ushered in by a storm, which, towards evening, increased in violence. It was one of those November tempests, which strips the trees of their last remaining leaves, and which may be pronounced a fit herald of winter. This, however, did not cause the lover and his mistress and their trusty coadjutors to waver in their enterprise. The latter assured Lamart that they had crossed the river in a worse storm, and that there was very little or no danger attending it. It was in the early part of the evening; Blannerhasset and a number of his guests were seated before a large and cheerful fire, experiencing a heightened sense of comfort and security, while they listened to the storm without, that swept in violent gusts round the dwelling, and which at times rose into a deafening roar, and then sunk into a moan like the wail of some despairing spirit. Gillmour, however, was silent and moody; a tempest of conflicting emotions was raging in his bosom, that bore no unapt resemblance to the battling elements. The near approach of his daughter's marriage had recalled him to himself-feelings were suddenly awakened which hitherto had been stifled amid the exciting scenes in which he was embroiled. His daughter was to be wedded in the morning-and to whom? -a shudder crept over his frame. He could no longer conceal from himself that he had acted the part of a fool and a villain, and that with his own hands he had dug the grave of his child's happiness. An agonizing sense of remorse, like the gnawings of the undying worm, fastened upon his soul. Worlds would he have given to annul his compact with Marchmont, but it was too late he was bound hand and foot, and was powerless. Burr and Marchmont were a little apart from the rest of the company, and conversing in a low voice, almost sunk to a whisper, as if they wished not to be overheard. The subject of their conversation was Apsley, as Lamart must still be called. Marchmont said he could not divest himself of a suspicion that Apsley was a spy, whose object in coming among them was to watch their motions and gain intelligence of their secret designs; he had observed him the night previous in the garden, lurking under the windows, in a manner that indicated no friendly purpose; and, besides, he was a young man of far different mould from what his outward appearance seemed to proclaim him; he had eyed him closely, and seen through the mask he had assumed to disguise his hidden intentions. It was finally agreed that on the morrow, after the marriage ceremony, Marchmont should subject him to the test of a private but severe examination. Gillmour feeling himself utterly unable to join in the conversation of those around him, withdrew and repaired to the apartment of his daughter. He found her alone. She observed to her father, as he entered, that she had wished to see him a moment before she retired, and had been waiting for that purpose. She went up and kissed him, and in a faltering voice besought his blessing, as it was the last time they should meet alone before the event that was to commit her destiny to the care of another. Gillmour was entirely overcome and wept like a child, and to her astonishment solicited, in broken and unconnected sentences, her forgiveness. We will draw a veil over the distressing scene that followed between the father and daughter. At last, with a bursting heart and weeping bitterly, Mary sought her pillow-not to repose, for sleep was banished from her eye-lids during the whole of that eventful night. About midnight, four figures, one of them a female muffled to the eyes, were making their noiseless way towards the place where the boats were moored. They heeded not the storm, though it howled and hissed around them, and the rain fell in torrents. As they neared the place of embarkation, they were challenged by the sentinel placed at that point. One of the young men sprang forward and struck up the musket that was leveled at the advancing party, and then seized it, and bade the sentinel on his life to keep silence. This mandate he was not inclined to disobey, seeing that his opponents were well armed, and that there were three to one. A boat was launched and the two men sprang into it, while Lamart placed his precious charge in the stern. He had deposited his rifle in the boat, and was preparing to get in and seat himself beside Mary, when he was suddenly arrested by the strong arm of a man who had just hastened to the spot. In the hurry and confusion of the moment, the boat swung off from the shore, leaving Lamart struggling with the unwelcome intruder, while a wild and thrilling scream from the terrified girl rose above the whistlings of the storm. "Apsly, you are a villain," exclaimed Marchmont, fiercely, (for it was he,) while he attempted in vain to overpower the man who was his equal in muscular strength and agility. "Who are you?-what is the girl to you, in whose escape you are aiding?" "Madman," roared his antagonist," my name is Lamart!— do you know me now?-the implacable foe of a villain like yourself the sworn and covenanted enemy of a vile and detested traitor to his country, and the avenger of the wrongs of helpless innocence." "Now by all the fiends of perdition, you've sealed your doom-fool, I thank you for this avowal-let me have at ye, and glut my vengeance with your heart's blood," shouted Marchmont, in a paroxysm of fury, while he aimed a desperate thrust of his dagger at the breast of his opponent. Lamart turned aside the blow before it reached him, and quick as a lightning flash wrenched the weapon from the hand of his adversary, and then drew back his arm to nerve it with collected strength, to drive the fated knife deep into the heart of its owner. The other by a sudden movement avoided the deadly pass, but not without receiving the point of the dagger through the flesh of his arm, and before Lamart could repeat the thrust, he started back, and instantly drawing a pistol from his bosom, discharged it at his head. The ball grazed Lamart's temple and tore away the skin without doing any serious injury. "Death and fury, that I should have missed ye !" exclaimed Marchmont, in a voice hoarse from maddening passion. The strife between the combatants was now deadly and fearful, and both were covered with gore. In the midst of the struggle Lamart dropped his weapon, but despair gave him a giant's strength, and throwing his whole muscular force into one powerful effort, he hurled Marchmont from him with a power that sent him to the ground with stunning violence. No time was to be lost, as the alarm had been given, and numbers of persons were flying with tumultuous haste to the scene of action; and Lamart dashed into the furious element and gained the boat which was yet not far from the shore. The men applied themselves lustily to the oars, and the boat shot out into the river, and was almost instantly lost sight of in the darkness of the night. The report of Marchmont's pistol had been taken for the discharge of a musket, the signal agreed upon to assemble the people at any given point. A crowd was soon collected around the sentinel, who had been absolutely stupified by the scene just described, and among them came also Gillmour. In the midst of his exclamations à sudden blast swept over land and water, with the roar and fury of a tornado; and the crash of the falling branches of the forest trees rent asunder by its violence, mingled fearfully with the wild commotion of the elements: and then a shriek resembling the cry of mortal agony, that seemed to still the tempest, came up from the midst of the river. For a moment every person was silent in breathless suspense, each straining his ear to catch some sound that would inspire a hope that she in whom all felt an interest, was not buried beneath the angry waves. "It is all over," exclaimed one of them, "the boat has gone down with all on board." "My daughter! I have murdered her!" cried Gillmour, and he fell to the earth like one smitten by the Angel of Death. * * * About ten years after these events, I was journeying through the town of N. The same beauty of landscape, the same neatness of the dwellings, and the same indications of a quiet comfort and a contented population, everywhere met the eye, as at the opening of the story. Opposite the "Hotel" at which I put up, a new dwelling had been erected since my sojourn in the place. It was tastily built, in the modern style, with pillars in front, and green Venetian blinds. In the porch was sitting a gray-headed old gentleman, with a young child on his knee, and two or three others playing at his feet. I asked the landlord who owned the house opposite, and he told me that it belonged to Lawyer Lamart, and that the old gentleman was Mr. Gillmour, his father-in-law, who spent most of his time playing with his grandchildren. I afterward learned that Lamart and his bride were saved from a watery grave in the Ohio, by the skill and exertions of their two companions in flight from the island. One of the most agreeable evenings I ever passed was spent in the society of this happy and intelligent pair. Mary Lamart was still one of those gentle and lovely creatures on whom we delight to gaze, as on a being of sinless mould, exempted from the imperfections of fallen humanity, while her countenance beamed with that mild and heavenly expression, which -"told of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below." D. NAPOLEON'S RETURN. He comes from his ocean home, From the grave where his conquerors laid him, Cast its changeless shroud around him. He comes from the sea-girt isle, Where in silence so long he hath slumbered, And the dark heaving billows the while His dirges in sadness have numbered. He wakens, he wakens, he wakens again, And the sepulchre bursts where the monarch hath lain, And the spirit be fled that once breathed in his corse; He comes to his own sunny France, Renew the glad song of his fame, |