which I have employed ye? Ye know well what I would have: there must be no delay."

I tell ye now,
"Nor pay," grumbled Curts.

"Ye shall be paid," replied Sir Richard, "do but your task :— ye have my word, and shall I be mistrusted?"

"To be plain, Sir Richard," replied Curts, " men in our walk of life lay little stress on words of honour: the sterling metal passeth current here; words-waste of breath!-pah! Give me money!"

"Is not my station thy security ?"

"Thou wert low-born and didst marry nobly: men gave thee then a title-now sink'st thou back into obscurity: Richard Benstone is no better man than Curts, now that the Lady Beatrice is dead."

"Dead!" cried Sir Richard, as, at the word, his paroxysm returned; "dead!-It is no crime of mine!—I did not kill her!" Wildly casting his eyes upon old Jessamine, who sat grinning at him from a corner: 66 Away," he cried, "away, wretch! she is dead! she is dead!-Away, murderess, she is beyond the reach of thee! Slanderer! Where is now thy pestilence? She is dead!dead!-There!" Suddenly he stood appalled, gazing fixedly before him "See !-see, Jessamine, she is standing near thee! Ha! how sorrowful she looks! Tears in her eyes!-tears such as angels weep!-No, poor Beatrice, ah, no!-Look upon those that are around me! Beckon not, I cannot follow-whither thy pure spirit may lead, Beatrice, thy ruined husband cannot follow thee! I cannot leave these men, they- -Jessamine! Jessamine! there is a child upon thy knee !-but it is air—and that thou canst not harm!-Not that! not that!"-there was a deadly shudder, and he stood motionless as though his very heart were chilled.

"canst

"Art recovered?" inquired Curts, after a pause; proceed with business yet? Say frankly, what wilt thou gain by this transaction?'

"What do I gain?" replied the other; "gold! bright gold! treasure and broad lands! I am an outcast now;-give me gold, and who shall dare to breathe upon my name? Am I despised? am I base-born, sayest thou ?-I will rank with the proudest, give me gold in store! Give the reptile gold, give the scoundrel broad lands, a fair domain, and honest men shall bow the knee to him they now may spurn! Earth's pleasures I will have, for I

can hope no more; I will have gold-and one thing yet beside."

"No matter," replied Curts, "what other thing thou gainest; to the gold alone extends my care; with us, that earn it for thee, thou shalt share the spoil!"

"Hast thou no conscience?"

"None. My share of that I will give up to thee; my part in the gold I should be wrong to yield. Decide, Sir Richard; I hold secrets."

"Do as ye will!" exclaimed Sir Richard, in despair.

"Bravely fought out, Master Curts," cried Simon Byre; "the best spirit I have seen for many a day! I admire thee greatly!"

Curts seemed rather alarmed than otherwise at the strange being's admiration, but he said nothing.

"I have a few pieces," said Sir Richard, "that will lure this youngster on. Take them, Maybird."

:

Mat tossed them into the lap of Curts, one after the other :"Take them, Curts," said he; "I wish there were more, for they help thee the sooner to-hem!-to the reward thou so richly meritest!"

Curts looked with contempt on the despiser of money as he pocketed the coin.

"To business, now," said Andrew Westrill, who had been gazing at the fire with impatient countenance during the late discussion, "Hold! where is old Jessamine?"

"Fled to betray me !" cried Sir Richard, in alarm.

"Very likely," suggested Mat, by way of consolation; "I saw her go."

"Ha! and didst not endeavour to detain her!"

"Why should I?" replied Mat. "How was I to know that she went not to purchase supper? except, indeed, I inferred from her appearance that she never had any, and that would have been a presumption slanderous and injurious to Master Spenton's household economy. However," continued he, descending from his seat upon the table, "she may be in the house; we had better search." This was said with a view to examining the premises, for the purpose of obtaining knowledge that might some day perhaps prove useful. Mat Maybird accordingly took up the torch and ascended the staircase in the corner of the room. Jessamine was nowhere to be found.

Descending, they then visited the outer apartment, and there found the door leading into the street unbarred and half open, leaving no doubt whatever concerning Jessamine's manner of escape. As they looked, the door opened hastily, and Heringford stood before them, suddenly as an apparition, which Sir Richard, in the superstition of an excited conscience, imagined it to be. Simon Byre was about to rush upon Edward for the immediate execution of his vengeance, but the sight of a bare sword and dauntless cye, glowing then with a fire they could not understand, cowed both him and his associates.

"Follow!" said Edward, addressing Sir Richard Ellerton.

"Lead on! lead on!" replied Sir Richard, for he fancied he had received a supernatural summons, and submitted to the imaginary spell, as, with wavering step and downcast eyes, he slowly followed.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.

THE DEATH-BED OF ESTHER DE VERMONT.

TURN we now, sad at heart, from the scenes of wickedness to another of far different character: from the workshop of crime to behold one of its completed labours.

Within a dimly-lighted chamber, a chamber of sorrow, lay Sir Richard Ellerton's deserted wife-the unfortunate Esther de Vermont. Her thin and bloodless hands rested listlessly upon the bed clothes; her face pale, white as the pillows that supported her. The heavy lids were closed over her sunken eyes, her lips compressed. Beside the bed, with one hand clasping hers, her brother sat, watching with affectionate anxiety her slightest movement. Annette softly entered, and bending to her father's ear, "He will come," whispered she; De Vermont kissed his daughter's forehead, and passed an arm around her neck as she knelt down beside the bed, while the other hand warmly pressed the cold fingers of his sister, that still (unconscious of their kind imprisonment) remained within his grasp. Thus watched the father and daughter, their gaze intently fixed upon the face of their beloved relative, until at length her eyes slowly opened, and she looked around with a glance of powerless inquiry.

"Richard!" murmured she, in a trembling voice; "Richard should be here."

"He will come, sweet Esther," replied her brother; "rest assured that he will come."

"I know it, this is my death-bed, and I always felt that we should meet again. He will come soon, dear brother, for my death is not far distant."

Annette could not restrain her grief; and her father folded her to his bosom, that he might not have her see how fast his own tears fell.

"Yes," said Esther, calmly, "I have seen visions that none but the dying see; I have heard music and voices of heaven, none but the dying hear. My troubled journey soon will have been closed!"

Annette left the bed-side, that Esther might not hear her sobs, and stood in the recess of the window, to watch as well as tears permitted for the return of Edward with Sir Richard Ellerton. The night was dark and windy; thin sleet was already falling from the charged clouds, and beat against the glass.

In the mean time Sir Richard Ellerton had followed Heringford mechanically for some distance; and it was not until they were upon London Bridge that his self-possession had returned, and he looked upon Edward as an earthly guide.

"Whither leadest thou ?" inquired he.

"To the chamber of death! Knowest thou Esther de Vermont ?" "Ha!—to her! Lead on; I follow willingly, to return with one shackle less."

"Be gentle to her," replied Edward. "Remember that it is love to thee has laid her low; it is a trifling boon to smooth her dying pillow."

The other made no answer, and the walk was completed in silence. Annette, who perceived their approach from the window, met them at De Vermont's door, and led the way into the sick room. Esther, still and silent as before, her eyelids closed, perceived not who it was that now approached. De Vermont rose proudly, as he whom he regarded as his sister's murderer came to gaze upon his victim; while Sir Richard walked carelessly to the bedside and looked down,-but what he saw had nearly overcome his firmness; he gasped for breath, his face became flushed, then deathly pale, and he stood rigid and motionless.

"Richard!" breathed the weak voice of Esther. "Richard!" "He is here, my dear aunt," whispered Annette; "he standeth near thee."

Esther opened her eyes, and looked at all around, then at

Annette.

"Where is he? I do not see him here. Where is my husband?"

Annette pointed him out, and Esther gazed steadfastly upon him. He moved not a muscle.

"Yes," said Esther, "yes, I had forgotten that he too must change, but I know him again. Richard," said she, holding her thin hand towards him, "let me die with this hand clasped in thine." The man moved not. "Richard! hear me !-Smile upon thy wife." Sir Richard Ellerton folded his arms, and looked, but smiled not upon her.

"I see," said Esther, in a weak, mournful voice, "he knows me not. Richard! Richard! Do not turn away thy face. I am she to whom thou sworedst love and faith; I swore the same, and I have kept my vows. Richard! own me! I shall die in misery without thy love! Take my hand; thou didst not once refuse to take it; time was when thou hast kissed it fervently: 'tis colder now, and thinner; but it is the same. Richard! Richard ! be merciful towards me as thou thyself dost hope for mercy. this is cruel!"

Oh,

The poor creature sank exhausted on the bed; Annette kissed her passionately, and her tears dropped upon the thin, pale face she loved. Sir Richard moved not: De Vermont looked fiercely at him.

“Man!” said he, in a low, but earnest tone, "look down upon thy work! This wasted form of my poor sister once was fair in life and health; she once was happy and merry; warm to the death in her affections-affections that thou hast made her ruin. This wreck thou hast made,-for thee she sorrowed; for thee she sunk day by day into the tomb; thee she has loved, thee she has fondly trusted. Villain! and dost thou smile?"

Sir Richard smiled, but made no answer.

Esther again opened

her eyes, and returned the smile she saw upon her husband's lips. Oh, now I am happy!" she exclaimed. "Richard knows me ! 1 was sure he would!-They called thee faithless, Richard; but I, I knew that thou wert true-and now thou wilt let me clasp thy hand, and die as a dear wife should.-Not yet? Oh, Richard! It was not this, nothing like this, of which thou toldest me when we were young! Richard !-Richard!—It is I,-thou dost not know me; oh! believe that I am Esther-Esther, whom thou