about constantly armed; and the quiet but constant look-out upon the road, changed apprehension to certainty, and heralded to her uneasy mind the coming of disaster. Nor were her fears lessened, on overhearing Denis, who had dressed Conolly's wound, remark that "it was much liker a bullet, than a button hole!"

My father having confided his tried horse to the servant, quietly approached his beautiful and beloved retreat. He ensconced himself within a clump of evergreens, from whence he could see the windows of the favourite sitting-room. It was a lovely and a peaceful scene. The moonbeams were dancing merrily on the little lake, while, in varied shadowing, her fitful light appeared and disappeared over the mountain ridges. But the returning soldier had no eyes for gazing on what would form a painter's study. One object engrossed his sight and filled his heart, and that was his own gentle Ellen who was standing in melancholy musing at the open casement. At this moment, Denis O'Brien was seen advancing.

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Well, Denis," said a sweet and melancholy voice, that thrilled through the listener's heart, "have you brought any tidings?"

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Arrah, the devil a news that's bad, any how, my lady. The master will be here to-morrow for sartein," replied the valet.

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That

"Pshaw! you told me he would be here this evening. I fear you are but amusing me, and have heard no intelligence." "By this book! and Mr. O'Brien tapped the barrel of the gun he carried on the hollow of his arm, I was talking to a man that parted from his honour within this half hour. is-I mane- -Arrah! my lady, don't take a body up so quick. Says the chap to me, 'Denis, you know you may put depindince in what I tell ye; the master's coming home, as fast as Splinterbar can carry him: and more betoken,' says he, 'in the battle he didn't get a scratch.'"

"The battle! what battle?"

"Arrah!-sorra battle, good or bad; but the French, you

know-❞

"What! French ?"

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Death an nouns! don't be flustering yerself, my lady. Arrah! what put the French in my head? It's them rebels,

the curse of Cromwell on them!"

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Rebels-French-the battle!"

My father had received sufficient evidence touching Denis's abilities as an ambassador, to induce him to supersede the va

let as soon as possible. Stealing round the shrubbery, he entered the house without observation, and on tiptoe approached my mother at the window.

Denis," she said, “you have made me very wretched. There is some mystery-some concealment. Is he well? is he coming? When? where ? Oh! speak man! anything will be preferable to this uncertainty."

A gentle step was heard stealing across the carpet,-a soft voice whispered something in her ear-she turned quickly, uttered a shriek of delight, and sprang into the extended arms of the traveller. Cæsar! my own, my darling husband! are you come safely back?"

"Why, upon my sowl! he is; and so I would have made ye sinsible, if your ladyship had but patience. And now, the sooner the master gets his supper the better; for nothing, my lady, gives a man his appetite, like a long ride or a good beating.

A month passed, and the rebellion was suppressed. Humbert held possession of Castlebar, until a combined movement of twenty thousand men, under the Marquis Cornwallis, obliged him to leave the town. After some able movements, and a great deal of severe marching, a spirited affair with the Limerick regiment at Colooney, brought the campaign to a close. The French surrendered prisoners of war; and the miserable wretches who accompanied them, were hanged or shot, according to the fancy of the general, or as either was most convenient.

In their beautiful retreat my parents remained undisturbed. Conolly recovered, and embarking in a smuggler, escaped to Holland, and thus avoided the fate that other leaders of the insurgents underwent.

If my father had any wish to follow the fortunes of the royalists during the short and sanguinary campaign that succeeded the rout of Castlebar, the interesting situation of his lady made his sojourn in the mountain-lodge indispensable, for an heir was promised. Without his wife's knowledge, he apprised her father of the circumstance, and made a strong appeal to him for forgiveness. It was unsuccessful; a cold and heartless answer was returned, that held out no hope of pardon, or betrayed any symptom of returning regard. He spoke of her as of one dead; and alluding to her elopement, bitterly upbraided my father with her loss

"You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her

At dead of night!

Of course, the major concealed this unfortunate correspondence from his lady, but he redoubled his attentions, and Ellen was truly happy. Removed from the world, neither of of my parents appeared to have a wish ungratified; and never were two hearts more tenderly united than those of the ex-major and the fair runaway.

CHAPTER XI.

A STORM-AN ESCAPE-CONFESSIONS OF A FUGITIVE.

It was on the third evening after the French had surren dered at Ballinamuck, that an incident occurred, which, from the confusion of the times, created no small alarm in the isolated household of Cæsar Blake.

The day was unusually sultry; any exertion out of doors was disagreeable and oppressive; the air felt like breathings from a furnace; dark clouds, surcharged with rain, canopied every hill-top; while distant mutterings from the ocean told that a tempest was on the wing. Presently, with one wild crash, the storm burst above the lodge, and a volume of water deluged the parched earth. Next minute, every rill and water-course was filled; and, tumbling from the heights, a hundred streams hid themselves in the dark bosom of Glencullen.

How grand an Alpine storm appears, when witnessed from a safe and sheltered spot! The roar of waters; the pealing of Heaven's artillery; flash succeeding flash, gleaming over highland steep, or brightening the swollen surface of the river -till, spent by its own fury, the blaze is seen no more, and the thunder dies upon the ear in low and distant mutterings. Thus passed the storm, leaving a cloudless sky behind; and VOL. I.-9.

a cooler and lovelier evening never gladdened a mountain solitude.

My mother was delighted, when her liege lord invited her to accompany him on an excursion up the lake; she to sketch mountain-scenery, while he amused himself with angling. The air was balmy and delicious, Nature felt refreshed, the trouts sprang merrily, the coots sported gaily in the reeds, while the wild-duck piloted her infant brood to their island retreat, when plashing oars apprised her of man's approach. The sun was nearly setting, and produced among the broken hill-tops, a splendid alternation of lights and shadows.

Just then, while my mother directed her husband's eyes to the picturesque appearance of a fissure in a range of heights, whose bases touched the margin of the water, a human figure rushed through the pass at headlong speed, and hurried down the steep declivity. The cause was not long concealed; several soldiers crossed the hill, and discharged their muskets at the fugitive, who, apparently uninjured by the fire, outstripped his followers easily, and held on a course directly for the narrow union of the lakes, where my father's boat was laid upon her oars.

This unexpected chase produced an unexpected sensation; pencil and fishing-rod were abandoned; my father watched the pursuit with excited interest, and my mother with nervous apprehension.

On came the fugitive! He paused for a moment on a rising ground beside the lake, looked back at his pursuers, first levelled the gun he carried at the foremost, but changing his determination, he aimed at the second steadily; he fell-while, flinging his musket away, the runaway bounded across the hillock, leaped into the lake, buffetted the water gallantly, and pressed for the other shore.

My father's boat lay directly in his course, but owing to the shelter of a reedy islet, this circumstance escaped the notice of the fugitive. Too late he perceived it, and for a second paused from exertion; then, with a sudden resolution, stretched boldly out again. When he came within an oar's length, he laid his hand upon the blade, which a rower dropped on the surface to support him, and in a voice that told how violent his efforts at escape had been, he said,

"You will not stop an unfortunate man, major?" "Who are you?" asked my father.

"A rebel ?" was the bold reply.

"You know me, it would seem."

! "Ay, that I do; will you stop me?"

"I am no bloodhound," said Cæsar Blake; "push on, the Highlanders are on the beach. Keep the boat between you and them, for they are within good musket-range, and have reloaded.'

"Cæsar Blake, I owe you a life, I may pay ye someway yet-God Almighty bless you, lady"-for my mother had earnestly joined the fugitive in his petition,-"I can only pray for you. Will you, major, give me a moment's breathing time, before you ferry yon blood-hounds over ?"

"I ferry them over! No-no.-It would be a poor exploit to crush a hunted enemy, Had I met you at Castlebar—"

"And so you did," returned the fugitive. "Ay, and the gun that did its business to the last, missed fire upon the bridge."

My mother shuddered. "Off" cried the major, "and if all other places fail, at twilight you may finda crust at the lodge. But, hark! they halloo from the shore; and now, God speed thee, friend !"

"Amen!" responded the runaway, as he dropped the oar, and with renewed vigour breasted the waters gallantly-he gained in a minute the opposite shore, and plunging into the reeds, disappeared in the broken ground that skirted that part of Glencullen.

Perceiving that the rebel had landed, my father directed his boatmen to pull in. The Highlanders, three in number, had remarked the escape of the fugitive, and, irritated at the fall of their companion, whose leg had been broken by the outlaw's shot, hallooed more furiously, while more than once they threatened to fire on the boat.

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Why the de'il did ye na pull in, nor stop the villain in the water?" was the rough address of the corporal, as my father stepped ashore.

The major drew himself up and haughtily replied, “Because I do not attend to the orders of such fellows."

"Fellows!" screamed the Highlander; "Ken ye, friend, who we be?"

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I may guess possibly. Pray who are you?"

"Wha am I?" returned the corporal, swelling with rage; are ye blind? Know ye the colour of this coat, and ask sic silly questions. De'il ha' me, gin I would mind much sticcin the bagnet in ye!"

"If you did," said the master of the boatmen, "you would never draw another, Sawney." My mother grew pale as she

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