the earnest desire to learn something of the history of the family, about which there was evident mystery and secrecy. Having heard from his little friend the hour at which the funeral was to take place, he determined to go to the churchyard, and with his own eyes behold the Herbert of whom he had heard so much, and of whom he had formed as it were intuitively, or by the force of his imagination, a high and admiring opinion. Herbert stood with his fine head uncovered. His countenance, though pale as marble with emotion, expressed a manly firmness, in which were mingled the tenderest feelings. His form was tall and commanding, though bending in reverential prayer as the service proceeded, and his dark eyes were dimmed with tears. He held by his hand little Edwin, whose light waving locks and fair complexion, flushed with a bright color from weeping, formed a strong contrast to the pale face and ebon curls of his brother. He was leaning his head against the arm of his poor nurse Rachael, who was indeed at that moment the very personification of care and sorrow;-sorrow for the babe who had been torn from her, care for the beloved objects still left to fill her heart with anxious tenderness. She was truely "Rachael weeping for her children, and would not be comforted." It was altogether an affecting scene, and perhaps never in the course of a long life had the stranger's feelings of sympathy been so powerfully and tenderly excited. When all was over, he saw the clergyman advance towards Herbert, most kindly shake him by the hand, and say a few words which were evidently those of benevolent condolence. His friendly expressions seemed listened to by the young man, with a grateful courtesy, though apparently he was too much agitated to speak; and he soon turned to depart, still leading by the hand the poor little heart-broken Edwin, whose sobs were audible even as they quitted the churchyard. The stranger, who till then had stood by a projecting part of the church, which had partially concealed him, now came forward; and politely accosting the clergyman, immediately entered into conversation respecting the melancholy little party who had just quitted their presence. He drew from him only that, until that day, he had always known the young man and his sister by the name of Norton; but that, on the occasion of the funeral, he had confided to him their real name, requesting that the one disclosed to him, might not transpire. "Therefore," added the good-hearted old man, "you will excuse me, sir, from betraying the confidence of that very charming youth. I am by no means surprised that he should have attracted your interest and attention,-indeed, I never saw such a family. There is a lovely girl, apparently about seventeen, who regularly attends my church, with a little brother or sister on each side of her; and while her feminine and graceful exterior attracts much observation, I can perceive she is so absorbed by piety and devotion, that she is unconscious of any notice. Though so young, however, I fear she has already drunk deeply of the bitter cup of affliction. She prays fervently, but it is often with tears coursing each other down her youthful cheeks. God grant that such innocence and heart-felt prayers, may be heard by His unfailing mercy; and that sooner or later comfort may overtake them!" "It shall-it shall-my good sir," exclaimed the stranger, much moved by the words of the old clergyman, and kindly pressing his hand. "But tell me more about them, or my best wishes to serve them may be futile." "I know very little, sir," the clergyman replied, eyeing the stranger with some curiosity, in which, however, no unworthy suspicion was blended; "I know very little; for they live most strictly private, and have declined, though gratefully, those attentions which I have offer ed, considering them as part of my parochial duties. I have heard of them chiefly from Mr. Wilson the apothecary, who is a kind-hearted man, and who has actually shed tears when he has related to me the magnanimous conduct of those young people." The stranger paused for a few moments, and appeared lost in thought; he then anxiously requested that he might accompany the good man to his house, in order that he might have some further conversation with him. It is not necessary to relate all that transpired during this tête-à-tête, as the results will appear as we proceed in our story; however, it was observed that the clergyman conducted his visitor to the door, on his departure, with greater ceremony and profounder bows than he usually manifested; and that he returned to his study with a flushed though pleased countenance, remaining particularly thoughtful during the rest of the day. CHAPTER XIII. "If thine open hand hath relieved distress- And with joy and peace thou wilt sink to rest." ON Herbert's return home, he found Evelyn still in a deep sweet sleep; and his mother, with some of her former solicitude, listening to her soft breathing. Her slumber still continued, and when she at last awoke, she was not only considerably refreshed, but had gained strength of mind and composure. The next day dawned more brightly upon the distressed family. A letter arrived from France which they had dreaded to receive; but their father, in answer to the one which had announced the death of the little girl, had so controlled his pen, that he spoke of the event with a degree of calmness and resignation which greatly comforted them. He thanked his fondly loved children in the warmest terms, for their devoted kindness to his babe, and for all their unremitting attention to their mother. He spoke soothingly of himself, telling them of his improved health, and the solace he had experienced in the society of the excellent Monsieur Liot; and concluded by saying, that he was becoming quite rich by the profitable labors of his pen. In short the letter was a balm to their wounded feelings. Whilst they were still musing over these satisfactory communications, another letter was delivered to them. It was in an unknown hand, and addressed to Herbert by the name, which, in compliance with his father's wishes, he had adopted. He opened it hastily, with curiosity, and read as follows:: "ALTHOUGH my proffered services have been once refused, I am not to be repulsed. I feel too deep and heartfelt an interest in the welfare of your family to allow you to reject the assistance of a friend, who is so willing and able to serve you. I have discovered your true name; and you may be assured, with that knowledge, it is far from my intention to offer any insult to the children of Captain Cecil. In early life, he once received from me the greatest of benefits. This is not mentioned as a vain boast; but to engage that confidence of his family, without which my best wishes must prove nugatory: and I now offer that protection and support which I feel certain, if he be indeed the Herbert Cecil, the friend of my early youth, he would accept with pleasure. I have procured the promise of a nomination to the Charterhouse School. It is my most ardent wish that Edwin should benefit by it. I love the boy, and am anxious that the good and honorable feelings which are united in him, should find a favorable sphere for their developement. I inclose a hundred pounds for the expenses of the necessary preparations for his removal. I leave town to-morrow; but in a fortnight or three weeks, I trust to be able to present Captain Cecil's permission for the steps I have taken; and the assurance that I may consider henceforth the fine little fellow as the child of my adoption. For the present I sign no name. I have also my reasons for wishing to remain incognito." Amazement and joy were visible upon the countenance of Herbert when he placed the letter in the hands of Evelyn who, with much anxiety, had been watching his countenance whilst he perused it. "Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning ;" and this was joy assuredly, to find in |