evening passed rapidly, too, for Mr. Hamilton, as he walked homeward, thought he had never been in the company of a man gifted with more varied knowledge, and more brilliant powers of expression than his host. His re

marks on men and manners, drawn as they were from extensive reading and observant travel, flowed with a happy pointedness and truth, which proved that his habits had not always been of the retired character he represented them at present; for it was plain his knowledge of human nature had been gleaned in a richer field than the solitary study, though neither was the produce of the latter wanting to his mental store. But a more touching interest connected to the curate's mind the pale boy who sat by his side all the evening. While his uncle's tongue ran eloquently from subject to subject, his was silent; but his eyes were fixed in a longing gaze of love on the clergyman's, and when the latter rose to go away, the poor boy's sigh was plainly audible, and he clung close to the guest's side until he reached the halldoor, when he whispered, "You will soon come again," and they parted.

A few days after Mr. Hamilton called at the house, but was told that the uncle and nephew had gone to a shooting lodge some few miles off among the mountains, where they purposed staying for a week. Two days after the week had passed, the curate heard at the gate-house, as he went by, that his friends had returned. The evening in question he dined at home, and had not long opened his books of solitary study, when he was disturbed by a call to visit a sick woman at a remote part of the parish. With him duty of this kind occupied a long time, so that when he reached his lodgings again, it was very late, or rather very early on the following morning. He was in the act of preparation for rest, when he was startled by a loud knock at the outside door, that immediately followed the brattling noise of a horse pulled suddenly up when at his utmost speed. The knocking was repeated before the door was opened, when the clergyman heard his own name spoken in a voice with the tones of which he was not familiar. He concluded at once that it was a messenger from the sick woman, come to summon him again to her death-bed; so he went out into the

hall where the person was standing. There was a man there, muffled to the eyes in a large outside-coat, and as soon as he saw Mr. Hamilton, he hurriedly begged to speak a few words to him. The latter put on his dressing-wrapper, and called the man into the small apartment that served the purposes of sitting-room and study. Here, the untimely visitor looked carefully and suspiciously at the door, to see if it was fastened; then, flinging back the high collar of his coat, asked the clergyman did he know him. Hamilton soon recognized the upper confidential servant whom he had seen at Elmwood House about a fortnight before, on the day he dined there. He asked the man if it was not so, and then, in some surprise, inquired the purport of his question and visit.

"Because, sir, if you know me, you'll not think I'm come here to make a fool of you; and perhaps you'll forgive me for asking you to let me sleep here. I daren't go back to Elmwood to-night-he would murder me."

There was a strange incoherency about the man, that made the other at first suspect he was not sober, and that he feared his stern master would make him feel the consequences of some drunken frolic. This surmise he expressed pretty plainly to its object.

"If I'm drunk, sir," said the man, "it's with fear-it's with fear. Don't you remember the boy that sat next you at Elmwood, and never took his eyes out of you-for he loved you -well." He looked again at the door, and sunk his voice to a hissing whisper- "He's dead!-he's mur

dered!"

"Dead!-murdered!" echoed the clergyman, in the same tone. "Murdered! what do you mean?"

"Just what I say, sir. His white face is opposite to me, no matter what side I turn to; and I think the horse saw it, too, for he started and stumbled more than I ever knew him in my life before. I was with the coroner, and he'll be up in the morning. I don't care; he may murder me, and he will, too, for he's an awful man; but I'd rather die a hundred deaths than have that white, cold face staring at me, and I doing nothing to get right for it. There's a small room on the lobby, next the one where the poor child slept, and I settled to lie in it last

night, for I gave up my own bed to a friend of one of the servants that came in, unknown to the master; though it's seldom anything happens that he doesn't know of it. But I got the key of this small room, where I knew there was a sofa, and I stole down to sleep on it, and I took no candle with me. There's only a slight lath wall between it and the young master's room, and, when I lay down, I could hear him groaning. God knows I pitied him; and I believe it was to tell him so that made me tear a hole in the paper between two of the laths. But I had only just done it, when his door opens, and the uncle comes in, with a candle in one hand, and a small white cup in the other. If I was to live for a hundred years, I'll never forget his face-his eye was hell itself-bis cheeks were white-his teeth set—and he walked light on the floor; but the candle and the cup didn't shake in his hand, and he went as steady to the bed as if he was only going to say good night. 'You're in pain,' he says to the poor boy, in a whisper. I am,' says the child, 'I'm often in pain after the medicines you give me; but perhaps it's good for me.' Well, I'm now come to give you a physic that will ease your pain-come, take it.' He did take it, and drank it off without another word-for no one ever dared to contradict him—and then he fell back on his pillow with a great sigh. I'd have roared out when I saw what the man was about, if he had shook ever so little; but he was so cool and dreadful I was afraid of him -so I couldn't stir; but I saw his eyes shut, and I'd have thought he was asleep, only his breast didn't moveand there was no mistaking his white cheeks. The uncle stopped to look at him, and then he drew the curtain, blew out his candle, and went away.

Go up to-morrow morning early, sir, and if you find him alive, I'll never trust a white cheek and a stiff chest again."

The man ceased his dreadful talehis damp brow and terrified eye bearing ample testimony to his strong conviction of its truth; yet the clergyman, though staggered for a moment, saw good reason for doubting the occurrence, of the fatal termination of which his informant was so certain. He considered it very likely that the administration of a simple sedative had caused all this horrible story; for he knew how persons in his visitor's rank of life love to invest things in peculiar mystery-and also, how little liking they have for characters such as that of Mr. Wharton, the high and stern attributes of which are more calculated to command respect and dread, than to gain affection. However, he resolved to go early next morning to Elmwood, and anticipate, if possible, the coroner's visit, thereby preventing the occurrence of a scene which would be painfully ridiculous to all parties concerned, if the matter should turn out as he suspected it would.

All

To persuade the servant to return home, he saw would be unavailing, and he was unwilling to send him out into any other house in the town, perhaps to spread reports of a murder that most probably had its only existence in his own heated imagination. the man required was, leave to tie his horse in the stable, and to seat himself in the arm-chair for the rest of the night, with the use of a lamp; for he declared he would not remain in the dark. The good curate, having granted his visitor's request, and made him as comfortable as he could, betook himself to his own bed, but not to sound or protracted sleep.

MR. HAMILTON's step was faltering and uncertain, as he walked towards Elmwood the next morning. If the horrible tale were true, his task would then become a most painful one, while, if the man were mistaken, and that the coroner should arrive unnecessarily, and his coming be noised through the neighbourhood, an unpleasant commotion must be excited, in

which he felt he himself would be mingled in a disagreeable manner. However, he went forward, trusting, as men often do when similarly situated, to circumstances, and entered the gate which I have so frequently mentioned. He met no one, and walked on to the high ground beyond the bridge, before he heard the first sound of life, which was a dull, crashing, heavy blow,

strongly and rapidly repeated. It was occasioned by a man cutting down a tree; and, upon looking closely, the curate at once recognised Mr. Wharton, though his back was turned towards him as he approached. He was alone; the spades and pickaxes which lay round about, proved that labourers had been there, and it was likely, on their return from the morning meal, that they would find one part of their work, at least, well advanced. His blows fell on the trunk of the devoted tree with as strong and trenchant an energy as though they had been dealt by the arm of a giant, and every starting muscle of his slight frame seemed to lend its aid to their crashing fierceness. The splinters flew round far and wide, and at every tremendous blow the tree itself quivered upwards to its highest branches.

Mr. Hamilton stopped to see if he would pause and look round; but no-crash, crash went the axe, without the slightest appearance of flagging in its fearful action. The curate then approached, and Mr. Wharton having turned to bear upon another part of the trunk, they stood face to face. The latter gazed fixedly for a moment at the cause of his interruption, then sunk the head of the hatchet to the ground, and extended his hand in silence. Though his exercise had been of so strong and heating a character, there was no flush on his cheeks, which, on the contrary, seemed very pallid; and indeed the only appearance of the exertion he had been using was the sweat on his forehead, which he wiped off with his hand, and then flung the axe away with a sudden and impetuous movement. He was the first to break the silence that still hung over the meeting, by saying

"We are both early risers."

"So it would appear," rejoined the curate; "but your morning has been more profitable than mine. I have done nothing entitling me to claim my breakfast," he added, with a slight smile.

"You have come to breakfast with me, then," said Mr. Wharton, after a pause. "Well, I'm glad of it. I'm generally late, for they who have the care of invalids cannot chuse their own hours. Besides, we are somewhat in confusion at the house. The butler disappeared last night, no one knows whither; not that a trifle of that kind

flurries me at all, but I like a well-regulated household. However, come along."

Hamilton could not forbear remarking that these few sentences were ut tered in a manner very unlike the speaker's usual calm and collected delivery-but perhaps there had been enough in his exciting exercise to account for his hurried words; and they walked on together.

"Strange !" pursued Wharton ; "what could have become of the man? I was told more than once he was a person of bad character. He got out last night through a window; I suppose on some drunken frolic. But he shall smart for it."

There was nothing more spoken by either party, until they reached the hall-door of the house.

"Has that man made his appearance yet?" was the question put, rather sternly, by his master, to the servant who opened it. The answer was in the negative. The other made no remark whatever, but a drop of blood actually started to his lips, as he cour teously extended his hand towards the parlour doorway, as an invitation to his guest to enter. The room was empty.

"Ha! he has not come down yet," said Wharton. "I suspect remaining too long a-bed in the morning would be interdicted by your regimen. I must go and hurry him-or, stay, I'll send to do so." He rang the bell, and desired the servant who answered it to tell his young master that breakfast waited. As he spoke the words, Hamilton looked at him, but his manner was as composed as that of any man could be while giving an unimportant order, which fortified his own supposition, that his nightly visitor had misconceived what he saw. his heart throbbed more quickly when he heard the servant's returning steps sound rapidly on the stair; and its rushing circulation almost choked him, when he saw the horrid truth written on the quivering lip and staring eye of the frightened man, who pushed the door open, and held it in his hand, while his gaze was riveted on his master's face.

Yet

"What is the matter, fool?" said the latter; "speak out. Why do you stare at me as if I were a ghost?" And at the same time he rose impa

tiently from his seat, and approached the horror-stricken servant.

"He's dead-he's dead-he's dead!" shrieked the man.

"My God! then the letter spoke truth after all," said the uncle, and he rushed out. Mr. Hamilton did not pause a moment, but followed him, and together they reached the hapless boy's sleeping-room.

It was true enough-he was dead; but the parting of soul and body seemed to have been gentle in the extreme. His attitude was so still and natural, the long dark hair contrasting with the white pillow and whiter cheek. His eyes were closed so quietly, and the last faint smile of the departing spirit played so life-like about his lips, that one might well doubt, at first sight, whether it were death or trance that had sealed his placid eyelids. But the arms were cold and stiff, the heart was at rest, and there was no breath in the motionless nostrils. The curtain was up on the side of the bed next the wall, and there the curate saw at once a confirmation of his informant's story-a rent in the paper, by which the Almighty had directed the eye of a witness to the deed of darkness. Wharton saw it too-nay, his gaze was fixed on it instead of his nephew's corpse; and he went round to that side of the bed, so as to place himself between the rent and the view of his companion. He then raised his head, and from opposite sides of the death-bed, his eyes and the curate's encountered; and the latter declared that though his heart was as strong as innocence could make it, it actually quailed before the terrible expression of the other's face it was the glare of the savage tiger at bay, with the deep wound rankling in his side, and death and enemies around him.

"It would be well to send for the surgeon at once," said the clergy

man.

"What for? What could he do? Is he not dead?" asked Wharton; each question repeated in a tone of voice low and startling. At that moment a double knock was heard at the hall-door, and Mr. Hamilton could not forbear glancing to see its effect on the bearing of the person opposite to him. His jaw drooped slightly for a moment; but then, the

gradually rising colour, the lips firmly closed, and the more collected eye, showed that the man's energies were throwing off their first spell of dread and suspicion, and were preparing themselves for the certain struggle that impended. Then there was a timid blow upon the chamber door, which was pushed half open, but the person seemed afraid to enter.

"Come in, and give your message," said Wharton, in his usual calm, authoritative tone of voice. The servant at the door still hesitated, which lashed the other into sudden fury. He strode to the door, flung it open, and, with a wave of his hand, commanded the man to come in. He did so, and shrunk towards the window, cowering before the fierce eye and swelling frame of his master.

"Out with what you have to say, sir; and then if your apish fears of a dead room make you unfit for your duty, you are liberty to leave my service."

"Thank you, sir; I will—I will,” said the frightened man. "There are two gentlemen below, sir, wanting you, and people outside the door."

The

"Very well; tell the gentlemen I will be down immediately." servant vanished; when Wharton signified to Hamilton his wish that they should leave the room together-a wish that carried with it the force of a command; besides, the clergyman's desire to see the end of the mystery had now become very strong. Accordingly, in silence, he followed Mr. Wharton down stairs to the parlour, in which were two persons, with one of whom he was slightly acquainted, for he lived at no great distance, while with the other he had almost daily intercourse connected with parish duty. The first was one of the county coroners-the latter was the dispensary surgeon.

"I am sorry, sir," said the former, with a deep, grave bow, "that unpleasant duty forces me to intrude on you at present."

"I am grateful for your sorrow," said the master of the house; "and I suppose I must express my acknowledgments for the goodly train of mourners you have brought with you." For a glance out of the window showed him at least two dozen persons standing on the gravelled flat

before the house, while several others were arriving with faces eloquent of hurry and curiosity. Among those who were nearest to the hall-door, stood some constables, and the servant man, the curate's nightly visitor, was

with them.

"I am the coroner of the county," said that functionary, coldly; "and my duty sends me here to inquire into the sudden death that has happened in this house. You must be aware, sir, that strict privacy is out of the question in these matters. I cannot drive back the people who choose to follow me, especially as I shall want a jury from among them."

"And pray, sir, who told you that a sudden death had happened here at all?" asked Wharton; and why are my poor nephew's remains to be subjected to insult ?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't answer your questions," said the coroner; but you shall know all when it is submitted to the jury, which, with your leave, I'll now proceed to call."

"In your position, might makes right, Mr. Coroner; therefore, do as you please. However, recollect you may repent this hurry; you have not given me time to take the benefit of a legal adviser."

"You shall have ample time, sir," said the coroner; "I'll postpone the end of the inquiry to give you time to get a legal gentleman.'

"Very well; come to-morrow morning, then, and swear in your jury."

"That cannot be, sir; there are some circumstances of the case which must be sifted to-day. It positively cannot be; I must proceed without more delay."

"As you like-as you like," said Wharton. "I protest against your indecent hurry. However, since you will listen to me no more, you will at least grant me the favour of selecting the twelve cleanest from these motley gentlemen, and keep the remainder from wandering at large through my house."

The coroner immediately proceeded to his duty-the surgeon also; and the former, with his jury, having viewed the body, left the medical man to make his examination, and adjourned to the sitting-room, where Wharton and the curate had remained during his absence. The latter could per

ceive, from the disposition of the police round the house, that all egress from it would be narrowly watched; but there was not the slightest appearance of any attempt at escape on the part of him upon whom suspicion rested. At first he had been standing near the window, until some children and women outside saluted him with a sudden yell of execration, when he quietly and silently withdrew.

"You see, Mr. Hamilton," he said, turning to the curate, "I cannot boast many friends here. Will you remain with me to-day? It is a part of your duty to listen to unreasonable requests. Perhaps you will pardon and grant this among the rest."

"I'll remain with pleasure," said Hamilton. "But had you not better send for Chartres, our attorney; he is an able man, and will be more useful than I."

"Pooh, pooh!-sure you don't think my anxiety for delay was on my own account. Surely you don't think me a murderer? No; I wished to keep his poor remains from their judicial pollution before they were well cold. They can't say I am hampering their proceedings. If I feared for myself, I should be with them now, watching every look, and dogging every movement." He paused a moment, took three or four turns in silence through the room, and then continued "I can see it all; the rent in the paper-work-the tipsy curiosity of the credible witness they have got outside, and the early reading of the gentlemen of the jurythat is, provided they can read-of which The Babes in the Wood' probably formed a staple commodity ;all these things will dispose people to think that an uncle and nephew cannot live together without murder and poison, setting up house along with them. Be it so; their thoughts are things I neither fear or envy. Here they come."

No sooner had the coroner and his jury entered the room, than the eyes of the twelve men were immediately fixed on the master of the mansion, for, independent of his present circumstances, his reserved manner and mode of life had excited some curiosity through the neighbourhood; but, with unflinching brow and folded arms, he took his stand near the head of the