which was to dart suddenly aside when the antagonist was dealing a blow with his loaded fist, or with a heavy weapon, and before he could change the direction of the stroke, or recover his position, to aim at him a deadly blow in return, so that the discomfited attack was literally a beating of the air. In his Second Epistle to St. Timothy, written from a prison, St. Paul says, "I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand; I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which : 66 the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day and not to me only, but unto all them aiso that love his appearing "-showing that his mind was full of the races and combats of the arena, even in age, and amidst the peril of his life. If after the The meaning of St. Paul's words, manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus," evidently is that he had been thrown bodily into the midst of a gladiatorial combat between men and wild beasts. Sometimes these men were hirelings, sometimes captives or criminals, or, after the reign of Nero, unarmed, defenceless Christians. A BRIDAL the bridal, but hopes and fears, WBlessings and prayers, laughter and tears, Dreams of the future, thoughts of the past, The glad morn comes, and the sun shines bright The poor look happy, the rich are gay, Like the soft bud of a white moss-rose SCENE. The sorrowing glance of her father dear And sisters follow, who strive in vain But hark to the bells that merrily ring Look to the people that gather round, A LONELY JOURNEY. OWARDS the end of dreary November a chaise and pair drove quickly through the hamlet of Craigavon, and vanished down the road to the castle. The inhabitants speculated, but as the shutters of the chaise were closed, they could not discover what was to be its use. It passed through the great gates, and drew up at the principal entrance of the castle. Almost immediately after a servant brought out some luggage, and placed it noiselessly on the chaise. There was a strange stillness within and about the castle, and no one was visible except the aforesaid domestic, who disappeared as soon as he had completed his task. He was succeeded by Lady Mona, who entered the great hall, glancing from side to side. She retreated in turn, satisfied, apparently, that there were no spectators. In a few moments she reappeared, accompanied by the earl, who was leaning on her arm. His lordship tottered as he walked, and held his head down. He appeared so much broken down that such servants as contrived to get sight of him declared they would not have known him. He neither spoke during his passage through the castle nor after he had entered the chaise, but, pressing his daughter's hand, allowed her to close the shuttered door. When this was done his valet came from behind the castle, and mounted the box. The chaise drove off; and thus the Lord of Craigavon quitted his castle so silently and secretly, that his dependents scarcely the secret of the clasp. However, she neither dared were aware of his departure. Lady Mona stood alone under the doorway, to watch the carriage, then silently stole through the gloomy halls and passages, until she reached her own apartments. Here she sat long in lonely meditation. Although she had been much with her father since their reconciliation, he had spoken little to her. When she had asked permission to be his companion, he had assented, with the proviso that no one else should approach him. Knowing his taciturn nature, she was not surprised at his silence; but she could not understand his state. He had continued to read the Bible, but had alternated his reading by writing letters. These had been principally to Sir George Walpole and to his lawyers in town and country. All that Lady Mona knew concerning them was that, on the receipt of the last Sir George had started for town. Two days before his own departure Lord Craigavon had told his daughter that he intended to go to Scotland for a time, and had begged her to remain at the castle until the return of Sir George Walpole. As Lady Mona sat alone in the window where her mother used to sit at her embroidery, she felt strangely uncertain concerning the future. The castle and its dependencies must be hers eventually, but why had her father left it? and why was she to quit it? She knew that he had lost his chief interest in life with his son; still he had been almost as much engrossed in his wealth. The more she thought the more confused she became, and at last she grew so depressed that she summoned Morris, just then her only resource. Morris could always find a reason for everything, and said it was her belief that his lordship was only gone away for a time, to save expense, and to be quiet; and that he would come back and make as much of Lady Mona as he had done of Lord Penruddock. "But for that Daisy Pennant I don't believe his lordship would have been drowned at all," she said. "He came back unforeseen just to see her." "It is all so strange that I cannot understand it," replied Lady Mona; "but Daisy has been the means of reconciling me to the earl, and it is my intention to repay her. You remember her locket? It must be returned to her. I am sorry that I asked you to unfasten it; but it was only childish curiosity, and I did not mean to steal it." "Dear me, no! The child lost it, and I picked it up," said Morris. "There was such a fuss about my Lord Penruddock and Caradoc Pennant, and his lordship's going to school, that I declare to goodness I forgot all about it, till-you remember, my lady till it was too late to send it back." Lady Mona did remember, and a flush of shame overspread her face. She had even a dim recollection that she wanted the locket, and that to please her, Morris had manipulated it until she had discovered to express nor believe this. She knew that Morris had impressed upon her the fact that all waifs and strays were the earl's, and that, consequently, the locket was his, and by inheritance hers; she also knew that the passion of avarice had been born with her, as with her father. But late events bad awakened dormant conscience, and Daisy's tears had somehow helped to arouse it. "I dare say you know where the locket is, Morris," said Lady Mona; "bring it to me." "Indeed, my lady, I'm not sure," replied Morris, frightened. Suppose they should suspect me, and your ladyship knows I only picked it up, and then, as was natural in a child, your ladyship wanted to keep it a little while, and so——” 'You shall not be implicated; only find it." "I'm thinking that your ladyship carried it away when you left for London, and I'm not responsible for that period of your ladyship's jewellery.” Lady Mona was herself uncertain on this point. "We will search for it, then, Morris," she said. "We have the castle to ourselves; and if we find it, Daisy and her friends will believe that it has turned up in some of the earl's hiding-places. I hope Sir George Walpole will return soon, for I should die if I were to remain here long alone: and the earl requests that no one but he shall be admitted.” It was not long before Sir George did return, but Lady Mona found no consolation in him. "The fact is, Lady Mona," he said, sympathetically, but firmly, "There is a secret between the earl and me which is so important that if I have to keep it long I shall go crazed. His lordship will not let me tell it until you are returned to your husband. Do you like this place, Lady Mona?" "I hate it, and shouldn't care if I never saw it again. If you see Miss Manent, will you wish her good-bye for me; and Daisy Pennant. By the way, you will do me a favour, Sir George?" "Anything in my power,” replied that gentle man. Lady Mona left the room, but soon returned. "Will you kindly undertake to place this in the hands of Daisy Pennant yourself?" said her ladyship, giving Sir George a small, neatly-folded, wellsealed packet. "Tell her it was found the other day, and I remembered that she lost it here." She flushed as she spoke. "You may depend on me, Lady Mona," said Sir George; but I am told that beautiful girl is not a Pennant." remarked Sir George, bluntly. 'Besides, my old he intended to sell the castle and its dependencies, friend Adam Perceval helped to educate her." and to quit Wales. It was apparent to Sir George "Ah, poor Penruddock used to say that Mr. Ap that his lordship could no longer endure a place Adam was a gentleman," said Lady Mona, carelessly, ❘ where his only son had been drowned; and, knowing and turned the conversation. the man, he was convinced that he would not change his purpose. He was himself quick, nay, almost hasty, of resolve, and a few hours' consideration sufficed to induce him to inquire concerning the purchase of the estates. He liked what he had seen of Wales and her people, and he believed that he might secure that peace at Craigavon that he had lost in India. He also thought that he might spend his large fortune usefully among a poor peasantry, and inaugurate a better system of things for the seafarers. Lady Mona left Craigavon very differently from the earl. Imperials and boxes were piled on the carriage, and no available space was unfilled. She told Sir George, frankly, that she was taking with her such of her own possessions as she had left behind when she went to London. "I will write and tell you all," said Sir George, who was singularly embarrassed when taking leave. "I dare say I shall soon be back again with the earl, and, I hope, Captain Everard," she replied. All the servants stood about the court, some prepared to accompany her ladyship, others packing the carriage, a few idle. Morris was in travelling trim, having resumed her old position as maid. There had been no regrets when the earl took his silent departure; there were none when Lady Mona made her more magnificent exodus. As she bowed graciously to one and another, and shook hands with Sir George, her manner was rather cold and haughty than depressed or anxious. Still, as the carriage and four drove off, she looked at the grand and gloomy pile she was leaving with a pride that such ancestral residences usually inspire, and the words, "I hope we shall soon return." As she passed under the great arched portcullis, and drove swiftly up the castle road, the November winds and the sea waves made moan together, while the discoloured trees and browning hills looked sorrowfully down, as they had done when the earl departed. As she passed a gate leading to Brynhafod, she saw Daisy standing near it. She uttered an imperative "Stop!" and beckoned to her. "Good-bye, Daisy. Were you watching for me?" she said. The earl's morbid dread of publicity caused him to fall in with Sir George's views, and a brisk correspondence ensued. Sir George was empowered to treat with the earl's lawyers both in town and country; but was to name the subject to no one else until the transfer of the property was completed, and the earl and his daughter had left the castle. Thus, when Sir George and Adam Perceval went to London, the former was engaged in law, the latter in literature; and while the one completed arrangements for the purchase of a large estate, the other made his for the publication of his great work. Sir George also went to Scotland, at the earl's request, to prepare for his reception at a shooting-box he owned in that country, and met Captain Everard in London to inform him that he was to take possession of the town-house, in order to receive Lady Mona there. The earl's secretive nature manifested itself even in his despair, for nothing evolved during these transactions that could throw further light on his plans. When Sir George returned to the castle he did not know that his lordship had already left it, and that he had ordered Lady Mona's departure. When both were actually gone, Sir George found Yes, my lady. Good-bye, and God bless you!" himself in possession of an extensive, if not a rich, replied Daisy. They shook hands warmly. "Drive on," cried Lady Mona as she strained out of the carriage to see the last of Daisy, who stood watching at the farm gate. CHAPTER XLVIII. TWO FATHERS. THE nine days' wonder at the earl and Lady Mona's departure was succeeded by another. It was publicly announced that the Earl of Craigavon had sold his Welsh property, and that Sir George Walpole was its purchaser. Sir George was actually in possession before any one but himself, the earl, and the lawyers were made acquainted with the fact, and he alone knew anything of the circumstances that led to it. In reply to his letter of inquiry concerning the lease of Brynhafod, the earl had written to say that estate, and suddenly invested with responsibilities graver than he had imagined. He felt restless until he took them on himself, and scarcely allowed the astonishing news to circulate before he began to reflect on what he had to do. His mind naturally turned to Brynhafod, and he resolved that his first act and deed should be to set the Pennants at ease concerning the lease. They had heard with astonishment and pleasure, though not unmixed with regrets for the melancholy earl, of the change of landlords. Daisy, especially, was much delighted and much troubled. While rejoicing that Sir George was to be chief, she could not help sorrowing for the deposed lord. When dispensing Sir George's bounties, she had seen the shuttered chaise drive past, and her heart sank when she heard that it contained one who would be henceforth as dead to her. She also speculated whether Sir George Walpole, as lord of the manor, would be as kind and condescending as the honoured guest of the farm. One evening early in December the Pennants were seated round the chimney-corner taiking over these changes. Caradoc and Adam Perceval were both there, and the family party was complete. Daisy had just been saying that she wished Sir George would come and see them, when that gentleman appeared in their midst. He had entered gently, and his hand was on Daisy's shoulder almost before she knew he was in the room. When he had shaken hands with all the party, he sat down by Daisy, opposite the log fire, in a place vacated by Caradoc. "I could not rest," he said, "until I came to ask you to remain here, Mr. Pennant. I scarcely understand my position as yet; but I hope the change made by the earl will not induce you to change.” Sir George addressed old Mr. Pennant, and Carad translated. "We shall be thankful to continue your tenants, Sir George, was the old man's reply, and we will strive to do our best for you and the land." Then that is settled," said Sir George. "We will get a lease for nine hundred and ninety-nine years, by which time you or your successors may have come to your own again." 66 An expressive silence succeeded these words, during which Mrs. Pennant's smooth face was wet with tears, and Daisy's fair head bent to conceal her emotion. "I thank the Lord, and you, sir, that I shall be permitted to end my days where I began them, and I pray that my children may never disgrace their name or your property," said the patriarch, at length, with emotion. Then Sir George broke another temporary silence. "Lady Mona has given me a little commission for you, Daisy. She requested me to deliver this to you myself." He took from his waistcoat pocket the packet Lady Mona had entrusted to his care, and placed it in Daisy's hand. "I was to tell you," he continued, “that you lost it at the castle, and it was found the other day." 66 'Open it, Daisy," said several voices at once, as all leant forward in eager expectancy. She broke the seals, and opening a small paper box, saw the long-lost locket and chain. She held it up in the firelight, saying, “Has Lady Mona sent me so handsome a present?" "It is your own locket, Daisy!" exclaimed Mrs. Pennant, roused into animation, and rising. "That it certainly is, for I remember it," said Caradoc, rising also. There was quite a hubbub round Daisy, as she sat looking at the costly ornament. "How strange that it should be found after so many years, and how beautiful it is!" she said. "My name is quite clear in the brilliants." Daisy placed the locket and chain in his hand, and he examined them carefully in the firelight. "How did she come by this?" he asked, glancing at Caradoc. "It was round her neck when she was saved from the wreck," he replied. "When Carad and Gwylfa saved me, and brought me here," said Daisy, turning to Sir George. The old dog, who was asleep on the hearth, got up, and put his paw on Daisy's lap. "Are you quite sure that it is the same locket?" asked Sir George, in a strange, husky voice. "It can be no other,” replied Caradoc; "it was never off her neck until the day I took her first to the castle, with Lady Mona's maid, Morris, but we have never seen it since." "How old was she? how was she wrecked? what was the ship?" asked Sir George, with agitation, still looking at the locket. "We thought her about three or four," returned Caradoc; "the wreck was at Ton Bay, and every soul besides perished. We were all on the spot to try and save life, but nothing came on shore except Daisy, brought in by Gwylfa." "And my doll, Carad," put in Daisy. “And the black figure-head of the ship, which I rescued, and which is still at the vicarage," said Adam Perceval. "Merciful Father, can it be!" exclaimed Sir George, clasping his hands, and letting fall the locket. All eyes were turned upon him. He looked so pale that Daisy, seated next to him, was frightened. She laid her hand on his with the exclamation, "Oh, sir! what is the matter?" He clasped the hand tightly, but he could not answer. They were all alarmed for him; and his friend Adam entreated him to tell them what it meant. One moment," said Sir George, recovering himself. "If what you say be true-if this chain was clasped round her neck-if- -But tell me what she said when you saved her!" "She pointed to the hair in the locket as to her parents," cried Caradoc, suspecting he scarcely knew what from Sir George's agitation. "She said her father was far away over the sea, and her mother and her ayah were gone on in the ship. She spoke much in a tongue which the Master said was Hindostanee. She talked of soldiers, and seemed accustomed to strange scenes." "She could read and repeat hymns, and was docile from the first," interrupted the Master. Sir George continued to hold Daisy's hand as in a vice, while he listened, and Daisy glanced from one to another in astonishment. At last Sir George Walpole turned upon her a look she never forgot, 'Will you let me look at it?" asked Sir George and said, as calmly as he could, as though not to Walpole, who had been listening. take her by surprise, "Daisy, my darling, God has |