to live but for revenge; and for a revenge she regarded as rightful.

"But it seemed that she could not live; and the boisterous man inquired if she had no relations to whom it would be well to convey intelligence of her state. Still she was silent; until, at a moment when she thought her death inevitable, she called him to her side, and mentioned her mother's name. He started-and seemed as much agitated as a man of his nature and habits could be. An explanation ensued; and in the person of her vulgar and swaggering deliverer, the unhappy girl discovered a father.

"He left her to seek the abode of the wife who for nineteen years he had not seen, and the victim's mother flew to her miserable couch. The shock almost instantly killed that haughty and fallen lady; the only hope of a whole life lay wrecked before her; and her last sob was given upon the feeble body of her child -but not before she had caused the sufferer to clasp hands with her across the little corse that lay between them, and renew the oath previously sworn.

"The widowed and childless orphan saw in this additional misery of her mother's death, fresh cause to repeat, indeed, and to strengthen her former dread resolution. And even her profligate father, who witnessed the scene, knelt, unasked, and voluntarily devoted himself to act as the agent of her vengeance.

"His daughter, though at another time she would have shunned all connexion with him, now felt no shame of the parent who appeared fitted, as well as anxious, to promote her purpose. And he obviously seemed as much awed into interest by the lofty and lady-like character of his newly-discovered offspring, as he was induced to aid her at the prompting of any natural affection. In obedience to her first wishes, he and his companion secretly conveyed, to a certain place of burial, the corse of her mother and of her infant. Returning to her straw couch, he was fully admitted into her confidence: and he swore to place her destroyer at her mercy, under circumstances that would permit her to deal with him as her dark heart longed, and had more than once vowed to do; and, while she yet lay prostrate, he set off to contrive the secret capture of Sir W- J. before he should become wedded-nominally to you, Eliza;-for the prevention of that event was as anxiously desired by your wretched rival, as was the accomplishment of her actual revenge upon her husband: indeed, she had instructed her father to prevent it by any measures he could devise, provided that, in the meantime, J escaped his grasp.

"You have seen, Eliza, the man so often mentioned. You saw him in the character of a juggler upon the review-field, almost the first day of his appearance abroad, in prosecution of his plans. You know, too, of one of his attempts to secure the person of his

daughter's betrayer: I allude to the night when Priest Rourke rescued Sir W J- But, governed by his double instructions, he intrigued to prevent the expected marriage between that fiend and you, at the same time that he sought to get him into his power, lest-as indeed it proved to be the case-his efforts in the latter instance should fail. And now I approach a part of my statement which relates to my own recent and present situations, as nearly as it does to yours.

"Although this agent, Nale, felt, perhaps, really zealous for his daughter's sake, his character, and the habits of his whole life, rendered it impossible that he could act even in her regard without at the same time attending to his personal interests. In this view, instead of openly coming to me, and warning me of my beloved child's danger, he sought out your old admirer, Harry Talbot, of whose former relation towards you he soon made himself aware, and from whose chafing state of mind he cunningly calculated his own mean advantages. And by slow degrees, only, and indifference to repeated bribes, did he communicate to Talbot any important information; although, at the very first, he declared himself the possessor of a secret which would prove Jlain, at the mercy of the laws of his country, and effectually put an end to the acquaintance between you and him: thus, of course, arousing in the breast of the rejected lover an eager interest which he well knew how to turn to account.

a vil

"The tangible communication he at last made was contained in the charge preferred against Judkin by Talbot, to your own ear, Eliza. But at the moment when Nale hinted this terrible fact, he had warned Talbot not for some time to divulge or proceed upon it. The man awaited his daughter's restoration to health, or at least, a renewed consultation with her, before he would authorize a story, of which her personal appearance was the most necessary proof. But, hurried away by his mingled feelings of love for you, and, I believe, sincere alarm on your account, your old friend forgot this warning; and thus Nale, still unable to advise with his daughter, did not hesitate to deny, before Magistrate Whaley, that he had ever been authority for the startling accusation.

"Meantime, a day was named for your marriage, and Nale, consistently with his atrocious character, had recourse to the most diabolical scheme for preventing its occurrence. And again you will find him urged on as much by a base selfishness, as by zeal in his true cause, for exertion. He planned, that if he could make out against J- or me a plausible charge of disloyalty, the arrest of either would at once postpone your union, and entitle him, as informer, to a high reward; in other instances, he has played double with the wretched insurgents; but from this speculation, considering the importance that must attach to his services on account of our rank, he hoped to draw superior advantages.

"It is to be presumed, that, with the chances of success equal to his view, he might have preferred J as the victim of his peculiar rascality; though I question even that, seeing how determined his unhappy daughter was to get her destroyer into her own hands, that she might herself inflict vengeance upon him. At all events, Nale could not fix on so many appearances in J's conduct and actions capable of being turned into evidence of disaffection, as he detected in mine; and accordingly, although J, too, was arrested along with me, in order to secure a separation between him and you, and, indeed, to dispose him for the fate to which his desperate wife had doomed him, against me became directed the immediate shafts of false evidence.

"I come to the last fact that it is at present prudent to communicate. The very night before the day appointed for your marriage, your poor rival, at length able to exert herself in her own behalf, sought out Nale, and learned from him his abominable scheme for carrying her wishes into effect. She learned, in real horror, that the villain had coolly sacrificed me, as well to promote her purpose, as to gratify his own thirst of money. She flew to a person who, without exposing her despicable parent, might, she hoped, interfere to protect me. That person had already known of Nale's plot, and, certainly in the most sagacious way, had resolved upon measures to defeat it. The result proves, indeed, how wisely, as well as how anxiously, he exerted himself to save your father, Eliza; for I speak of the friend before mentioned, to whom we owe all.

"I conclude, by warning you that it is not upon Talbot's previous assertion of the villany of J, I now require you to credit the statements of this letter. Not even upon the allegations of Nale do I ask you to credit them. I have seen and conversed with the wretched heroine of my dark story, and from her own lips received all the facts I communicate to you. You have yourself seen and conversed with her, Eliza, though not in reference to this subject. She was the bearer of my first letter to you in Enniscorthy, and afterwards your guide to the spot where you met me. And in farther explanation of what I write, you shall see her again, perhaps before I can be quite at liberty to anticipate her visit. One word more I will add about her. It is the wish and effort of my friend and myself to save her destroyer from her personal revenge; although we can but save him for the more sedate vengeance of the laws of his country.

"Farewell, my beloved, my cherished, and wonderfully-preserved child! God's peace be with you where you are, until you can be folded to the heart of your doting father,

T. H.

CHAPTER XIII.

BEFORE giving the letter which concludes the last chapter, the reader was left to imagine the feelings with which it was perused by Eliza, in preference to attempting any description of them. And we must now do the same thing, acknowledging our inability to follow the workings of her heart at the first shock of this demonstration of the fiendish perfidy of Sir William Judkin;-for demonstration Eliza took the letter to be. A doubt of its authenticity never once occurred to her. Every word read like truth, and like the very words of her father: and if for an instant any parts of it seemed strange, and strange only, as coming from him, they were those in which, notwithstanding the clear proofs of Talbot's bad and black character, evident in his arrest of his former friend, and in his conduct to herself at the castle of Enniscorthy, her beloved parent seemed to allude with toleration to that person.

After many pauses, after having often dropped it from her hand, or started up, clinging to her chair; or, feeling possessed of only as much strength as enabled her to reach for a gulp of water, after having often remained motionless in that chair, during several minutes, Eliza at length finished the perusal of this, to her, appalling document. And still she sat motionless, except for occasional shudderings, and tearless, too, when she heard the key turn, with scarce a sound, in the lock of her chamber-door, and then the handle was very gently moved, and a very gentle pull given.

Starting up in the utmost alarm, though she knew not distinctly why, Eliza hastened to ascertain if she had fastened the door on the inside. The bolt was indeed shot home; and she paused with suspended breath to observe what next would take place.

There came two almost silent knocks, as if little knobs of velvet had tapped. Eliza remained still as possible. The soft challenge was repeated; and then, after another pause, the faintest breath of a whisper trembled through the key-hole.

"It's poor ould Nanny, Lady Eleezabeth Judkin, barrowknight, my honey pet."

"Nanny!" whispered Eliza, in reply, utterly amazed: "Nanny! impossible!"

She touched the bolt with her finger, but hesitated.

VOL. II.-12

"Don't be a bit afeard, Lady Eleezabeth, my honey pet; it's poor ould Nanny, as sure as I'm a lump iv a sinner this blessed night."

It was the Knitter's peculiar dialect, indeed, and an accompanying gurgle, quite distinct from any intonation of any other of the human species, which removed all Eliza's doubts, and convinced her that her old counsellor sought an audience. Imitating Nanny's proceedings, she gently undid the bolt; and it seemed that, without the slightest creak, the door self-unfolded; for Nanny had continued to hold the lock-handle in the opening twist, to which her second evolution brought it; and then, an inhabitant of the regions of spirits never moved more noiselessly than did the very palpable old dame. Giving a peculiar look of caution, she very slowly coaxed the door to its closing position, and as slowly, and quite as imperceptibly to the ear, permitted the self-acting handle to revolve until it had again stolen into its place the bolt it commanded.

"Nanny!" Eliza continued to repeat, "I can scarce believe my eyes;" and the sight of the old woman was some little comfort to her heart, inasmuch as from her habits of close, and all but omnipresent observation, she instantly reckoned on receiving some welcome or necessary tidings concerning the world without.

"Hooshth, hooshth, Lady Eleezabeth, my honey!" cautioned Nanny, as she completed her precautions of bolting, and even locking the door, each operation being just as noiseless as any that had preceded it.

"Have you been sent to me?-and by whom?"

Nanny repeated her "hooshth," for she had not yet quite done with bolt and key.

"Or if not, how, in Heaven's name, have you found your way

hither?"

"Hooshth, Lady Eleezabeth, my duck-o'-demons!-discoorse asy, or wer'e spiled for ever: them ears o' Nelly abroad, though they're on the head o' the gossip o' me, that stood for the little daughther I have doin' for herself in Ross town, they'd hear the dhroppin' o' the weeniest minikin that ever stuck in a stomacher.. So we'll stale as asy as ever we can, an' we'll plank ourselves doun in the corner beyant the bed, where the candle doesn't shine; an' where the talk 'll be kep in, an we'll convarse about what brought ould Nanny to be so bould afore a lady o' the land."

And with the velvet pace of a cat, when stealing over the carpet in an apartment where she knows she has no right to be, Nanny led the way to the secret corner, and while Eliza occupied a chair opposite to her, there "planked herself on her hunkers," and resumed,—"An' it's who sent me to you, you're axin', Lady Eleezabeth, my honey; an' sure, barrin' Divine Providence, this