was just proffering expired on her quivering lips, and appalled with indescribable horror, she threw a fearful glance around, to discover from whence the voice issued. No human being, sacrilegiously daring to intrude on her holy privacy, was perceptible to visual organ, in the limited extent of the small apartment. The voice seemed to issue from above; it was audible, distinct, and solemn, and ringing awfully in her affrighted ear, appeared like the sound of the last trumpet summoning her to judgment. With hair erect and frenzied brow, as if she had beheld a spectre, she started from her knees, and rushed precipitately out of the closet, in which hasty retreat scarce were her shivering limbs found able to support her to the bed, on which she tottering sunk with a deep groan, half lifeless.

Sir Richard, who only the moment before had passed from his dressing-room to his chamber, and was just stepping into bed, became dreadfully shocked and alarmed

alarmed at his dear lady's prostrate condition. Raising her tenderly in his arms, he inquired, with the most affectionate solicitude, as he gazed anxiously on her pale countenance, what had caused such indisposition; but her paralysed tongue, unable to reply, deep groans and averted looks, were the only return she could make to his tender inquiries. Amazed and trembling with increasing alarm, the terrorstruck baronet rang the bell for lady Courteney's woman, with whose timely aid he at length succeeded in reviving the fainting lady, and quieting her emotions, when, carefully locking within her own breast the awful warning she had just received, she accounted for her sudden illness by attributing it to the fatigue of entertaining her guests, and having so long outstaid her usual time of retiring.

While this scene was passing in lady Courteney's chamber, Miss Courteney, in a more exuberant flow of lively spirits than perhaps she had ever experienced,

was retired to her own, with her mind so full of the image of major Blandford, that she could not restrain her tongue from dwelling on the beauty of his fine form, and the charms of his conversation, to the respectable woman who assisted to undress her, and who, by the purity of her conduct and intelligence of her well-informed mind, was become the young lady's governess and companion rather than attendant.

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Major Blandford is certainly very handsome-much too effeminately handsome for a soldier, I should imagine," replied this person, to whom such conversation was far from pleasing. "A weatherbeaten face, and a colour somewhat imbrowned by the warm climate under which he might be supposed to have fought, would, in a military man, appear more appropriate to his hazardous profession, than the fair forehead and delicate complexion of major Blandford, which would do credit to any lovely young lady.”

"He

"He is young, and may not have seen much service," returned Miss Courteney.

"It appears, however, he is old enough to have attained the rank of major, which I was such a fool as to suppose could only have been acquired by service," rejoined the other. "But perhaps, Miss Courteney, when major Blandford was obliged to serve, he fought cased up in steel armour, like the knights we read of in romances, or what is more probable, borrowing his idea of defence from the Spanish nuns, behind a thick veil, equally impenetrable to the scorching rays of the sun or the keen blasts of the wind-to sabre-wound or musket-shot of

enemy."

This last sentence was uttered in a tone of irony by the governess, which did not appear to give much pleasure to the young lady, who replied-" You are severe, Mrs. O'Grady, and seem willing to indulge a sarcastic humour, at the expence of a person of whom you scarce know any thing." "The appearance of the military man

is what alone strikes me, my dear child," answered the penetrating O'Grady. “To me he seems one of these gay young officers, who would answer well for holiday service in a garrison town in time of peace, or to fetch and carry, as we say of a welltrained dog, in his attendance on the ladies, whom I would venture to swear he would rather serve than defend. How unlike what our own hero, Charles Plunket, appeared on his return from Spain, after an absence of five years!—his forehead and throat, when he left this castle a mere boy, were as fair as your own snowy bosom; but when he returned here, the olive was alone perceptible, and on his finely-rounded cheek the sunburnt brown struggled with the crimson of pure blood for pre-eminence. But captain Plunket is the son of a brave soldier, and will do honour to the memory of his noble father."

"What need, my dear Fanny, of this contention about them?" returned Geraldine. "Charles Plunket is my cousin,

and