The rain continued to come down, and the wind blew it into Leopold's face, but he pursued his journey slowly; he knew he had a long day's march before him, and he did not wish to tire himself by proceeding too rapidly at first.

He had travelled perhaps a couple of miles when he heard his name called, and perceived a form running rapidly towards him. He concluded it was a messenger from home, bringing, perhaps, something he had forgotten; he therefore made a pause, and awaited him.

He soon perceived that the swift runner was Johaan Zwick.

"I ought to have come round to you, my good fellow," said Leopold, holding out his hand, but I thought you might be at work on the hills with your father. I left a letter for you with my sister."

"I don't work with father any more," said Johaan. "Not work with your father?"

"No, I've left him."

"Left your father! What do you intend to do, then?" "Well, master"-this he said in his old way-"if you will let me, I intend to go along with you."

"Impossible, Johaan. I can't afford to keep a servant."

"I don't want any wages," said Johaan, earnestly; "I can pick up odd jobs enough anywhere to keep me, and I can be useful to you in the evenings. You'll not find any one to understand your ways as I do."

Leopold was greatly touched by this mark of attachment on the part of his humble friend, but he said:

"Johaan, you must be useful to your father, and I couldn't think of taking you away from him, even if I could afford to hire your services."

"I don't want you to hire my services, Herr Leopold," persisted the son of the vine-dresser, "I got your letter; the Fraulein Bertha read it to me, and I ran back to my father to ask him, and he is quite willing for me to go."

"I cannot prevent you, if you are determined to leave your father, from going where you wish. But consider, Johaan. I am going to a strange place-I don't know a soul where I am goingI don't know how I may do myself. How, then, can I advise you'

99

"Never fear for me, master," interrupted the honest lad. "I will be no burden to you. Look, master, it is clearing up; there is a rainbow before us, which seems to open to us like a door. Let us go in."

It was as Johaan had said; the shower had suddenly ceased, a bright sunbeam stole through the clouds, and a magnificent rainbow spread out before them, crossing the road, and which seemed

so near that it appeared like a beautiful archway inviting them to

enter.

"It seems to divide us," said Leopold to himself, "between this and some unknown land beyond, where there will be many strangers. I may need companionship, though it be only that of this poor,, honest peasant lad." Then he added aloud, "Well, Johaan, since you have your father's consent, you may come with me."

"Good, master," said Johaan, falling a few paces behind him. "No, Johaan, by my side, if you are to travel with me at all." Johaan advanced again.

"Let me ease you of that parcel," he said.

"You have a tolerably large bundle of your own," said Leopold, pointing to a huge bundle which Johaan carried, knapsack-wise, over his shoulder.

"Only a few gardening tools and my Sunday traps," said the young peasant. "That knapsack will give you the backache before night. I am used to carrying loads, so let me take a spell with the parcel."

Johaan took the parcel with a little gentle force; it was a relief to Leopold to get rid of it, for it gave him his left arm free; and, with the beautiful Rhine flowing far beneath them, the two travelled till mid-day, when they found a small inn and rested.

Johaan, true to his plan, could not be induced to take any refreshment at Leopold's cost; he got a coarse meal, such as he was accustomed to, somewhere in the kitchens, while Leopold made a frugal repast in the travellers' common room.

Leaving them to pursue their journey, we must return to Bonn, now clear of four of the persons who have figured in our narrative.

BLACKLOCK FOREST.

XXIII.

This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green sward. Nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;

Too noble for this place.

Winter's Tale.

WILLIAM MORGAN was at the Castle Vaults early on the day following that of Catherine's visit to the lodges; and, under his guidance, the Mute and Mary, dressed in their lowly best, were on their way direct to Blackleigh town, where Sir Richard's steward and Mr. Lovell were awaiting them at the office of the former. Lovell, having with astonishment perused Sir Richard's letter, enlightened the steward by intelligence equally surprising; so that they were sitting in mutual amazement when Morgan delivered the two young people at the agent's door. Lovell had not been aware of the particular clue he had given Sir Richard towards the recovery of his younger nephew, so that when Tony appeared before him (oblivious for the moment of the printed advertisement), the lawyer was only struck by the likeness of the Mute to Giacomo-not so startling as that borne by the latter to his father-but giving more comprehensive evidence to close family alliance. The presence of both Mary and the Mute was not less interesting in respect to bearing and manner than in regard to their equal personal beauty. Having greeted Mary with his blandest smile, Lovell took Tony by both hands, and was proceeding verbally to address him, when his fair companion said:

sir,

66 Pardon me, but you seem unaware that this young gentleman is deaf and dumb, and that I am with him only to hear and to speak for him."

This immediately brought Lovell to think of the advertisement, and he had then, after glancing over it, only to peruse the profile of the Mute to see standing before him Francis Ridotti Blackleigh -the lost son found! The good lawyer then sought from the agent's drawing-room an illustrated book upon the scenery of the neighbourhood, and signified to Tony-or, as we should now call him, Frank Blackleigh-that he was to amuse himself with that, while Mary was being informed of the particulars he was from her to learn. Lovell told all, and Mary listened as if she were not already acquainted with much of it, and, indeed, with more than

was narrated. Charmed by her manner and by the intelligence displayed in her interruptive questions and remarks (advanced with such apologetic modesty), he consigned to her the narration of the whole story to her lover. He did not forget the reference in Sir Richard's letter to their attachment; nor, in the knowledge of its cause, and in the observation of their personal graces, could he wonder at their mutual love.

"I will now," said Lovell, when he had concluded his recital in the hearing of the steward, "leave you to yourselves: only apprising you that we are expecting Mr. Goldrich and Mr. Giacomo Ridotti-that is to say (using only his English names), Mr. Edmund Blackleigh; and that, on their arrival, the two brothers will be, as such, introduced to one another by you; of all persons in the world the fittest to bring them together, even were it not rendered a matter of necessity by our ignorance-as yet (for you will soon have a school full of pupils) in the manual tongue."

The remarks of Lovell to the steward upon Mary's person and manners were in substance those of Polixenes to Perdita, which stand at the head of this chapter.

"The Morgans throughout," said the steward, "have ever shown much of the same quality. But these mislocations of natural refinement are not so rare as to be matters of wonder-the 'higher orders,' as they are termed, including many who have, more or less, lost the graces which as many of their inferiors in position have found. Among the cultivated flowers in my garden is just now to be seen a wild one of hedge-side origin, which tops them all in altitude, elegance, and delicate beauty: a foxglove, some seven feet high, bearing upwards on its single stem, from its ground-leaves of exquisite green, a matchless display of purest white flowers, the head of each capped by the bell of the next above, and the whole making an ascent of closely-packed spirals to the summit, a very wand for Queen Flora herself! On the other hand, I could show you a-well, a person of this town, who must have been a lady in verity, if blood, opportunity for education, good company, and the habits' that are said to be 'second nature,' could have made her one, but who is no more a lady than that common teacup is a tulip. She was the other day railing against the lower orders,' and in particular against her maid, for making a much better show than herself at church in their ribbons and things,' when the curate completely pacified her by saying, 'Ah, madam, do not distress yourself. We shall all find our proper level hereafter in heaven,' He looked slyly at me, as who should say, 'I've hit her;' but he was wrong; 'a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.'"

And now for the scene between Frank Blackleigh and Mary:

Mary. Tony, I said you had saved a high-born gentleman(he nodded)—and that you were to be a gentleman yourself.

Frank. I do not wish to be a gentleman, if I am not so by birth.

Mary. I should have said that you are one; and, hitherto, by birth alone.

But who says so?

Frank. Then I cannot help it. Mary. He who was speaking to me; and the other admits it; and he whom you saved knows it; and Sir Richard declares it. Frank. And my mother Catherine

Mary. Acknowledges all; and that she is not your mother in truth.

Frank. She is, though not my mother by nature; and I love her the more

Mary. As you should; for when she took you to her care, you had no parent.

(She then related her believed version of his abduction; of Catherine's appointment as his foster-mother; of the discovery that he had an elder brother; that he would immediately see his brother; and hereafter go with him to his grandfather, who was yet living abroad.)

Frank. Yes: if you go with me; and if they are kind to Mother Catherine; or I will not go. Who discovered my

brother?

Mary. Mr. Lovell, one of the gentlemen you have just seen.
Frank. Who discovered that I am his brother?

Mary. Sir Richard; who has also discovered two living nephews, long supposed dead.

Frank. You will tell me next, that my brother and I are they? Mary. You have, in jest, spoken the very truth. (Frank stared wildly.) Your brother and self are verily Sir Richard's nephews?

(The Mute uttered one of those hysterical sounds often before alluded to.)

Frank. Sir Richard my uncle! But is he ashamed to own it, that he is for sending me away? I had rather not be his nephew, to stay with him.

Mary. But you forget your brother. Would you rather not have a brother than go with him? Do you not wish to see him?

Frank. Yes, and my grandfather, if they will love you and Sir Richard.

Mary. Tony, you have seen your brother. (The Mute bethought him where? and when?) He is not one to be ashamed of; and he is as fond of the young man you saved as he is of himself.