Prelate. Constance Basinstoke then, we fearlessly assert, is not the expected Pervert, nor her accepted husband, either, which is more, so that this mysterious renegade must be sought for elsewhere.

We are to suppose that three months and a few days have elapsed since Cécile's flight from Redburn Hall. Sir Charles is still detained there, by a fit of the gout; Lady Helen is closely attending upon him; while Conny and Edward have proceeded to London on a visit to their uncle, Lord Tewkesbury. The morning is fast advancing, and in that same little back study, where our not very eventful drama opened, the fair Constance is sitting, in evident expectation of some long wished-for incident. The day is an important one, in truth, for it is that which has been fixed for her first meeting with Saint Cecilia. Perhaps it may seem strange that this meeting should take place in London, and not at the very pleasant little nunnery of Clitheroe. All that we can say is, that this is through no fault of Conny's, who had repeatedly expressed her willingness to proceed to Lancashire; but though this had been previously arranged, at first, Father Athanasius

had finally preferred that the recluse should come to London herself, for a day, a little change of air having been recommended to her, as her health and spirits had suffered by the too sudden transition.

A loud knock is heard without, the door of the room is cast open, and the two cousins are locked in each other's embrace. A moment of speechless but not tearless joy ensues, and the silence is first broken by Constance.

"This is a happy dream indeed, dearest Cécile."

Conny, it is."

"Sit down now, and let me look at your darling face. You are very pale, dearest, and thinner too. I had heard that you were not very well."

“I am a little tired with the journey, Conny, and too great joy always overpowers me. Besides, the change of life must always be felt a little, at first."

"So I should think, indeed," replied her now smiling cousin. "It must be an awful under

taking for you.

of the free air of

Don't you think sometimes poor Redburn, of our walks,

our drives, and our glorious liberty?"

"Often, Conny, very often."

"But you have taken no fatal and irrevocable vows yet?"

"No, dearest, none would be accepted for a year; but my determination is all unaltered." "Really? That is beyond my concep

tion."

"Ah! Conny," resumed the Saint, sadly, "there is many a bright hour, to be sure, in the noble world without, but many a cruel pang there withal. I have not forgotten, I never can forget, all that I have forfeited; but I can recollect, also, how deadly was the thrust of relentless irony, and how far deeper still the anguish of sympathy which might not be requited. These have done their worst by me now; but enough of myself. You are looking very well, Conny,

and in the greatest beauty."

Well, I have not had time to be ill since we parted. I never was busier in my life, and, I might add, happier, had it not been for your absence, you good-for-nothing child."

"All is-settled-quite settled, I understand."

66

Why, we have had much preparation and preliminary arrangement, to be sure, and we have

all endeavoured to carry out your wishes to the utmost of our power."

Cécile was about to express her satisfaction and gratitude, when both fair cousins were startled by a sharp knock at the door.

"Dear me! I quite forgot to say that we are not at home," cried Constance, as she ran to apprize the servant without; but she was informed by him that it was only Lord St. Edmunds.

Conny," gasped out the trembling Cécile, you surely have not forgotten your promise ?" "What promise, Cécile? that my intended should not be here? certainly not."

Scarcely, however, had her written pledge been thus renewed, when our hero deliberately entered the room.

"Oh! Conny, this is very cruel," murmured this heroic Saint, as she sank down breathless, and soon senseless, upon the couch.

"That is all right-don't be alarmed," exclaimed Conny. "It is what I foretold, you know, and she will soon recover.

There now,

sit down upon the sofa, at once, and support her head. The Eau de Cologne will recall her immediately."

No sooner could the poor Saint gaze, with returning consciousness, upon the animated countenances of her two companions, than she whispered, in a sorely reproachful tone:

"Oh! Constance, what fearful mockery is this ?"

"No mockery at all," replied her cousin ; only the type, I trust, of what is to be."

Thus speaking, she took one of the Saint's small hands, enclosed it in the manly grasp of St. Edmunds, and then muttering something about her Uncle Tewkesbury, she rushed joyously out of the room.

When, in about half an hour, she returned with the latter personage, our hero and the Saint were still sitting upon the sofa, their hands joined, and looking certainly as if they understood each other pretty well.

"St. Edmunds," exclaimed his father, "is all settled ?"

"I

"Well, I do not know," was the reply. cannot make her believe that we are all in earnest."

"We had feared something of the kind," resumed Lord Tewkesbury, "and it was on this

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