"I submit to your better judgment, my kind counsellor," said Montchensey, "thankful that Providence has conducted you hither in this extraordinary crisis of my fate. But where is Neville, is he yet living, is he still an exile from his native land? And what are the precise circumstances which led to his disgrace and ruin? For all that I have been able to learn from Bertha is, that whilst an officer in Ireland, in the army of Essex, he was suspected of carrying on a treasonable correspondence with the family of Tyrone."

"I am nearly, if not altogether, as much in the dark as yourself with regard to these particulars," rejoined Shakspeare; "for though previous to his embarkation for Ireland, Raymond Neville and myself were bosom friends, having been introduced to each other by my Lord Southampton, and I occasionally heard both of him, and from him during the earlier period of his campaigns in that island, I could ascertain nothing further than that having been entrusted by Essex with several personal negotiations with Tyrone, he had, unfortunately, owing to the opportunities which the importunate hospitality of

Tyrone had afforded, fallen deeply in love with the beautiful daughter of that chieftain. A correspondence had ensued, and the malignity of his enemies had been but too successful in founding upon it, in the first place, an accusation of undue attachment to the cause of her father, and ultimately a charge of treason. He escaped, however, the death which they had assigned him, by a flight to the continent, an expedition which must have been delayed for some time, and to his great peril, by the wounds which your unfortunate rashness inflicted; for, from the period to which your narrative relates, there can be no doubt that his journey hither had been intended as a step preparatory to his final departure from Britain. Of the casualty, however, which thus temporarily arrested his purpose, or even of his sister's marriage with yourself, not a syllable was mentioned in the letter to which I have alluded. It is now seventeen years since that letter was received, and, with the exception of having once heard, and that shortly afterwards, that he had gone on a distant expedition in the army of Henry of France,

I have learnt nothing further concerning him, nor do I know, indeed, that he still exists.

"But it is to this letter, my friend," continued Shakspeare, "distant as is its date, that I am persuaded, in conjunction with what the last night has produced, we are about to owe a second discovery, in importance only inferior to that which has so lately gratified your feelings. You will scarcely credit me, perhaps, when I tell you, that Hubert Gray, him whom you have banished from your roof, your former favourite, and the favourite too of Helen Montchensey, is the son of Raymond Neville; ay, and moreover, one and the same with Roland the freebooter, and the minstrel whom you saw at Stratford !"

It would be utterly impossible to describe the varied and conflicting emotions, the mixture of astonishment and joy, of fear and hope, of sorrow and remorse, which, by turns, agitated the breast of Eustace Montchensey, when these strange facts were announced. He absolutely gasped for breath, nor was it until after repeated efforts, that he was able to say, in a low and tremulous tone of voice, "I know not whether

most to grieve or to rejoice at the information you have given me. It is, indeed, of so extraordinary a nature, that, although I am sure you would not willingly trifle with my feelings, I must suspend my entire belief until I learn what has led you to these conclusions."

Shakspeare now entered into a full account of his meeting with Hubert Gray the preceding evening, of the conversation which they held together, and of the confessions which he had made as to his identity with the minstrel at Stratford, and Roland the outlaw. "I must own,” he continued, "that if I felt interested by the lofty yet open and generous deportment of the leader of banditti, however faulty he might be in other respects, that interest was heightened in a tenfold degree, when I recognised these features in combination with the character, such as it had been described to me by Simon Fraser and your daughter, and such, indeed, as I afterwards found it to be, of the amiable, the tender, and romantic Hubert Gray. It formed an assemblage, mine host, which, though not altogether perfect in its moral bearing, and where, alas! shall we look for perfection, has delighted

me by its freshness and originality; but how was its impression on my mind strengthened and endeared, when I beheld in this young man the very image of my long-lost friend and favourite, Raymond Neville! whose character was, in many of its leading parts, very closely approximated to what circumstances have so strongly developed in the person of Hubert Gray.

"It was this striking resemblance, together with the remarkable particulars which I had heard concerning his early history and situation at Wyeburne, which brought vividly to my recollection that memorable letter from

Neville, in which, after dwelling at some length on his melancholy prospects abroad, he mentions that he had left his son, then a child three or four years old, in England, under the care of a worthy and respectable old man, who had formerly been a retainer in his father's family; but under the idea, I suppose, of soon writing again, he omitted to state the name and place of abode of the person with whom he had placed him; and though I subsequently made every enquiry in my power, it was not until yesterday evening,.