"Father must not be blamed," returned I; "it was but to spare you that I bade them say nothing of the fever."

"I have the will but not the heart to chide you, dear Alice: my mind rather misgave me when I received a packet from Ann and not a line from you." When we were alone Andrew made me promise never to conceal anything from him again, though it might save him a thousand fears.

The following morning we all went to the cathedral. It is much grander and larger than Beverley Minster; and a feeling of awe came over us as we stood before this glorious building, the work of hands that centuries since have crumbled into dust. We spoke no word to each other as we entered by a little door, and slowly walked up and down the long aisles. We tried to hush our footsteps; for it seemed as if we should disturb the silent devotions of the church itself. The whole place wears an air of perpetual supplication, with countless hands uplifted; everything points upwards, from the loftiest arch to the tiniest pinnacles on the tombs and stalls. We had wandered into the choir, admired the rich carving there, and the sculptured angels with their instruments of praise, and we were again in the western part of the cathedral, in one of the side chapels, when a strain of music rose, then softly died away, seeming to melt into the very arches over our heads. I could almost have persuaded myself that the delicious tones came from the angels' harps in the choir. In a few moments the music came again, fuller, and mingled with human voices.

"How heavenly!" I whispered to Andrew, who was listening with rapt attention. His brown eyes were sweet and dreamy as he turned to me with a tender smile (how his gentle, penetrating looks make my heart almost ache and throb with happiness!). Stealing my hand, he gave tongue to thoughts that had taken the same direction as my own-only his flights are ever higher.

"They are beginning morning service; it does, indeed, sound heavenly. I cannot think, dear love, that music dies away for ever -everything that is beautiful must be immortal; it seems to me that though it vanish or sink into slumber for ages, beauty will hereafter awake and reappear. Look at these stones, that for several hundred years have been wrapped round and steeped with music; some day, or perhaps in some silent midnight hour, they will overflow; and from these stony lips there will issue more seraphic tones than ever traveller heard at sunrise in the desert from great Memnon. The harmonies, so long frozen up, will burst forth; perhaps at first stealing and trickling over the silence, until the silvery streams unite into one mighty sea, every wave a longforgotten psalm; and this atmosphere of prayer will become charged with songs of praise." He said much more that I would

I could remember; the divine sounds rising and falling in the distant choir seemed to wake up the poetry within him; happily the poetry does not sleep so profoundly as the music does in these stones. I sighed involuntarily. Andrew drew me closer to his side. "Hark!" said he; "it is as if one was opening and shutting the door of heaven, and letting escape to this sorrowful world a few drops of its superabundant melody and comfort. Your frail looks remind me how very near you have been to this door; and you sigh, my Alice, as if the vision you had of Paradise set you longing after its brightness and joy. Did you not think all that time how desolate I should have been? Do you understand, sweet one, how my life is bound up in yours?"

"I did think of tired of life yet. other side of the grave. of regret.

you, dear Andrew," I murmured. "I am not While you live all my heaven will not lie the That was a sigh of deep content, and not This music makes me sad, it is true; all real music does; but it is a sadness that has no bitterness in it. Just look at Dolly's happy, shining face; she is taking in all the delightsomeness of sights and sounds."

"Yes," replied Andrew. "Mistress Dorothy will take the good there is in the world, and heartily enjoy it, and won't create any imaginary troubles. But your father is beckoning to us, and your friend is smiling archly at our love-making. Yes, Mistress Dolly, we admit the charge."

"What charge?" asked she.

"Your eyes revealed your thoughts just then.

Ah! good

Mistress Dolly, can't you clip Time's wings for me to-day? He seems envious of my bliss, and is giving only thirty minutes to my hour."

Dolly blushed prettily, and said she did not think her eyes were such tell-tales."

"I suppose old Time has never been in love, or he would have more pity," said father, laughing. "It wants a stronger hand than Cupid's to hold him back. But happily 'Love's not Time's fool!' True Love scorns Time and talks about Eternity."

I was relieved when Andrew proposed that we should go into the transept gallery. From that point we found fresh beauties to admire. There were new effects of light and shade to be seen from every part of the cathedral; but indeed we could not sufficiently praise the splendour of the building both within and without. Near the cathedral yard we noticed two fine gateways and the Bishop's palace. Father says the Bishop is a wily old man, and one of the King's bad advisers. He was then in London, on business for the Court.

We bade dear Andrew farewell at Newark; but I shall always

think of our brief visit to Lincoln as a most sunny spot in my life. At Newark father learned from an acquaintance of his that the King had already set out for the North. He said that the King's best friends were adverse to this journey to Scotland; but his Majesty is bent upon trying the loyalty of his subjects beyond the border. The rest of our own journey was full of adventures, and some of them had like to have proved dangerous, for the roads are so beset with thieves. Sometimes we had to go miles out of our way to escape being robbed, or perhaps murdered; and at cach town my father hired three men to ride armed beside our coach. We were, however, preserved from every ill, only father regretted the loss of time. It took us thirteen days to get to London. He says he shall not promise to bring me here often.

Ralph was waiting our arrival at the Woolsey Arms in Highgate. For two or three days past he had been looking for us, and thought surely we had fallen into the hands of highwaymen. He told us that there were some pleasant rooms to be had at Chelsea, but if we preferred to remain in the city, we could have comfortable chambers at the Blue Boar in Holborn. I saw my father wanted to be near his friends, with whom he had much business to transact, and I, too, wished to see something of city life; so we drove to the Blue Boar, and find ourselves well content with our lodgment. I perceive no change in Master Ralph's behaviour, so suppose he either has not heard of my betrothal, or Kate was wrong in leading me to think it was any matter of concern to him. He is more solicitous about my comfort than Andrew would care to see; but what can I do otherwise than I have ever done, which is to treat him with indifference. Father might acquaint him with the news; but he is much occupied with more weighty matters. Many gentlemen have called to see him, all looking serious and anxious, and everyone seems engrossed with the changes in Parliament. Sir Harry Vane has been, and kindly offered us the loan of his barge to take an airing up the Thames. He is too busy, he says, to allow himself any indulgencies. His lady is in town, but she is quite willing to deny herself his company, so that his country may be better served.

Mr. Pelham also soon found us out, and brought with him Mr. Selden a very learned gentleman, tall and thin in figure, dressed in black, with a plain linen collar. Ralph says that this severe simplicity in dress is becoming a badge of the Puritan party. Mr. Selden has a beautiful, still face-so calm that it rests one to look at him. Dolly and I find abundant entertainment both in the inn and abroad in the streets. Every day we go to see some wonder or other, for even the shops are a marvellous sight; but father and Ralph always accompany us armed, for the students of the

Temple and the apprentices are constantly at warfare, and thieves are very numerous. This morning we went to St. Paul's-a fine, grand place; but it does not please me so well as the cathedral on Lincoln's hill, partly because the church is used for such unholy purposes. People were buying and selling merchandise even while the service was going on in another part, and all the music was spoiled by my hearing a man swear; so that I was glad to be outside again. In St. Paul's Churchyard Ralph was addressed by a very lively gentleman, whom he presented to us as " Harry Marten." "Where are you going?" asked Mr. Marten.

"Ask these ladies that question," said Ralph; we are theirs to

command, are we not, Colonel ? "

"Aye, aye," replied father; "but our lassies are not well suited this morning-they are disappointed with your great St. Paul's."

"The church is well enough, father," said I. "Tis the profane people that spoil everything."

"Well, I am no saint," said Mr. Marten; "but I declare 'tis an indecent custom to turn churches into markets, or into lounges for idle folks. What say you now to a turn on the bridge?"

We all agreed, for the great heat of the day made us glad to be near the river, only the sight of so many heads over the gateway sickens me, and to-day the smell was worse than ever. Mr. Marten walked beside us, and I liked his company very much, the wit and humour that sparkled in nearly every sentence frequently reminded me of Andrew, so that I was well pleased to be only a listener. On passing a mercer's window on the bridge-where a dark blue taffeta was displayed, Mr. Marten asked if I did not greatly admire it, and if I had not been enchanted with the London fashions. I felt half vexed at perceiving that he looked upon me as a stupid, country maid, that had no ideas beyond the fit of a gown, and as unable to appreciate his rare talent for conversation. Perhaps father thought the same, for he quickly replied, "Alice is more given to studying the shape and colour of other folk's minds than the shade and quality of her next new gown."

Mr. Marten would have had me talk to him then; but after that measurement I was less disposed to converse than before. But Dolly was in a friendly mood; and if not acquainted with London life, has much good sense, which methinks is not over plentiful even in this great place. Our new acquaintance seemed to know nearly every person of consequence whom we met, to judge by the frequent doffing of his hat. The ladies smiled graciously upon him from their coaches, some waving their fans or kissing the tips of their embroidered gloves. Ralph says that Mr. Marten is not now received at Court, but that he is still a great favourite with the

royal party, except the King and some of his warmest adherents. He knew all the Court news, and the gossip too, I fancy.

"There goes the Lady Ann Carr," said he, speaking of a lovely woman who had just returned his salutation. "Last week she was

betrothed to the Earl of Bedford. She is the daughter of that guilty Countess of Somerset. Lady Ann was born in the Tower, and to this day, I verily believe, does not know for what crime her father and mother were imprisoned. No one would have the cruelty to tell her, for a purer minded maiden never breathed. Ah! there is the Countess of Derby, a queenly dame; she distributes her smiles as if they were diamonds, and would confer lasting honour upon the receiver. But she has a good heart, and is a warm and faithful friend; the King hasn't a braver or more devoted subject than Charlotte de Tremouïlle." In this way he commented on his acquaintances, and often in such a manner that we could not but remember his words if we ever saw those persons again, or heard but their names. At the gate father hired a coach to take us back to the "Blue Boar," Mr. Marten bidding us a fair ride, and taking his way to Westminster.

Two gentlemen met us at the door of the inn, who had been asking for Colonel Lister, and were just telling the servant they would come again before sundown. They were directly closeted in father's private room.

"Who can they be, Dolly ?" said I, when we had waited some time for dinner.

"I can't divine," replied she; "we want Mr. Marten here to tell us their pedigree and draw us their characters. Their business is important to keep your father so long from his meat. Let us go out into the gallery and see the folks come in."

"Nay; I must first appease my hunger by trying these cutlets," said I; so after proving them to be very palatable, we went and looked over into the yard below, where something is generally going forward, but at that particular time there was a drowsy lull in the house and yard. A stable-boy was sweeping the stones, and a man was washing the mire from a chariot that had come in this morning, and two barmaids were standing at the taproom door talking to a soldier on horseback. As we were noticing their coarse, but pretty faces, and their coquettish airs, a quick sound of horses' feet rung through the archway, and a man rode at full speed into the yard. He reined in the animal so suddenly that it started back a moment, and then fell down headlong upon the stones. The man had leaped off as he drew rein, and so escaped injury; but he leaned breathless against the wall unable to utter a word. His entrance had startled the lazy servants into sudden activity; they gathered round the prostrate beast that lay gasping on the ground, covered