gentle was she, so perfectly well-bred a lady. An atmosphere of refinement pervaded her household, emanating from her as imperceptibly as the perfume from the rose; and her son Richard inherited the same nobleness of manner to everyone.

Mr. Tonkin was by no means the equal of his wife in anything, but more proud than she of her family, and loved to speak loudly and boastingly of his cousin, the Commissioner for Cornwall, and to harp upon his title.

As the Lord General Essex drew near, so did Renegado Grenville prepare to retreat. He drew off to Tavistock with his reduced forces, consisting of only eight hundred, both horse and foot, and abandoned all his positions, very much to our surprise. The welcome that the Lord General and his army received I cannot describe; a great shout of gladness and triumph went up from us all, townsfolk and garrison, and the eagerness to see him on the part of the women and children was unbounded.

Fort Stamford, which we had lost at the beginning of the siege, was now easily retaken by us, to our no small satisfaction, and thus the only solid fruit of the besiegers, after a year and a half's efforts, was again plucked from their grasp. Here we took four guns, and at Plympton eight, with cannon and arms at Saltash. And now the Lord General determined to march on into Cornwall by Newbridge, and to take between two and three thousand of our garrison with him. I received marching orders, unexpectedly to myself, and had no time to take leave of my friends.

I strove all that was in my power to say goodbye to Lucy Woollcombe, for no man could march away as an officer in this time of war, without knowing full well that he might be marching to death. I haunted the house that contained the one object dearest to me on earth, at a late hour, after I knew my destiny, hoping I might, by some good chance, behold her. We were to leave Plymouth very early next morning. But the house was still, not a light visible, no sound to be heard, save the mewing of a melancholy cat on the doorstep, shut out from his usual warm bed. How my heart rose in prayer for the gentle soul within, and for myself, that, by God's mercy, we might not have parted for ever. not ashamed of the tears I shed that night. Lucy had told me tears were not always cowardly, and I knew she was true. I returned to my quarters unwillingly, and spent a long time over my first letter to her, which I had determined to leave for her in the care of Bridget next morning.

I was

Bridget was a most prodigiously early riser; the good soul seldom got up later than four o'clock in summer and six in winter, and expended her strength in such gigantic cleaning operations as only such indefatigable people can rightly estimate. I told Lucy in my letter of the unexpected command I had received to march with the rest of my regiment under Essex, but I did not tell her in what direction, because of her father. I reminded her gratefully of the many kindnesses she and Mr. Woollcombe had accorded to me, and thanked her and him for them. I got on so far pretty well, but when I reflected that this was, perhaps, the last time I should ever convey my feelings to her, I became confused, irresolute, and I hardly know what I wrote; more, perhaps, than I

could yet have said, although but little of what my feelings really were for her. I entreated her, if she wished me back in safety, if she would still think kindly of me, to throw me down a token from her window, on receipt of my letter. Then I begged her to forgive my boldness, and so signed myself— "Ever, dear Miss Woollcombe, yours faithfully,

"BENJAMIN HOLBECK,"

I had little sleep that night; I was tossing about in the warm summer air, restless and excited. I had been so long confined to Plymouth and its immediate neighbourhood, that to march was in itself a thing of interest, and then I had such heavy forebodings, such intense longings for some word or sign from Lucy before I left her, that I could not compose myself to rest. Very early, as soon as ever it was really morning, I was astir, and directly I thought Lucy would be awake, I carried my letter to the house in Looe Street. I immediately espied Bridget under the archway and beckoned to her.

"What's the matter?" she asked, stiffly; "folks is stirring early. I thought folks loved their bed too well."

I was too much in earnest to think very much about Bridget's reception of me.

"I am going away presently, Bridget," I said, "and I may never come back."

Bridget pursed up her long, wide, flat mouth into a curious shape, as if she would whistle, but appa rently she thought the better of it, and decided not to.

"If you don't never come back, sir, we must do without 'ee," she said, drily.

I did not know whether to laugh at the obvious absurdity she managed to put into this plain statement of fact, or to resent the cool satisfaction which she seemed to feel.

"Come, Bridget, don't be hard-hearted. My life is nothing to you, but it may be of a little value to some people. If this is the last favour I ask of you, you won't be sorry to have granted it to me."

What if it haint the last?" she asked, eyeing me so comically out of the corners of her eyes, which, as it seemed to me, were the only round, fat-looking things about her, that I was obliged to smile.

"Then I shall want you to do me other favours, Mistress Bridget."

"That's it; it takes such as me to remember there's a future time as well as a present. What do 'ee want, sir?"

I gave her the note, and begged her to take it to Miss Woollcombe, and at once. But just at that moment I saw the blind of the window over the archway move, and, by the side, detected a face peeping out, a sweet face, shaded by soft tresses of hair, now unconfined. Our eyes met, Lucy's cheeks grew crimson, the blind dropped, and she was hid from my view. I was in an ecstasy of joy that my plan had been so successful beyond my highest hopes: I had seen her once again.

Bridget, as well as I, heard her mistress's voice, and took the letter with her upstairs. I paused awhile, waiting for her answer. There were few people in the street; only a group of fishermen passed me, as I lingered, with their nets on their shoulders, going towards their boats; a little lad or two, a child carrying a fat baby I remember them