Mrs Grey were together in the parlour, when Mr Grey, endeavouring to appear unconcerned, asked Amy to bring him a key that he wanted; and drawing her away from the door, he inquired for the child, but she knew nothing of him. Mr Grey returned to the wood, taking with him his faithful and sagacious old dog, who had twice saved his life; sent him in quest of Noel, but he came back disappointed and dissatisfied. Mortimer was going off wildly himself through the forest; Mr Grey stopped him, and assuming an authority indispensable at the moment, insisted on his returning home, reminding him, that his wandering like a manaic, where he must inevitably lose himself, would be a severe aggravation to his wife's affliction for the loss of the child.

Amy had been watching for their return, and flew to meet them. Alas! they had no intelligence. Mr Grey requested her to prepare Mrs Mortimer gradually. But as she entered the room, Constance exclaimed

"Dear Amy! I see by your countenance there is something shocking. When Mr Grey called you away some time ago, my heart sunk with a foreboding dread. I have endea

voured to prepare myself; tell me all; I have mentally prayed for support, and God will support me under the infliction whatever it may be; where is my husband and Noel oh! where is my boy?"

"Noel Noel cannot just now be found, not just yet; but we have sent in every direction; he cannot be lost; when the smoke subsides, we shall be able to find him."

"Burned, burned, my darling destroyed! oh, gracious heaven, support me!"

For many minutes she sat in speechless agony; rising suddenly, she asked for Mortimer with a tremulous voice. He came, but the horror of his countenance terrified her. She could not breathe; she asked for air. Mr Grey desired Mortimer to carry her to the door. He obeyed him, but his eyes were fixed in a terrific stare, and he spoke not. Constance had merely fainted, but the air revived her; and as she recovered, tears came to her relief.

Mortimer supported her as she sat. At length his eyes become less fixed; they turned upon his wife; he saw her tears of agony, and he was moved. He wept too.

"He will recover now," said Mr Grey; "let us leave them."

Their tears mingled together. Neither of them spoke, but Constance tenderly pressed Mortimer's hand in hers.

Evening had come on, and the air was cold. Amy returned to them, after some time, and persuaded them to come into the house. Constance was laid on the sofa, and, while Mortimer knelt beside her, accusing himself, she tried to console him.

"This is the severest trial I have had; but it is sent in mercy, to draw my heart from this world. I loved my child with a mother's pride, but I did not enough remember that blessings are but loans to cheer us through our life of trials."

"How brightly the moon rises," said Amy, "to cheer this gloomy darkness! and so will the hope of the Christian enlighten and console the heart overwhelmed by sorrow."

"Yes-let us pray for submission!" said Constance.

"And let us not forget," said Amy, as she wept tenderly with her, "that our gracious Father is our guardian and defence. He will protect our lost child, and restore him to us-he is evermore extending his strengthening influence to his creatures, and will support you. This I have felt."

Noel had endeared himself to the whole family. The grief felt by the children, and by all, was not easily effaced. Annette, always considerate, put out of sight the playthings and books he used to have. She and her sister spoke little, whispering only together, fearful of intruding on Mrs Mortimer's feelings; and when the younger children spoke of Noel, and asked where he was, Annette tried to prevent and quiet them.

Constance did not immediately notice this attention; but, after a few days had passed, she perceived it, and said to Anentte, as she kissed her

"Kind little girl! I see that you feel for my sorrow, and are anxious that nothing should appear that can remind me of my child. I thank you; but he is ever present to my thoughts, and I like to see the affection you have all felt for him. It is better, I think, to preserve the remembrance of the blessings we have enjoyed, than to endeavour to deaden our grief by tearing our thoughts from the object of it."

While she spoke, Annette's tears fell fast. After a pause,

and much effort to conquer her own agitation, Constance continued :-" I valued-O how highly !—the treasure-the blessing-while he was spared to me. He has been taken from me for some good purposes, I know. I will endeavour to submit with resignation, but I will not try to drive him from my thoughts. If I did so, the affliction would be no exercise of submission. Dear Annette! you are so kindlike your mamma. I shall never forget the tears you have shed for my dear, dear child, nor your good-nature to him."

Mortimer's purse was open to all who could be procured, in that thinly inhabited country, to continue the search for the lost Noel, and day after day the inquiries were renewed. In the midst of all their misery and grief, there was one consolation, namely, that no vestige of the child was seen in the woods, or on that part where the fire had been. It appeared certain that he had not been destroyed by wild beasts, nor burned to death, for some remains must then have been found. It was a ray of hope to cling to.

Meanwhile, the preparations for the log-house were continued under Mr Grey's direction, for Mortimer was unable to attend to them. He ardently longed to get into a house where he could be alone; but he hated the details of the building, now that his boy was gone, who took an interest in all he saw. He was silent-impatient of kindness-even his wife's tenderness gave him pain; and he liked only to withdraw from every one, and bury himself in the thickest woods.

Constance knew that it was vain to contend with that mood; and while, for herself, she considered it a duty to make some exertion, she gave way to Ferdinand's all-engrossing feelings, still hoping to calm them by gently leading him to submission.

In this trying affliction, Amy Grey robbed her domestic cares of some of her precious time, devoting it to the consolation of her guests. Her conversation was full of sympathy and piety, awakening, without fatiguing, the mind by a continual supply of new ideas. Deep reflection made it impressive, while the warmth of her own cheerful disposition seemed almost to give certainty to hope.

Several days had passed away in the monotony of grief.

The faint hopes they had indulged had faded: and Constance was endeavouring to gain courage for the painful task of writing to her mother, which she had deferred doing as long as any doubt of her misfortune remained.

All inquiry had failed. The agitation of suspense had nearly ceased, and the family had returned to their customary occupations.

CHAPTER XI.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way,
But-to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

LONGFELLOW.

MORTIMER was calm, but he was silent, and unwilling to take any interest in the building of his house, though anxious to be settled in it. Apathy to everything was creeping over him; and Constance found that all her gentle efforts to rouse him were in vain. What they failed in, an awful storm effected. It arose before daylight, and tidings were early brought that it had caused serious destruction in Mr Grey's offices, and above all at the river, where the flood had swept down with such violence, as to tear away a part of the wooden bridge lately erected, and to make several breaches in the dam which Mr Grey had made, in preparation for a mill that he intended to build, and which he had expected to be very advantageous. Mortimer accompanied Mr Grey to see the work of a few hours-the wide waste of water overflowing the low grounds-the planks of the bridge floating down the stream, and dashing hither and thither. Till its violence abated, nothing could be done; but Mr Grey, overpowered by anxiety, looked on with dismay at the devastation. At last, chilled, and wet, and disappointed, he was persuaded to return to the house.

The next day the flood had subsided, and no time was to be lost in effecting the necessary repairs. Mortimer, once more active and energetic, put himself and his servant under Mr Grey's orders, ready to work with his own hand, and take part in all that was to be done. But it soon appeared but too evidently that the mind to direct these willing hands had not its usual vigour.