Minster Yard the poplars were despoiled of XII.- Ir had been a day of great preparation with Martha and Mrs. Parkes, for Adie had asked St. Barbe and Marsh the printseller, who stood godfathers for the child, to spend the evening in Nevil's Court; and the unusual festivity could not be signalised without much needless trouble. A dance had even been hinted at, but promptly negatived by Laurence, who said briefly that such a thing was not to be thought of,-and besides, they had no friends. This was one of his strange incomprehensible ideas, that they had no friends; whereas Adie's former school fellows had come often to see her and the baby, and would have gladly renewed their old acquaintance, if he had not been so cold and distant, that the most sociably-disposed were soon discouraged in their attempts to know them. Even St. Barbe rarely saw Standing before the fire, thoughtful and the inside of their door, and had never moody, the same trance-like feeling came broken bread with them since the death of over him as he had experienced on the night Nicholas Drew; the same with Curll also, of his child's birth, and again the vision of though he had done Roylston several kind the murder and the lost glove enacted itself offices since he had returned to live at Evers before his fancy. His face grew absolutely ley. Martha did her share of work with a livid, and his eyes opened with a wild, affrighted stare. 71 At this instant Adie turned round and eaught his awful expression; she had time to decipher it, indeed, for so startled was she, that for a moment she never spoke, and Laurence did not know himself observed. O, Laurence, Laurence, what is it?" she exclaimed at last, going to where he .stood. "Why do you look so; you seem quite affrighted." He tried to laugh, but it was a ghastly effort. He said it was a spasm of pain at his heart, but that it would soon pass. "Laurence, let us leave this place," she said, looking all round the room; it is not good for us to be here. I feel as if it were haunted with something worse than the footsteps. Baby does not thrive, and you often appear ill, and I shudder to be left alone. I am satisfied now, for I am sure dear old Grizzie would not like us to stay if he knew how we suffer. Shall we go back to that pretty cottage by the seaside? It was very happy being there, Laurence." "So it was, Adie. You might be happy any where, with your good, simple, loving heart; but not so can I; I must have more life and stir; my thoughts stagnate often till they breed frightful fancies. Let us go to London." "So be it. After baby is christened we will go. St. Barbe and kind old Mrs. Parkes would be disappointed if we went before." And thus it was finally agreed upon, stolid unsympathising indifference; but Mrs. Parkes, who had undertaken to cook a supper worthy of the time, for it was Christmas,-made noise and stir enough to have spoilt a dozen turkeys instead of roast ing one. Then all her talk was redolent of sugar, and spice, and lemons, and strong waters; for the worthy woman's appreciation of the good things of this life was in the ratio of her scant enjoyment of them. Adie made Laurence put on his wedding suit; and she herself donned a delicate-tinted silk taffety, brocaded with bright flowers, which had been the Frenchman's bridal gift to her; matron-wise, she would cover her luxuriant black hair with a piece of cobweblace, which came to a peak on the forehead, and hung down in two broad lappets behind. The excitement and pleasure of the day had brought a deeper, softer lustre to her large eyes, and the vermeil flush on her cheek was as pure and fresh as in her maiden-prime. The child, too, was decked in rich Indian muslin, all finely embroidered, with gay sash and shoulder-knots of blue, which contrasted well with the velvet-softness and purity his little dimpled arms and shoulders. The women of the court had one and all been up to admire him, somewhat to the discomfiture of Laurence, who at length retreated into the closet, and left them to exhaust their superlatives of admiration unrestrained. They were all clustered upon the hearth, talking in chorus, the boy being in his mother's arms, surveying the whole proceedings with an air of princely satisfaction, of a short, comely dame in black, who joined | "You must not heed any thing that silly the group, and added her meed of praise. old Judith says," observed the worthy Adie was holding the boy aloft when this woman, in a cheering tone; "she is brimful person came in; but she instantly took him of cranky notions, each one more crased down, and let him hide his face against her than the other. Don't think of pulling off neck, for it was not considered a good omen that pretty lace, for it becomes you beautithat the nurse who went from house to house ful." to lay out corpses for burial should show herself at a christening. Mrs. Parkes made a loud exclamation, and said that Judith ought to have known better, and Martha too. "I did not know any one could object," said the nurse in a meek voice; "I don't believe much in fancies myself. The bonnie bairn will thrive none the worse for Judith's blessing, I'm sure. Mrs. Parkes turned an indignant shoulder upon her, and, thus repudiated, the poor soul, whose vocation made her everywhere an unwelcome guest, drew back and spoke to Martha, who, with icy face and folded hands, stood looking on. Presently the two were observed to whisper together, while Judith glanced mysteriously at the rich lace on Adie's head. Mrs. Parkes insisted on her remarks being uttered aloud. "We are all women, and all friends; there is no secrets," said she, moved, perhaps, as much by past indignation as present curiosity. Judith hesitated, and Martha went out. "What is it nurse? tell us," asked Adie in her pleasant voice. "You are not amongst mourners to-day, and may therefore speak aloud." "No; if an evil omen it is, the warning is given," answered Adie softly. "I shall be so glad to go away from this old haunted house; it is like a constant nightmare upon our spirits.' "Yet you have done a deal to make it lightsome," said Mrs. Parkes. ..That nice picture over the fireplace, and Martha has polished up the panels till every one shines like a looking-glass. We shall be sorry to lose you; and I doubt whether any body else will care to come. You see, the house has got a bad name. Adie made no reply; and Mrs. Parkes, having culinary anxieties on her mind, went out, purposing to ease her annoyance by lecturing the obnoxious Martha on her imprudence. When she was gone, Adie sought Laurence in the closet, where he had chosen to shut himself up. He was leaning against the dingy window, looking out into the Bishop's garden, where the early twilight of December was fast replacing its frosty sunshine. At the sound of his wife's step, he turned; and as she came beside him he put his arm round her fondly. "I suppose your little heart is satisfied "We were only saying that it was a pity now the gossips have flattered Laury," he you had chose that lace for your cap, an- said. "You could do very well without swered the little woman, growing red and uneasy. "And why, pray?" snapped Mrs. Parkes. "It is as beautiful a piece of old point as was ever seen in Nevil's Court, and is worth its weight in gold a score of times over. Why shouldn't it be worn if Adie likes? nothing could look so good or so well on her black hair.' "Maybe," responded the nurse; "it was only because I cut off a piece of it to cover Nicholas Drew's face when I streaked him for his coffin." "Lord save us!" gasped Mrs. Parkes, dismayed at the result of her abrupt curiosity; for Adie's face faded to a deathly pallor, and she sank down into a chair. One of the women poured out a little of the wine which stood on the table, that they might drink the boy's health, and put it to her lips. She swallowed a few drops, and recovered herself quickly, smiling to cover her pain. This incident dispersed the gossips; they hastily emptied their glasses, and went out altogether, leaving only Mrs. Parkes. me.' She looked up wistfully in his face, not understanding him, yet not liking to ques tion, for his manner of late had been strange in the extreme. He was tender by fits and starts; and he had asked her more than once before if she should grieve were he gone. "Adie, you see that high wall at the further side of the garden," he abruptly remarked, after a minute's silence; "what is at the other side of it-streets or fields?" "A steep bank first, and then a row of houses, called Bishop's Lane: you know it very well." "Yes, I remember it;-and beyond the houses it is the river Ness and the open country? I know those fields; we have walked there," "Often, we passed St. Mark's Church. How cold it is here, Laurence; baby shivers: let us go to the fireside." She drew him out of the gloomy little den into the broad light of the outer room, and made him sit down on the long settle beside her. "Now, Laurence, admire our handiwork,” "Do not be so sure, Laurence; you want mending in many ways, and I think of setting seriously to work to mend you." she began, with an effort of sprightliness. | faults, or else you are fond of them for their "I don't believe you would ever see any owner's sake.' thing if I did not order you. There is my picture over the fire, all framed with holly and scarlet berries. Look, too, how Martha has polished the panels of the press, and even of the wainscot. We wear quite a festive air." "Laurence, you know what is promised to those who sincerely repent. "But I do not repent. I only curse my evil fate. Do you remember likening me to a figure in a certain picture?" O, yes; how wrong it was of me! I was quite ashamed that you should know. I hoped you had forgotten it.", "No, sweetheart, I have never forgotten one word of yours; and the similitude there was striking." That task will need a more cunning hand than this, sweetheart," said he, taking her slender fingers in his; "I think if the jarred, flawed, leaking vessel were all broken up, it would be best; it is not safe to stow your happiness away in it." "Laurence, you make me very sad when you talk in that fashion; I do not understand you. You know that if I were without you, I and baby might as well be lying in St. Mark's churchyard by poor old Grizzie; we should not care to live by ourselves." "I do believe you love me with all my sins on my head." "Doubt any thing but my love, Lau rence; for I can forgive you every thing but such a doubt." They staid there by the fireside for a long time, talking of things to them important, but to others trivial, until Martha came in to put more logs on the fire, to close the shutters, and light the lamp. Her master was gayer than usual; Adie's voice had charmed him to a better mood; and the woman, in her furtive, watchful way, took note of it. They became silent when she entered; and as her listed step seemed always to deepen instead of breaking the hush, the noise of a rising wind outside resounded mournfully through the Court. It drove sharp, rattling gusts of hail and sleet noisily against the windows; then lulled and rose again to fury. Martha said it was going to blow a hurricane, as she fastened the windows. "Let it blow; we are under warm shelter," responded Laurence carelessly. Ay, master; and them who have to bide it out of doors may bide it easily enough, if they have clean consciences," said Martha significantly. 19 He turned round to the fire, with a dark wrathful look on his face. Adie, who was singing to the child, had not heard this brief colloquy. At that moment voices below were heard, steps ascended the stairway, and Marsh and St. Barbe appeared at the door. It was a rather oddly assorted company which sat round that Christmas supper. table. Laurence Royston and Adie, the courteous, coldly-polished old Frenchman, "It was a foolish thought of mine; I and the rough Curil; and finally, the round, have never seen the resemblance since so it rubicund, and honest Mrs. Parkes. Martha must have been a mere passing expression.' "Your loving fancy has idealized me out of all nature, Adie; you do not see my glided about with a cat-like velvety step, serving them; always at hand, but never obtrusive a model of a waiting-woman with drops, while her husband drank the contents of his glass hastily, and cried, with a sort of defiance in his tone, "To that I say, Amen." A few seconds of silence ensued, during which Martha glided to and fro, putting a few matters within reach previously to leaving the room. "Let us have a game at cards," suggested Laurence hastily. "You like cards, St. Barbo? all Frenchmen have a taint of the gambler." The clockmaker agreed; and when Martha entered from the corridor with | As it was finished she lifted it to her lips and a face as blank as a shadow. The cold being drained it, still watching him. Adie hesicarefully shut out, the old room looked and tated a moment, then swallowed a few felt cosy enough; and when Curll had thawed into good humor, he ceased to remember bis chilly walk out of the Barbican. The Frenchman also seemed in a state of ineffable beatitude, as indeed he always was, with good cheer before him. These two and Mrs. Parkes had the talk for some time to themselves; for Laurence was very silent, and Adie was disturbed to see him so depressed. By and by, however, he shook off the fit, and laughed with the rest, which his wife seeing, she also became at ease. Mrs. Marsh said that it was years since he had Parkes had the satisfaction of seeing her touched any thing of the kind, but he would culinary labors duly appreciated and duly join in. Adie did not like this; but there honored; so that, when the Christmas bowl was an eager, restless excitement in her huswas set on the table, with all the accessories band's manner that she did not care to for the compounding of a drink which St. Barbe called ponche divin, it needed but that to raise her spirits to their utmost height. At any other time, she might have been considered as too exuberantly gay. Curll was to compound the bowl; and that being done, the health of young Laury was drunk,-by St. Barbe sentimentally, by the printseller enjoyingly, and by Mrs. Parkes tearfully. Perhaps Adie put up a brief prayer as her lips touched the glass; and Laurence, without tasting, and almost unconsciously, set his down again. "You do not drink, my friend Laurence," remarked the Frenchman gaily. "You must drink to your son-you must." With a nervous hand Royston lifted his glass, and drained it; when he sat it down again it rang on the table with the tremor of his grasp; but soon his cold, pale, blue eyes lit up, and a red spot of excitement burnt on each hollow cheek. It now became evident that Curll meditated making a speech; for he became restless and flurried, half-rose from his seat, ruffled his scanty gray hair, and with a hem, began. He hoped there were none present who had forgotten the former master of that house; he had not: he missed him daily. They were friends; they had been boys and men together, and friends .always. He had loved Nicholas Drew for his virtues, and revered him for his genius; nobody had known him better, or appreciated him more highly. They anticipated what he had to say: this good old man lay in his grave unavenged. The toast he had to propose was, "A speedy capture and short shrift to his murderer." thwart. He asked her to find some cards. She replied at first that there were none in the house; then suddenly recollected that there was a very old pack, which had belonged to Nicholas, in her box, where she stored her treasures. Martha had not yet gone out, and she bade her fetch the little chest from her chamber. The cards, mistress,-must I get them out?" asked she quietly. "No; you can bring the box here," was the reply. The woman returned in a minute, saying it was too heavy to lift; but if Adie would give her the key, she could find what was wanted. With an ejaculation of impatience, Laurence started up, and fetched the box himself. It was of trifling size; and Mrs. Parkes suggested that Martha was good for nothing, if that were too much for her. The cards were produced, and the three' men were soon earnestly engaged in their game. Adie and Mrs. Parkes sat on the long settle by the fire, talking, while the former carelessly turned over the contents of the box. Her fingers came in contact with the dead white rose, which she lifted out and smiled over thoughtfully. Martha came up to her. "Shall I put the box away, mistress?" she asked, preparing to lift it up. "No; leave it," said Adie; and taking another thing from it, she tripped behind Laurence Royston's chair, and laying one hand softly on his shoulder, dropped the other before him, asking in a whisper, you know that glove, Laurence? "Do He recognised it instantaneously, and During this exordium, Martha had been starting up from his chair with a terrible standing opposite her master, with her eyes oath; his face was livid, his eye murderous. looking at him from beneath the half-down-"I never saw it in my life before! Why do cast lids, and in her hand a glass which he you come to me with such fool's questions?' had handed to her to drink his son's health. he exclaimed. Then reading the startled surprise in the faces all around him, he open air, especially when the sun shone, added, "What is the glove to me? what should I know about it? take it away, Adie!" gazing pitifully at heaven, and pulling to pieces flowers that people brought her from the fields; but she never took any notice either of her boy or Martha, or of any other person whom Christian charity impelled to visit her. She was regarded as one on whom God's chastening hand had been laid with signal heaviness; but still as one who suffered for another's sin. He flung it over towards the fire, but it fell short upon the hearth, and was picked up by Mrs. Parkes, who examined it carefully. From the first moment of his outbreak, Adie never took her eyes from her husband's face; they dilated first with a pained astonishment, then darkened with a When the dark days began to come round wavering mist, a dull, speechless agony. again, in the long stormy October and She had penetrated the mask which he strove clouded November nights, there might occa vainly to retain upon his traitor counten- sionally be seen the figure of a man slinking ance. Marsh laid on his host's shoulder a along from shadow to shadow under the heavy grasp, and St. Barbe, passing round Minster walls, until he came into Nevil's to the further side of him, whispered low in Court. If all was still, he would hide in the his ear a few emphatic words. Royston's archway, and listen for any one coming or eyes flickered from one to the other, and going to and fro in the house; and somethen settled on Adie. "You have killed me times he gathered courage stealthily to with your silly love!" said he in a kind of mad rage; thus blindly changing the suspicion which had flashed across the minds of the two men into a dark certainty that he was Nicholas Drew's murderer. mount the old wooden stair, and peep in through the uncurtained window at poor Adie, sitting like a dark statue by the fire, Laury playing on the hearth, and Martha busy at the work with which she helped to They were the last words that for many maintain them. After a few minutes of months struck the soul of the poor Flower of this stealthy watch, he would glide away 88 Nevil's Court. A shrill, passionate cry noiselessly as he had come; and not seldom broke from her, which echoed and re-echoed he would lie crouching like a miserable, through the haunted house; then she seemed homeless dog in a corner of the court until to stiffen into a statue; all expression passed the window was dark, and all the city was from her features, all speculation from her a-bed. His appearance grew more and more eyes her hands fell as if volition were haggard and awful; and at last his strength utterly gone from her, and without one word was so spent, that any one meeting him or one gesture, without even turning her might have thought it was Laurence Roye head to follow their movements, she let the ton's ghost, but not that unhappy man in Christmas-guests depart, taking her husband the flesh. One keen, stinging night he had with them. As he went out, Laurence looked back at her with a wild, remorseful pity. Had he not done her wrong enough that his last words to her should be that cruel, cruel reproach? trailed his steps to the archway, and there he fell, utterly spent with hunger, fatigue, and misery. After lying for a few minutes thus, he staggered to his feet, to make an effort to see Adie once more, and climbed the Once out in the court, self-preservation, stair clinging to the rail. Adie only was man's strongest instinct in most cases, there; neither the child nor Martha; so he prompted Laurence Royston to make one opened the door and went in, crying desperate effort to escape. The two men "Adie, I am dying; let me die here!" and who had been his guests had loosed their staggering across the floor, he fell at her grasp to let him pass down the outer stairs; feet, clinging feebly to her knees. At the and rushing to the archway, he, favored by sound of his voice she started up, looked at the darkness, contrived to elude their pur- him eagerly, and sinking beside him, she suit, and to disappear in one of the numer- drew his head upon her breast, saying with ous narrow lanes abutting on Friargate. a pitiful yearning love," Here, Laurence, Thence to the open country, under cover of here!" Martha came in, and regarded the night, he made his way; and though a hue scene with amazement. Adie bid her shut-to and cry was raised after him, he was sup- the door. posed to have effected his escape from the kingdom, as he was never traced. Poor Adie remained long in her unconscious state, blank and unimpressible as a bronze image. Martha watched and tended her and the boy with unremitting care and fondness, striving by many a little art to awaken her senses. She liked to sit in the 66 Say a prayer, Adie; God will har you," gasped the dying man; and before the words were done he had gone to his account. This event, startling and painful as it was, restored Adie to her right mind. At first she was questioning continually, "Is he for given? Did God hear my prayer?" But |