formation, and everything confirmed the impression that the Italian had by some means been following Richard, and that he had taken advantage of the strange circumstances to further his revenge. These conjectures were all well; but how to obtain evidence for the poor prisoner they knew not, in so mysterious an event. Granville sought in vain for Silvio; the Captain in vain sent a party to search for him as a deserter; he was safely concealed somewhere, and did not choose to discover himself; and the Coalpit, unable to wait the issue of the trial, set sail, leaving the affair in the hands of the British Consul, Mr. Erle and Granville remaining to be ready for anything that might seem to require them. Mr. Erle sent over immediately for his own lawyer, and so, using every effort to discover the true assassin, the time passed on.

0'

CHAPTER XVII.

H, how worn and altered was Richard Boothby when that terrible trial was over; over, ay, and he a condemned criminal; and through (as it seemed so hard to him) an act of Christian benevolence. This long, sad time had yet been one of deep importance to him, and perhaps a lesson less severe might have been too slight, to draw him to a serious and heartfelt consideration of those important things, which he had so often and so long neglected.

He was visited by one or two priests, who were indefatigable in their endeavours to induce him to renounce his religion and to adopt Romanism; but Richard angrily refused to hear, asking what possible inducement they could offer to one who had had such bitter experience of the treachery that accompanied their creed.

'It has made your country what it is, and your people what they are treacherous, lying, and murderous-men who can murder the innocent with a lie. Begone, and do not trouble me. Bring your own lying witness to confess his sins, and then perhaps I may listen to you.'

Access was afforded to his friends, and Mr. Erle and Granville came often to see him. Poor

fellow !

Granville was all-everything; his He prayed for him and with him, read to him, consoled him, encouraged him; yet it was so difficult to realize the fact of his danger. Richard's sanguine

pastor, his friend, his adviser.

temper and his buoyant life, broken as his spirits were by imprisonment, anxiety, and excitement of the most fearful kind, refused to credit it; and at times he made Granville kneel and pray aloud for him, that he might be able to fear sufficiently for himself, to come in earnest for the salvation he needed.

'I cannot, dear Granville, I cannot feel there is no hope. Oh, Granville, have you seen Silvio yet?'

'Yes, after the greatest difficulty and the most vigilant watchfulness, I traced him, and made him stay nearly an hour with me. I have never been able to get one minute with him before yesterday. He always disappeared at the Law Courts directly his evidence was taken, and in spite of his kind of affection for me, has avoided me in the most systematic manner.'

'And did you make him confess anything?' said Richard, eagerly, raising himself on his elbow from the low bed on which he lay, and

fixing his hollow eyes on his friend with an intensity of gaze that touched Granville to the heart.

'Nothing, my dear Richard-nothing,' he replied, sadly.

you

Richard sank back.

'Oh, Granville, it is so hard; I am innocent, know it. It is so hard to die innocent.' 'Would it not be much more terrible to die guilty, Richard?' asked Granville gently.

You know I am innocent, dear Granville,' repeated Richard.

'I am quite certain of it,' said Granville, solemnly; and so is Mr. Erle, and so is Mr. Wilcox, whose opinion has more weight than either of ours, having conducted our side of the case; but, my dear Richard, the circumstantial evidence is too strong. It cannot at present be disproved. More than all my own belief of your innocence, I am sure that Silvio knows you are not the guilty party; and from my own observation, I feel certain that he has a spite against you for some reason; still I could not make him contradict himself in any important point, and, unfortunately, I had no witness of our conversation.'

'I told you how he came to bear me such a grudge,' said Richard. 'He has been my evil

genius. Oh, that I should ever have come across him; and, Granville, for this to happen when I was doing a kind action.'

'So much the better if it were to happen, dear Richard.' He paused, and then added, in an unequal voice, 'I dare not be unfaithful to you even now, Richard. Were you not to blame? Was not your joking carried often to a pitch, which set alike at defiance common rules of courtesy, and consideration for another's most sacred feelings? Were you not unfeeling and irreligious? and yourself doing more dishonour to the Christian name than he, since your light was greater than his? This terrible punishment, dear fellow, is it more than the consequence of the unchristian disregard you showed of him? That it has come at a moment when you were doing a kind action, does not alter the fact of its being a consequence of your own sin, which was not visited on you at times when you might have been more evilly engaged. My dear Richard, all of us are too much among those of whom the Almighty speaks when He says, 'Because I kept silence, thou thoughtest wickedly that I was such an one as thyself; but I will reprove thee.'

'Yes, yes, yes-you are right, you are right,' murmured Richard, turning his face down on