'Father,' broke out the poor boy again, 'you cannot mean to part us! Let us abide as we have been till I am of age to take my vows! I am not fit to serve the King.'

'He is the best judge of that,' returned Sir James.

'And,' added Sir David, 'I tell you, lad, that I shall never be as I was before, and that were I a whole man and sain, riding back to Glenuskie the morn, I should still bless the saints and bid you gang.'

Rarely did the youth of the fifteenth century venture to question the authority of an elder, but Malcolm was only silenced for a moment, and though by no means understanding that his guardian believed his injuries mortal, he threw himself upon the advice of the Prior, whom he entreated to allow him to judge for himself, and to remain to protect his sister—he talked boldly of protecting her after this day's exploit. But Prior Akecliff gave him no more encouragement than did his uncle. The Benedictine vows were out of the question till he should be eighteen, and the renunciation of the world they involved would be ruinous to Lilias, since she would become his heiress. Moreover, the Prior himself was almost in a state of siege, for the Regent was endeavouring to intrude on the convent one Brother William Drake, or Drax, by his own nomination, instead of the canonical appointment emanating from Durham, and as national feeling went with the Regent's nominee, it was by no means certain that the present Prior would be able to maintain his position.

'Oh, go! yes, go, dear brother,' entreated Lilias. 'I should be far happier to know you in safety. They cannot hurt me while you are safe.'

'But you, Lily! What if this villain Drax have his way?'

'He could not harm her in St. Ebba's fold,' returned the Prior. 'The Abbess herself could not yield her; and, as you have so often been told, my young Lord, your absence is a far greater protection to your sister than your presence. Moreover, were the Tutor's mind at rest, there would be far better hope of his recovery.'

There was no alternative, and Malcolm could not but submit. Lilias was to be conducted before daybreak to the monastery of St. Abbs, about six miles off, whence she could be summoned at any time to be with her uncle in Coldingham; and Malcolm was to set off at daybreak with the captive knight, whose return to England could no longer be delayed.

Poor children! while Sir James Stewart was in the Prior's chamber, they sat silent and mournful by the bed-side where their guardian lay dozing, even till the bell for Matins summoned them in common with all the other inmates of the convent; they knelt on the floor of the candle-lit church, and held each other's hands as they prayed; Lilias still the stronger and more hopeful, while Malcolm as he looked up at those dear familiar vaultings, felt as if he were a bird driven from its calm peaceful nest to battle with the tossing winds and storms of ocean, without one near him whom he had learnt to love.

It was still dark when the service had ended, and Prior Akecliff came towards them. 'Daughter,' he said to Lilias, 'we deem it safer that you should ride to St. Abbs ere daylight. Your palfrey is ready, the Mother Abbess is warned, and I will myself conduct you thither.'

Priors were not people to be kept waiting, and as it was reported that the Tutor of Glenuskie was still asleep, Lilias had to depart without taking leave of him. With Malcolm the last words were spoken while crossing the court. Fear not, Lily; my heart will only weary till the Church owns me, and Patie has you.'

'Nay, my Malcolm; mayhap, as the Prior tells me, your strength and manhood will come in the south country.'

'Let them,' said Malcolm; 'I will neither cheat the Church nor Patie.'

'It were no cheat. There never was any compact. Patie is winning his fortune by his own sword; he would scorn-'

'Hush, Lily! When the King sees what a weakling Sir James has brought him, he will be but too glad to exchange Patie for me, and leave me safe in these blessed walls.'

But here they were under the archway, and the convoy of armed men, whom the exigencies of the time forced the convent to maintain, were already mounted. Sir James stood ready to assist the lady to her saddle, and with one long earnest embrace the brother and sister were parted, and Lilias rode away in the darkness with the Prior by her side, letting the tears flow quietly down her cheeks in the darkness, and but half hearing the long arguments by which good Father Akecliff was proving to her that the decision was the best for both Malcolm and herself.

By-and-by the dawn began to appear, the air of the March night became sharper, and in the distance the murmur and plash of the tide was heard. Then, standing heavy and dark against the clear pale eastern sky, there arose the dark mass of St. Ebba's monastery, the parent of Coldingham, standing on the very verge of the cliff to which it has left the name of St. Abb's Head, upon ground which has since been undermined by the waves, and has been devoured by them. The sea, far below, calmly brightened with the brightening sky, and reflected the morning stars in a lucid track of light, strong enough to make the lights glisten red in the convent windows. Lilias was expected, was a frequent guest, and had many friends there, and as the sweet sound of the Lauds came from the chapel, and while she dismounted in the court, the concluding 'Amen' swelled and died away, she, though no convent bird, felt herself in a safe home and shelter under the wing of kind Abbess Annabel Drummond, and only mourned that Malcolm, so much tenderer and more shrinking than herself, should be driven into the unknown world that he dreaded so much more than she did.

(To be continued.)

VOL. 6.

12

PART 32.

BERTRAM; OR, THE HEIR OF PENDYNE.

CHAPTER VI.

THE drawing-rooms at Brastings Court will be a change for us after remaining so long in the lane.

The windows are all open, and a gentleman is standing quite still in the centre one. He is listening and longing for the sound of wheels. He waits a long time, but it comes at last; a light carriage stops at the Lodge gates, and then drives up the avenue. The listener turns, as the men announce, 'Dr. Ryder.'

The Doctor enters apologetically. I am sorry. I hope your Lordship is under no apprehension, but I was absent when the message arrived.'

'We are uneasy, but I hope you may dispel our fears,' said Lord Pendyne, trying to smile; and he could do it now that the Doctor had arrived. Before another word could be spoken, the summons had come for the Doctor to visit his patient. The Earl led the way himself.

'The Countess perhaps is more alarmed than I am,' he continued, as they walked up the staircase; but you know, Dr. Ryder, we have but Now I dare say you have a dozen, like the rest of the world.'

one.

'Some sons, but only one daughter,' replied Doctor Ryder, laying most emphasis upon the latter, lest he should seem boastful of blessings of which his auditor was deprived.

6

'Ah!' the Earl sighed. He had a quick ear for the word so lightly said. Then addressing a lady at an open door, 'I must come too, Anna,' he said, and hear the truth for myself.' And they proceeded to the bedside of a little girl about eleven years old, whose burning cheeks showed the feverish state which was making her loving parents so unhappy.

There was a breathless silence while the Doctor leaned over his patient. His voice was very winning, and he was a great favourite with children. He put a few questions to the little girl in his gentlest manner; then he turned to the anxious faces behind him, and said

'This is probably a feverish cold. One cannot be quite certain, at this early period. At present, there is not the slightest cause for alarm.’ ""At present," Dr. Ryder; but you cannot tell what may ensue?' "I can never insure the future,' replied the Doctor; 'there is, as you may perceive, some amount of fever, which, after a few of the draughts, which shall be prepared without delay, may gradually disappear, or after sleep it may leave suddenly, and the young lady may only require a few days care.'

But, Dr. Ryder, am I asking too much in saying that it would afford us great relief, if you could be spared from your many engagements so as to remain here to-night, to be within call if-'

'I would indeed do so to quiet your apprehension, Lady Pendyne; but I could only request that the draughts might be given as directed,

every three hours, unless sleep should hinder their punctual administration. I would indeed remain all night on service at any time, and your Ladyship may quite depend upon my devoted attendance upon Lady Adela's case so far as it may be required; but I am very urgently needed for worse patients just now, and may have necessarily to remain for many hours at Riversfield. A distressing case, where a young wife will be left with a number of very little children.'

'She will be the better for them,' returned the lady sadly; and bowing her thanks to the Doctor, she returned to the bed-side of her child, from which she had been at some distance during this conversation. The gentlemen then descended to the drawing-room.

'The little girl is our only one; you do not know what that feeling is,' said the Earl, as soon as they were seated. 'I assure you that both the Countess and myself would like to have a resident physician for her, only it would be absurd in this part of the county. We very frequently do have a doctor with us at Pendyne, though I hardly like to own it. But if there were sudden illness, we could get no advice worth having for many hours, and Lady Pendyne occasionally has a nervous fit about our child; and about everything else,' added the Earl.

'Lady Pendyne looks delicate, which may partly account for it,' remarked the Doctor.

'She has been delicate ever since-we returned from abroad, some years ago,' replied the Earl. He was interrupted by the entrance of the Countess.

'There really is no danger, is there?' she commenced, looking from one face to the other. 'You would not withhold it from me, Dr. Ryder? I cannot be quite easy, even after your comforting words.' And she sat down and gave way to a burst of grief.

'Indeed, I have been assuring Lord Pendyne that there is nothing to cause any apprehension,' said Dr. Ryder gently, and touched by her distress; but I may be passing late, very late, and I will come in again, unless my other case should necessarily require me to remain. But your Ladyship may quite depend upon my word,' he added gravely, as though he did not deserve to be doubted. 'Very likely Lady Adela has been out late on some of these fine evenings, and perhaps has been standing upon the damp grass.'

'Yes, she has,' said the Countess remorsefully; she was on the archery field on Thursday, and I was in the tent, and so I did not perceive that the dew was falling.'

'Well,' concluded the Doctor, rising, I will present myself at your Lodge, and if all is as I expect, they will tell me there is no message from the Court, and I will pass on, as it will be night-towards morning, probably.' He bowed, but the Earl's cordial hand was extended; he took it, and withdrew.

'Oh no! Bird is there; and now will you send over for the draughts?'

The Earl rang the bell, and the Countess returned to her charge. Adela turned as she came in. 'Come here, dearest Mamma, kiss me. Have you been crying because I am ill?'

'My love, the Doctor tells me there really is (probably) not very much the matter with you. He thinks you may be quite well again in a few days and I am afraid he considers me a very fidgety Mamma, only he would not like to tell me so.' And the Countess gave one of her sweetest smiles.

'While you were gone, Mamma, I felt sleepy. Say some prayers for me, and read me your text, will you, dear Mamma?'

'Yes, darling.'

Lady Pendyne knelt and opened a book which was at hand. The service was brief and simple; and then the Countess, rising, turned to a written text on one of the walls of the bed-room, and read

'Comfort the soul of Thy servant,

For unto Thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.'

'Mamma, you would say that if God were to take me away from you.❜ The Countess made a strong effort, and said calmly—

'Yes, love, I should say it very often; I should indeed want comfort.' The tears were falling fast now, but her face was towards the text. Presently she continued

'Now, dear love, if you will not say anything, I will sit by you, and perhaps you will be sleepy again.'

6

Yes, dear Mamma. May I say a few things first?' 'Very few, love.'

Mamma, how could the Gipsy children be nursed, if they were ill like me?'

'I don't know, love; but some one would be kind to them, I dare say.' 'Yes, Mamma, you would, if you heard of it. I hope they will tell you of it, and we can ask Dr. Ryder to go and see them.'

'Yes, love, if they are ill; but they seem quite well, and very happy. You shall give them some of your money if you like, and then they will smile at you as they do at me.'

'Thank you, Mamma. And Papa talks about their blue eyes. Why is he surprised, when so many people have blue eyes?'

'Very many people, love, but not Gipsies. They have black eyes— very black, usually. But now, Ada, if you talk, I must go away and send Bird.'

'No, no-but just this. Papa laughed, and said he must bring them here to live with us. I should like that, if they are good; and we must have nurseries for them, and, and-'

'Now, Ada, I must leave you.'

No, Mamma; I am going to be sleepy now. Only this, I promise. I like Dr. Ryder. Do you like him?'

'Yes, love, I do.'