heart and mind which, advantaged by a perfect education, suited her for the highest position to which favouring fate might call her. Mr. Goldrich still retained an affection for his lady-or at least practised the appearance of it-and indeed he truly believed in her having yet an undercurrent of much goodness, that might reappear, like the Tivoli river, after its temporary concealment in the siren's cave. He had often great cause for anger with her; but, as already illustrated, he generally confined his reproofs to a display of dry jest and comic sarcasm.

After a few days sequent to the mishap of the vale, the united party returned to Rome, whence the Goldriches soon proceeded homeward by the shortest route to Genoa, where the merchant had important business. Giacomo, made happy by an invitation to Belmont-most cordial on the part of Mr. Goldrich, and rendered the sweeter by the silent amen to be plainly read in the eyes of his daughter-accompanied his friend Carlo to Florence, where the artist had a lucrative commission to fulfil. This accomplished, the two young men advanced to Genoa, not without a hope of there again falling in with the Goldrich family, but this was not to be.

There was, however, much to interest the friends at Genoa. It was the birthplace of Giacomo. Close to the city was the Villa Ridotti, belonging to Giacomo's grandfather, but leased to an Italian dignitary, who gave them an earnest welcome, and accompanied them over the house and grounds. Giacomo had never before, since his infancy, entered his parental abiding-place, nor had he any preconception of what he was to see until, on beholding the scene, he immediately became convinced he had been familiar with it when a child. As he walked through the garden, objects successively addressed his awakened memory. He was rapt as in a dream! He looked on a grass-plot, where he seemed to revel again around a sick play fellow, while the latter was incapable of play. He recognised the seat whereon his grandfather sat weeping. He saw again, on a certain spot, an agonised woman who would not be comforted, because of a dead child, or of some sad bereavement. In the summer-house overlooking the sea, he seemed to remember a couch and table. The vague recollection of steps leading down to the beach suggested the search which immediately discovered them. The scene at the foot of the steps was almost familiar to him, one large stone in particular. He became greatly excited, and sat upon that stone to collect his scattered thoughts and compose his mind. He left the place, rather led away by Wilton than moving of his own accord. Isabella (for the first time since his meeting her) was out of his mind. He seemed nearly out of it himself. Wilton suggested his seeking his grandfather's steward, who still resided in Genoa, and this brought him

again somewhat to his senses. But he would not adopt the suggestion. He had a superstitious impression that an attempt to anticipate such knowledge as his grandfather had promised to afford in due time, and that to obtain information forbidden or not volunteered by the old signore, would result in evil. He alınost regretted Wilton's having accompanied him to the villa, and could only be set at rest by his friend's promise of secrecy. So ended this visit to the scene of his infancy.

The two young men travelled on together to Turin, whence Wilton almost immediately proceeded to Paris, leaving Giacomo to make a stay of two or three weeks with the old signore, who now resided in the former city, after which Giacomo was again to join Wilton at the French capital, and accompany him to England.

A notable incident has now to be recorded.

A few minutes before Wilton's departure from Turin, Giacomo sought him in the common room of the hotel, where the artist had passed the previous night. The door was open, and, in accordance with the ordinary gentleness of his movements, he entered the apartment as noiselessly as a ghost. Wilton was not there; but there was one person, standing with his back to the only window of the room, the light from which shone brightly on Giacomo's face, leaving the features of the other wholly indiscernible to the dazzled eyes of his beholder, who was, nevertheless, struck by the statue-like fixedness of the stranger and by the astonishment in his gaze. The latter remained quite motionless, but was heard, in a faint whisper, to utter the words, "Good Heaven! What do I see?" Giacomo remained also standing for some seconds, expecting the advance or further speech of the dark figure in explanation of the singular effect his entrance had produced, but neither word nor movement afforded it. The form still continued as if petrified by amazement, and Giacomo, now apprehending some mistake on his own part, or that he had been unintentionally intrusive, backed out of the room as silently as he had entered. The meeting and parting of two spirits in Hades could not have been more mysterious. Giacomo felt himself to be living flesh and blood, but he might almost have doubted the substantial being of the shadow-like thing before him had it not spoken, and manifested an opacity impervious to the beams of a southern sun in its noonday brightness as it shone through the window behind.

Wilton had departed. Giacomo passed his time happily with his grandfather, speaking of his pleasant sojourn at Tivoli, but avoiding all reference to his visit to the Genoese villa. He then hastened on to Paris, and found his friend in readiness for England. For the first time he was content to pass through London without seeing any of his acquaintance there, and at once to ac

company his friend to Blackleigh, where he was at first to take up his abode in the artist's own home, Blackleigh Cottage. A neatly clad and most respectable-looking old woman received Wilton with every demonstration of affectionate joy. It was impossible to see with which of them the embrace began, but it was more like that of grandmother and son than servant and master. She was the nurse of his mother when Carlo was born.

It was the very home of an artist. As an upholsterer would estimate it, there was not a piece of valuable furniture in the cottage; but such was the neatness of the arrangements, the harmony of the tints, the effect of miniature casts from the antique, the pickle and preserve pottery after the Etrurian models, &c., and the walls were so radiant with water-colour drawings in gold bead frames, that it was the little gem-show of the neighbourhood. Over the parlour mantel-shelf hung the old portrait of Carlo's mother, the first (if not the only) love of her son and only child, she having been a widow longer than he could remember.

"I still exist," said Wilton; "for I was taught resignation by one whom otherwise I could not have outlived. From the day of her burial her memory has remained the treasure of my mind, and that picture the worship of mine eyes. Since then, my profession and (I may now add) your friendship have been among my chief motives to a desire for prolonged existence. You are now my guest, and this cottage will ever be your reserve home in England, whether my guest or not. I shall not selfishly grudge your abiding at Belmont or elsewhere when the invitations you must receive call you away; but this is your Blackleigh station-house, into and out of which you will come or go as your perfect will and convenience may prompt."

As might be expected, the invitation to Belmont, given first at Tivoli, was repeated at Blackleigh Cottage by Mr. Goldrich, who lost no time in calling upon the young signore; but the expressed welcome of Mrs. Goldrich, when Giacomo returned the call, was so diluted in the cold water of compelled civility that he gracefully postponed its acceptance. He therefore remained a morning visitor and occasional diner at Belmont, strictly and most heartily preferring the artist's cottage as his home, nor ever visiting Belmont in any way except with his friend Carlo. The latter, it is true, took care to find abundant necessities for seeing Mr. Goldrich, and, in very truth, as the re-engaged art-tutor of Miss Isabella, he had frequent occasion to visit Belmont. While Carlo was occupied with his fair pupil, Giacomo would sit or walk with her father to the infinite pleasure of the latter. The watchfulness of Mrs. Goldrich could not prevent sufficient opportunities for gentle converse between Isabella and her Italian admirer, and a less modest and delicate man than Giacomo would have interpreted the young

lady's manner and expressions as intimating that he might speak all he felt without any probability of offending her; but he had still an exaggerated idea of even her father's requiring decided replies to such questions as he could not positively answer; and if the reader thinks all this hesitancy as morbid and something absurd, the writer can only say he thinks so too.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Goldrich's "friend the bachelor baronet" was away on his travels, and not within the reach or knowledge of any one who had no especial business demanding acquaintance with his whereabout. There was ever now some mystery in his movements and conduct, though Mrs. Goldrich "could not see anything of the kind"-partly, perhaps, because there was in it no mystery to herself.

The repute of Blacklock Forest had much excited the curiosity and interest of the Italian signore. Its legendary and recently. added associations, the dread in which it was popularly held, and its character for picturesque wildness, had made him long for its exploration; but circumstances prevented the fulfilment of his wish for many days after his arrival at Blackleigh, and, indeed, during these he was sufficiently occupied in visiting Belmont and the Hall, with their beautiful grounds, and other of the milder scenes in a generally charming locality. Sir Richard's mansion in itself was interesting as a gallery of art, and Giacomo was not a little struck by that one picture in particular to which important reference was made in the earlier part of our story. The lake and grounds induced comparison with the Italian villas, not unfavourable to the taste and skill of the English landscape gardener; nor need it be said that the lawns, flower gardens, and shrubberies of Belmont were, in his estimation, paradisal, as befitted the home of Eve's loveliest daughter.

At length the day for incursion into the dread forest arrived. Wilton stowed his own and his friend's pockets with a sufficient supply of sandwiches and brandy for a long day's sustenance, and, taking with him his sketching apparatus, he furnished Giacomo with fishing-tackle, that they might both bring home evidence of their daring visit to the Black Loch.

"I have personal warrant," said the artist, "that the spirits and goblins of the forest will do us no injury, and there is no record of anything worse than fright occasioned by snakes, toads, newts, hawks, owls, and wild cats. You shall, however, behold scenes of murder and of bloody vengeance, but we shall return home to tea with cold beef and fried trout, and with nothing else to speak of but romantic solitudes, a book of sketches, and a basket of fish."

So, humorously and cheerfully, may begin a day of serious event; but we will not anticipate what may add to the tragic "romance of the forest."

They went forth and passed through the north lodge gateway, where (not Mr. Robert Rawbold, nor his wife, stood in readiness to open to them, but where) their serving-maid appeared as gatekeeper. The pretty Bessie, however (now of matronly aspect), saw them from an upper window, and-"her ladyship forgotten"she came down, and, with all the humility of her earlier years, greeted Wilton with a welcome back to England. Proceeding onwards, they diverged from the main road to visit the WatersMeet, Giacomo listening with deep interest to Carlo's tragic recital of Antonio's death; then they went to the Cave of Spirits, the facts connected with it being of a less ensanguined character; and afterwards, by a footpath rather known to Carlo than bearing any mark of being a footpath at all, they crossed the main road, passing on by torrent and rock through tunnels of foliage, till at last they came to the very "heart of the mystery"-the Black

Loch!

"Well," said Giacomo, "your forest is not a Tivoli; it displays no such fascinating beauty; it has not the cascades of the gorge nor such cascatelle as those of our valley, neither has it any classic associations; but I never beheld, and could not have conceived, so dread and melancholy a solitude as this!"

He was awe-struck by the black waters of the rock-bound crater, so expressive of fathomless profundity, and by the stillness, which was at once, as it were, the result and the cause of terror.

The artist had taken his position near the end of the dam where the castle rock rises with the path up to the ruins. At the other end, beyond the bridge crossing the lake's overflow, stood Giacomo with his fishing-rod. They had continued busily apart for some time, the fisherman filling his basket with trout and his friend well employed on his sketch-book or otherwise, as was thereafter to be seen, when the former (Giacomo) heard, almost simultaneously, the shriek of a human voice and the splash as of a heavy substance falling into the water, accompanied by the noise of startled birds flying from the trees close by!

He looked towards the other end of the embankment, where he had left his friend. "Carlo!" he shouted; but echo only made reply. Swiftly as rose his most fearful apprehensions he coursed the length of the terrace-alas, to find his alarm too truly justified! A sketch-book was lying on the grass; a broken bough was dangling from a tree that overhung the loch; a hat, with a litter of twigs and leaves, floated on the surface of the water, the bubbles on which formed the centre of a broad spreading circle, denoting unequivocally the tragic catastrophe dreaded! Giacomo could not swim, and therefore only was it that he perished not himself, for he was far from the only spot where assistance could be afforded even by persons on the land and provided with means for rescue. The body rose not, but the water was several times disturbed, and