wings to fly to these foreign and fashionable places of amusement, was plucked from the featherless bodies they had left behind. Not, be it remembered, that Squire Ingledew thought or cared for a moment about such matters as these; he would much rather, had he had his own way, have been with some gay party at Paris, or taking his dinner at the dearest hotel which skirts the Rhine, providing he could have done so with safety to himself. The Squire looked out on the almost empty square, and, although there were cabs and hackney-coaches in abundance, he missed the aristocratic roll of his neighbours' carriages, whose wealthy owners were miles away, while many of the servants remained behind on board-wages; still the scene was but very little changed, for the servants had also parties to give, and friends to invite. John, the butler, sat the head of his table, and took wine with his friend, the footman, just as he had seen his master take it with his wealthiest guest; while the chamber-maid and cook, for one evening in their lives 'aped the lady,' and sat as erect as if they had never either made a bed, or scoured a saucepan. They went to the theatre in cabs, returned home to supper, and criticised the new tragedy of Greenacre,' just as their 'betters' did the performance at the Italian Opera; and although Polly, the cook, had neither heard Rubini, nor Lablache, still she thought the man who sang 'All round my hat,' a wery wulgar wocalist.'— Squire Ingledew stood with his hands in his pocket, whistling an odd kind of air, which seemed to partake occasionally of the 'Old Hundredth Psalm,' and 'Old King Cole,' and sometimes he turned to look at a packet or two which lay on the table, as if he did not at all like their appearance; and then he suspended his low whistle, without altering his mouth, for he had received a few hints from Lawyer Cook, which he well knew he must attend to, whether he liked them or not. In a word, the wide acres of Sutton-cum-Bottesford seemed, every hour, to be melting away from his grasp. 6 Another packet of papers had arrived from the Lawyer, together with letters from Hopkins, Parson Preedom, and Godfrey Malvern, the last of which was a promise from Godfrey, intimating that he should call upon him the very first opportunity. Time wore away, as it ever does, whether our thoughts are merrily or sadly employed. Time wore away, and tore on like a railwayengine, which has no business to perform, except to reach its journey's end; whether conveying its passengers to a marriage or a funeral, makes no difference in its progress;-and at the appointed time, (dictated only by the coming darkness,) the servant brought in lights, and Squire Ingledow sat down to his table; but little dreaming of the consequence of the correspondence which lay before him. He opened the seal of the bulky packet first, read of Mr. Pashley's death,-saw the Captain's evidence regarding the unfortunate explosion, then broke into a cold sweat, and turned away his head as if he was afraid to read any further. At length he laid down the painful document, and took up Parson Preedom's letter. The words, watch and seal, in possession of the deceased, given to Godfrey Malvern,' was all he read, as his eye alighted upon the seal of Godfrey's letter, and there he beheld, boldly and distinctly impressed upon the red wax, the ARMS OF THE EMMERSONS, and saw as clearly as if the handwriting had been written in letters of fire on the wall, that Godfrey Malvern was the rightful heir to the estate of Sutton-cum-Bottesford. And, amid this rush of thought and feeling, arose the vivid conviction that he had played out his great game, and lost all; that his shuffling, and cheating, and hypocrisy, were no longer concealed; for there stood out, bold and bare before him, the truth, too palpable to be ever again hidden, and too well-known to be concealed any longer, under the most masterly mask, or wrapt up in the cunningest folds that disguise could invent! Nor was this all, he had turned his head in the direction of the door, and there glowered upon him from out of the half-darkness, a countenance not unlike that of the evil-one, himself; so grim, and fixed, and motionless, it seemed like a face that owned neither body nor any other member; but stood moon-like in the shadow of the doorway. It was a face, marked with melancholy, yet lit up at that moment with silent and savage triumph; some such expression as we may fancy passed over the countenance of Achilles, when he gazed upon the lifeless form of Hector; then recalled the features of Patroclus to his mind. It uttered no word; but slowly and silently changed its expression, until the very eyes looked reproof,' and reproach stood written upon the mute and compressed lips, as if they said, 'Thou canst deceive me no longer!' Squire Ingledew had not power to speak; he sat with his eyes fixed upon that countenance, until it seemed to him every moment to grow larger, and to be drawing nearer,-to shut out every other object, and fill the whole space of the room. His knees shook, and his head burnt, as if the red breath of a fierce furnace fell upon it. He tried to utter the name of 'Hopkins;' but he felt such a choking sensation about the throat as checked his utterance. His brain swam-the room seemed to whirl round! He attempted to reach the bell, and fell with his head upon the massive bronze fender. That heavy fall shook the house, the servants hurried up-stairs, and beheld their master, senseless and bleeding, stretched across the hearth-rug; his hand grasped in the hand of Hopkins, who stood beside him. What thoughts rushed through the brain of Edward Stocks during those few brief moments, we cannot tell now. Perchance he recalled the hour when he sought the life of Hopkins, and went disguised into that forbidding court in the Borough, carrying with him the gold, which was to be the price of blood; yet Hopkins had never betrayed his secret, though Ingledew had still continued to deceive the man who had forgiven him, but he could not forget that the Squire had sought to take away his life. It might be, that the remembrance of his conduct towards the poor schoolmaster-the unknown poet whom he had patronised, when he ought to have been standing at his back, and serving him at the very table where he himself sat as master, swelled and broke his heart. Perchance he recalled the scene in Parliament-street, or some humble passage from one of his own daughter's letters, when she and her husband were struggling with difficulties, and sought his help; while he, proud, unfeeling, haughty, and secure in his high station, bade them 'starve, and be d-d!' Or it might be the remembrance of that unbending figure, when Godfrey held up Emma in the street, and saved her from being run over by the wheels of that carriage in which he himself ought by right to have been seated, God only knows! He died, grasping the hand of Hopkins ;-that face which he had imagined looked like the countenance of the evil-one, bent over him as he expired. That hand which he had hoped to see cold and stiff, beside the body to which it belonged,-held the cooling draught to his hot lips, and wiped the death-drops from his burning brow. And the first prayer sent up from the heart, to the golden gates of heaven to beg forgiveness for the troubled spirit, that went wailing through the 'gloomy valley and shadow of death,' went winged from the forgiving lips of John Hopkins. Ned Stocks had given up possession, there was no need of law. Justice had given her decision, and no one was found bold enough to dispute her awful verdict! The long-looked-for heir was found in Godfrey Malvern, and right proud were the inhabitants. of Buttervote, who had subscribed towards his volume of Poems, when they found that they had been written by Squire Emmerson, of Sutton-cum-Bottesford. But how shall we describe the agony of the fond and faithful Emma, |