CHAPTER X.

HOW GODFREY MET WITH AN ADVENTURE WHICH SOBERED HIM; AND, AFTER LEAPING OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE,' FOUND HIMSELF ONCE MORE-ASLEEP.

WHEN Godfrey Malvern awoke, it was several minutes before he became conscious of where he was. He raised his head from the sofa, and saw the soft moonlight of a lovely June evening streaming into a richly-furnished room, and he remembered, at last, how he came there. By degrees every little incident arose before him, and he hid his face with his hands, as if to shut out the vivid remembrance of the last few hours. He had not forgotten how Emma Ingledew spoke to him; the very music of her voice seemed still to ring upon his ear. Then he endeavoured to recall what he had said to her, and he remembered the words 'Dear Emma.' What followed next?-when he turned to look at her again he was in the arms of the two footmen, drunkalmost senselessly and speechlessly drunk! He struck his forehead, as if he intended to beat out the foolish brains which had led him to perpetrate such folly. He thought he could never look on Emma Ingledew again. He had fallen in his own eyes; he felt himself the most degraded wretch on earth, and he clenched his hands convulsively. What would his friends think of such conduct !-what folly had he not committed in the squire's presence! He endeavoured to recall the conversation, and felt afraid, as it broke upon his memory; but above all rose the thought, what would Emma herself think of him? she who had committed his poetry to memory-had set his songs to music, and sung them-had made drawings from the subjects of his verse-what would she now think of him? Then a hundred little things passed before him-how in their walks she had always preferred loitering behind with him, and had asked him the names of the wild flowers she gathered; had pointed out spots, and inquired if they were not such as he had described in his verses; had borrowed his handkerchief to spread on the grass when she sat down; had made him the bearer of her parasol; leant all her weight on his shoulder when crossing a brook, or climbing a rustic stile; nay, had even called him Godfrey when they were alone. And now he dared not even look

upon her face, for he could not endure to be treated coldly and unkindly by Emma Ingledew.

Then came other thoughts :-how could he, a poor schoolmaster, a poor poet, who had been compelled to accept of a subscription to defray the expence of publishing his volume-how could he be so mad as to think of a lady whose station in life was so far beyond his own -one whose father had offered to make him a secretary-to make him a servant. "This is, indeed, madness," said Godfrey, springing up from the sofa; "would to God I had never entered these walls!—it would have saved me from much humiliation." In rising up he shook from him a great weight like a heavy coverlet-the footman had 'tucked him in' for the night. Godfrey felt about for his hat, but this could nowhere be found. He groped for the door, but could not undo it―he approached the large central window, or sash-door, which opened upon the lawn, and, after some little difficulty in finding the bolts, threw it open. He stepped outside, and stood for a few moments upon the winding gravel-walk, and, saving the song of a nightingale, which all night long her amorous descant sung' from the neighbouring shrubbery-all around was silent; even the very trees secmed to sleep in the moonlight, so calm and tranquil was the night. He walked along bare-necked and bare-headed in the direction of the large iron gates, and the sound his footsteps made as they cranched' on the broad gravel-walk, seemed to awaken the slumbering silence which reigned around. Presently the deep barking of a mastiff rung upon his ear, and was taken up by every mongrel about the hall— stable called to stable, and kennel to kennel. But Godfrey was now drawing near to the gates, and thought that if once safe outside, he would leave them to bark on until tired; for he was anxious to gain his snug little room in the parsonage-house. He reached the gates, and found them locked; there was now no alternative but either to return, or climb the high park-wall; and before he had decided which to do, he saw the huge mastiff approaching-another minute and it would be at his throat. There was no time to think; a temporary fence, or 'stowp and rail inclosure' had been run up to keep the deer off the smoothly-rolled green, and with a desperate clutch Godfrey unloosed one of the rails; only just in time to strike his savage antagonist, as he was about to spring upon him. One blow, however, laid the mastiff for a moment on his side; but he rose again, and still kept up his deep incessant barking, although never again approaching within length of the rail. Other sounds followed, bark was answered with bark; then