people's thoughts that they will never disconnect them again. Then you must write a letter for me to show Lesbia, such as will set her heart at rest, saying how well you and Mr. Thornley are getting on together, and how everybody's ill-will has given way at the sight of your triple alliance. Be

quick, dear Cousin Anne, and accomplish this, or I'll never believe you are a true descendant of the O'Flaherty witch. I shall expect that letter before another month is over, and the shortening of the days which Miss Thornley says she dreads so much has become perceptible."

CHAPTER X.

MISS O'FLAHERTY went about her usual occupation for the rest of that day and the next, carrying Ellen Daly's letter in her pocket, and bearing on her mind the conviction that a disagreeable duty, to which she must bring herself sooner or later, hung over her head. It was not any personal feeling against the Thornleys that made Ellen's request distasteful, it was rather that it brought her, as despotic rulers are liable to be brought, into unexpected collision with the limits of her power.

Sympathetic people with active minds and not very strong wills sometimes appear to have almost unbounded power over those with whom they are brought constantly in contact. The busy brains and hearts quick to interpret the emotions of slower intellects seem to have an irresistible faculty for moulding the actions of others in accordance with their wishes; but it is a sort of influence that is very apt to fail suddenly. It only gathers up and gives form to the feelings and thoughts of others, it does not control them, and the link of sympathy once broken, the authority falls to the ground.

Miss O'Flaherty, Queen of Hearts, as she was reputed to be, had had one or two examples of her powerlessness to bring about what she desired, when it was against the prejudices of her neigh

bours she was working, and not through them, and she suspected that this matter of calling back the sanction she had been supposed to give to the popular hatred of the Thornleys would prove another humiliating instance of the failure of her influence.

She had no instinctive love of combat in her, but in this instance the duty was too imperative to be long put aside. She let two fine days slip by, but when the third came in, with drenching rain and howling west wind from the sea, her resolution woke up. It was easier to defy weather and Peter Lynch together than to take Peter Lynch alone, and from childhood Anne had always found a storm of wind inspiring, and taken delight in braving the weather; besides, she should be sure to find the Thornleys at home, and they hardly could turn her away from her cousin's door wet through. She gave her little maidens directions to prepare for visitors before she left home, and in spite of the blinding rain took the reins in her own hands to provide against Peter's circumventing her after all by overturning the car in the first convenient bog he came near.

She did not set forth till noon, and her progress was slow, the road being converted in many places to a shallow running stream, and the old horse. knowing well in whose hands he was. It was already late in the afternoon when Castle Daly came in sight. The storm had spent its strength by that time, the loud wail of the wind had died away into little fitful gusts, like the worn out sobs of a child spent with angry crying, the clouds had lifted in the west, showing below their black jagged ridges a blood-red sun sloping to its funeral pyre piled with purple and gold. The tossed waves of the lake caught the glow, and ran up to the shores in crimson curves as if the expanse of water had been suddenly turned into a sea of molten jewels. The trees and battered flowers in the garden seemed to be gathering themselves together and lifting up their tossed arms and wet faces for a farewell kiss of peace from

the departing sun. It looked like an hour of reconciliation. The battle had been fought, and the contending powers, storm and sunshine, were stretching hands to each other across the battlefield. Anne felt it a good omen, and took heart for the task that lay before her.

A

The place was very still and deserted, no loungers by the gate, no beggars airing their rags on the wall, or gossoons hanging about the back premises waiting to be sent on errands. dull, empty echo came back from the wide hall and staircase when Anne knocked. The maid that answered her summons informed her that Mr. Thornley was out, and Miss Thornley at home, but very busy. Anne did not wait for the conclusion of the sentence, she glided past the girl, an old acquaintance, walked straight to the library door, and opened it for herself. She had planned during her drive exactly what she would do and say on her arrival. She meant to walk in with outstretched hands, take Miss Thornley's in hers, and speak out at once all that was in her mind without false shame or grudging. She would confess frankly her repentance for past misconstructions, and speak of the strong desire that had grown up in her mind to undo the wrongs of which she was guilty towards them. There should be no holding back; the barriers of dislike and misunderstanding should be thrown down by a flood tide of generous impulse and goodwill. Her purpose held good till the door was thrown open, and she had taken a step or two forward into the room, and then a sudden revulsion of feeling came. A quiet figure rose from behind a writing table, heaped up with books and papers, and two grey eyes fixed on her face, plainly asked the meaning of her intrusion. A snowball aimed at Anne would hardly have sent a more sudden chill through her than the dignified surprise expressed by those eyes. The hearty words she had meditated died on her lips, and she gave up all intention of taking Miss Thornley's friendship by storm. There was an awkward pause which the Eng

lish lady broke first, making a step forward, but not holding out her hand.

"I am afraid there is some mistake. You have no doubt come in to see my brother, Miss O'Flaherty, and I am sorry to say he is out. If I could be of any use-but-" (glancing expressively at her letters) "I am unfortunately very much occupied at this moment."

"Yes, I know, and I am sorry to intrude upon you," cried Anne, feeling that since she had lost courage to offer a favour, the only possible way of escaping from her dilemma was to beg one; "but I have had a long wet drive, and I am very tired. I think I must venture to ask you to let me sit with you an hour to rest."

Miss Thornley gave a despairing glance at her writing-table, then, with a resigned air, pushed it aside, brought forward an arm-chair for her visitor, and, ringing the bell, ordered coffee and a fire. While these were in the course of preparation, she sat upright on her seat, and made conversation on indifferent topics with all her might. If she had drawn a circle round herself with an enchanter's wand, she could not more effectually have erected a barrier against intimacy, which her guest was warned not to cross.

"I fear I am keeping you from finishing letters you are anxious about," Anne ventured to observe at last, noticing how, in the intervals of her little dry sentences, Miss Thornley's eye stole lovingly back to her writing-case.

"Not letters; I was copying out an essay of my brother's for the Quarterly Review, which I had hoped to dispatch by to-day's post, as it is already due; but never mind, it is too late now; it can't be helped."

The tone was so much more interested than anything that had gone before, that Anne ventured to take up a MS. sheet and ask a few questions.

The essay proved to be a very laudatory review of a book on Ireland which Anne happened to have read, and particularly disliked. She could not refrain from stating some of her objec

tions to the book in her usual eager way. Miss Thornley defended the author's opinions coldly at first; then with some force, turning to her brother's essay, and reading out bits of sarcasm with evident relish, which provoked angry eloquence from Anne. Argument, even when so vehement as almost to approach a quarrel, was a nearer step towards acquaintanceship for those two than mere company talk. Both parties forgot to whom they were speaking in the interest of the question, and put forth all their powers. Miss Thornley's eyes brightened, her white teeth gleamed now and then with a smile of triumph when she pounced upon a very obvious contradiction in Anne's statements, a little colour stole into her brown cheeks. Suddenly, in some faroff region of the house, a clock struck. Anne saw all the interest and excitement die out of the grey eyes instantly, and a new expression steal into them -a yearning anxious look that went to her heart. They talked on, Miss Thornley sitting more and more upright on her high-backed chair, and wandering further and further from the point of discussion in her replies to Anne's remarks. Her whole soul had evidently gone out in striving to catch some distant sound. A quarterof-an-hour-half-an-hour slipped by ; silence fell upon the talkers; it was impossible to keep up the farce of conversation any longer.

Miss Thornley rose from her chair at last, and began to pace up and down before the windows, peering out into the darkness, first from one and then the other; then, with a muttered excuse about the closeness of the room, raising a sash, and leaning her head far out to listen. Was this her usual way of spending the twilight hours, Anne wondered. Her heart began to ache for her, as she observed how she kept nervously clasping and unclasping her fingers, as if every minute that passed made endurance more difficult; and what a great start she gave when another hour struck.

"You will have a dark drive home," No. 175.-VOL. XXX.

Miss Thornley observed to Anne, when it could no longer be denied that evening had come, and that they were sitting in the dark.

"I don't care, Peter can always drive safely; you will let me stay a little longer, till your brother comes back?" Anne implored.

Miss Thornley put out her hand and grasped the back of a chair, as if to keep herself from falling.

"You-you-know of some danger he is in; you came to warn me ?"

Oh, no, no," cried Anne; "do you think I could have sat still, talking all this time, if it had been so? don't imagine me so heartless."

Please

A quick gesture from Miss Thornley, that seemed to say the question of Anne's heartlessness was one to which she could not give her mind just then, was all the answer that came.

"There!" she said faintly, a minute or two later, " did you hear that?"

It was a very distant sound, so distant and faint that Anne would not have troubled herself to think what it was if her attention had not been called to it; but as it was, there was no resisting the conviction-that sharp, clear ring-it was a gun going off somewhere, a few yards from the house. Anne could not keep her voice from trembling a little, as she answered

"It was nothing; such sounds are often heard."

66

No, not such sounds; I never heard anything exactly like that, at this hour before. Will John never come?"

She covered her face with her hands, and stood trembling, but self-controlled still. Anne thought she could almost hear the beating of her heart in the dead silence that followed, while both held their breath, listening for what would come next.

Cheerful sound-a man's brisk step crushing the gravel, a voice giving some directions outside, in what Anne believed to be a purposely loud and reassuring tone of voice, then a commonplace knock at the door.

Miss Thornley withdrew her hands

D

from her face, into which colour and expression had rushed back.

"There!" she said, looking up at Anne, "I have been foolish again, and you have seen it. May I beg you not to tell my brother about my little fright; it was nothing, you see, and I would not have him know how nervous I am apt to get, when he is long away, for the world; it would make him needlessly uncomfortable."

Anne had only time for a gesture of compliance, for the brisk steps were approaching the library door, and Miss Thornley sprang forward to meet her brother.

"Well, John, are you very wet and tired?"

"Yes, wet through; but my pockets are well stuffed to make up for it. Three letters-one from Lesbia, and a better haul of books than I ever had before, from the Ballyowen book-shop. Actually, a 'Quarterly' only six months old; and a volume of Napier's 'Peninsular War.' Don't you call that worth riding in the rain for ?"

The tones were light, but as the brother's and sister's eyes met there was an eager question in them that betrayed more feeling than comes into every-day meetings and partings.

"I have you safe at home again, and nothing has happened then? the sister's eyes asked, while the brother's telegraphed back an affectionate remonstrance.

Yes, you see I am safe. Why do you let yourself be anxious?"

The expression passed in a moment, as Mr. Thornley turned to address Anne; but it was not lost on her.

"I thought I heard a gun go off in the direction of the field beyond the larch grove, at the back of the house," Miss Thornley remarked in a studiedly indifferent voice some minutes after.

"Ah! yes, I daresay you did," her brother answered; " some stupid fellows popping at the rabbits, I suppose."

"Shooting rabbits in the dark! and close to the road?"

"Jumped over the wall! Oh, John, how rash! You promised you would not run risks."

"The risk of being mistaken for a rabbit? I assure you, Bride, it was not a risk; it was the best thing to do."

The pair of grey eyes met again, and looked into each other; there was an agony of questioning now in the sister's. What did he mean? Had he just come

out of great peril? Had he had a hairbreadth escape of his life a few minutes ago, and did he know it himself? Anne could not quite make up her mind what to think. Her eyes, too, were rivetted on Mr. Thornley's face, and she fancied there was a little trembling of the lip as if he were trying to keep down some emotion before he spoke again.

"I really think that the poaching theory may be the true one to-night,' he said. "Let us be satisfied with it, and ask no more questions. We shall never have a moment's peace here if we try to account for everything that happens on reasonable suppositions. Now, if Miss O'Flaherty will excuse me, I will empty my pockets of books, and go and change my wet clothes."

It was clear that Anne could not delay her leave-taking longer. As she took Miss Thornley's hand to say "Good-bye," she managed to bring out the invitation that she intended to speak with her first greeting. It was so decidedly negatived by brother and sister in one breath, that she felt there was no possibility of urging it further. Her disappointment was less keen than it would have been an hour ago. The events of the evening had convinced her that the danger was too real and grave to be met by the measures Ellen had suggested. Another project had dawned on her mind. She was now in haste to return home, and spend the rest of the evening in taking the first step for carrying it into execution.

CHAPTER VII.

FRANKFORT: SEPTEMBER, 1842.

For this period my chief authority is my journal, which, though short enough, I kept very regularly. Having spent the first winter after my marriage in Rome, I returned to Frankfort with my young wife in the summer of 1842, and was most kindly welcomed by my numerous friends, amongst whom I may reckon those connected with Mendelssohn by his wife. Felix came to Frankfort with his family in September, and stayed a fortnight. My wife had cultivated her beautiful soprano voice with great care in Italy, and had even been very successful on the stage for some months. Mendelssohn took the greatest interest in her musical gifts, and his short visit that autumn was like a musical spring to us.

He generally spent half the day with us, and we used to meet him and his wife at parties nearly every evening. I had filled a thick blue music-book with songs of all sorts, German and Italian psalms, airs and romances, which I had composed for my wife, and all of these Mendelssohn insisted on hearing; in fact, he never came to see us without asking for the blue book. Carl Müller, a clever painter, whose acquaintance we had made in Rome, happening to be in Frankfort just at this time, promised to do us a pencil sketch of Mendelssohn if we could only get him to sit. At my wife's request he consented to put himself into the painter's hands, on condition that she would sing to him meanwhile. Sixteen songs of various lengths completed the sitting, and this sketch, with his autograph and the date of the 15th of September, is one of our greatest treasures.

HILLER.

A few days before his departure he wrote in my wife's album a setting of the Volkslied,

"Es weiss und es räth es doch Keiner,
Wie mir so wohl ist, so wohl "-

and painted underneath it a miniature map of Germany, so as to impress her new country on her mind. Next to the map he drew a pair of yellow kid gloves, as a sign of his endeavour to attain the height of elegance. After his return to Leipsic he continued his gallant behaviour by writing her an Italian letter, which I shall give in its proper place.

He

At that time he chiefly played to me the choruses from "Antigone." delighted in recalling to mind the energetic way in which he had pushed forward and fixed the performance, in opposition to Tieck's hesitation and doubt, and as usual in such cases gave me amusing and graphic accounts of his little devices for getting round the famous old poet; he seemed to enjoy all this almost more than the beautiful work itself, which had taken him only just over a fortnight to compose. had completed his great A minor symphony in the course of the summer, and was at work on a four-hand arrangement of it for the pianoforte, which he made haste to finish on my account. During his stay we had invited our Frankfort acquaintances for the first time to a musical Matinée; Felix completed the arrangement the evening before, and we began our music with this glorious work.

He

As usual Mendelssohn's time was always entirely taken up in some way or other with music. Charles Hallé, who has since gained such a high artistic position in England, came to Frankfort