carriage which was engaged was the smallest and lightest belonging to the inn, a little basket affair, with just room for two. He seemed to have no doubt that we were going together, and suggested that we should remain at Castel Cwlach all night, -that place being half way-go on again with the same pony in the morning to Bodlondeb, and put the carriage up at the Royal Oak, the proprietor of which hotel would take charge of the sending of it back to Dowsbury.

The coffee-room door closed and we were again alone.

It was very early in spring, and there were few travellers. My visit was a matter of old arrangement, and had brought me there from London, but no particular ties existed to keep me bound to any place; a small income rendered me partly independent, but as a means of adding to it, and usefully employing my time, the expedient of lecturing had been chosen.

Well, Mademoiselle, if you will consent to be troubled with me as far as Byrn Bwaan, I will take you to that place, and secure you a driver forward. It will be quite as easy to secure one there as at Dowsbury."

"I shall be most grateful," the young girl replied, every trace of uncertainty appearing to have vanished, "and will be ready at any time. We are

both anxious to go forward."

Now, who can be waiting at the 'House by the Foaming Water' (Ty-y-gan-wy) for this young maiden ?" thought I; "a mother, brother, lover?

Weil, perhaps, during the fifteen miles to the Hill of Arrows the truth may come out."

Her little boxes and my little portmanteau were with difficulty stowed away in the small light carriage, and, after some delay on account of the pony, we got away, and were fairly en route about four o'clock. The afternoon was brilliantly beautiful; the sun was descending amidst a glory of red clouds, the fresh air from the mountains, laden with odours, swept round us, compelling me to fix my travelling cap more firmly on my head, tossing up and down the feather in my fair friend's hat, and waving and lifting her dark curls till they streamed in a glorious mass behind-showing, on my side, one of the most charming little ears conceivable, and a profile which it was an ever-increasing delight to turn and admire at every possible opportunity.

We went merrily on towards the black mountains that frowned in the distance, with snow still lying far up in their high ravines, and clouds gathered round their black summits; and I laughingly told my companion we were going to meet our fate, bade her look at the threatening aspect of the eastern horizon, and watch how the sunset glories of the west were hourly fading away, and asked her how we should meet cold snow embraces, chilly storm greetings, preparing for us.

I was carelessly going on in this way, looking closely at the pony and the winding rocky road, when my improvised romance was arrested by the right hand of the lady, as she laid it gently upon mine.

"Pray cease, let us talk only of the sunshine, and of those things that are bright and fair. You must be very happy to speak in such a way of misfortune or of difficulty. Men have brave hearts, and are bold; women have only patience, confidence in the good God, and resignation."

"Which qualities outweigh," continued I, astonished to find such an under meaning had been given to my badinage, "which qualities outweigh, in the long run, any amount of mere boldness and bravery unsustained by them."

However, we diverged to other themes, talked of foreign travel and adventure, of Paris, of the French Revolution, of the Sorbeigne-that rapid streamand of the picturesque old city of Paysbeau.

My companion's face lighted up. “At least I can do one thing to amuse you,” she said, “perhaps to interest you, in return for so much consideration. Let me tell you a tale of our family, for I, too, am a De Ruisseau." So, while the little carriage slowly wound its way up the hills, arrested constantly by the deep ruts and stones, while I guided it carefully by the narrow places where the fissures in the rocks opened up vistas far below to the sparkling water, where the foaming cascades came roaring down the rock sides, and flooded the road, while the sun sank still lower, and the houses gleamed white far down in the valley, scattered here and there at wide distances, alone amidst the mountains, my companion told me a Story of her Ancestors.

CHAPTER II.

THE COUNTESS RUISSEAU.

"Comme un dernier rayon, comme un dernier zéphyre,
Anime la fin d'un beau jour,

Au pied de l'échafaud j'essaie encore ma lyre,
Peut-être est-ce bientôt mon tour."

ANDREW CHENIER.

(Written in the Gaol of St. Lazare a few moments previous to his execution.)

"THESE letters worked upon my handkerchief stand for Melanie de Ruisseau.'

"I will tell you the history of the Countess Cherizette. You may, perhaps, have heard of the old Château Ruisseau, which still stands in tolerable preservation on the banks of the Sorbeigne, a short drive from the city of Paysbeau; but the present possessor, the grandson of Cherizette, Countess de Ruisseau, never spends more than a month or two there during the year, since he prefers another residence which belongs to him in Germany.

"Cool and refreshing in each summer evening comes the breeze over the neglected hills, between which the Sorbeigne rushes upon a bed of stones and broken fragments of rock, with all the impetu

osity of the Arve or Arveiron. Cool and calm are the long shadows that fall over the park from the tall, ancient building, and its lofty lines of trees, and, in the distance, one can sometimes hear the sound of music from the village below, mingled with the roar of the Sorbeigne, and the swaying of the branches; amidst these scenes, it is easy to recall that lovely place where some of my childhood's days were happily spent.

“Have you never heard of Charolard, once the Adonis of Paris? Few high-born ladies were proof against his winning manners and extreme gallantry, backed as they were by large estates, considerable. political influence, and great personal attractions. Political circles might be said to be complete without him, but wherever youth and beauty met, to dance and laugh away the hours, wherever brilliancy of wit or poignancy of satire were found, and where festive mirth alternated with rare flights of the imagination, with music and with song, there you may be sure was Charolard, Count de Ruisseau.

"Too much prosperity and success in love or war, or, in fact, anything else, is highly dangerous to most men, and especially to such as Charolard, who add to a temperament too ardent in the first place, an excited imagination, and whose daily life tends to weaken any command over their passions. It will hardly surprise you that the Count, spoiled by constant adulation, committed many unjustifiable excesses, living at a rate of expenditure that even his enormous fortune could hardly support, alternating between one or other scene of dissipation,