She was roused from this state of mental luxury by the rustling of something under her feet; and, stooping to pick it up, found it was a letter, or rather the torn leaf of a letter, without address or signature. Geraldine imagined she knew the hand; and the sight of her own name, in large characters, irresistibly impelled her to read on.

"You cannot doubt my affection for Geraldine-an affection so well justified by the virtues, the graces that adorn her character; but, for that very reason, worlds should not tempt me to ask her to share my lot-an exile, an outlaw."

Why did Geraldine experience a convulsive shuddering as she perused this passage? why did her glazed eyes wander vaguely over the paper without comprehending the remainder of the contents? The sun had set, and she felt an unusual terror creeping over her at being in the twilight alone. Trembling like some guilty person, she was unable, unassisted,

to

to rise from the fatal spot. At this moment, a hand, of frightful size and muscular strength, was put over her shoulder, and seized on the letter. Horrorstruck, Geraldine turned to see who stood behind her, and beheld the face that had blasted her eyes at Kilmallock! Involuntarily she covered her eyes with both her hands, to shut out the horrid vision. After a short interval thus passed, she summoned all her resolution to call aloud for help; but, on looking again, no vestige of a human being, save herself, remained in the cottage! Faint and spiritless, Geraldine at length rose, and returned to the house.

On rejoining the circle, she was, of course, exposed to some raillery for her altered looks and love of solitude; but this made very little impression on her, compared to the idea which was uppermost in her thoughts throughout the evening, and which, in spite of all her efforts, often rendered her absent and inattentive to what was passing around. Geraldine turngodendo

ed

ed it in her mind a thousand ways, without being able to come to any satisfactory conclusion, and a thousand times asked herself the question, which my reader may have asked once or twice-" Who is the Outlaw?"

CHAPTER XIII.

It is not so! thou hast misspoke, misheard.
Be well advised-tell o'er thy tale again.
It cannot be! thou dost but say, 'tis so.
I trust I may not trust thee.

Then speak again; not all thy former tale,

But this one word, whether thy tale be true?
SHAKESPEARE.

Oh! know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food?

Pity the dearth that I have pined in,

By longing for that food so long a time.

Id.

"MISS Geraldine," said Katherine Lawless, somewhat abruptly entering her

chamber,

chamber, "do you know I was dreamt last night, that my lard O'Nelvil was come back, and that he put tin guineas in my hand, and said we was to have a wedding? What do you say to that, Miss ?"

"That I should be satisfied," Geraldine replied, "if the half of it came true."

"What!" resumed Lawless, with quickness, "that I wouldn't get the tin guineas, but that you'd be married to my lard O'Nelvil? There's for you!" winking "Well, if ever I hard the

significantly.

like o' that!"

66

"You mistake me," said Geraldine, blushing; " and do, Katherine, call him O'Melvyl."

"Well, O'Melvyl, or O'Nelvil, or whatever else his name may be, you know who it is I mane well enough; and as for the pronouncification, it's a folly to talk, Miss Geraldine, for I never will larn it.”

66

Indeed, Lawless, I believe you,” answered her mistress, for she had long observed in her attendant, though not other

wise ignorant or stupid, a strange, perverse pleasure in miscalling every proper name or title.

"Well," resumed Katherine, “if, as I was saying, my lard O'Delvil does come and court you, it's he that will be having my consint; for, oh, Miss Geraldine, dear! I've often tould you there's but one thing in this world would go nigh for to break my heart-that you would marry a jantleman who couldn't keep you a coach; and it's you and lord O'Helvyl that's matched like two angels in heaven, for he's charitable and kindhearted like your own sweet self; ask John Dwyer's family if he is not. He give them money to pay their rînt, and to privint the man from being obliged to go over to reap the harvest, and was so good to the childer. How did you like little Kitty last Sunday, Miss Geraldine? Her coat was a stuff one I give her, that I made last winter out of one of my own, and enough for another of the childer. I made it on the long nights while Jenny read

me