on, he mounted him, and without a word, rode off. Isham came running after him: "Mr. Torrey! Oh, marce Torrey! Marster 'll be home to-rectly, sir. Won't you wait till he come?"

But Torrey paid no heed to his call. Laboring under a sort of stupor, hardly knowing what he did, he hurried homeward.

CHAPTER XII.

A GLIMPSE AT THE LANDONS.

Granthill-Mr. Landon's residencewas situated at a distance of some twenty or twenty-five miles from Burnot's, in a south-westerly direction, near upon the same stream which Torrey, in going home, crossed at "Crooked Ford." The house was a large framed building, already grey with age; with large arched doors and windows. It was surrounded by a beautiful yard, shaded by huge old locusts, (Robinia-pseud-acacia,) with a long avenue of tall Lombardy poplars leading up to it. From this yard there was a fine view up and down the lowlands of the stream. About the whole establishment there was an air of venerableness-something of grandeur. It was evidently the "Great House" of the country side; the home of one of those landed proprietors of the old time, who counted his acres by the thousand.

Mr. Landon was a portly, affable gentleman; whose countenance, while it indicated a high degree of intelligence, bespoke at the same time a love of good cheer, and a fund of good humor. He was an active, useful, and influential citizen. His wife was a prim lady"every inch a lady"-who had her fixed rules and regulations by which she governed her family; making her children "toe the mark," it was said, in matters of deportment, habit, etc. Edward Landon, her son, while off at college, would sooner have dared to send a letter with a misspelt word, or a blotted page, to the Chief Justice, or Secretary of State, than to his mother. She was the embodiment, the very sublimation of aristocratic gentility. A carpenter, who was

once making some repairs about the house, one day had the effrontery to dip a draught from the vessel in which a servant brought water for the use of the family. Mrs. Landon saw him. She haughtily ordered the servant to "throw out that water, and scour the pail well!" And yet she was a devoted mother, an agreeable companion, a kind mistress, a friendly neighbor, and very charitably disposed toward all who "kept themselves in their proper places." Her two eldest daughters were married. Her son Edward, and her youngest daughter, Miss Helen Landon, were at home.

In the sitting room at Granthill, a few days after the occurrence of the events which we have related in connection with Clayton Torrey, Mrs. Landon was seated with Miss Helen. Mrs. Landon, in her every-day dress, was the impersonation of plain neatness. But her white capso snowy white!—with its single frill, and her robe or morning-gown of white cloth, with a small blue stripe, was not unbe. coming to her; and she looked as much "the lady" thus attired, as when dressed in her robes of state. Her face was a fine one. Her brow was high, her mouth remarkably expressive, and her keen blue eyes had lost none of their brightness. Her form inclined to the stately, and there was something very impressive in her appearance. No one but her husband ever dared to take a liberty with her; but she yielded to all his caprices with an easy grace which was truly fascinating. There was a peculiar loveliness in the smile with which she did so.

On the present occasion she was busily engaged in hemming a handkerchief. Among her other qualities she was very industrious. She held it to be a positive duty that every one should have some employment.

Miss Helen Landon, a young lady of eighteen or thereabout, was arranging some music for the spinet. She could not, perhaps, be called beautiful, but she was a well formed and a very pretty young lady. She had a profusion of soft, silken, yellow hair, which was combed back and fastened behind with a slide. She had a very fair skin; ripe, rosy lips;

and the prettiest pearly white teeth in the world. Her eye was like her father's, full of gay good-humor, and a light smile played about her mouth and danced over the dimples in her fair cheeks. Her every movement was easy and graceful.

She was still arranging her music when her brother entered the room. He was a tall, handsome young gentleman, with large, dark, dreamy eyes, as to the color of which one was doubtful whether they were black or blue. He had the broad, open forehead of his father, while his mouth, indeed the whole lower part of his face, was more like that of his mother.

"Well, Helen," he asked, "what news by this morning's mail? I saw several letters for you."

"Oh, yes; I received a letter from sister Margaret. She is well, and sends her love to you, and many messages about going to see her. So do the children."

"I am thankful to her," he said. "And is that all?" he asked after a moment.

Miss Helen is very busy with her music book, and a blush suffuses her cheek as she replies:

"No. I have some news for you-fine news."

"Not much more definite, that. Who can she be ?"

Miss Helen Landon blushes still more, and arranges her music hurriedly as she replies:

"Lavinia Aylesbury."

"Ah, indeed!"-Edward Landon has perceived her confusion, and looks at her earnestly-" And when is she coming?" he asks.

'She does not say positively. When— whenever as soon as her brother can come with her;" blushing crimson deep. 66 Her brother!"

Mrs. Landon looks up. Edward frowns, and Helen in her confusion drops her music. Edward stands looking at her.

"Edward! says Mrs. Landon, in an admonitory tone, “Helen has dropped her music. I am surprised, Helen, at your carelessness!"

It was evident that she suspected nothing. Edward immediately assisted Helen in gathering up her scattered music.

"Well. Any more news?" he presently asked.

"Oh, it is my turn to listen now," said Helen. "What have you to tell?"

"I? oh, nothing. Yes, Estin begs to be respectfully remembered to you all. His little nephew, who was shot, is better. It is hoped that he may recover. Estin speaks of making a visit to Clayton Torrey, and requests me to meet him. I have some thought of doing so."

"I think you ought to pay Clayton a visit," said his mother.

Just then a servant boy entered with a request from Mr. Landon to his mistress, that she would give some directions as to a walk in the yard, which he was having repaired. As her mother left the room, Helen turned to her music, blushing again. Presently Edward asked:

"Do you think, Helen, that Henry Aylesbury will come here?"

I don't know."

"For Miss Aylesbury, I have the highest respect," Edward went on to say, "but I have told you what sort of young man her brother is, and —”

"He was a fine, good-hearted boy," said Miss Helen, with some warmth.

"Whatever he may have been as a boy," her brother replied; "whatever he was when you knew him, he has since turned out to be an unfit associate for my sister."

Miss Helen looked down, and made no reply.

"I wish," Edward presently said, "I wish that some means could be devised to prevent his coming."

"Why, brother?”

ward. It has been more than two years since I saw him. And-and-his was only a boyish fancy for me. And then, for my part, you know I was obliged to treat him civilly as he is Lavinia's brother. And school girls will have their beaux, you know;" with an attempt to smile.

"Ah, his sister! That is the difficulty now. But for her, and except under the shelter of her countenance, Henry Aylesbury would not dare-would not think of coming here.”

"I will write to Lavinia," said Helen, in an irritated tone, "not to come. Though I spent a couple of months at her guardian's, and was never, anywhere, treated with more consideration. I will tell her not to come here; that I have an ill-tempered brother, who does not wish her to return my visit."

"Helen! you know that it is only my care for your happiness-only my love for my little sister-my own sweet Helen!" taking her hand tenderly, "which renders me uneasy about you, (you should not have called me ill-tempered,) when I hear of the coming hither of this young Aylesbury. If he does come, I shall have to take back my promise, Helen; for it will be my duty to inform father and mother of the circumstances in which he and you stand, or rather stood related to each other."

"Oh, Edward! you promised me—you promised me faithfully

"Yes. That if your correspondence with him was broken off, at once, and you had nothing more to do with him, I would tell them nothing."

"Well. Was it not broken off? And did I not write to him, according to your dictation, positively declining to hear from him again? Did you not send the letter yourself? And have I heard from him since? It was a foolish affair, Edward, every way! 'Twas a foolish conceit of his-a boyish notion, to imagine that he fancied me. It was a very silly thing in me to listen to him for a moment. I would not have done so, but for the fact of his being Lavinia's brother. Through her I had a sort of reflex liking for Henry. But all this was over-was done with

His his

This was Henry Aylesbury. tory may be told in few words. In his boyhood, he had been left an orphan, with an infant sister, to the care of an uncle. But this kind relative, who acted as a parent to the children while he lived, died when Henry was still a stripling. The boy, though he chose another guardian after this sad event, was his own master. He was a young man of fine appearance, although upon his countenance there were already the marks of incipient rowdyism. In gaming and other vices he was learning some severe lessons.

"No," said Dalzell, leaning back, “I'll play no more. I'll leave it to Drayton and Telford, if I have not given you a fair chance; and if we ought not to stop." "Well," said Aylesburry, shuffling the

cards still more furiously, "of course you have the right to stop when you choose; but you cannot wonder that I should dislike to do so, after having lost as I have done to-day.”

"Aylesbury, my dear fellow," said Dalzell, with a provoking careless air, "you do not understand the first principles of gaming."

"Allow me another chance, and I'll show you whether I do or not."

"If I should do so, you would some day think hard of me for it, and would blame yourself, too; for, Aylesbury, if we do play, I assure you, I shall try my best to beat you."

"Very possible," said Aylesbury, with a smile, "very probably you will."

"And fully as probable," added Dalzell, "that I will beat you, and-andwe might both regret it."

"If you should beat me, how much would I care?"

"Oh, I know you can afford to lose as well as any one; but I dislike to beat such a fellow as you, Aylesbury. I do not wish to lose your friendship; and you owe me enough already to cool it down considerably."

"Oh, tut! tut!"

"I have a proposal to make to you," said Dalzell, "Listen! I feel bound to play with you, old fellow, if you demand it-I feel bound to give you satisfaction— and if I play with you, let me assure you again, I will do my very best to beat you. But I propose to square off with you. Here is your note of hand for four hundred and fifty dollars, which I will return to you, and we will be even, be quits, and play no more, if you say so. I put it to these fellows, now, if that is not a liberal proposition. What say you to it ?"

"What!" said Aylesbury, as an angry flush passed over his face, "No, sir! The bill is due to you. You won the amount fairly. I only asked for a chance to win it back. If you do not choose to afford this, I have no more to say."

"Young and adventurous." "We will draw for the deal." Aylesbury threw the highest card, and consequently gained the first deal. The game proposed was a common one, 'all fours." Drayton and Telford drew up their chairs, and looked on, intensely interested. When the first hands were played, Dalzell and Aylesbury each counted two; the latter by cards, having played high and low; the former had saved his knave, and made game. Upon the second deal, Dalzel made high, game; counting four in all. Aylesbury only made low, and counted but three. The game was now become deeply interesting; and as Aylesbury, in his turn, dealt the third hands, he trembled with excitement. Dalzell, too, appeared to be not perfectly at his ease. As soon, however, as he glanced at the cards which were dealed him, a smile of satisfaction passed over his face. He led off with the ace of trumps. Aylesbury played a small one, asking:

"Is that low?"

"No," said Dalzell, "I have the deuce," as for a second play he whisted the king of trumps, to which the unfortunate Aylesbury, having no other of the suit, was forced to lose his knave.

"High, low, jack, puts me out!" said Dalzell, shewing the deuce.

"Well!" exclaimed Aylesbury, cursing the cards as he threw them down, "Luck is certainly against me!"

A knock was heard at the door. The cards were suddenly thrust into the drawer of the table, the chairs slightly

turned about, and Dalzell threw his feet and legs up over the table, as he said aloud: "Come in!" Immediately the bolt was turned and in walked a gaunt, jaundiced looking individual, the sight of whom made Dalzell start and stare. It was John Winthrop who entered.

George Dalzell, by a violent effort overcoming his surprise, immediately greeted him in a cordial and friendly manner, and offered him a chair, which John Winthrop mechanically accepted. Drayton, Telford, and Aylesbury at once arose to leave the room.

"Keep your seats, fellows!"

Turning to John, when they were gone, he said:

"Well, Mr. Winthrop! I am wonderfully surprised to see you here. Where upon earth have you come from?"

"Where's Biddy?" asked his visitor. "Biddy!"

"Yes. Where is she?"

"Where's Biddy! How should I know? Is'nt she at home?"

"Come, George Dalzell!" said John, somewhat fiercely, "I have come to look for Biddy, and find her I will! It is'nt worth your while to trifle with me. I know all about the matter."

"Yes. And you had as well tell me where she is; for, George Dalzell! I am determined to know. I have been looking all through the country for her, and I am resolved to know where she is, and to see her, before I part from you! And look you, George Dalzell! if she is not happy, if you have wronged her, we will have a settlement which will be a costly one to you!"

There was that in John Winthrop's appearance, and in George Dalzell's own conscience, which, from the first, had intimidated the latter. He could not meet

John Winthrop's fixed, earnest gaze. And, besides, John's words, and especially his tone and manner, were menacing. In a few seconds, however, he recovered himself.

"Ah! well, Mr. Winthrop," he said, with a forced smile, "since you have found us out, there is no longer any use in attempting concealment. Indeed, there was no need of concealment at all from you; for you are a friend to us both. Keep your seat, sir. I'll bring Biddy in to see you in a few moments." And he passed around John Winthrop, and out at the door.

In a few moments poor John, who was so eagerly expecting his dear Biddy-his lost Birdie-was in the hands of the police, closely guarded as a dangerous madman.

CHAPTER XIV.

A SPIRITED RENCONTRE.

A few days after this an elderly horseman stopped at a point where two ways met, not very far from Mr. Dalzell's, and waited the approach of a negro man whom he saw at a little distance, to make some inquiry of him as to his way. The negro was unable to direct him, but said: "I 'spects Mr. Dalzell ken tell you, sir. He jest behind."

66 'Dalzell! Mr. Dalzell ?" "Yes, sir."

"George Dalzell ?”

"Yes, sir. Dar he come now!"

As the negro passed on his way, the surprise which had been expressed in the old horseman's countenance upon hearing the name, Dalzell, was succeeded by a look of deep scorn and disgust.

He was mounted upon a dark colored, thick-set, pony-like horse, with long mane and tail, very sleek and fat. He was dressed in plain, but very good looking home-made clothing; and wore a broadbrimmed hat, cocked behind. In a word, he was our friend, old Mr. Goodley.

Biddy Marston had been at his house for rather more than a fortnight. During the greater part of this time, she had been extremely ill; hovering just upon