ever. Come what will to me--death in its vilest shape--let not the stroke
fall on that breast. And if it be," he continued, his face lighting up,
"if it be, as it may yet, that I can chain this hell-hound, why, even
then, the instant that Madeline is mine, I will fly these scenes; I will
seek a yet obscurer and remoter corner of earth: I will choose another
name--Fool! why did I not so before? But matters it? What is writ is
writ. Who can struggle with the invisible and giant hand, that launched
the world itself into motion; and at whose predecree we hold the dark
boon of life and death?"

It was not till evening that Aram, utterly worn out and exhausted, found
himself in the neighbourhood of Lester's house. The sun had only broken
forth at its setting; and it now glittered from its western pyre over the
dripping hedges, and spread a brief, but magic glow along the rich
landscape around; the changing woods clad in the thousand dies of Autumn;
the scattered and peaceful cottages, with their long wreaths of smoke
curling upward, and the grey and venerable walls of the Manor-house, with
the Church hard by, and the delicate spire, which, mixing itself with
heaven, is at once the most touching and solemn emblem of the Faith to
which it is devoted. It was a sabbath eve; and from the spot on which
Aram stood, he might discern many a rustic train trooping slowly up the
green village lane towards the Church; and the deep bell which summoned
to the last service of the day now swung its voice far over the sunlit
and tranquil scene.

But it was not the setting sun, nor the autumnal landscape, nor the voice
of the holy bell that now arrested the step of Aram. At a little distance
before him, leaning over a gate, and seemingly waiting till the ceasing
of the bell should announce the time to enter the sacred mansion, he
beheld the figure of Madeline Lester. Her head, at the moment, was