CHAPTER XXIII.

ATHERINE NEVILLE, Ned's unfortunate and love

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ly mother, had been forced by ill health to leave her husband in India after the birth of her first child, the hero of this story. At that time Sir Charles Neville was a cavalry officer in the East India Company's army, but after the mysterious disappearance of the vessel in which his young wife and child were lost, he had become melancholy, and had given up the army. Returned to England, he entered at the bar, and distinguished himself by extraordinary ability until he at length became a judge. The early sorrow of his life had made a deep impression upon him from which he had never recovered. He was a man of large fortune, who had inherited the title and estates from his father, who was a baronet in the county of Devonshire; thus Ned, as we must still call him, suddenly found himself a man of both means and position.

The Sessions were over, and Sir Charles Neville now formed one of the party at the rectory of Stoke, as Ned had confided to him his affection for Edith, to whom he could have no possible objection; in fact, he was perfectly delighted with her good qualities, which, in addition to her beauty, brought her as near to perfection as any woman could attain.

Sir Charles Neville's first visit was to the church-yard of Stoke, where he found the simple inscription on the cross stone above his young wife's grave, which he shortly. changed, as the mystery of the "lady unknown" had been

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dispelled. He accompanied Ned to Sandy Cove, where Paul and Polly Grey had already taken possession of the pretty old cottage on the cliff; there he sat upon the terracewall and listened to the sad story of the wreck, as Polly described that fatal night, and pointed out the spot where she and Paul had discovered his lovely young wife floating drowned upon the surface, with her long fair hair that they had at first mistaken for yellow sea-weed.

Polly Grey then showed him the spot where Ned, as an infant, had been washed on shore, and she omitted nothing in her description of the boy's early life until the time when he had been taken on board the Sybille.

A few days after he had visited Sandy Cove Paul Grey and Polly received a letter from Sir Charles Neville expressing his warm acknowledgments for all the parental kindness they had shown his son Ned, when friendless and destitute, and informing them that a sum of £3000 was lodged to Paul Grey's credit at the bank in Falmouth, which he trusted would in some measure testify his admiration of their generosity, and render them independent for the remainder of their lives.

This sudden and unexpected wealth hardly compensated Polly Grey for the loss of Ned, whom she loved as her own son, and who now would most probably leave the neighborhood of his old home. Neither could Ned quite enjoy his new position without a feeling of regret at the startling change. He had received from Polly the care and affection of a mother, which he returned as. warmly; and he determined that no alteration in his social position should lessen the filial gratitude that he owed to her. Delighted that his father had thus generously provided for his adopted parents, Ned now longed to make Edith his own without delay.

In the mean time James Stevens had been arrested on a

charge of conspiracy. He had been liberated upon bail to appear at the next Sessions, but although freed from arrest, he was scouted by all who knew him. When he rode through the village the boys pelted him, and he was insulted continually in the streets; his life was a constant torment. In spite of his callous nature he had loved Edith to desperation; he had been scorned by her; she was now in the arms of his rival, who, no longer the foundling Ned Grey, was heir to his father's title and estates. Every thing had turned against him. Edith had returned to him the horse and dog that he had presented to her. He shot them both immediately.

But it was not only the world that was against him, it was the law that he dreaded; he could hardly escape prisonment for the conspiracy of which he had been guilty. At all events, he would be forever disgraced.

Thus tormented in mind, Stevens was without a single friend to whom he could turn for comfort or advice; he had not even a dog that loved him. Months passed away; the day drew near when the Sessions would commence, and Stevens's bail would expire; he would have to surrender himself for trial.

It was a lovely day in spring, as warm as midsummer; the bright green leaves had clothed the trees with their new-born foliage; the hawthorn was in full blossom; the blue-bells, and primroses on the banks, and the wild roses in the hedges, gave a hopeful glow to the scene as Nature seemed to rejoice that the icy fetters of winter were broken, and she was once more free to revel in her beauties. It was a time when all should have been happy: there was a peaceful calm in the soft air, broken only by the songs of the skylark, and other birds that sang joyfully among the tall trees. The hens, proud of their young broods, busied themselves in a search for insects for the newly-hatched

chickens; goslings, like balls of golden down, floated upon the ponds of the farm-yards; young foals gambolled in the fields, which resounded with the bleating of the now hardy lambs, and the earth had awakened to the command, “Increase and multiply." Could any one be unhappy in such a scene?

It was the morning, and James Stevens walked hastily to and fro on the broad terrace before his mansion that commanded a view of the sea, with the tall spire of the village of Stoke sheltered in the vale about three miles distant. All was beautiful and calm in nature, but there was no peace within his heart. His face was haggard with care, and deep lines already furrowed his features, while a gloomy frown had settled upon his brow. There was a mighty oak upon the lawn, whose gnarled branches cast a shadow far and wide: beneath this tree was a rustic seat, upon which Stevens presently sat for a few minutes, and then rose again in his restless humor.

He started. "Ha!" he said, "the bells! all happy but myself. Death and confusion seize them! They are the Stoke church-bells! He marries her this morning; and I am lost, despised, trampled down, disgraced, and my enemy triumphs!"

Stevens folded his arms, and biting his lips till the blood flowed, he slowly raised his head and looked steadfastly among the branches of the tree.

In the mean time, while his evil spirit held possession of him, and he brooded savagely over his defeat, all was joy and happiness at Stoke. It was the day for Edith's marriage. The church-bells were ringing merrily, and the village people were gayly dressed in their best clothes, while the approach from the rectory to the church was ornamented with triumphal arches of leaves and flowers; the pathway through the church-yard was carpeted and thickly

strewn with sweet-scented blossoms, and lined on either side by rows of prettily-dressed children, all of whom loved Edith and delighted in the happiness of the day.

Ned was already standing in the church, accompanied by Captain Smart, who acted as bridegroom's man. The noise of many wheels was heard, and the string of carriages approached, as Edith, having alighted, was received with cheers from the assembled throng of village children as she was led by Sir Charles Neville along the flowery pathway. Never had she looked so lovely, and as Ned received her at the altar, before which they knelt together, the blessings of the multitude were expressed in simple but earnest words, "God spare them to live happily together."

Once more the bells pealed merrily as Ned led his bride from the church-door, and the children and women showered sweet nosegays before their feet, amid the loud hurrahs of many hundred voices.

"One cheer more," shouted Captain Smart, as with his only remaining hand he waved his cap above his head, and led the "Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!"

"What a nice dear man he is!" said Mrs. Jones to Polly Grey; "how I do love a sailor! What a pity that he does not marry; he would make such a perfect husband! although, by-the-by, my dear, with only one arm he would be an imperfect husband, certainly, but it's all the same thing in the end. I do so wish Captain Smart would think of marriage."

The happy day was nearly over; the guests were gone, and only Mr. Banks, the clergyman who had officiated, remained. Ned called him on one side.

"My dear sir," said he, "to me this is a day of such true and perfect joy, after all the difficulties and dangers of my life, that I can not rest so long as I have an enemy whom I have not forgiven. There is one whom you know,