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his dying father, whilst he disclosed to him the secret of his first marriage, and furnished him with the most satisfactory evidence, extorted from him a promise that he would never urge his claim unless the extinction of the younger branch should render it politic to do so. Clifford, the priest, dreamed away his life at St. Omer's; and Sir Paulet ruled in the halls of the Raymonds of the "Bloody Hand."

Chapter H.

"Our hands will never meet again."

To a False Friend.-HoOD.

WHILST Sir Paulet is receiving Mr. Talbot, the future father-in-law of Gerald, we will quit the interior for the exterior of the mansion, which a lover of the picturesque would infinitely prefer. Imagine an old brick house, with stone mullions, windows of stained glass, and every possible variety of decoration of which brick and stone are capable. Here we are on the south terrace, at present deserted, save by a splendid peacock, that is parading up and down in the sun, with the dignity of a court beauty, and a small Blenheim spaniel, that lies basking on the top of the low and broad stone balustrade, which serves as a parapet to the terrace. Shrubs, flowers, luxuriant creepers, clumps of evergreens are tastefully disposed around the

building, and the old fashioned parterre beneath is gay with partycoloured knolls and quaint, odd-shaped beds. The smooth shaven lawn is of the brightest green, and from a fountain of marble and rock-work a column of the purest water springs high up in the air: there is music in its fall. Statues are there backed by lofty, leafy screens of laurel and holly. In the centre of the garden is placed that silent monitor, the sun dial; the honeysuckles are trained into fantastic bowers-the roses cluster round the stone garden seats-the gaudy sunflower, with its golden disc, stands boldly out, as though he were overlooking the less aspiring flowers, and gorgeous hollyhocks shoot upwards like floral obelisks. At the extremity of this trim plaisance stands a tall hedge of yew-massive as a wall, with windows cut in it at regular intervals ; beyond it, or rather beneath it, a succession of terraced walks, of the softest turf, with high o'er arching trees (trained so as to form a leafy roof, impenetrable to wind and rain), lead to the clear flowing river that glides by the foot of the hill on which the Bury is situated.

And on the opposite shore we catch a glimpse of one of those charming old enclosures-parcel orchard, parcel kitchen garden-where the bees are humming over the beds of thyme, and the perfume of the bean blossom mingles with the fragrance of the newly mown hay.

We will retrace our steps, and meet the young gentleman who is issuing from the mansion: an Italian greyhound has bounded to his side; the little Blenheim jumps down to greet his master. Who can mistake Gerald Raymond? No one who has once looked on the mother's portrait but must recognise the son. He has inherited her beauty, though in him it is, perhaps, a trifle too effeminate; for the small white hand, the fair, ruddy complexion, and the light brown hair, seem out of character with his tall and well-knit figure. The costume of the era, which still retained so much of the picturesque, is admirably adapted to set off his graceful figure. As he passes the terrace, intent on perusing a letter, he does not perceive that Father Clifford has been watching him for some time he starts when the latter greets him.

"Pardon me, dear sir, I did not see you, and I forgot that we had not met in the breakfast room this morning. I trust that you were not detained in your apartment by illness?"

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"No, I have been up many hours: you are also an early riser, Gerald. I looked in your room, about half-past six, but you had left it.”

Gerald stooped, and stroked his spaniel, partly to conceal the traitor blush that overspread his face, and partly to gain time before he replied—

"Early rising at this time of the year is scarcely a virtue. I hope that you approve of it, sir."

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Certainly, my dear Gerald, if the time be profitably employed. Have you seen Mr. Talbot?"

"I have had the honour of paying my respects to him; he is now with my father, and, as I supposed they might have particular business to discuss, I left them together."

"The particular busines very likely relates Gerald, is not your twenty-fourth

to you.

birthday approaching?"

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