immediate attendance. He was at home when the messenger arrived, and promptly attended the summons. Her feelings had not misled her. The state in which the doctor found his gentle patient was one which only admitted of the relief of opiates. These, then, he judiciously administered; and, with the help of the artificial sleep they procured, together with whatever description of nourishment her state of weakness allowed him to throw in, he was so far successful as to feed for a day or two the flickering vital flame.

By that evening's post Sumner wrote to his brotherin-law. On the morning of the second day following, Mr. Perigord arrived, accompanied by two of the most eminent physicians in London. In obedience to her husband's wishes, she consented to admit them to an interview.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she faintly whispered, "for kindly coming so great a distance. My case is beyond the reach of even such skill as yours."

It was impossible for them not to assent to this opinion. No prolonged consultation was needed to assure them that the patient had but a few days more to live, at most. Everything had been done for her that could be done. With a liberality not unusual in the profession to which they belonged, they refused, under the circumstances, a larger fee than would defray their travelling expenses and loss of time, and taking a kind and feeling farewell of the patient, they returned homewards.

On the following day Sumner brought his kind rector to his sister's bedside, and immediately left the room. There was a smile, calm and bright, and of angel softness, upon his features, when the good man looked upon his dying niece. Yet his eyes filled with tears; and he inwardly longed that he might be taken hence in her stead. He remained with her upwards of an hour-he then left her. Exhaustion, and the assistance of the opiates administered to her, procured her a long and refreshing sleep. The Premier and the house hold retired to rest. Not a sound was heard that night throughout the mansion of Pendlebury save by the dying slumberer. She heard all night long holy chaunts, surpassingly melodious, and saw visions glorious and bright. There were two watchers who retired not to rest-the good old rector, and Harry Sumner. All night long they prayed: nor did their fragrant incense cease ascending heavenwards until the light of morning dawn aroused the sick, and announced the time for preparing to celebrate the holy communion. The rector was the celebrant, Sumner assisting him. Mr. Perigord and Mrs. Sumner communicated, and old Millisant and his daughter. The rector prepared to commence the service first, however, he advanced to his nephew and extended his hand. The latter took it, and shook it warmly. Sumner then advanced close to him, prayed his forgiveness of whatever he might have done from a sense of duty in opposition to his wishes, and entreated that this solemn moment might witness a reconciliation with his dying wife's brother. "You cannot give her back her broken heart," he said solemnly, in a whisper, "but you can cease to pursue with hatred her own flesh and blood."

"I bear you neither hatred nor ill-will," said the Premier, proudly; "but I am unable to swerve from a course which I deliberately adopted. If I decline your hand, it is not from the smallest feeling of ill-will."

"Oh, sir, you deceive yourself," remonstrated the rector, in a tone of persuasive gentleness. "Believe me, you deceive yourself. Turn not a deaf ear to an old man's entreaties, for your own soul's sake. Profane not these holy mysteries by sharing in them in malice." "Let the service proceed," replied the individual addressed. "I assure you, sir, that such a feeling has no place within me."

The rector shook his head mournfully, and the holy office commenced.

The power of will displayed by Mrs. Sumner through

out this short, sharp illness of her beloved daughter was almost superhuman. Her heart was rent asunder with excruciating agony, yet she suffered no evidence of it, beyond that of an ordinary mourner, to reach ber daughter. As long as she could master the expression of her feelings, she talked to her with the utmost cheerfulness and resignation. When this was no longer in her power, she retired to a private apartment, and then gave vent to the pent-up agony of her soul. A short | soft slumber, which came to the succour of her daughter's exhausted strength, shortly after she had partaken of the last and sublimest aids of religion, afforded her the last opportunity she was to have of seeking this temporary relief. She had just returned to the sick room; Lucy Perigord was still in sleep: but, as her mother entered, she extended her arms from the bed clothes, and reached them out as if in search of proffered hands. Then gently raising her lids, her eyes glistening with supernatural lustre, gazed from side to side of the bed, as though she missed some object or other.

"What is it, my sweetest Lucy ?" inquired her sobbing mother, as she showered kisses on her white, white cheeks and forehead.

"Where are they?" could just be detected by the wretched parent's listening ear; "those-in whitewhere ?" she murmured faintly.

Then, by a sudden accession of strength, she raised herself in the bed to a sitting posture; her mother sup ported her. The old hue and glow of health overspread her countenance: her bright blue eyes shone as of yore. "George!" she said, beckoning to her husband, "my dearest husband!"

He drew near, took her hand in his, and pressed it warruly and affectionately. The short rekindling of the flame of life was now beginning to subside.

"My child-my child!" she exclaimed.

Some one immediately hurried away to fetch him. "Love me, George !" gasped the dying wife," love me, when I'm gone!" and she vainly essayed to kiss his hand.

Just then the child was brought to her. He uttered not a word nor syllable, but cast his little arms around his mother, and, as he covered her with kisses, wept and sobbed piteously. She made an effort to raise her arms, as if to embrace him; it was in vain. Gently leaning back upon the pillows, a warm smile gathered on her features, her eyelids gradually closed; her breath grew fainter and fainter, until it had imperceptibly ceased; the icy whiteness of death placed its seal upon her countenance, and fixed there that sunset smile. So, on a still spring evening, the shadows lengthen on some blue mountain lake. The sun appears to have withdrawn— on a sudden, a burst of radiance illuminates the extreme verge of the heavens-then all is calm, subdued, and deepening shade. Thus went down Lucy Perigord's sun of life below its limitable horizon.

CHAPTER XXX.

"Haste me to know it; that I with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love

May sweep to my REVENGE."-Hamlet.

Ac

WHATEVER love it was in the power of George Jones Perigord, Esq., of Pendlebury, and First Lord of the Treasury, to bestow upon a fellow creature, he had lavished upon his wife. So minute was that affection, however, as to have been imperceptible to others. quaintances and friends could not see it-his deceased wife was unable to see it, nor could her relatives. And yet so uncomplaining had been the suffering of the de parted, so completely did she hide from all observation that her husband's unloving coldness was freezing up her heart's life-blood, that her dearest and most anxious relations even were never able, as we have seen, to arrive at any certainty on the matter: whilst her husband's delusion was so complete, that up to the present moment not a suspicion had troubled his mind that

All doubt, however, was finally dissipated in Sumner's mind by those dying accents of his sister: "Love me when I'm gone, George!" rung in his ears from morning to night. The tone, so supplicating, so forgiving-in which they were uttered haunted him. He could not rid himself of their echoes. His own existence was not more clear to him than that his sister had died of a broken heart. Now indeed he found the duty of forgiveness difficult and painful. It seemed at times as though it lacerated every feeling of his bosom to regard that compound of successful egotism and selfishness with a single kindly emotion; but the spiritual triumphed over the natural, and he forgave.

Meanwhile Mr. Perigord observed the interval of deepest mourning with becoming gravity. He maintained a rigid seclusion, and in every accustomed manner manifested a most decent regret for the loss he had sustained. It must not, however, be concealed that the bereaved husband found an alleviation to his grief in an instinctive perception which, for the present, he kept in a passive dormant state, down in the shallow bottom of his desolated heart, "that the tie which had so inconveniently connected him with the ruined curate of Bribeworth was now broken." Henceforth he should be deterred by no decent restraint. Henceforth himself and the Sumners were strangers. "And so now, my young friend," mused the Premier, "we will see whether we cannot snap the reed of your impertinent opposition." The truth of fiction requires the admission, that the Right Honourable statesman spent no inconsiderable portion of his mourning retirement in maturing plans for crushing his former relative. The following were some of the steps decided on: to propitiate, if possible, his uncle, the rector; by shop patronage to retain a firm hold on the dissenting population of the town, as well as of that far more obnoxious and turbnlent herd whose adhesion to the Church was a matter to them of respectability or perverseness rather than of faith, or even conviction.

He resolved, moreover, to express and conduct himself upon principles of the most enlarged liberality towards the remaining small section of the church-going people, a class to whom his countenance or his hostility was a subject of indifference, save as concerned the injury done to himself by the latter course, which the principles of their holy religion would induce them to regret with unfeigned sorrow and compassion. He then resolved to watch every movement of the young curate, and he little doubted to be able in a very short space of time to discover instances of intemperance and indiscretion, or of what might easily be represented as such to an ignorant and credulous rabble. Then the interposition of the bishop might be invoked with effect to remove the unpopular curate to a spot where he would be less known, and where his proceedings might not call down such extensive disapprobation. Mr. Perigord hoped to effect this very speedily. And, as he expected he would be applying for the higher orders in a few months, he looked forward to that event quite confidently as likely to afford a favourable opportunity for applying to the bishop for his removal.

A week had now elapsed since the decease of Lucy Perigord. The solemn service for the departed was read over her mortal remains. The sad procession returned. The trappings of mourning were laid aside. Pendlebury was re-opened. The premier was seen once more to smile. "How fond he was of his wife !" said the spinsters. "What a beautiful funeral! so simple and so unpretending!" said the county gossips. "He's terribly cut up!" said the shopkeepers and the sympa thizing housewives. The newspapers announced "the afflicting and sudden bereavement experienced by the premier;" and spoke in penny-a-line raptures of the fortitude with which he bore up under a stroke as unexpected as it was severo. Altogether, the death and

Higher claims now demanded his thoughts and attention. He must shake off his sorrow, and proceed to business. A few matters remained to be arranged: which would detain him another week at Bribeworth.

Now without going so far as to state that he deliberately set about to irritate, worry, and provoke Harry Sumner, it is nevertheless the fact that such was the direction his proceedings immediately assumed. It might have been, and probably was, the mere natural consequence of the plan of action he had resolved upon: It became evident to Sumner that if the parish was to enjoy another hour's peace he must seek another sphere of duty. He wrote to his clerical friend at Oxford, and asked for final advice how he should act. The Doctor was still of opinion that he should stay on, redoubling his care to give no pretext of offence. "It is a sharp trial," he added, "but your course will be made clear for you at last." Thus advised, Sumner applied himself the more laboriously to his onerous duties-resolved to concern himself no more about results, and to be careful only to keep a clear conscience from day to day. The typhus fever happened to be desolating the more squalid quarters of the town, and afforded him ample employment. In spite of this accumulation of bodily labour, he had experienced sensations of rest, and calm, and recreation, ever since he had ceased to torment himself about the squire's inveterate and shameful hostility. During the last few months that one deep feeling which most of any distracted and humbled him, his love for Lady Agnes, had somewhat succumbed. He hoped he was about to be permitted to gain the mastery. But it had only wanted occasions for its importunities. Every moment and every thought were pre-occupied, surcharged. The more exacting affairs of the trying period which had just elapsed kept it in the back ground, and limited its sway. It returned now with renewed force. Some natures would have given way before a trial so searching. It must not be asserted that Sumner's never tottered to its fall. But higher succour came to his rescue. IIe imagined he was able himself to perceive the good accruing to him from a crisis so perilous. It humbled him. He had been, it may be, without it, inclined to pride and confidence. He might have presumed on his attainments, neglected precautions, and fallen before some future trial far less severe than the present. As it was he felt his weakness, applied to his active duties more resolutely, and left the result ELSEWHERE.

The

The day on which the premier is to leave for the metropolis has arrived. Sumner learns to his astonishment that his departure is postponed to the next day. next day he hears that Mr. Perigord is indisposed, and that he is delayed at Pendlebury still. Several days elapse. Each day Sumner receives intelligence that the squire is worse. He meets the physician. From him he learns that he has just advised the premier to keep his bed. Two London physicians are sent for-typhus is evidently threatening-London is in a ferment. The city princes "wonder whether he will die." The newspapers convey the affecting intelligence that the premier has been seized with a critical illness brought on by grief at the loss of his young and beautiful wife.

So long as Mr. Perigord's illness did not assume a threatening form, Sumner was content to ascertain in directly the state of this relative's health. So soon as it took a threatening and dangerous form, he ventured to make constant and assiduous inquiries at the house. Once or twice he earnestly solicited to be admitted to an interview with the invalid. These offers were unavailing. A peremptory refusal was the invariable reply. The last was accompanied with a request that Mr. Samner would cease his inconvenient molestations. The next intelligence the latter received was from his friend the Bribeworth doctor.

"It is bad typhus," he said. "Mr. Perigord is de

cidedly in danger. He was seized with intermittent delirium to-day. And the worst is, that any chance he might have of recovery is destroyed by the person who is nursing him. He requires the exactest attention. Stimulants and nourishment should be administered in small quantities every hour, night and day. The room should be kept perfectly cool; he should be humoured in his ravings. These and other such unremitting attentions afford, humanly speaking, his only chance. But the person who nurses him appears to me to be completely indifferent to the recovery of her patient. She is a mere hireling; she is rough and selfish." "Doctor!" exclaimed Sumner eagerly," do you think he will suffer me to wait upon him?"

"You!" echoed the doctor, half incredulously, half musingly. "He named you once or twice to-day in his ravings," he continued. "He will soon become wholly insensible. You might. It is his only chance. If he observes you, and becomes irritable, you can but give up. I shall be there again this afternoon, and will let you know."

When the doctor paid his next visit to his patient, he found him in the state he had expected. He was in raving delirium. Sumner, acting under the doctor's advice, dispensed with the nurse's services for the present, and took her place at the patient's bedside. For three weeks, the fever raged with unabated fury. The sufferer had scarcely a lucid interval throughout that period of time. Sumner watched by and waited on him with the patience and assiduity of a parent or a brother. With scrupulous exactness he observed every direction of the physicians. Every hour-not seldom, oftener something was to be done. For four weeks he did not take off his clothes, nor recline upon a bed or couch. What little sleep he took was snatched in a hurried manner, at distant intervals, as he sat in his chair; and not then without a second person being in the room, to prevent his sleeping beyond the time when the patient next required his assistance. Regardless of contagion, without once taking a meal or a night's rest; scarcely, indeed, allowing himself enough food or sleep for the exigences of his bodily frame; Sumner watched the progress of the terrible disease. It was commonly reported in the town that Mr. Sumner wanted to curry favour with the premier. His church patronage, it was hinted," was not to be lightly forfeited." It was against this view of things that when Mr. Perigord was given up by the doctors, and his case pronounced hopeless, Sumner's attentions redoubled in intenseness and assiduity. Instead of sleeping, he prayed for the sufferer. When he seemed to have sunk to the lowest stage of bodily weakness compatible with existence, and his ravings grew faint, indistinct, and almost imperceptible, his affectionate nurse would stand by his bedside, by the half-hour together, his head bent, his anxious ear listening intently; longing to detect amidst those faint murmurings if it were but one accent of penitence, one prayer for pardon. Not one such ever fell upon his ear; and he betook himself with still increasing fervour to intercede for one who was now too far gone to be made sensible of new impressions. He heard only such incoherent ravings as these, and they took much the following order as to their general character in the course of the disease:

"The King! May it please your Majesty! Mr. Harry Sumner cannot form a ministry. Ah! who is that I see? Go out of my chamber-I will have no cabals here. Hence, I say I Thwart me indeed? Me! me! Ha ha! My uncle, may it please you, madam-my uncle! A very worthy archbishop. He will crush that worm-that-that "-and here his strength appeared to fail him, and he sank into a state of insensibility. At another time:

"What are those hideous faces? Take them out, I say. Another majority! Pretty well that- a decided hit! Take them out, I say--I cannot bear them. What do they stare at me for? Away with them !"

On another occasion:

"Sir-sir-no whispering there to your sister. These state secrets are not to be revealed. You will never be prime minister. You are too frank and open-nevernever."

One night he tried to get out of bed. Sumner gently quieted him. "What is that hurly-burly?" he asked, with an affrighted look. "I hear bells--I say I do Those horrid church bells, ding-donging away night and morning. No such thing-I won't permit it. Ah! leave me ! Am I dismissed? Othello's occupation's gone! So short a reward? Such toil! Ah! well-aday! well-a-day! I say I will be prime minister yet." The last words he was able to articulate were as follows :—

"What is that light? Not a candle? No, I say. No, not a lamp-no Bude light. It is fading. Where is it? See ! Look at that beautiful angel! How glorious! There! there! No, there -Pray? I can't. I'm too weak. May it please your Majesty! if the burden of the taxes be removed from all the classes who are likely to be disaffected, and placed-you see I can't. Lucy! Lucy! Lucy! don't go. I pray! Angel!" | Here his voice failed. Upon this occasion the physicians were standing at his bedside. In a few seconds they perceived that their patient had fallen into a deep sleep "There are hopes!" both at once exclaimed in a low voice.

"God be praised!" ejaculated Sumner, with fervent emotion.

“Amen!” the sick man rather breathed than spoke in his sleep.

From this moment there was at least no exasperation of the patient's symptoms. The following day, there was a manifest improvement. The day after, the doctor who felt his pulse looked at the other in attendance, and at Sumner, as he marked its beatings, with an expression of face which left no doubt as to its meaning. "It has fallen from 200 to 85 !" he exclaimed, as he gently replaced the attenuated arm within the bed-clothes. "There are hopes?" then asked Sumner eagerly. "His only danger now is from weakness," replied the doctor, "and with care I hope we shall be able to manage that. But we really must get another nurse, Mr. Sumner, or we shall have you taking Mr. Perigord's place."

"God's will be done!" he replied. "I do not leave him until he is out of danger, or insists on my doing so.” At first, the sick man did not exhibit any decided symptoms of rallying from the tremendous shock be had suffered. The fever, indeed, had left him. It had struggled long and hard to destroy its victim. It had now been bidden to depart. The superinduced weakness, however, threatened for some days consequences as fatal as that terrible epidemic itself. The unceasing, vigilant care and attendance, however, of Harry Sumner began after the lapse of about eight days, under God, to tell. The patient began to mend.

In the first interval of returning consciousness, he was utterly unable to comprehend his position. There were well-known features constantly about him; he had remembered them, in spite of his delirium, throughout his protracted state of dangerous fever. He had been, in a measure, sensible of the ceaseless attentions of the individual they designated. For a long while after the fever had left him he went on passively receiving the wonted ministrations. Even when a healthy consciousness returned to his enfeebled frame, he could not at first be quite sure who it was who was thus with such self-denial performing the part towards him of a sister or a brother; yes, even of a mother. Surely it was Harry Sumner! Yet he was not that pale, wan, ghastly, dishevelled being, who now glided about his room with noiseless steps, attentive to the smallest movement, even to every look of the invalid.

All doubt on the subject, however, was very speedily dispelled. At first, and for some while, he was far too weak even to realize such a state of things. Much less

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