will fulfil your wishes, if they cost me my life, for that
is worthless now. I lived but for you-for you I will
die ; only tell me you look upon me as a brother, and,
if I cannot claim a warmer feeling, yet let me cherish
and deserve that one."
"It is yours -dear Gerald," she said, " a sister's warmest love ; but, oh ! something tells me Monteagle is in danger. I know that my father is linked with desperate men, and he is Monteagle's sworn foe ; -then, Gerald, I beseech you, if it is in your power, save him from destruction-save him, as you value the blessing of a sinful girl-save Monteagle from danger and from death. Gerald, will you do this ? and all will yet be well," she passionately exclaimed, and uttering a fervent blessing on Gerald's head, the warm-hearted girl rushed from the apartment to seek the solitude of her own chamber,-but Gerald Lorton was an altered and broken-hearted man.
Two hours passed on, and he had not moved, when Fawkes glided in, and beckoned him to follow where he should guide. The traitor spoke not, but, pointing to a flight of stairs, urged Lorton down, and entered a long, dark chamber. There sat Lord Manvers, Winter, and Lord Harrington. A few set words were uttered by Lord Manvers, and the oath administered, but his victim neither saw nor felt the importance of their oaths. A smile played over his pale features as he grasped the pen, which added his name to that odious list, and as he glanced rapidly over it, and saw Lord Monteagle's name was not among them, the promise he had made to Emily crossed his mind, and he determined to save the young nobleman. The initiation was over, and the only son of a fond and affectionate mother had become a traitor and an assassin. Daybreak saw Gerald Lorton on his way to London, with many good wishes for his safety and success, but disappointment had rendered him cold and callous. Desperate views entered his mind, and the last sparks of virtue and principle were quelled beneath the torrent of hideous thoughts and overwhelming reproaches which filled his tortured breast.
to answer, but it was too late- the messenger was gone, and he remained alone, looking down the long, dark street with the letter in his hand. Creeping back through the city with a weary step and broken heart, the bearer of that letter at length reached a small miserable tavern on London Bridge, and, for a few moments, stood as if reluctant to enter, but he conquered his aversion, and asked the hostess for a room. "The attic is good enough for such as you," said the Dame, contemptuously glancing at his splashed dress. "6 Go up, and see yourself." The stranger mechanically obeyed her, walked up the narrow staircase, closed the door of a wretched- looking room, and sat down. A flood of tears fell from his half-closed eyes, as he laid his head against the dark wall, and, giving way to his grief, commenced a long prayer, drawing from his bosom a lock of dark silken hair, he pressed it to his lips. "God bless you, my
A fortnight passed on, and the day for completing the treason was close at hand, when, during one of those dark foggy days which visit England in November, a man, enveloped in a dark horseman's cloak, and shrouded in a black velvet cap, which almost concealed his face, walked hurriedly through the streets, and looked anxiously at each house as he passed along, seemingly distracted with care or anxiety, but evidently on some errand of more than ordinary importance. At length his walk ended, and he approached a magnificent mansion, and drew a letter from his pocket. "Give this to your master, Lord Monteagle, sirrah," said he to a valet, who opened the door, " instantly on your peril or evil will happen to you." The man stood a moment about
THE FADING BEAUTY .
Emily," he said, " and you, too, my poor mother. God forgive your unworthy son ; but, oh ! if ought can sweeten death, it is the recollection of one act of mercy. Yes-Monteagle is saved. I have saved him from death." Here the speaker paused, and looked for a moment on the point of his bright stiletto, then drew his finger across the blade, and plunged it into his breast. A stream of dark red blood streamed from the wound, and the once happy Gerald Lorton, the virtuous and the good, lay dead on the floor-a suicide and a traitor. Need I add more, the contents of that letter are well known, the success of that plot, and its happy termination ; but if a thought shall come across my readers as to what saved the country from destruction, I will tell them-Woman's Love. H. J. B.
SONNET . BY EDWARD J. PORTER.
BUT gaze upon those soft, dark eyes, whose light Seems drawn from some celestial source on high,— And on that brow so beautifully bright, Around which float those gleams so exquisite, We own them gifts of gladness from the sky, Lent to illume-as the pale stars that lie Silently twining o'er the brows of night Their dewy garlands- earth's lone ecstasy,And linger o'er those waves of raven hair, That fling soft shadows, as each darkling tress Rolls o'er that pale cheek's glowing loveliness, And folds that neck inexplicably fair,And sigh to think how soon the tomb's damp air So much of heavenly brightness will caress.
