Lady Menteith has had a return of illness. His lordship says the thought of seeing England again has fairly upset her."

"I don't wonder at it, taking into consideration the sad memories it must evoke; poor lady, with her, time seems to make no difference,-she grieves for the lost child as deeply as if it were but yesterday he was taken."

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It is the uncertainty, the dreadful suspense, that is so hard to bear," said Mr. Leland; "If they knew he were dead, it would be preferable to thinking he may be alive, and in want, perhaps, alas, in sin and misery. Poor little boy! poor mother! what a terrible revenge! I have hope yet I know not why-that he may ere long be recovered. I cannot, will not, regard him as irrecoverably lost."

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I hope it may be so," said his wife; "I should rejoice to hear of its taking place. Here come the boys."

"Papa, we've been making hay,-oh, such fun! and I've made a discovery, I have indeed. We rolled up our sleeves to be like the men, and, oh, Charlie has such a funny mark on his arm,- it is blue, in the shape of a cross, about an inch in length, I think."

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Let me look, my boy," said Mr. Leland.

Charlie pulled off his jacket, turned up his sleeve, and there, indelibly stamped in the fair white skin, was to be seen, as Dysie had said, a blue cross, rather more than an inch in length.

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How did you come by it," enquired Mr. Leland.

"I don't know," replied Charlie; "it has always been there."

"Strange," said Mr. Leland; and strange it was, but

true, notwithstanding, and of more importance than either of them deemed.

Not very much given to demonstration, was Mrs. Leland, but to-night, when taking leave of the boys, she caught Charlie's sweet face in her two hands, and tenderly kissed him. A soft flush of pleasure lighted up the fair countenance like a sunbeam, and the heart of the orphan boy thrilled with emotion. He had never known a mother's love, never felt a mother's care, and this gleam of affection came quite unexpected, though certainly not unappreciated by its recipient. Mrs. Leland saw his delight, and taking the little hand in hers, said, “Charlie, my little son looks upon you as a brother, be such to him, and you will always find friends in us. Good-night, dear, good-night, my Dysie; pleasant dreams. Breakfast at half-past eight; but Jane will call you in time, so no fear of being late. Good-night."

CHAPTER VII.

ROLANDSECK.

IS evening,-calm peaceful, lovely evening, a time of rest and quiet, when the toils of day are over. A time to meditate, to "commune with one's own heart," to search out one's spirit, to review the past, and to pray that the unveiled face of futurity may wear a smile, even the Father's smile of love.

The firmament above, how beautiful, of deepest azure, "Where not one tiny cloudlet form

Its winged path pursues."

Behind the distant mountains, the aged sovereign of day's bright kingdom sinks noiselessly to his rest, while night, slowly but surely, with "dusky fingers" loosening the golden chains that bind her sable curtain, throws its shadow over the wearied earth.

Even as we gaze, there appear in the radiant west, fleecy forms, of fairy-like grace and beauty, stretching out golden arms to receive their king, as though the spirits of the cloudland, impatient of his slow progress towards their ethereal domain, rushed forth to meet him, joyously enshrouding his glory from mortal eyes. Just one smile of wondrous beauty, on the hoary head of old Drachenfels,

and then he sinks,-like some great warrior, who hath "borne the burden and heat of the day,"-to repose, his duty done, his work accomplished.

The fair Queen of night, his gentle consort, now ascends her silvery throne, shedding a flood of tender chastened radiance over mountain and valley, ancient ruin, and calm river.

Now, how fair the scene: such a one as the sweet Psalmist of Israel must have had before his vision, when, from his over-flowing heart, burst forth the nineteenth Psalm, in its inspired beauty: "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth His handywork."

Not a sound disturbs the still air; no wild birds' wing, no insects' droning hum, arouse one from the exquisite reverie; the beauteous Rhine her course wends silently, her grassy banks between, as though sympathising with Nature's blissful mood, with Nature's hour of rest.

Very peaceful, in her sylvan beauty and quietude, embowered in soft, green foliage, a rare gem in this lovely Rhineland, lies little Rolandseck.

Let us take a view of it and its surroundings, never seen to better advantage than on a bright moonlight night,--on such a night as this.

By our side glides the fair Rhine, fairer than ever, without even a ripple to disturb its surface, so motionless is the air, and reflected on its waters the starry vault above.

Would that all minds reflected images as truthfully as this calm, glassy river, without any admixture of error.

As we gaze, a slight cloud passes over the sky, for a moment obscuring the brightness; now it has vanished, and the orb of night, fair as ever, glides on her trackless way, through star-lit fields, immeasurable, but by His hand who created them. No power have clouds to dim her radiance, though hiding it from mortal sight.

Neither have the clouds of distrust and suspicion power to sully the pure mind. They may hover around it, and apparently blot out its lustre; but of no avail, let them disperse, and the unsullied brightness beams forth in its pristine beauty, untainted by that which obscured, but could not tarnish.

Lovely little Rolandseck! happy little Rolandseck! nestling in this delightful nook of the charming Rhineland; sheltered by its own lofty trees, breathing its own pure air, rejoicing in its own unrivalled scenery, and guarded by its own sentinel, the ancient relic of bygone days, stately yet, though fast mouldering to decay,-grim old Drachenfels. Like a king, uncrowned and unsceptred, it stands; yet withal, majestic, in its solitary and commanding grandeur, looking down upon Rolandseck, and a convent on the adjacent island of Nonnenwerth.

Who does not know of Roland's love and faith, though some few may not have heard the celebrated story that invests this region with peculiar and romantic interest? For such, I will therefore give a brief account of it.

Long time ago, in this neighbourhood, there lived a noble knight, Roland, the soul of heroism and chivalry, who was betrothed to the fair Hildegunde, daughter of Count Heribert, Lord of the Seven Mountains.