A loud shout caused them to turn quickly round. There stood Master Pat, as large as life.

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What are ye afther?" he said; "ye look mighty pleased, the pair of ye."

“Charlie's going home with me, that's what we're pleased about," answered Dysie, doffing his college cap laughingly at Pat.

"And it's myself that's going to stay with Jackie Spencer," the Irish boy replied; "I'd like to visit ould Ireland, to see afther the cows and the pigs, and my brother's linnet, faith, but it's a fine singer he is, the callant." "Pat, do you have cows in your rooms, and pigs under the tables, and fowls roosting above your heads? read about it's being the case," said little Dysie.

I've

"Sure, no," returned the lad, “we don't, but I've seen it. Faith, and I shouldn't like it myself," he added, "the cows would be afther mistaking my head for a turnip, and make short work of me."

On the afternoon of the following day, being Saturday, the carriage of the Lelands, as previously arranged, came after the cathedral service, for the boys.

No words can describe Dysart's delight, his almost wild exuberance of spirits.

To have his brother, as he called him, at home with him, was something totally unlooked for, unthought of.

They drove up to the front door, where Mrs. Leland stood ready to receive them. Little Dysie sprang out, and, giving her a tremendous hug, cried out, "Oh, mamma, I am so pleased to see you, and I've brought Charlie,-here he is !"

The lady advanced to greet the shy boy with words of affectionate welcome, and led him into the house, where he was introduced to Audrey.

"Tea is quite ready," said the mother; "Oh, here comes papa!"

Poor Charlie, it was the first time that he had been in a gentleman's house, and, as might be expected under the circumstances, was rather timid, but the attention and kindness he met with, soon set him at his ease.

After tea, the two happy boys and Audrey went into the garden to play, and look up the rabbits, guinea-pigs, pigeons, &c., &c.

"Well, Maggie, what do you think to him?" enquired Mr. Leland.

"I like him much; he can't be poor, Robert,—why, a genteel, refined boy like that might pass for a nobleman's son."

"Nevertheless, it is true," said her husband; "I am sure of it."

"Well, it will make no difference to us; I, for one, shall like him as well as if he were rich. We must do all we can to make him happy while he is with us. How delighted Dysie is !"

"Yes, he is very fond of Charlie. How like that boy is to someone I have seen,-it is really striking, Maggie,-but I can't recall whom. His face is quite a familiar one to me. I am fairly puzzled as to what to think. I wish I could come across the person again, there might be a relationship."

"Oh, Maggie, the Menteiths are not coming home yet.

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."

"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."

"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."

"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.

"How did you come by it," enquired Mr. Leland. "I don't know," replied Charlie; "it has always been there."

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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,