such a cause, and with such an object, as you well know, Father.'

'Thank you, my child,' he said, 'we understand each other.'

Mary was leaving the room, when she suddenly said,

'Do tell me whose picture that is which is so like Captain Latimer ?'

Oh,' said the priest, 'he was a member of the family, to whom there attaches a melancholy history. I think at present you had better not know. It is connected with matters I could not fully explain.'

'Oh, never mind,' said Mary. If I must not know, of course I will not try to find out. You know I dislike mysteries too, so it is as well not to tell me, but it is very strange there should be so much resemblance in the countenance of a perfect stranger.'

'I have observed likenesses in persons in no way connected by ties of blood,' said Father Philip, and he moved his papers, and looked down at them, as if he desired to be alone, which Mary well understood, and left the room, promising to come in in the evening with madame, as had been suggested.

CHAPTER XII.

N the evening of the same day, after dinner,
Father Philip said,-

'We shall be enlivened, I hope, to

night by the society of the ladies you saw in the library. I have asked them to be kind enough to bestow some time on us to vary our more serious discussions. The young lady you saw, Miss Carfax, is a niece of this house, and has resided here for some time under my spiritual direction. You will see in her an instance of the admirable influence of the system of our Church. The other lady is French, as you no doubt perceived, and is a woman of sterling character and undoubted piety.'

The ladies came in accordingly, and Mary at once offered her apologies to Latimer for her forgetfulness when she saw him in perfect safety, and yet did not express her sympathy. He received her apologies with surprise, wondering in what way she had become acquainted with his capture. She explained how she obtained her information, and told him of

her visit to the Maxwells; and from her he thus heard for the first time of the unfortunate attempt of the soldiers to rescue him, their repulse and defeat. He was greatly disturbed at the news, and appealed to Father Philip to tell him any further particulars, who replied,—

'I did hear a rumour of something of the kind, but I was not able to test the correctness of the report, and so scrupled to tell you of it.'

Latimer, turning again to Miss Carfax, begged her to tell him any more she knew of the disaster. When he heard of the capture of the senior sergeant, he seemed much annoyed, exclaiming, 'My best man, the very man on whom I have been relying during my detention here. The second sergeant, although very steady, is by no means a man on whom I can in the same way rely; how very unfortunate!' He then asked if any of the men were seriously wounded, and when the bugler was named, said, ‘It must have been little Charlie Upchase, but I cannot understand his sounding the retreat without orders, or being likely to show cowardice. Who could have given the order? Pardox, the other sergeant, would not do it, and how,' said he, still talking out loud his thoughts, 'how could the men have learnt that I was taken? Who would know it to tell them?'

Mary was quite grieved at Latimer's distress, and Father Philip looked annoyed with her because she had entered upon the subject. When he heard her

begin, he tried two or three times to turn the conversation. But the moment Latimer found she could tell him something about his soldiers he was eager to know all. And Mary, who did not observe the priest's hints, told him simply and fully all she knew. The one thing that seemed to relieve his mind, was that Brooke had not made any mistakes, and had not led the unfortunate ill-planned expedition. It was also a satisfaction to him to feel and know that as the magistrates were to communicate with the Government, another officer would be at once sent to Merton from Everton, so that on the whole, before the evening was half over, he was really more at ease in his thoughts about his soldiers than when he knew nothing. He soon recovered his natural spirits, and the evening passed off most pleasantly; but naturally Latimer and Mary were thrown into conversation together, because Father Philip engaged Madame Boismaison in a very animated conversation about France, the prospects of Napoleon, and the position of France and the Continent generally. From more general subjects, Mary began to tell her new friend about her own daily life, and Latimer inquired after the noble horse. She replied, 'Oh, Wellesley is always well. I call him by that name after your great leader, and he is worthy of him.'

The conversation about the state of France appeared so interesting to the two engaged in it, that

Latimer proposed that they should have some music; and so in various ways the evening passed, until madame pronounced that it was exceedingly late. She had found that Father Philip agreed with all her views; she was a lover of the old Regime, and a hater of the Revolution. She admired Napoleon for his greatness, but did not really like him.

When the ladies had retired, Latimer said that they had spent a most delightful evening.

The priest answered, 'If you will consent to prolong your stay, you can see the ladies again; and now that you know all about your soldiers, there is not really the same reason for hurrying away.'

'But I have had no replies to my letters,' said Latimer.

'Well,' said the priest, 'I know that is a difficulty. However, I hope you do not regret your half-compulsory sojourn here. I must introduce you to my lord too, he has learnt now that you are here. Indeed, he very much approves of the step I ventured to take in bringing you here. I am at full liberty to invite my friends; a privilege, however, of which I have scarcely ever availed myself before. But you interested me on the day we crossed the moor together, and you have drawn me out of my usual routine of life.'

Latimer could not but express his thanks for the