the page's, which has a door that opens upon the steps leading into the garden, is most delightfully situated."

"I think it is a pleasant apartment," replied Lady Blunt.

"I suppose it is the apartment of Sir Hildebrand," rejoined Eleonora, "as his page sleeps in the chamber above it?"

No," replied Lady Blunt, "that apartment is not occupied at all."

Eleonora now felt more surprised than ever; the apartment not occupied and still she had seen two persons issue from it, and shortly again return to it!

They at this moment reached the aviary; the attentions of Lady Blunt to her favourite birds gave a turn to the conversation, and Eleonora durst not again revive it.

When they returned to the house, Lady Blunt went to visit her husband in his apartment, and Eleonora seated herself in the air, near the entrance into the castle: she had not taken her seat many minutes. ere she observed a youth, whom she imme

diately

diately recollected to be the page Edwin, running towards her; had she not prevented the humiliation, he would have fallen on his knees before her; his fervent thanks for her interposition in his favour, he poured forth in the simple and tender language of the heart.

"What was the offence which you had yesterday committed, to draw upon you the anger of Sir Hildebrand?" asked Eleonora.

66

Why, my Lady," returned the boy, the matter wherein I disobliged him, I am now more than ever convinced was not a fault."

"Indeed!" said Eleonora.

"Yes, I am quite certain of it," he replied; "I am sure, when I look in your face, that you could not commit a fault; and I drew Sir Hildebrand's anger upon me, by shewing the same kindness to a poor dog, that you have to-day conferred

on me."

"How was that?" inquired Eleonora.

"Yesterday

"Yesterday morning, in the chace," resumed Edwin, "one of Sir Hildebrand's dogs disobeyed a signal which he made to him; and so he tied him to a tree, and flogged him very, very much indeed, with his whip."

"Well, Edwin?" said Eleonora.

Why, my Lady," continued the boy, "when I saw the blood start from his sides, I was so sorry, and so hurt, that I untied the string with which he was bound to the tree, and let him go."

Eleonora was delighted with Edwin's humanity, and said, "your fault was trivial indeed!"

"Pardon me, my Lady; it must not be called a fault," returned Edwin; "I have told you why already."

Eleonora smiled.

"Yes, indeed, I know I am right," added

the page; 66 you have preserved me, as I

did the poor dog; and I see, without knowing it, that I acted like an angel." Eleonora commended the laudable prin

2

ciples of his heart, in which she admonished him ever to persevere; and did not quit him till she was informed that the mid-day. repast was served up in the castle-hall.

When Eleonora retired in the evening to her chamber, she dismissed Gillian, and placed herself by her window, expecting again to behold the figures which she had seen on the former one; but the hour passed away, and they did not appear. The air was cold, a thick rain was falling to the earth, and she conjectured that this might be the cause of their absence.

The succeeding day rose in cold and dewy damps, caused by the rain, which had fallen during the whole of the night,. and prevented both Eleonora and Lady Blunt from visiting the garden till after the mid-day repast. To the former, the dinnerhour brought with it sensations of an unpleasant nature; it compelled her to encounter Sir Hildebrand, and the sentence with which he had parted from her on the preceding morning rendered her somewhat reluctant

reluctant to meet him; he was, however, as deficient as usual in attentions, both to his mother and herself; she believed that she caught his eye fixed once or twice, with an expression of inward satisfaction, upon her countenance; but she hoped that those apprehensions of him with which his uncouth manners had inspired her did but create the idea.

In the evening, Eleonora went, for the first time, alone into the garden; she strolled towards the river, and mounted a little eminence overhanging its waters, where she found a seat, shaded at the back like an arbour, with the intertwined branches of the ozier and the hazel, and canopied by the feathery foliage of a weeping willow, which threw its drooping honours across it. She was pleased by the rusticity of the spot, and seated herself upon the bench. The sun was sinking towards the lower world, and the shadow of the earth stealing gradually across the river, till it reached the forest beyond; and then climbing up

the