isgrace.' 'Disgrace!' that word made me very angry
for the moment. But my Lady has such a way with her that she soon put
me right again. Yet, I do think Nora must have loved my young Lord, only
she was too good to show it. What do you say?" And the father's voice
was thoughtful.

"I hope she'll never love any man till she's married to him; it is not
proper, John," said Mrs. Avenel, somewhat starchly, though very mildly.

"Ha, ha!" laughed John, chucking his prim wife under the chin, "you
did not say that to me when I stole your first kiss under that very
pollard-tree--no house near it then!"

"Hush, John, hush!" and the prim wife blushed like a girl.

"Pooh," continued John, merrily, "I don't see why we plain folk should
pretend to be more saintly and prudish-like than our betters. There's
that handsome Miss Leslie, who is to marry Mr. Egerton--easy enough to
see how much she is in love with him,--could not keep her eyes off from
him even in church, old girl! Ha, ha! What the deuce is the matter with
the ravens?"

"They'll be a comely couple, John. And I hear tell she has a power of
money. When is the marriage to be?"

"Oh, they say as soon as the election is over. A fine wedding we shall
have of it! I dare say my young Lord will be bridesman. We'll send for
our little Nora to see the gay doings!"

Out from the boughs of the old tree came the shriek of a lost
spirit,--one of those strange, appalling sounds of human agony which,
once heard, are never forgotten. It is as the wail of Hope, when SHE,
too, rushes forth from the Coffer of Woes, and vanishes into viewless
space; it is the dread cry of Reason parting from clay, and of Soul,
that would wrench itself from life! For a moment all was still--and then
a dull, dumb, heavy fall!

The parents gazed on each other, speechless: they stole close to the
pales, and looked over. Under the boughs, at the gnarled roots of the
oak, they saw--gray and indistinct--a prostrate form. John opened the
gate, and went round; the mother crept to the road-side, and there stood
still.

"Oh, wife, wife!" cried John Avenel, from under the green boughs, "it is
our child Nora! Our child! our child!"

And, as he spoke, out from the green boughs started the dark ravens,
wheeling round and round, and calling to their young!

And when they had laid her on the bed, Mrs. Avenel whispered John to
withdraw for a moment; and with set lips but trembling hands began
to unlace the dress, unde