him at all hazards to acknowledge? It was
that day that he had spoken to William Hazeldean as to the family
living.--"Peace, at least," thought the ambitious man,--"I shall have
peace!" And the squire had promised him the rectory if needed; not
without a secret pang, for his Harry was already using her conjugal
influence in favour of her old school-friend's husband, Mr. Dale;
and the squire thought Audley would be but a poor country parson, and
Dale--if he would only grow a little plumper than his curacy would
permit him to be--would be a parson in ten thousand. But while Audley
thus prepared for the worst, he still brought his energies to bear on
the more brilliant option; and sat with his Committee, looking into
canvass-books, and discussing the characters, politics, and local
interests of every elector, until the night was well-nigh gone. When he
gained his room; the shutters were unclosed, and he stood a few moments
at the window, gazing on the moon. At that sight, the thought of Nora,
lost and afar, stole over him. The man, as we know, had in his nature
little of romance and sentiment. Seldom was it his wont to gaze upon
moon or stars. But whenever some whisper of romance did soften his hard,
strong mind, or whenever moon or stars did charm his gaze from earth,
Nora's bright Muse-like face, Nora's sweet loving eyes, were seen in
moon and star-beam, Nora's low tender voice heard in the whisper of
that which we call romance, and which is but the sound of the mysterious
poetry that is ever in the air, would we but deign to hear it! He turned
with a sigh, undressed, threw himself on his bed, and extinguished his
light. But the light of the moon would fill the room. It kept him awake
for a little time; he turned his face from the calm, heavenly beam
resolutely towards the dull blind wall, and fell asleep. And, in the
sleep, he was with Nora,--again in the humble bridal-home. Never in
his dreams had she seemed to him so distinct and life-like,--her
eyes upturned to his, her hands clasped together, and resting on his
shoulder, as had been her graceful wont, her voice murmuring meekly,
"Has it, then, been my fault that we parted? Forgive, forgive me!"
And the sleeper imagined that he answered, "Never part from me
again,--never, never!" and that he bent down to kiss the chaste lips
that so tenderly sought his own. And suddenly he heard a knocking
sound, as of a hammer,--regular, but soft, low, subdued. Did you ever,
O reade