face
became purple. Suddenly Gabriel, peeping over the girl's shoulder,
snatched away the letter.

"It is my letter,--it is mine! What a shame in Mainwaring not to have
come for it as he promised!"

Sir Miles looked round and breathed more freely.

"Yours, Master Varney!" said the young lady, astonished. "What can make
your letters to Mr. Mainwaring such a secret?"

"Oh! you'll laugh at me; but--but--I wrote a poem on Guy's Oak, and Mr.
Mainwaring promised to get it into the county paper for me; and as he
was to pass close by the park pales, through the wood yonder, on his way
to D---- last Saturday, we agreed that I should leave it here; but he
has forgotten his promise, I see."

Sir Miles grasped the boy's arm with a convulsive pressure of gratitude.
There was a general cry for Gabriel to read his poem on the spot; but
the boy looked sheepish, and hung down his head, and seemed rather more
disposed to cry than to recite. Sir Miles, with an effort at simulation
that all his long practice of the world never could have nerved him
to, unexcited by a motive less strong than the honour of his blood and
house, came to the relief of the young wit that had just come to his
own.

"Nay," he said, almost calmly, "I know our young poet is too shy to
oblige you. I will take charge of your verses, Master Gabriel;" and with
a grave air of command, he took the letter from the boy and placed it in
his pocket.

The return to the house was less gay than the visit to the oak. The
baronet himself made a feverish effort to appear blithe and debonair as
before; but it was not successful. Fortunately, the carriages were all
at the door as they reached the house, and luncheon being over, nothing
delayed the parting compliments of the guests. As the last carriage
drove away, Sir Miles beckoned to Gabriel, and bade him follow him into
his room.

When there, he dismissed his valet and said,--

"You know, then, who wrote this letter. Have you been in the secret
of the correspondence? Speak the truth, my dear boy; it shall cost you
nothing."

"Oh, Sir Miles!" cried Gabriel, earnestly, "I know nothing whatever
beyond this,--that I saw the hand of my dear, kind Miss Lucretia; that
I felt, I hardly knew why, that both you and she would not have those
people discover it, which they would if the letter had been circulated
from one to the other, for some one would have known the hand as well
as myself, and therefore I spoke, without thinki