ed," said Lindsay, "to tell her that
you succeed by such a title to this man's wealth. She is a wayward girl,
and is not used to crosses. Her devotion to her purpose, as it sometimes
excites my admiration, gives me, in the present case, cause of profound
alarm."

"You have spoken to her on this subject?"

"I have not," replied Lindsay, "and almost fear to broach it. I can,
therefore, give you no encouragement. Some little time hence--perhaps
to-morrow--I may sound her feelings. But remember, as her father, I
claim no right beyond that of advice. I shall think myself fortunate if,
by giving a new direction to the current of her affections, I can divert
her mind from the thoughts of an alliance to me the most hateful--to her
full of future misery. A maiden's fancies are scarcely intelligible even
to a father."

"These subjects require meditation," said Tyrrel. "I will not press them
further upon your thoughts to-night."

"Heaven guide us in the way of safety and happiness!" said Lindsay,
almost in a whisper. "Good night, my friend."

When Tyrrel was left alone he strolled forward to the terrace, and
passing round to that end which overhung the cliff, near the door that
opened from the library, he leaned his breast upon the parapet and
looked down upon the wild and beautiful scenery of the valley. The
night was calm and full of splendor. The tops of the trees that grew in
the ravine, almost perpendicularly beneath his eye, here and there
caught the bright moon-beam where it glowed like silver, and the shades,
rendered deeper by the contrast, seemed to brood over a black and
impenetrable abyss. Occasional glimpses were seen of the river below, as
it sparkled along such portions of its channel as were not hidden in
darkness. The coolness of the hour and the solitude of the spot were not
ungrateful to the mood of Tyrrel's mind, whilst the monotonous music of
the river fell pleasantly upon his ear. He was not unheedful of these
charms in the scene, though his thoughts were busily employed with a
subject foreign to their contemplation.

"Have I advanced," was the tenor of his present self-communion, "the
purpose I have so much at heart, by this night's conference? Could I but
engage Lindsay in the issues of this war, so commit him in its purposes
and its plots as to render his further residence at the Dove Cote
insecure, then would I already have half-compassed my point. Where could
he remove but to Charleston? And there