s they were passing the
ruined Hall, and Fred heard him sigh, but he forgot that directly after
in his eagerness to get home; and soon after father and son were locked
in turn in sobbing Mistress Forrester's arras.

There was abundance to tell that night as they sat in the old, old room,
where mother and son exchanged glances, each silently questioning the
other with the eye as to whether the time had not come for telling all;
but still they hesitated, till all at once Colonel Forrester exclaimed
sadly--

"This is nearly perfect happiness--home and peace once more; but it is
not complete. You say Lady Markham and her daughter left a month ago
for France?"

"Yes, dearest," replied Mistress Forrester.

"Ah!" sighed the colonel, "I'd give all I have to know that mine enemy
was saved from the horrors of that terrible evening."

"Will you give your forgiveness, father?" said Fred, rising.

"Forgiveness?"

"Yes: to one who was somewhat of a traitor to his cause."

"My boy! what do you mean?" cried the colonel; and Fred told all he
knew, Mistress Forrester supplementing his narrative with a vivid
description of how the fugitive Royalists had been helped into the
cavern, and had then escaped by sea.

The colonel rose, and stood staring straight before him, and then he
slowly went to the door, signed to them not to follow, and they heard
him go upstairs, where, in dread at last, Mistress Forrester followed,
to find him on his knees.

When, half an hour after, he returned to the dining-room, his face
seemed charged, and there was a bright look in his eyes as if a weight
had been lifted from his mind, while twice over his son heard him
whisper softly--"Thank God! Thank God!"

It was after years had passed, and various political changes had taken
place, that one bright May day, bright as such days are sometimes seen
in the west, a heavy carriage drawn by four horses, and attended by two
gentlemen and a sturdy servitor on horseback, passed slowly up and down
the hills along the road leading to the Hall.

One gentleman was stern and grey-looking, the other tall and grave
beyond his years, while, seated in the carriage were a careworn-looking
lady and a beautiful, graceful-looking girl.

As they neared the old entrance to the park, the gentleman ordered the
coachman to stop, and himself opened the carriage door, after
dismounting, and handed the ladies out on to the soft turf.

"It is more humble for pilgrims to tr