nds clasped, I beg it of you for his
sake and safety!"

It was pretty well known through the parish, especially by the
initiated, that this same Poll Doolin, had in truth most of its secrets
in keeping; and that she had frequently conducted with success those
rustic intrigues which are to be found in humble, as well as in high
life. The former part of Poll's character, however, was all that had
ever reached the youthful ears of poor innocent Mary, whilst of her
address as a diplomatist in the plots and pursuits of love, she was
utterly ignorant. Naturally unsuspicious, as we have already said,
she looked upon the woman's knowing character rather as a circumstance
calculated to corroborate the truth of the mystery which she, must have
discovered: and was so much moved by the unquestionable sincerity of her
manner, and the safety of her own lover, that she assured her she would
keep the secret, until permitted to divulge it; which she begged might
be at as early a period as possible. Poll thanked her eagerly and
gratefully, and in a few minutes, having made a circuit behind the ruin,
sought the lower and richer country by a different path.

Mary unconsciously stood for some time after Poll had left her,
meditating over the strange and almost unaccountable scene which had
just taken place, when a rich voice, with which she was well acquainted,
addressed her. She started, and on turning about, found Francis Harman
before her. Twilight had now nearly passed away, and the dusk of evening
was deepening into the darkness of a summer night.

"What on earth are you thinking of alone in this place, my dear Mary,
and who was that woman who just left you?"

Mary, though firm of character, was also tender and warm of heart, and
felt deeply for those she loved. The interview with Poll, therefore, had
excited apprehensions concerning Harman's safety, which disturbed her
far more than any she felt for herself. He gave her his right arm as he
spoke, and they went on towards her father's house.

"Good God," he exclaimed, before she had time to answer him, "what
has disturbed or alarmed you, my sweet Mary? I feel your heart beating
against my arm, in a most extraordinary manner. How is this?"

The consciousness of the injunction so solemnly and recently imposed,
distressed her exceedingly. Her love of truth was like her love of life
or of heaven, a sacred and instinctive principle which she must now
not only violate, but be forced to