to carrying on the work of a plantation. So the coast would be clear for Linda and the colonel, if she would deprive herself of an hour's sleep. Poor Linda would have deprived herself of many hours' sleep for the pleasure of a walk with the patriot colonel, and she scarcely closed her eyes all night, haunted by the fear of being too late in the morning. Before the stars had entirely faded from view in the blue vault of heaven, or the first early streaks of dawn had tinged the eastern sky, Linda was up and dressed. The young ladies had each her own room, therefore no one was disturbed by her movements. She passed softly and quietly through a dressing-room, at that particular time unused, which opened into her own room, and which led, by a short flight of steps, to a sloping lawn, where grew some very large tamarind-trees. Letting herself out by a low gate, which was never locked, she advanced cautiously towards the road, stooping to shelter herself from observation close to the pigeon-pea-bushes which grew on the side of the path; she had not proceeded far, however, when she discerned, standing behind a cocoa-nut-tree, and almost seeming to be part of its trunk, a tall figure, which immediately issued forth and joined her. "My darling Linda! Thanks for this extreme kindness," exclaimed Colonel Mentilla. "I have much to say to you; where can we go to be altogether unobserved? To the sea-shore ?" "No; oh no, the fishermen will be out presently; the shore is not a quiet retreat at early morning." "Under the orange and shaddock trees in the garden, then, with the 'forbidden fruit' to remind us of a lost Eden ?" "No, the watchman will hardly have left the garden yet, and he is a very garrulous old man. Let us go to the haunted forest, no one will intrude upon us there. But we must walk fast." Colonel Mentilla offered her his arm, and, leaning on it, Linda exerted herself to walk faster than is usual with West India ladies, or West Indians of either sex. The early morning air, however, was cool, almost chill, therefore their quick pace was not inconvenient to the damsel or her admirer. When they reached the forest, Linda felt a shuddering pass over her. An apparition there had predicted evil hanging over them to her father, and if he had not really seen an apparition, he had dreamed then of coming ill. The deep silence, the almost darkness of these primeval woods, frightened her, and she clung closer to her companion. "Do not let us go far into the forest," she said, scarcely speaking above her breath; "they say that the spirits of the dead walk here, and it would be terrible to encounter any of them." "But, dearest, the dead do not show themselves by day, you know; if they revisit this world at all, which I do not believe, the faintest glimmer of light in the horizon, the earliest crow of cock, warn them to return to their silent abodes. Ah! it is not the dead that we have to fear, but the living, my Linda!" They sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, near the entrance of one of the forest glades, and Mentilla told Linda of the proposal Alvaez had made for Adela, and how it had been refused by her father. "These are most disheartening tidings to me, dearest Linda," he said. Sept.-VOL. CXXXVIII. NO. DXLIX. D "If your father refuses Alvaez for his eldest daughter, it is not likely he will accept me for his second one." "But Don Alonzo did not tell papa-he could not do it-that Adela cared for him, and that it would break her heart to be altogether separated from him. Now, if you really love me as much as you say you do, Diego" (it was the first time that she had called him by his christian name)"I will tell papa that I never, never will marry any one but you, and he won't be so unkind as to forbid our thinking of each other.' Thinking of each other, no; he cannot forbid thought-but he can destroy my happiness, my Linda, if not yours, by preventing us from being united to each other." Linda sighed deeply. 18 "I have a little plan, dearest," he said, "which will set all to rights for us, without causing your father any uneasiness, or putting him to the pain of refusing your wish, for, of course, he would think no more of refusing my petition than the one hazarded by Alvaez." - " he Colonel Mentilla then went on to tell the young girl that he was so deeply distressed at the idea of parting with her without having any claim upon her for the future, that he prayed her to agree to a private marriage. The Roman Catholic priest at the little town of said, he had no doubt would officiate on the occasion, and a little persuasion might induce her kind aunt to be present at the ceremony. It might be kept a profound secret until he could return to claim his bride, but he would have the happiness and the solace of knowing that she was bound to him by indissoluble ties, which neither distance nor absence could sever. He pressed Linda to agree to his proposal. The poor girl was quite overcome by contending feelings, and for a time could only answer by tears. At length she murmured: "No, no, Mentilla; devotedly as I love you, I cannot deceive my good father. I cannot enter into a clandestine marriage." "Then you do not love me, Linda; I have been cherishing a vain dream-you will not sacrifice a mere chimerical idea of duty to ensure my happiness. And I must say farewell-farewell, perhaps, for ever! If I were to be severely wounded in battle, I could not expect you, free and unfettered, to unite yourself to a wreck; I would not ask it. I would never see you more. Were you my wife, I know that you would cling to me through good and through evil; and, with you as my guiding star, what should I not be able to do ?" Poor Linda was half distracted. Here was that charming Colonel Mentilla, who had won so many hearts and turned so many heads, pleading to her in that earnest, low, melodious voice which seemed to penetrate her inmost soul, and, on the other hand, was her duty to her kind father-her sense of propriety, and her fear of doing wrong. She wrung her little hands and wept bitterly. "Linda, my darling!" whispered Colonel Mentilla, "my future fate is in your hands. If you refuse my prayer, I shall go away dispirited, wretched, overwhelmed with sorrow and disappointment-not fit for the part I have to sustain in the service of my country. If you accede to my request, my heart will be lightened of a heavy load, my arm will be perved to exertion, and please God I shall return to you, one of the liberators of my country, to place my lovely wife at the head of the society in my native land.” "I have no ambition to be a great lady," said Linda, rallying a little; "it is only of you I think." "So much the more pleasing to me, dearest," he replied. "But if you fully reciprocate my feelings, why throw me off for a mere punctilio?" "It is not a mere punctilio-it is the difference between right and wrong that influences me." "Let us refer the question to your good aunt," said the gallant colonel; "if she thinks it wrong, I will yield my dearest wish. If she does not disapprove, will you consent to what I entreat of you ?" Linda hesitated a few minutes, and then gave him the promise he required. He thanked her in the most passionate terms, and they left the haunted forest on their return home. Gaining the house by different approaches, they succeeded in making good their entry without being observed, and half an hour afterwards Linda emerged from her chamber as if she had not been long up, for she had taken off her dress and put on her dressing-gown before she called her maid, and the colonel took a stroll to the beach, where he saw a shark dragged on shore, and superintended the destruction of that monster of the deep, which, happily, formed a safe subject of conversation at breakfast. In the course of the day the colonel rode over to the little town close to which Mrs. Rivers resided, and in the harbour of which the small vessel that had brought the South Americans to the island was lying, getting ready for its departure to Curaçoa and back to La Guayra. Colonel Mentilla lost no time in disclosing his project to Mrs. Rivers, and though she was at first startled by it, and inclined to oppose it, he managed to talk her over. She was an exceedingly well-meaning, but rather ill-judging woman, and romantic to the last degree. Mentilla urged his own and Linda's strong affection for each other-the comfort it would be to them both, on parting, to know that they were bound to each other by ties which no one could break-the happy future he hoped to provide for her charming niece, the position in which he would be able to place her with many more advantages than she could have if she married the attorney-general of the island, whom she positively disliked -and the certainty that Mr. St. Clair would be satisfied with his daughter's union to him when it was made known. "But Adela! what will she say ?" remarked Mrs. Rivers. "I presume she has nothing to say in the matter," replied the colonel. "We will not let her into our secret, nor Minna either; so no blame can fall on either of them." "But Adela is so jealous of Linda," blurted out Mrs. Rivers. "Jealous! How?" "Oh-well-you see Adela thinks you admire her more than Linda, and that that Linda tries to win you from her." "I am very sorry," said the colonel, gravely, "that Miss Adela has adopted such an idea. Upon my honour, Mrs. Rivers, I have not been From the first moment that I beheld Linda, I playing a double game. felt that she was to be my destiny. And now my fate is in your hands and hers. Yours, I may say, altogether, for the dear, confiding girl will be guided by your opinion.' He continued to plead with the good lady until his eloquence prevailed; objection after objection was overruled, and at length, to her own surprise, she found herself arranging the secret marriage with him. He repaired to the little town, and called on the Roman Catholic priest, a jolly, good-tempered, round-faced Irishman, who was noted for telling a comical story well, and liking a good dinner. The colonel imparted his wishes to him, and, at the same time, offered him a handsome fee for his services and his silence. Mr. O'Grady made a wry face at first, afraid of getting into trouble; but on hearing that the young lady's aunt was cognisant of the matter, he allowed himself to be persuaded to perform the ceremony, only stipulating that Mentilla should attend mass at the Catholic chapel the next day, which would be Sunday, should take the sacrament, and go through the duty of confession. The colonel smiled at the idea of confession; he was not a very rigid Roman Catholic, but he was willing to do anything in order to remove any scruples of conscience which might assail the worthy priest. It was then settled that Mr. O'Grady was to hold himself in readiness for a summons to Mrs. Rivers's house, as the ceremony could not take place in the Catholic chapel, and that he was never to betray the secret of the private marriage. Aunt Dora, on her part, undertook to bring Linda to her house unaccompanied by her sisters. For this purpose she wrote Linda, entreating her to come to her for a day or two, as her daughter Julia was unwell and out of spirits, and she wanted one of her cousins to help to amuse her. She did not ask Adela, she said, as she, being the eldest daughter, it was necessary for her to remain at home, on account of her father's guests, the short time which was to elapse before their departure. And Julia liked Linda better than Minna, so she would not trouble Minna. Linda read the note aloud to her sisters. Minna found great fault with her aunt for her selfishness in sending for Linda to amuse that stupid Julia the very last days that their pleasant South American friends were to be with them. Adela could scarcely conceal her joy at getting rid of Linda, whose absence would leave the handsome colonel entirely to her society, at least when she could escape Alvaez, and she waited with some anxiety to know if Linda would go or refuse the invitation; very glad she was when Linda wrote her aunt that she would come the next morning. That next day Colonel Mentilla, with exemplary patience, remained the whole day at Clair Hall, and actually drove Adela out in a low phaeton in the evening, while Don Alonzo and Minna rode on horseback. But on the Tuesday the colonel declared that it was necessary for him to go to see about the schooner, and make some arrangements with the former mate, now the captain; he thought they would require to engage one or two sailors for their voyage back to the Spanish Main, and perhaps a cabin-boy. Adela listened with great attention to this, and inquired somewhat minutely what would be the duties of a cabin-boy. "Are you coming, Alvaez?" asked Colonel Mentilla. "No; you can do all that is wanted, and I would rather spend our last hours in the island here." Mentilla was thankful for this resolution on the part of his friend, and set off with a heart vibrating between joy and apprehension-the apprehension lest anything unforeseen should occur to frustrate his happy hopes. But nothing did occur. And that very evening Priest O'Grady united him and Linda St. Clair in the presence of Mrs. Rivers and an elderly black woman, who had been Linda's nurse, and was much attached to her, but who now lived as a confidential servant with her aunt. The lovers were married, and the wedding-ring used on the occasion was one which had belonged to Linda's great-great-grandmother, and had been carefully preserved in the family. It had come into Linda's possession on account of her name, Rosalinda, which had been that of the defunct dame, on whose wedding-ring were engraved these words: This and the giver Are thine for ever; showing the attention paid to correct rhyme two hundred years ago. ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT, CORNWALL. BY NICHOLAS MICHELL. HOAR Mount that risest from the western deep, Of ocean-nymphs and mermaids make their home. I cross the pebbly ridge where, long ago, Ere Christ was born, the old Phoenicians trod, Soul feeds upon the grandeur round her spread. *Twice a day, at low water, the visitor can pass to St. Michael's Mount dryshod. Across this periodic isthmus the Phoenicians used to transport the tin obtained from the Britons, making the Mount a kind of depôt for this metal. |