angrily beneath the yoke of overspanning arches. On the other, blue hills heath-covered and wooded with patches of cultivation reaching to their summits, and vales between them with arrowy rivers winding amidst vineyards and maize-fields studded with villages and caserias.

Two rival hostelries, beside the wells, sufficed to harbour about a thousand summer visitors, consisting of the choicest society in France. Sleeping beneath one roof, and dining at one table, and spending their evenings in common, these visitors had tacitly agreed to waive all etiquette, and to consider themselves as one vast family party. In the morning there were rides in the romantic environs, there were rambles in search of mountain flowers and of the wild strawberry; whilst the breeze, cooled by the snows and scented by the balmy vegetation of the hills, was more deliciously refreshing.

There were the chase of the chamois for the adventurous, and the pursuit of the black cock, of the bartavelle, of the ptarmigan, of the quail, and of the red and gray partridge. In the evening there were gaming for the old and

covetous, and dancing, and moonlight walks for

the amorous and

young.

Ralph Mortimer, whose health and appetite had recently improved, found here materials for his cook to work upon in viands the most delicious-fish, and flesh, and fowl. Here was the peculiar trout caught only in the mountain streamlets, whose waters are born of the winter's snow and summer's sun; the unequalled venison of the chamois, fatted with browsing on the wild thyme, and on the aromatic Alpine vegetation; and the luxurious ortolan, melting like a fig over-ripe to the touch of tongue and palate.

So keen was Ralph's enjoyment of the scene and of the fare, that he felt again disposed to mingle in the society around him; and, under these circumstances, no longer needing the companionship of Mattheus, he decided on using his grand remedy to get rid of him. One evening late, he sent to request some private conversation with him on the ensuing morning.

There was something startling to Mattheus

in the unusual hour which Mr. Mortimer had fixed; it appeared evident that that gentleman had either some communication of importance to impart, or some explanation to demand, which he both guessed and dreaded to offer. He was deadly pale, notwithstanding all his self-command, when ushered into the room, where Ralph received him with his usual quiet urbanity.

Their conversation, whatever might be the subject of it, lasted for two long hours, during which Mr. Mortimer's valet was occasionally called; it even seemed as if, but for the interruption of breakfast, it would have been still further prolonged. Whatever passed during

this interview, Mattheus re-appeared, not only relieved from his anxiety, but his countenance beaming with satisfaction.

"Blanche," said her uncle at breakfast, "Mr. Mattheus is kind enough to proceed immediately for me to Paris, to settle some urgent business; the carriage will be ready in an hour; I am sure he deserves our best prayers for his happy journey."

"I shall only pray for a speedy return," observed Mattheus.

"And when do you return to us ?" hazarded Blanche.

"Not before a fortnight," said Ralph.

"Nor one day later," rejoined Mattheus.

The post-carriage drove up, one portmanteau had been packed, and his passport regulated by the Italian valet, and an iron deed box of Mr. Mortimer's was put under the seat. Mattheus looked in vain for the opportunity of one moment's à parte with Blanche; he was hurried in by her uncle, who, saying that he would not detain him, pressed his hand cordially, God-blessed him, and signed to the impassible valet, who shouted to the postillion to drive

on.

"This day fortnight!" exclaimed Mattheus, speaking to Blanche, and away rolled the vehicle.

"Yes! this day fortnight, if ever, you will be back to us," said Ralph; but there was a sneer on his lip, and an emphasis on the words "if ever," which struck Blanche then, and caused

her many cruel suspicions afterwards. She did not venture more than to express her wonder at all this. Her uncle was the impersonation of what is called an impracticable man, and she knew the inutility of all questions.

One fortnight passed, but at the expiration of it Mattheus did not return; and then another, and another, and another elapsed, still bringing no tidings of him. Ralph betrayed neither surprise nor uneasiness, and it will readily be understood how, the more this inexplicable absence occupied her thoughts, the less she dared trust herself with any allusions to it in his presence.

There was, however, one circumstance which always left Blanche full of hope of his return, or rather which rendered the expectation of it reasonable; for how should anything but certainty or time destroy the hope of a first love? She was aware that he had left behind him his baggage, his books and his curiosities.

When Mr. Mortimer, with his fluency in French, his wit, his courtly manners, his lovely niece, and his reported wealth, once chose to