have inspired an artist with a dream of some celestial goddess, and whose sylph-like airy movements were an index of the happiness and sense of peace that had fallen upon her spirits.

Lucy's love was not difficult to win. She knew Robert's affection was not of a mercenary character, since in marrying her he would in a measure sacrifice his social position in the county; besides, the reputed fortune of his mother every one considered was sure to be amply sufficient for a young man who had no extravagant vice, and cared little for society. Lucy's quick intelligence had grasped all this long before Robert had confessed his passion; and though with maidenly coyness she at first avoided him, by and by she obtained the knowledge that the listless young fellow had become very dear to her, and that all other possessions were naught compared with that of his affection.

It was pleasant to Robert to have some one in whom he could confide, to know that he was loved, and to have something to occupy his attention. He formed all manner of schemes for their future, and almost wondered why he had not previously sought occupation for his thoughts by falling in love. Their mutual joy enhanced by the approbation of their parents, there was scarce an evening throughout that happy spring that Robert did not seek Lucy. When the weather was propitious together they strolled through the verdant meadows and peaceful hedge - flowering lanes, reading the glowing page of Nature spread before them, and weaving for themselves new bonds of happiness. In one of these well-remembered walks it was that the bunch of violets had been culled from the mossy bank by Robert, who, binding their tiny stalks with blades of grass, had stammeringly presented

them to his betrothed with some trite observation that they were an emblem of the humility and freshness of his love; for the young man was a poet in a small and indolent way, and gazed with an admiring eye upon the manifold natural charms that might be observed on every side during that blissful season of the year, when the earth appears in its most attractive guise. Evening after evening they watched the twilight spread itself over the rich expanse of country, and then with thoughts too deep for utterance, in silence turned homeward.

Many springtides have come and gone since then; but the events of that period are still green in Lucy's heart. Though she has drunk the cup of disappointment to the dregs, and her expectant hopes like Dead-Sea fruit crumbled into dust, no sour carping spirit grew within her. A blight fell upon her young life; but did not dim the beauty of her character, or divest her of the womanly graces that were as much a part of herself as the flowers she so dearly treasured were of earth. With no bitterness does she call to her remembrance the day-dreams in which she once indulged; she knows now that her hopes rested upon a baseless fabric; but in her memory there yet remains a reflection of the tranquil happiness with which in that far-off time she built for herself those airy castles which so quickly vanished.

Oftentimes after parting with her betrothed Lucy had wondered whether it were possible such unbroken bliss could long exist, and despite the earnest trusting love which glowed within her breast, had prepared herself for any change that might occur. Nightly she prayed that should any great ordeal be awaiting her, increased strength might be accorded to enable her to pass through it unscathed.

At

At length the blow came. first it seemed as though it could only have an indirect influence upon her life; but as the watchful observer may by the action of the wind upon a few straws loosely cast upon the ground foretell the tempest that is approaching, so Lucy's heart told her that the depth and strength of Robert's affection was about to be tested.

One of those crises in commercial matters termed a financial panic suddenly burst upon the money-market, and for a short period convulsed speculators with anxiety, despair, and ruin. Among the first of the companies to feel the effects of an unwholesome course of trading were those in which Mrs. Morton's property was embarked. Day by day she saw her favourite shares dropping, dropping, dropping, until they could decline no farther; and then came closed doors, applications for winding-up orders, squabbling between debenture and preference holders and the official liquidators, which, involving as it did legal interference, speedily swallowed up the small assets that remained. No longer could Mrs. Morton blind herself to the truth; all therottenness of her pet schemes was exposed, and the nice little yearly income left her by her husband had helped to provide neat broughams, high-stepping horses, pleasant gothic villas, and recherché dinners for promoters, directors, and committees of management. Worse by ten times than the knowledge of her own ruin was the consciousness that by her persuasion nearly all her dearest truest friends were sufferers by the calamity that had fallen upon her. O, how bitterly she rued her thirst for gold! But it was only for his, her son's sake, that she had been thus anxious.

Fortunately, he was engaged to the daughter of one who had been content with the modest three per

cents; and though it was folly to think that he would be able to pursue his former indolent career, at least he would be safe from destitution.

Not daring to meet the acquaintances whom she had been the means of involving in misfortune, the wretched woman succumbed to her grief, and despite the tender nursing of Lucy and her betrothed, the weary soul winged its flight to a bourne where anxiety and worldly cares have no part.

It was in the autumn of the year, and just a month before the time that had originally been fixed for their wedding, when Lucy Seymour and her betrothed again strolled through the shaded lane from the hedge-bank of which Robert had, on a happier day, gathered his first love-gift. Even after the lapse of so many years, Lucy could recall the secret grief gnawing her heart at the temporary separation about to ensue. The demise of his mother necessitated the postponement of their marriage for a year, and during this period it was agreed that Robert should endeavour to obtain in the metropolis a clerkship or other situation for which his education fitted him. The next morning early he had decided to start, and but for accident now undreamt of, this would be the lovers' last meeting for a space of some months. Lucy had from the commencement of their acquaintance urged Robert to shake off his indolence, and now he saw that he would be compelled to seek some occupation she offered no impediment to his journey to the City, where he was to inaugurate a career of industry and usefulness. Yet Lucy's heart was on this night full of apprehension. Like Juliet hearing with intoxicating rapture the passionate confession of her father's enemy, Lucy would bid her lover depart, and then would fain call

him back again. But the last words were spoken, the last kiss had met her cheek, and he was gone. She leant against the stile at which they had parted, and watched him into the far distance walking with a briskness that evinced his hopeful spirits.

What a new life opened to her when he had quitted the village! Until she was alone she had not an idea what an influence his presence had had upon her; now that, for a time, an end had come to those peaceful evening walks, when heart communed with heart, and their earnest love found outburst in whispered phrases of endearment, Lucy discovered that of late she had neglected or grown indifferent to a score of matters that in former days had engaged her attention, and to these she reapplied herself. Constant occupation prevented poignant regrets; for though her thoughts were ever with Robert, she knew it was better he should carve his own way in the world, and seek a manly independence, than subsist upon the wreck of his mother's fortune and upon his betrothed's prospects.

At first he wrote to her twice a week, and with a pleasure that caused the tears to sparkle in her eyes she read that he had hunted up an old school companion in the City, who had recommended him to a colonial merchant in want of a trustworthy clerk; that he was at work early and late; that Mr. Amott, his employer, had offered, for the purpose of facilitating certain business arrangements, that he should take up his abode with him and his family; that he had done so, and found Mrs. Amott and her daughter Bella extremely kind; and that he hoped shortly to receive an increase to the salary at which he had been engaged. By and by her lover got a holiday, extending to a whole week. What prepara

tions Lucy made for his coming, and with what expectancy she awaited the day that would bring him once more to her side! So quickly sped the time, that almost ere she had realised he was with her the day had arrived for his departure. An acute observer might have noticed that during his visit Robert Morton seemed less attentive to Lucy than had been his wont, that his manner was hesitating and constrained, and that not a word escaped him as to their proposed marriage. Equally noticeable might it have been, that whenever he had occasion to speak of his employer a flush suffused his cheek, and the conversation lapsed into an eulogium of his new friends, Mrs. Amott and Bella, the latter of whom he described as a winsome girlish beauty, whose innocent gaiety charmed all coming within its influence. But this was unobserved by Lucy. Her own constancy blinded her to the frailties of others, and her heart was too full of joy to leave room for the entrance of jealousy. Perhaps she did think his voice was less sympathetic than it formerly had been when he conversed with her; perhaps the delight that gleamed once in his eyes when she teased him upon any subject had now given place to a sullenness hard to define, but apparent nevertheless; and perhaps he no longer embraced her with an ardour as of old. But Lucy found an excuse for him on every occasion: his mind was occupied with business, he had weighty matters to see after, and she was quite sure that he loved her none the less for being somewhat more reserved.

The poor girl wilfully closed her eyes to the truth, but at last it came to her with a force that nothing could diminish. After that memorable week's holiday Robert's letters grew less frequent, and with

their diminution in number came a corresponding reduction in length. The passionate epistles that had once thrilled Lucy's soul with responsive love, had now merged into sober curt notes. They were a collection of civil phrases coined from the head, and not born of the heart. Then one day came a long letter, pleading forgiveness for the injury he had done her, that he found his love had become transferred to Bella Amott, and that he could be happy with none but her. He knew how much Lucy must despise him, but he pledged his honour that he had struggled with his love, and had been conquered. He felt he had blighted her affection, and that possibly it might influence her whole future; but it were better he should tell her of the change that had come over him ere the marriage-tie had indissolubly knit them together.

The words seemed to sear her brain, but summoning self-control she allowed no expression of sorrow or emotion to escape her in public. Closeted within her room, she all that day and night communed with. her heart, and though her agony was intense, she realised that infinitely better was it that Robert should divulge the true state of his feelings now than hereafter. Anger found no place in her thoughts; she only pitied him, for she imagined his sorrow must be even greater than hers. The next morning when she quitted the apartment her heart had become steeled to man's love, and ere many hours had elapsed Robert received his

freedom, together with all the letters he had ever sent her. He dared not open the thick packet, but thrust the epistles tightly bound together as they were into the blazing fire. It was not the reflection of the flames that caused his cheek to assume a lurid glow, but a feeling of shame; for he despised himself as he watched the witnesses of his dead love disappear.

Various as were the offers received by Lucy, when the marriage of Robert Morton with Bella Amott became known, she shut her ears to all importunities, and remained. faithful to him who had been faithless. She looked round her, and discovered a hundred occupations to which she might devote her life. Yielding to Christian duties, she quickly found for herself a place at the bedside of the suffering and by the cheerless hearth of the poor. Her presence seemed to bring increased light into the humblest habitation, and the gentle accents of her voice, as they poured forth words of peace and comfort, shed a holy calm on those to whom they were addressed.

Years have gone by since Lucy discovered upon what a baseless fabric her love had been built ; but still those shrivelled flowerets remain dear. They are sacred treasures of the past; and though the occasional sight of them revives recollections that perhaps it were best had been buried long since, Lucy would not willingly part with the relic. To her the love-gift is priceless; yet it is but a few faded scentless violets-nothing more.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE ASSAULT.

IT is the morning of Saturday, the 8th September 1855.

For a year now the allied forces have been before Sebastopol; but the flag of St. Andrew is still flying in defiance upon its forts, and on this memorable morning the columns of attack are forming for the great assault.

In the preceding June, amid the din of the ceaseless cannonade, poor Lord Raglan had passed away to a quieter world; and the picturesque Sardinians, with their green uniforms, billycock hats, and Bersaglieri plumes each private a species of Fra Diavolo-had come to aid us in the reduction of this place, the Gibraltar of the Euxine.

It was a cheerless morning. From the sea, a biting wind swept over the land; clouds of white dust and dusky-brown smoke, that came from more than one blazing street and burning ship-among the latter was a two-decker, fired by the French rockets-rose high above the green spires and batteries of Sebastopol, and overhung it like a sombre pall, while shorn of its rays the sun resembled a huge red globe hung in mid-air above us. Gradually it seemed to fade out altogether, and then the whole sky became of a dull, leaden, and wintry gray.

By this time our epaulettes had entirely disappeared, and our uni

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forms were hopeless rags; in some instances eked out by plain clothes, or whatever one could pick up; and the government contractors had such vague ideas of the dimensions of the human foot, that some of the boots issued to the soldiers would not have fitted a child of ten years old, and as they dared not throw away her Majesty's property, many men went bare-footed, with their boots dangling from their knapsack or waistbelt.

'In our present toggery we may meet the Russians,' said Dyneley, our adjutant; 'but I should scarcely like to figure in them before the girls at Winchester, in "the Row," or at the windows of "the Rag."

In great masses, 30,000 Frenchmen were forming to assault the Malakoff, with 5,000 Sardinians as supports.

A long line of cavalry-Hussars with their braided dolmans, Lancers with their fluttering banneroles, Dragoons with glittering helmets, and all with loaded carbine on thigh-had been, from an early hour, thrown to the front, to form a cordon of sentinels, to prevent straggling; while a similar line was formed in our rear to keep back idlers from Balaclava; yet to obtain glimpses of the impending attack, groups of red-fezzed Turks, of picturesque-looking Eupatorians and fur-capped Tartars, began to cluster on every green knoll at a safe distance, where, in their excitement, they jabbered and gesti

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