of irritating a person who had so much in his

power.

If I had dared, I would have asked Cloudesley a thousand questions. I longed to lift the veil, but was terrified at the thought of the appalling, the heart-withering objects it might disclose. In what I had said I had taken it for granted that Julian knew nothing of his true birth and his claims. But was that the case? Had Cloudesley never in the fulness of his soul poured out its fraught into the bosom of the youth he adored? Had he made no other men the confidents of my perilous secret, thus multiplying on every side the persons who would have it in their power, if not to take from me every thing I possessed, at least to publish my shame to the whole world, and make my pretensions a subject of discourse to every one I saw? He had said, that he would not act without mature deliberation, or without much advice. Whom did he purpose to consult?

Would he prepare, or would he instruct another so as to cause him to prepare, a brief, containing all the particulars of my disgraceful tale? I would have given the world for an answer to the least of these questions. But I dared not breathe them to the air of my most secret apartment.

Was there a wretch existing on the face of the earth so very miserable, that he would have consented to change places with the possessor of the barony of Alton, and the near successor to the earls Danvers? Yet I resolved to persevere. I would not be the assassin of my own fame, or the destroyer of the dear boy on whom I doated, the only survivor of the circle that had surrounded me, but who on that account was a thousand times dearer to me than ever.

CHAPTER III

It was not till after the lapse of many days, that I learned by mere accident that Cloudesley had suddenly, and apparently upon a minute's warning, quitted my neighbourhood, and set out on his return to Italy.

He had proceeded for the furthest west upon a sudden impulse, separated from his beloved charge by a distance of two thousand miles, and for an absence which must necessarily be of some months' continuance. Eudocia was recently dead, and Julian must be left to a considerable degree in the hands of strangers. He was just arrived at the critical age of eighteen. The disadvantages that attended Cloudesley's

enterprise under these circumstances were serious; but for this he did not perceive any remedy. It was, as he apprehended, his duty without loss of time to assert the cause of his ward, and endeavour to restore him to his rights. This was an affair that fastened itself like a polypus upon his heart; and he could have neither rest nor repose so long as he neglected any thing that might effect this sacred purpose.

How different would be the situation of Julian, when this object was once accomplished! Now he dwelt in a foreign land, appeared to belong to no one, and passed for the son of an Englishman of very ordinary rank. If he could be placed by Cloudesley's means in the situation to which his birth entitled him, he would immediately be acknowledged as an integral member of the first ranks in the country of his ancestors; he would be a peer of Ireland, and in no distant succession to an earldom in the superior

country. The critical circumstances, which arose out of the period of life he had attained, cried in Cloudesley's ear with a voice that could in no sort be controled, for his instant advancement and restoration. Too long had he been deemed the descendant of ignoble blood; and "the wanton heir of some inglorious" Italian count " perhaps had scorned him in his youthful sports." It was time that he should mix on an equal footing with the junior scions of illustrious birth. Elevated and magnificent conceptions would thus be engendered in his bosom. Perhaps in the years of childhood and early instruction it was little injury that he should wander heedless and unconscious, unacknowledged by others, and unpenetrated himself with the knowledge of his true vocation. But this must not continue. He was arrived at the epoch when the habits of mortals strike the deepest root, and they must be great or little for the remainder of his existence.

It was