came dim and almost extinguished." If thy hand is unstained with kindred blood, lay it upon the altar," continued the voice of Cuthbert. He did so, while a gloomy darkness seemed to fill the chapel.-" Now call the vengeance of Heaven upon your head, if you are not guiltless, and what you seem."

"I call it," he replied, in a resolute voice, "let it come quick!"

The words had scarcely passed his lips, when the blue flash of the lightning blazed around, illuming with its bright and mo mentary flame the chapel and its terrified denizens. It was gone with the instant of its birth, and the lights of the chapel again burnt clear. But where was the bridegroom? stretched lifeless at the foot of the altar. The vengeance he had called had overtaken him, and his guilt had met its reward. But during that lightning's flash another had been added to the group. His arm supported the trembling form of Flora - his hand was clasped in that of

lord

lord Hubert-his eye, with conscious innocence, looked upon the electric blaze, but turned with pity upon the punishment of the guilty.

"Edwin!" exclaimed lord Hubert; "indeed my son !"

"Edwin!" whispered Flora," my own Edwin."

But if this was Edwin, whose was yon lightning-blasted corse? It was that of Morton, whose long nourished envy led him to attempt his cousin's murder who failed and was punished.

They were happy-most happy. Day rolled on day, and year passed by on year. But to Flora and Edwin, time was as a wreath of flowers; and every hour added a blossom to the enjoyment of their life; while Memory that followed, and Hope that went before, held the garland, for ever blooming o'er their heads.

the perfidious Morton raised his hand against the unsuspecting Edwin, and thought to bury retribution in the silence of the grave; though there seemed none to contradict him, when he took the name of his cousin on himself, and claimed the bride and inheritance of another, an allseeing eye beheld his transgressions, and an all-powerful arm turned his crimes on the head of the malefactor.

The rocks around us, the ruins within our sight, were witnesses of his punishment, and of Edwin's happiness; and the wild mountain, the desolated hall, the cultivated valley, and the splendid palace, had they a tongue, to tell the deeds that they have seen, a voice to relate the tale of all that has passed by them, each, no doubt, would testify the justice of the Almighty, as strongly as now, in awful silence, they vouch for his existence.

It was nearly eleven o'clock before lord Burton concluded the tale; and each one

of

of the party having made their comment upon it, they separated in order to retire

to rest.

On reaching his own apartment, lord Burton dismissed his servant for the night; and not being inclined to sleep, he read through the letter which Mary had given him from the old philosopher, with that calm pleasure which the consciousness of having done good will inspire even in the humblest mind. The happiness of those he loved, the peaceful quiet of their situation, and the total absence from all scenes that could awaken painful remembrances, had stolen greatly from the load of care which for years had oppressed him. The only thing that gave him uneasiness, was the struggle between his attachment for Louisa Stanhope, and his wish to banish the recollection of a passion, which he fancied had but a small chance of being gratified.

Having read the letter, he laid it down by his side, and putting out the lights, placed

placed himself near the window, to enjoy the prospect of that unrivalled bay, glittering in the clear, calm light of the moon. There was no feeling of sorrow or anxiety on his mind; on the contrary, he was at that moment peculiarly happy in sensation, and entered into the loveliness of the scene, with a freshness of delight, that he had fancied gone for ever with his early years. However, he had not sat there long, when something caused him to turn his head; whether it was a slight noise, or merely the impulse of the moment, he scarcely knew; but the instant he withdrew his eyes from the window, he beheld the form of one too deeply, too dreadfully impressed upon his memory, ever to be forgot or mistaken. The pale, ghastly features of colonel Stanhope, as they had lain before him, convulsed with death, on their last fatal meeting, seemed called from his bloody grave to haunt him here; and the deep stains of gore, upon the white garments of the figure, called every pain

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