When young Stanley first returned to consciousness he found himself in a place whose shaded artificial light seemed very grateful to his eyes, aching as they were in sympathy with his throbbing brain: without arousing himself sufficiently to consider the nature of his situation, further than to know that his limbs were free, and that he was lying upon a comfortable bed, he fell into a heavy and unnatural slumber. During this lethargy, which lasted many hours, sudden starts, the perspiration which stood upon his brow, the distortions of his countenance, and the manner in which he flung about his limbs, showed that in his dreams he was again encountering the terrors from which he had escaped. This lasted for several hours, but, at length, fatigue prevailed over nervous excitation, and he relapsed into a soft untroubled repose.

After some time, he sighed, stirred and awoke. On looking round, he found himself in a place surrounded by walls of stone, with an opening on one side, blockaded by a piece of rock, and leaving a single crevice through which a faint ray of daylight fell. The floor and ceiling of earth, showed that it was under ground; yet it contained various articles of rude furniture, and the moss bed on which he lay was soft and pliable under his weight. The brands of a falling fire had been carefully raked together in one corner, and were burning with a feeble and wavering flame, which cast faint, flickering shadows upon the dark walls.

Continuing his inspection more closely, the boy saw the figure of an aged man, seated upon a stone, bending over the pages of a large Bible which lay open upon his knee. His countenance was majestic and dignified. His brow had a care-worn and anxious expression, yet withal an air of calm resignation inexpressibly sublime. His locks were almost completely white, though his dark and intelligent eye still retained much of the fire of early youth, while the hale cheek, and undaunted presence indicated patience and content in the greatest suffering that can befall humanity.

Stanley neither spoke nor moved; but remained with his eyes riveted on the attractive countenance before him with a species of holy awe. As he gazed, the old man arose, kneeled, and poured out the aspirations of a pure spirit in fervent petitions to that Power whose support he evidently needed.

While he was yet praying, a manly form entered at the opening of the cavern. The stranger wore a military cloak. He stood in the shadow until the aged man had ceased and risen, then dropped his cloak and approached the latter, and Stanley knew him for the mysterious deliverer of the village, and the person whom he had seen when he lay bound by the Indians, to fall upon them, and effect, he felt certain, the preservation he had experienced. He was a specimen of manly beauty; and the proud and lofty forehead, the deep-set brow and eyes, the expressive lip, addressed themselves to the interest of the youth.

Overcome with surprise, the boy still remained immovable, and the old man addressed the stranger. “Has she not yet arrived? the sun is high—it must be noon-day.”

“It is reason enough for her detention,” replied the other, in a half impatient voice, the tones of which were deep and clear, “that I have gone forth to meet her. All objects that I seek elude my pursuit: there is a curse upon my every pathway.”

“Give not way to repinings, my son, turn thine eyes upon the blessings that remain to thee, which far exceed the deserts of the best of men.”

“Talk not to me of blessings, my father,” replied the other. “If there crawls upon the earth a living being deserving of pity, I am that man. My food no longer nourishes me, my sleep fails to refresh me, my devotions do not comfort me—all that is necessary and cheering to me has turned to poison. Vegetating on the same spot, fancy, feeling, judgment and health gradually decaying, like a tree whose bark has been destroyed—I have been a man more sinned against than sinning.”

“He who is immured in a living grave like this,” he continued, after an instant’s pause, “may well wish for one yet more calm and sequestered. Let us go forth, and challenge the death that awaits us. Hunted by bloodhounds, our fate is doomed. Rather, then, let it come at once than hold us longer in this state of misery.”

“William,” said the old man, “would’st thou rashly cast away the boon of life that God has given thee? Canst thou be fated to death simply because the word of a vindictive king has gone forth against thee? Nay, my son, let us abide the Lord’s time, and endure here unto the end, that we may obtain a crown of rejoicing hereafter. And,” he added, while a tear dimmed his eye, “would you leave Alice and your child?”

“William,” pursued the aged man, “you forbade me but now to tell you of blessings. But, surely, thou art strangely unthankful for thine—even for the incalculable blessing thou hast in that noble-minded woman. Hath she not accompanied us hither, and cheered and sustained us with her angel presence?”

“My father, drive me not to frenzy,” exclaimed the other. “You have struck the chord which another touch would break. It is the sight of her, dearer to me than life itself—immured in this ghostly hiding-place, and day by day, growing thin and waxing pale, and smiling in the midst of misery, that is more than I can bear. And it is I who have brought this evil upon her. But for me, she might now have been blooming in increasing beauty in some brilliant destiny beyond the seas. Never were the bright prospects of opening life more cruelly dashed. And can she, frail as she is, much longer sustain the effort by which she has met this stroke of fortune? Will not the reaction, when it comes, be too terrible to be borne? Oh, God, the thought of her is agony!” and he covered his face with his hands.

A female form entered. She advanced into the cave, and throwing off a cloak and hood, Stanley recognized the mysterious Lady of the Rock. For a second, she regarded the younger of the two without speaking. “My dearest William,” said she, at length, as drawing close to him, she laid her hand in a sympathetic manner on his arm, “why do you yield thus to grief?”

As if her touch and voice were magic, the unhappy exile raised his head to meet her glance. “I grieve for you, my Alice,” he replied, after gazing on her anxiously for some moments, and throwing his arm around her passionately, “to see you bereft of all the appliances of comfort, and to behold your noble spirit display its courage in mild submission, and generous efforts to support the hearts of others. How cruel doth the decree of Fate seem that you, so pure, so gentle, so lovely, should be visited thus heavily.” Unable to endure his own thoughts, he broke abruptly away from her, and paced heavily up and down the cave.

“My dear husband,” she said, approaching him, and looking in his face; “do not think of my lot. Believe me, it would have been but too happy if it could have alleviated the bitterness of yours, or soothed one sorrow of my father’s heart. Come hither, my parent, I have news of encouragement for you both. There is reason to trust that our troubles will be but short-lived. Our friends have great confidence in the effect of a personal appeal from me to Charles II. Nay, look not thus distressed, my father: it is for your sakes that I leave those who are dearer to me than life itself. I will present myself at the throne of the king, and petition him for your pardon: and Heaven grant that if we meet again on earth, it may be in circumstances of peace and safety.”

“Alice, thou shall not leave us!” exclaimed Heath. “Death were far preferable to life in this gloomy cavern uncheered by your presence. I will go forth and yield myself up to my pursuers, if thou talkest again of thine absence.”

“Nay, William, I shall not leave you in this place. The marriage of Lucy Ellet will occur to-night, and Mr. Elmore has kindly offered you both an asylum in his house until my return, or for the remainder of your lives, should it be necessary. The remote and secluded nature of the spot will withdraw you from the intrusions of impertinent curiosity.”

At that instant, the voices of men were heard without the cavern, and a fearful suspicion dawned suddenly on the minds of all present.

“Oh, God!” exclaimed young Stanley, starting from his couch, “your pursuers are seeking you: keep a profound silence, or your voices will betray you.”

“Let them find us,” said Heath, aloud. “I am weary of eluding them, and am glad my hour is arrived.”

“William, dear William, be silent,” whispered the lady, bending toward him with a look of unspeakable terror, as a deep flush mantled the cheek that a moment back was so pale.

“Alice, I tell you it is useless——”

“Hush, love, for my sake, for your child’s sake,” urged the lady in his ear, as her countenance became agonized.

The voices without now grew so audible that words could be distinguished. The old man clasped his hands in resignation, and his half-parted lips murmured, “The Lord’s will be done!” Alice threw one arm around the neck of her husband, with a gesture of unutterable love as though she would shield him, and placed the other hand on his mouth, while she trembled in every limb.

“The entrance of their asylum is well hidden,” said one of the voices. “It will be a day’s work to discover it.”

“Let us spend the day at it then,” replied the other speaker, in a gruffer and harsher tone. “We will not give up the search until we find it.”

And they seemed approaching the mouth of the cavern. A moment of intense and breathless anxiety to the inmates elapsed. They stood still and silent as the rocks around them, suspending every, even the slightest external motion, and would have ceased to breathe, had nature permitted such an intermission of her functions. More torturing their suspense than the long, lingering seconds in which a duellist beholds his adversary’s pistol wavering over his heart or brain. Their discovery seemed inevitable. In a few minutes, however, those outside passed on, and after a short time their voices grew fainter and fainter, until they were lost in the distance.

“Seize the opportunity of escape ere their return,” said Alice, breaking the death-like stillness that had been preserved. “Quick father, William, the moments fly. Make your way toward the house of Mr. Elmore. I will linger here to baffle the inquiries of your pursuers.”

“Come, my son,” said the old man, rising with a sudden energy. “The Lord has opened another door of salvation for us. Dost thou hear!”

“Nay, I will not again fly for my wretched life,” said Heath. “I will passively await my fate.”

“William, William,” exclaimed his wife, in an agony of heartfelt urgency and sweetness, “I pray you, by whatever is dear in our past association together—by all the claims, I will not say of the continued love you but this day professed for me, but by those of an affection on my part which would endure all things for your sake—to use the proper means for your preservation. Depart without delay;” and an expression of unanswerable entreaty beamed in the eye of the suppliant.

“I will do aught that you ask, beloved one, even to the prolonging of my life of wretchedness,” rejoined her husband, as he imprinted a kiss on her brow, and drew her with him toward the door of the cave.

“Let me be your guide,” said Stanley, advancing and addressing Heath. “It will be some small return for the service you have rendered me.”

“I had almost forgotten, in my affliction, to see to you, kind youth. But you have slept long, and appear to be recovered.”

“Thanks to you, sir, I am living and well,” answered the boy. “But time grows apace. Will you accept my services?”

“Nay, I am acquainted with the whole neighborhood. You will do me a greater favor to remain with this deserted lady, and see her safe in the hands of friends.”

With a countenance of perfect calmness, the heroic wife and daughter endeavored to hasten the moment of separation.

“Farewell,” she said, casting her arms around the old man, while a smile was on her lips. “Farewell; we may be parted for years, perhaps for ever,”—and she made a violent effort to repress her distress.

“Bless me and forgive me, my parent, ere you depart.”

“Thou hast, thou hast my blessing, my suffering dove; and for my pardon, how canst thou ask it, who hast never done me an offence since God made me parent to so noble a child? May the Lord be to thee a rock of shelter, and a path of deliverance from affliction.”

The old man here turned away, and began to descend the hill.

“You must not linger longer, William,” said the lady, turning to her husband, who stood with his eyes fixed upon her face. “Farewell; our fortunes look dark, it is true, but mayhap the same bright morning will yet dawn for us. And if not, we are not still denied the glorious hope that in the darkest moments of separation clings to humanity—the anticipation of reunion in the future.”

“Farewell,” said Heath, folding her in a long embrace to his heart, while his cheek trembled, and a tear dimmed his manly eye. “My beloved wife, farewell:—my Alice, my own one, adieu.” And drawing his cap over his brow, and tightening the folds of the cloak he had resumed, he broke away, and followed his aged companion.

The lady watched the fugitives until they were out of sight, and Stanley remained by her side silent, judging it best not to disturb her feelings at the moment with any ill-timed remark.

While they stood, he had time to examine the entrance to the cavern, which had eluded his discovery so completely on his former visits to the rock. Nothing could be more concealed than its entrance. The opening, extremely small, lay in the face of the cliffs, directly behind a large gray rock, or rather upright stone, which served at once to conceal it from strangers, and as a mark to point out its situation to those who employed it as a place of retreat. The space between the stone and cliffs was very narrow, and might easily escape not only ordinary observation, but the minute search of a mind not perseveringly active. The boy did not marvel when he perceived its secret position, that it had previously been unnoticed by him: for it might have eluded the attention of those who had stood at its very opening. As he was still engaged in admiring its security, the lady turned and said to him, “Let us return within till I make the necessary preparation for my departure.”

“I leave this spot,” said she, as they entered, “endeared by many sad associations, never to return to it again.”

“You are likely to leave it in a way you do not imagine,” said a man, springing in at the opening. He was speedily followed by another, and they both stood within the cave.

“How is this?” said the latter, looking surprised and disappointed—“a woman and a boy.”

Alice turned, at first much startled: but when a moment was past, she prepared herself to receive the intruders with the perfect confidence which a woman never fails to feel in the mildness and reason of a man, however rude. Moreover, having nothing to fear for her husband and father, she found little difficulty in retaining her self-possession, supported by her inherent dignity.

One of them, who was distinguished from his companion by much superiority of mien, lifting his hat respectfully, addressed her: “It is unpleasant to question a woman, especially one of your appearance; but, madam, where are your companions?”

“I am unable to inform you,” said Alice modestly; “yet I must say that in my present situation I could have wished to be spared the pain of confessing my ignorance.”

The harsh features of the elder contracted into their sternest look, and it was evident how much he was disturbed by the cool manner of her reply. Alice gazed at his lowering features for a moment in perfect composure, as if she had naught to fear from his intentions.

“Perhaps you can give us the information we desire?” said he, turning to Stanley.

“Like this lady, I must confess my ignorance of their whereabouts, if you allude to Messrs. Lisle and Heath.”

“Pardon us, fair lady of this grotto,” replied the younger cavalier, “but we will be obliged to search its inmost recesses.”

“True, perhaps they are here, and this coolness may be assumed,” said the other: “let us proceed to make a thorough investigation.”

“I will vacate the premises for you, gentlemen,” said Alice, drawing her arm through Stanley’s, and leaving the cave. After which, at a slow pace, they proceeded together toward the village.

——