Inquiries were made on every side, but in vain. No one had seen poor Arrah Neil since she had been placed in the coach by Lord Walton; and, indeed, in the haste and confusion of the strife that had ensued after the troop had forded the river and attacked the enemy in front, no one had had an opportunity of witnessing what had taken place amongst the carriages, except two wounded men who had been left behind upon the road, one of whom had died before the struggle was over, while the other had crept for security under one of the waggons, which hid everything that was passing from his sight.

The agitation and alarm of Miss Walton and her brother seemed somewhat beyond measure in the eyes of good Major Randal, who was anxious to hasten forward with all speed. He waited somewhat impatiently while parties were sent over the plain, to seek for the poor girl who had disappeared; but at length he broke forth in a sharp tone, exclaiming, "We cannot remain here till night, my lord, waiting for this lost sheep; we have got all the wounded men into the coaches and on the waggons, and on my life we must be marching; we have prisoners enough to embarrass us sadly if we be attacked, and who can tell that we may not meet with another party of these worthies?"

"I think not," said the Earl of Beverly, who had shown a good deal of interest in the event which seemed to move his friend so much. "I have heard of no other Roundheads than these in this neighbourhood; but if you will march on, Walton, and take one half of my troop with you, I will remain behind with the rest, for they are fresher than your men, and we can overtake you after we have done all that is possible to discover this poor girl."

"No," answered Lord Walton, "I will not leave her behind, Francis, as long as there is a chance. You had better march on, major; I will stay with my own people, and follow you to Henley. Annie, you had better go on; your staying, dear sister, would but embarrass me. Lord Beverley will give you the advantage of his escort, and I will overtake you before night."

It was accordingly arranged as he proposed; and, to say the truth, Lord Beverly was by no means displeased with the task of protecting his friend's sister on the way. In the course of a quarter of an hour the whole troop was put in motion; and Annie Walton, though somewhat unwilling to leave her brother behind, followed on horseback, with the earl by her side, and some fourteen or fifteen horse bringing up the rear, at a short distance behind. She had been rendered sad and desponding by all the events that had taken place; for the first joy of success and deliverance had by this time passed away, and the impression that remained was of that dark and gloomy character which her first entrance upon scenes of strife, bloodshed, and danger, might naturally produce upon a gentle and kindly heart, however firm might be the mind, however strong the resolution.

Her companion well understood the feelings of a girl nurtured with tenderness and luxury, accustomed to deal only with the peaceful and the graceful things of life, when suddenly forced to witness and take part in the fierce and turbulent acts of civil war, to follow marching men, and be a spectator of battle and slaughter. He knew right well that no gay and lively subject would be pleasant to her ear at such a moment, though the soldier himself might cast off all memory of the strife the instant it was over, and give way to joy and triumph in the hour of success. The cavalier shaped his conversation accordingly, and, in a grave, though not sad tone, spoke of deeper and more solemn things than had formed the matter of their discourse when last they met. Nevertheless, seeking to win her from her gloom, there came from time, across the course of all he said, flashes of bright and brilliant eloquence, rich and imaginative illustrations, sparkling and almost gay allusions to other things and times and scenes, which, without producing the discord that anything like merriment would have occasioned to her ear, stole her thoughts away from gloomier subjects of contemplation, and, calling the blessed power of fancy to her aid, enabled her to bear up against the first weight of the dark present.

To Annie Walton there was an extraordinary charm in the conversation of the cavalier; it was like the current of a stream flowing on between deep and shady banks, profound, yet rapid and various, while ever and anon the sunshine breaks upon it through the trees, and lights it up for a space in all the sparkling lustre of the day. At first her replies were brief and few, but gradually she took a greater part in the discourse, answered at large, gave him her own thoughts in return for his, inquired as well as listened, and was often won to a smile. Thus they rode on for about two hours, the cavalier gaining more and more upon her and, to speak the truth, the high qualities of her heart and mind, winning from him as much admiration as her beauty and her grace commanded at the first sight.

Their progress, as before, was very slow, and once they had to pause for a quarter of an hour, while the baggage of Lord Beverley's troop was brought forth from the village where he had left it and added to that of the other party. At length, however, they came in sight of a small town, lying on the slope of a hill, with higher up towards the right a detached house and some tall trees about it, standing in the midst of a park or very large meadow, surrounded by ancient brick walls.

At this point of their march Major Randal rode back and spoke a few words to the earl, who replied, "Exactly as you like, major; I am under your command."

"Nay, my lord," replied the old officer, "I am under yours, you hold a higher commission."

"But with less experience, my good friend," answered the cavalier; "at all events, Major Randal, I will act by your advice; if you think we can reach Henley, well, if not we will halt here."

"We might, if it were not for this lumbering baggage," answered the old soldier. "I cannot think what has made Lord Walton, who knows well what service is, cumber us with such stuff as this. A trooper should never have any baggage but his arms, a dozen crowns, and a clean shirt."

"You must not grumble, my good friend," replied the earl, dropping his voice. "If I understand Charles Walton rightly, there is that in those waggons which will be more serviceable to the king than all our broadswords."

"Ah, Ah! I understand," said Major Randal. "If that be so, we must take care of it, otherwise I think I should be inclined to pitch the whole into the first river. Well, then, my lord, we will stop here, and, as that is your house, I believe, you may sleep in your own sheets for one night. We will quarter the men in the village, and I will send out to see that the road is clear for our march to-morrow."

"I shall expect you to supper, however, major," said the earl, "although I cannot tell whether there is any meat in the house, yet I know there is good old wine in the cellar, unless the Roundheads may have got into it since I was there."

"If they have, you will not find a bottle." replied Randal; "for, notwithstanding all their hypocrisy, they drink as deep as Cavaliers; the only difference is, that they cant where the others swagger. But as for your wine, my lord, you must drink it yourself for me. I am an old campaigner, and my saloon is the parlour of the ale-house; I am more at home there, than amongst gilt chairs and sideboards of plate."

"Good faith you will find little of those in my house," replied the earl; "so come if you will; but in the meantime I will guide this fair lady up, and take some of the men with me to guard the house; for there is but a young girl and an old butler of seventy, who recollects Queen Elizabeth, left to take care of it. All the rest of my people are in the saddle."

"That's where they should be, my lord," replied Randal, "I will make your cornet quarter the men, as the place is yours, and will see you before I sleep to plan our arrangements for to-morrow."

Thus saying, he rode on again; and the Earl of Beverley after having given a few orders to his officers for the disposal of the force in the village, the guarding of the house, and the sending back of a small detachment to meet Lord Walton, rode up with his fair companion and her women by a narrow, wood-covered lane, to the house upon the hill.

The building was not very large, being one of the old fortified houses which were common in England at that time, and many of which during the civil wars stood regular siege by the parliamentary forces. Strong towers and buttresses, heavy walls, narrow windows, and one or two irregular outworks, gave it a peculiar character, which is only to be met with now in some of the old mansions which have come down from those times to the present, falling rapidly into decay, and generally applied to viler uses. As was then customary, and as was the case at Bishop's Merton, a wide terrace spread before the house, upon which the earl and his companions drew in their horses; and before she dismounted, Miss Walton turned to gaze over the view, while the cavalier sprang to the ground, and, casting his rein to one of the troopers who had followed him, approached to aid her.

"The prospect is not so wide as at Bishop's Merton, fair lady," said he; "but there is one object in it which will be as pleasant to your eye as any you could see at home. There comes your brother."

"I see a party of horse," said Annie Walton, "by the wood under the hill, but I cannot distinguish any of the figures."

"Oh, it is he, it is he!" cried her companion; "but I see no woman amongst them."

"Alas!" said Annie Walton, "what can have become of that poor girl?"

"It is strange indeed," said the cavalier; "but yet, Miss Walton, she may have been alarmed, and fled while the fight was going on. If any injury had happened to her, had she been wounded or killed by a chance shot, she must have been found by this time."

"Oh, no; fear had nothing to do with it," replied Miss Walton; "she went through the midst of the fire to tell my brother of the path."

"Why, he said it was yourself," rejoined Lord Beverley.

"We both went," replied Annie Walton; "but she seemed to have no fear, and I confess my heart beat like a very coward's."

"It is indeed strange," said the earl; "but yet, perhaps your brother may have tidings. Let me assist you to alight;" and lifting her gently from the horse, he led her into the wide, ancient hall, at the door of which stood the old butler, his head shaking with age, but a glad look upon his countenance to see his lord once more returned.

From the hall, which felt chilly and damp, as if the door of the house had seldom been opened to the sunshine and free air, the earl conducted his companion up a flight of stone steps, and through some wide, unfurnished corridors, to a part of the house which presented a more cheerful and habitable appearance, giving a glance from time to time at the countenance of Miss Walton, as if to see what effect the desolate aspect of the place would have upon her. Absorbed in other contemplations, however, she took no notice, and at length the cavalier called her attention to it himself, saying with a faint and somewhat sad smile--

"You see, Miss Walton, what effect neglect can have. During my long absence from England everything has fallen into decay--more indeed in this house than in my dwelling in the north; but yet I reproach myself for having given way to the very mingled feelings that kept me from residing on my own land and amongst my own people. It is not indeed the ruin and desolation that falls upon one's property which a man ought to mind under such circumstances; but when a wealthy family dwell in the midst of their own tenantry, they build up a better mansion than any that is raised with hands, a nobler home than the lordly castle or the splendid palace--I mean that which is founded in the love and affection of friends and dependants, ornamented with kindly feelings and mutual benefits, obligations, gratitude, and esteem. And this is the house which falls into more horrible decay during a long absence than any of these things of brick or stone."

"I fear indeed it is so," said Miss Walton, walking on beside him into a large and handsome room, not only well furnished, but presenting some most beautiful pictures of the Italian school hanging upon the walls, while objects of vertÙ and instruments of music lay scattered over numerous tables, many of which were in themselves excessively costly.

"But it seems to me, my lord," she continued, "that in some respects your house and yourself are very much alike, though perhaps it is bold of me to say so; but now that I know whom you really are, I feel as much inclined to look upon you as an old friend as you did in regard to me when first we met."

"Thanks, thanks, sweet lady," answered the earl. "Oh, regard me ever so! But if you mean that in my house and in myself there are desolate and ruined corners, you are mistaken. I am not one of those who have either some real and deep grief overshadowing the heart for ever, or one of those who nourish a sentimental sorrow for nothing at all. There may be things in my own life that I regret; I may have lost dear friends and relations whom I mourn; but as the common course of events runs in this world, my life has been a very happy one, chequered indeed only by one terrible catastrophe, and by a great injury inflicted on my family by the king whom now I serve, which made me resolve, like a foolish boy as I then was, never to set foot in my native land while he remained in power. When I found that he was fallen, dispossessed, and in need, I came back in haste to serve him, with that loyalty which I trust will long be the distinction of a British gentleman."

"I did not exactly mean what you think," replied Miss Walton; "I merely wished to remark that you seem sometimes as gay and cheerful as this room in which we now are, sometimes as sad and gloomy as the hall through which we lately passed." She coloured a little as she spoke, from an indefinite consciousness that the woman who remarks so closely the demeanour of a young and handsome man, may well be suspected of taking a deeper interest in him than she wished to believe she did in her companion.

The cavalier replied at once, however, without remarking the blush, "It must ever be so, Miss Walton, with those who feel and think. Is it not so with yourself? The spirit that God gives us is made for happiness, full of high aspirations and bright capabilities of enjoyment; but it is placed in a world of trial and of difficulty, prisoned in a corporeal frame that checks and limits its exertions, chained down by cares and circumstances that burden its free energies. Whenever the load is not felt, whenever the walls of the dungeon are not seen, the captive gladly casts off the remembrance that such things exist, and rejoices in their absence. But ever and anon they present themselves to his eyes, or press upon his limbs, and he mourns under the weight that he cannot wholly cast off. But here comes your brother; and I will only add, that you shall see me sad no more, if you will bargain with me that you will be cheerful."

In a few minutes Lord Walton himself entered the room; but his countenance bespoke no good tidings of her he had been in search of. He had been unable to gain any information whatever, though he left no effort unmade; and he was evidently deeply mortified and grieved, so that the next two hours passed in sadness upon all parts.

While the necessary arrangements were made for lodging the party in the house for the night, some occupation of a less sad character than the loss of poor Arrah Neil was given to the thoughts of Miss Walton, by all the little inconveniences and difficulties attendant upon the sudden arrival of a large party in a mansion unprepared for their reception. Though accustomed through life to every sort of comfort, Annie Walton was not one to make much of trifles; and she was amused rather than otherwise at all the small annoyances, and at the dismay and embarrassment of her maids. When she returned from the rooms which had been assigned to her and her female companions, to that which was called in the house the picture-room, she found her brother conversing in the window with his friend, with a bright and cheerful countenance, which surprised her. The change was explained in a moment, however, by Charles Walton holding out a dirty strip of paper to her, and saying, "Here is news of our poor Arrah, Annie. She is safe, although I cannot tell where."

Annie took the scrap of paper, and read, merely observing as she did so, "This is not Arrah's hand: she writes beautifully."

The note ran as follows:--

My Lorde,--This is to tell you, as I heer that you have been a-running after pretty Arrah Neil all the evening, that she is saif in this place, and as well as may be. I can't come just at present, for reasons; but I will be over with you by cock-crow to-morrow morning, and either bring her, if I can, or take you to her.--I subscribe myself; my lorde, your obedient servant to command,

John Hurst.

"Francis here," said Lord Walton, when his sister had done reading, "has been laughing at me for the reputation which I have acquired of running after pretty Arrah Neil during the whole evening; but I think I may set laughs at defiance regarding her, Annie."

"I think so too," answered Miss Walton, with a smile; "but I wish we knew where she is."

As often happens, however, when, in the midst of many cares and anxieties, one subject of alarm and grief is removed, all the rest are forgotten for the time, the news of poor Arrah's safety restored the cheerfulness of all the party. We draw an augury of future happiness from each blessing that befals us, from each relief that is afforded; and it is not till new difficulties press upon us that apprehension resumes its sway.

Cheerfulness then returned to the party assembled in Lord Beverley's house; they sat down to the pleasant evening meal, which closed a day of strife and danger, with hearts lightened and expectations raised; the merry voices of the troopers who were supping in the hall below gave them warning how best to treat the cares of the time; and if an anxiety or thought of the future did break in for a moment upon them, it was but to teach them to enjoy the present hour, inasmuch as no forethought or grave contemplation could affect the coming events. Lord Beverley exerted himself, without any apparent effort, to keep the conversation in its cheerful tone; and when Miss Walton made some inquiries as to any danger or difficulty which might lie upon the march of the following day, he exclaimed gaily, "Away with such thoughts, fair lady! we have taken every precaution; we have done all that we can to guard against evil; we have true hearts and a good cause; and in trust of God's protection let us enjoy these hours of tranquillity. They are treasures, believe me, that are not often met with; let us gather them whilst we can. The best of husbandry, depend upon it, is to sift the corn from the chaff, to separate the gold from the dross, in the portion of time that is allotted to us, and not to mingle the sorrow of tomorrow with the enjoyment of to-day. Come, Miss Walton," he added, "you must add to our present happiness by letting us hear once more that sweet voice in song, such as delighted me at Bishop's Merton."

"Nay, not to-night," said Annie Walton. "It is your turn now, my lord. By all these instruments of music, I am sure you sing yourself. Is it not so, Charles?"

"Beautifully!" replied Lord Walton; "and what is better than all, Annie, he requires no pressing."

"I will, with all my heart," replied the cavalier, "but upon one condition--that I am called no more 'my lord.' Charles Walton and Francis Beverley have been too long brothers for the sister of either to use so cold a term. What shall I sing? It must be of love in a lady's presence, otherwise were I no true knight;" and taking a large Venetian mandolin from the table behind him, he put it in tune, and sang--

Light of my heart! my heart's intense desire!

Soul of my soul thou blossom and thou beam?

Thou kindlest day with more than summer's fire,

Thou bright'nest night like some celestial dream.

The sight of thee gives sunshine to my way,

Thy music breath brings rapture to my ear;

My thoughts thy thoughts, like willing slaves, obey,

Oh thou most beautiful! oh thou most dear!

One look of thine is worth a monarch's throne,

One smile from thee would raise the dying head;

One tear of thine would melt the heart of stone;

One kiss, one kiss, would vivify the dead.

Near thee the hours like moments fleet away;

Absent, they linger heavy on the view:

In life, in death, oh, let me with thee stay!

Oh thou most beautiful, most good, most true!