The morning of the 1st of October, if it were piercing as a flight of arrows, was as dazzling too; for the clearness of the atmosphere gave an unusual splendour to every object: and the larks that carrolled high in the heavens, seemed exulting in the brilliancy of their course. The exhilarating property of the air had its effect upon the party from the Parsonage; who gaily stepped into the boat that was to convey them to a creek on the opposite shore, a little below Bamborough. To touch at the castle was out of the question; for no second flag of amnesty had yet passed between the angry baronet and his quietly expectant nephew.

On landing, they found horses which the Pastor had sent forward at dawn; and mounting, in full confidence of the animals being accustomed to the rough roads in prospect, the happy groupe commenced the day's excursion. Nearly a week's sojourn in the island had blunted most of the Marquis's prejudices against the amiable followers of Luther whom he found there; and the familiar companionship of minds not essentially discordant, had mingled them all into an intimacy almost amounting to friendship.

They proceeded along the classic banks of the Tweed, and the romantic borders of the Till, to the distant towers of royal Norham. Much food was there, for memory and meditation. The friends wandered for several hours amongst its legendary ruins; and then pursued the debateable stream to Flodden Field. They found another train of thought on that solitary track. Two centuries before, it had borne the bannered host of two brother nations; and now lay a desert, as if curst by the kindred blood then spilt upon its soil.

Having treated the Marquis with a rustic dinner at a farm-house in the pretty village of Branxton, which stands a little to the north of the memorable field, Mrs. Coningsby and her highly-gratified party re-embarked at the mouth of the Tweed. Before them lay a magnificent setting sun. As the little bark tracked its way through a flood of molten gold, Ferdinand leaned behind the bench that supported Alice, and in a soft under-tone pursued the subjects which seemed most congenial to her youthful taste. Cornelia reclined near them, contemplating the receding shore, but listening to the Marquis; who sat between Louis and her mother, comparing with them the strange coincidence in the fates of James the Fourth of Scotland, Sebastian of Portugal, and Roderick of Spain; all of whose deaths were as doubtful, as their disappearance was certain, in the fields of battle where each lost his crown and existence to the world.

In these discourses time passed lightly, till the breeze wafted them, under the rising moon, into the sheltered cove of Lindisfarne.

On entering the Parsonage, Mr. Athelstone presented a packet to the Marquis; and its contents put to flight all their ready plans for future rambles. It had been forwarded through Holland by Baron Heinsius, and contained dispatches from Spain. They conveyed the royal Philip's orders to the Marquis Santa Cruz, to repair immediately to Madrid; where he was required to take his seat in the council on an affair of importance.

Ferdinand turned pale at this intelligence.

"Oh, that your Lordship would take me with you!" exclaimed Louis, impetuously. Mr. Athelstone interrupted him with a look. "Pardon me, Sir," cried he, "but my father,—am I never to see my father?" "When he wishes to see you. But you must not break upon his presence."

Louis said no more, but bowing to his uncle, with his heart full, hurried out of the room. The Marquis looked after him in silence.

Ferdinand had turned his despairing eyes on Alice, and saw her head bent on her bosom, with tears trickling down her cheeks. Those tears acted on his soul like dew on the parched earth, and, unconscious of the intention, he found himself at her side; he had taken her hand, he had murmured some indistinct sounds in her ear; but they suffused her face with blushes, and confused and agitated she withdrew her hand, and glided out of sight to a seat behind the window curtain. Ferdinand followed her with his eyes; but while he exultingly felt that her pure image possessed him wholly, he shrunk from the recollection of how unworthy his transgressions had made him of aspiring to the possession of so spotless a being. Nay, were it possible that penitence could so wash his stains away, as to restore him to the self-respect which is indispensible to the manly character, and above all to the consciousness of him who takes upon himself to be the protector and the happiness of a virtuous woman; was he not aware that even this blessed regeneration could not avail him here? He well knew that his father's bigotry would sooner see him die than allow him to perish, soul and body; which he would suppose must be the consequence, should he permit him to marry a daughter of the church of England. To acknowledge his sentiments for Alice to the Marquis, was only to call down his malediction on their object. And, under these circumstances, to reveal more of them to herself, than his surprised heart had already betrayed, seemed to him a base sacrifice to his own immediate gratification, at the expence of his honour and her future comfort. He was not so illread in female character as to be ignorant that he had made an impression on the heart of this artless child of nature. No one present appeared to suspect what was passing in the bosoms of either. Could he then, knowing that the bar was insuperable between him and her, could he act the double treachery of fastening affections, that must be hopeless, upon him; and make so ungrateful a return to the hospitality of her uncle and her mother, as to devote the youth of their beloved child to tears and disappointment? "No," said he to himself, "I will not load my already burdened soul with the guilt of rendering her unhappy; of having come hither on a demon's errand, to lay waste all that paradise of smiles! I deserve to go hence, as I came, a lonely, unregretted wretch."

While these thoughts were occupying the mind of Ferdinand, the Marquis was explaining to Mr. Athelstone that he must abide by the letter of his sovereign's commands; and not only relinquish the pleasure he had anticipated in visiting Morewick-hall, but take his leave even of the island, the following day. Finding this decision was not to be questioned, Mrs. Coningsby withdrew to give some necessary orders for her guest's early departure; and Alice, taking the opportunity of the opened door, hastily quitted the room. Cornelia having expressed her sincere regret to Ferdinand, that they must lose his father and himself so soon, in a few minutes followed her mother.

The gracious spell of tranquil enjoyment which an hour before had encircled them all, was now broken. Mrs. Coningsby hurried from place to place in hospitable bustle, ordering all kinds of travelling comforts to be put up for the service of their departing friends. The Marquis and the Pastor sat till a late hour, conversing in the library; but the young people continued dispersed, rather as if some cause of discord had fallen amongst them, than an order to separate hearts so well inclined to join. Once Alice had summoned courage to descend to the drawing-room, but on entering, she saw no one there but Ferdinand, who was resting his head upon her harpsichord; and hastily retreating, she did not come down again till summoned to supper.

The ensuing morning's meal was passed, like that of the preceding evening, by the younger part of the group almost in silence. But when breakfast was over Louis drew a letter from his pocket, and presenting it open to Mr. Athelstone, told him he had written that to his father, and he hoped the Marquis would have the goodness to take charge of it to Madrid. Santa Cruz bowed his acquiescence, and the Pastor perused the letter. As he ran his eye over its contents, he could not but admire the generous submission which had with-held the writer from even hinting the wish which so thoroughly possessed him. "You have written like an affectionate son," said the Pastor, as he returned the letter, "but you have not dropped one word of what is so much at your heart. Why do you not ask your father's permission to pay your personal duty to him?"

"And you give me yours, dearest Sir, to express that wish?"

"Certainly; and when the Baron's leisure will allow him to preside over his son's introduction to this perilous world, then, I doubt not, he will grant your petition, and I must resign you."

Louis gladly retired, to add, as a postscript to his letter, what he had found so much difficulty in preventing himself from making its primary subject. The ladies had already withdrawn; and Ferdinand seeing their waiving gowns through the distant shrubbery in the garden, believed that without any breach of his resolution, he might once more cool his feverish pulse with the breeze at their side; and for the last time sooth his disturbed soul by feeling himself near Alice, and listening to her tender accents.

The wish was no sooner formed than he was in their path. Mrs. Coningsby was not there. Cornelia was calmly gathering flowers to replenish her beau-pots, and Alice was walking pensively towards the wicket that opened to the hill. Ferdinand followed her, and with a bound of joy he could not conceal from his better reason, saw her open the little gate and pass through. A few sheep were cropping the grass on the pasture, and her favorite lamb frolicked before her. She did not notice it, but turned to the base of the hill. Ferdinand heard her draw a deep sigh, as she seemed to think herself removed from observation, and, in an agitated voice, she ejaculated his name. He required no more to be at her side,—at her feet. What he said he hardly knew, but he felt all his high resolves vanish, and that words failed under the impetuous declaration of his heart. Surprized at so unthought-of a disclosure; and alarmed at a language and vehemence she had never known before, Alice would have fled; but he detained her with her hands clasped in his: and while he wept upon them in the wild emotions of his soul, her tears flowed also; and he wrought her to confess that she had retired alone, to weep at his departure.

Ferdinand forgot all the wretched past, in the transport of that moment; and amidst the burning blushes of a timidity that trembled at every word she uttered, he drew from the guileless Alice all the secret of her heart. His dominant passion had again seized the rein; and clasping her hands to his breast, he ardently implored her to pledge him her faith before the Supreme of Heaven,—That, however long might be his absence, she would never be persuaded to become the wife of any other man. Then growing in his demands on the tender girl, he conjured her to promise not to continue that "exquisite softness of manner, to Mr. de Montemar, the sight of which had already more than half maddened him."—With a glance, which shone like a shooting star over the dewy night, she gave him the solemn pledge he asked; and she smiled, when she made a promise she deemed so unnecessary. But both engagements were hardly pronounced by her ingenuous lips, before his ungovernable selfishness smote upon the conscience of her lover.

"Alice," cried he, "I am unworthy of your angelic nature. I know I do not deserve that you should even look upon me. But I cannot bid you retract your vow. It is that alone which saves me from despair:—It is that alone which can support me in life, till we meet again.—Oh, Alice, you saw the wretch that came to this island, at war with himself, and sinking fast to an untimely grave!—You recalled me to existence!—You re-generated, and healed my broken heart!—But my father, should he know I love you, he would separate us for ever."

Alice raised her eyes, drowned as they were in tears, and looked on him aghast. "Is his rank so very great?"

"That is not my fear," returned Ferdinand, "his rank is not higher than your own illustrious blood. But he is so rigid a Catholic; I too well know he would rather see his whole race extinct, than one of them married to a Protestant."

Poor Alice was now seized with a violent trembling, and turning deadly pale, leaned for support against a tree. Ferdinand pressed her cold hand. "But I am no bigot, my beloved Alice; and there is a circumstance connected with my family, which may have power to influence a happier fate. It shall be tried; and it is of such importance, I hardly doubt its success." She revived at this assurance, and, with deepened tenderness, he resumed.

"Meanwhile, as we hope to be blessed hereafter in an union as indissoluble as our love; forbear to disclose what has now passed between us, to any of your own family. They would communicate it to my father; and the consequence I seek to avert, must then inevitably follow: an eternal separation."

The arguments of love, and the pleadings of despair, at last prevailed upon her to make this promise also. Her head was in a whirl of distracting thought. She had never known such distress as overwhelmed her, when, in making this second vow, she felt as if she had at once relinquished her claims on the affection of her nearest relations; and saw the being, for whose sake she had made this boundless sacrifice, on the point of leaving her for an unlimited time, perhaps for ever!

Ferdinand beheld the agony of her soul, and too well guessed her apprehensions. Now he felt the mischief he had wrought; now he saw the ruin he had begun in that so lately happy bosom. He had not only awakened a passion there, to feed upon her heart; but he had introduced the scorpions of an accusing conscience, where only a few moments before all was innocence and peace. "Wretch that I am!" cried he to himself; "to repay the blessing of thy tenderness with all this evil!"

But striving to sooth and to cheer her, he vowed to see her at all events early in the spring; and at the feet of her mother and her uncle, implore their pardon, and consent to an eternal union. When she became a little composed, he besought a ringlet of her hair to console him in his lonely absence; and having pressed the trembling hand that bestowed it, to his heart and his lips, he allowed her to break from the clinging arms that vainly tried to withhold her. She rushed through the garden into the house; and locking herself within her own room, gave way to the anguish of her soul.

Ferdinand turned towards a remote winding of the cliffs, fuller of self-arraignment than of satisfaction; yet though he detested the selfishness of his recent conduct, the headlong impulse he had yielded to his passion was too strong to allow him to make the only restitution now in his power:—to release her from both her vows.

At noon the boat was announced that was to bear the travellers to the carriage on the mainland, which was to convey them to the place of embarkation for Spain. In the hurrying moments of departure, the absence of Alice was remarked by none but the heart of Ferdinand; and it yearned towards the sensibility which prevented her sharing these last adieus. He touched the cheeks of her mother and sister with an emotion they did not expect. He hastily embraced Louis; and putting the hand of the Pastor reverentially to his lips, hurried down the rocks to the beach.

The Marquis's farewell was more composed; but as he crossed the sands to the boat, he stopped, and gathering up a few of the entrochi, (he had heard called Saint Cuthbert's beads,) he bent his head to the grey towers of the monastery, and turning towards Mr. Athelstone, said with a smile, "these shall be my rosary, in grateful remembrance of this holy isle!"

The venerable Pastor answered him with a benediction. He saw the father and son embark; and stood with his silvered head bare to the wind, as he waived his handkerchief to the diminishing vessel; and breathed a prayer for the safety of its freight, in every movement of his uplifted hands.

If Louis ever felt a touch of envy, it was at the moment when the distant sail disappeared from the horizon; and as he slowly followed the homeward step of his uncle, he sighed to himself; "they will soon see my father!—They will understand all his glorious plans for the service of his restored country!—They will witness his honours!—While I—— down, my rebellious, my ungrateful spirit!"