ation of their little town, Clennel heard
nothing of his old enemies the Faas, neither did they molest him, nor
had they been seen in the neighbourhood, and he rejoiced in having
cleared his estate of such dangerous visitors. But the Faa king,
listening to the advice of his wife, only "nursed his wrath to keep it
warm," and retired from the neighbourhood, that he might accomplish, in
its proper season, his design of vengeance more effectually, and with
greater cruelty.

The infant heir of the house of Clennel had been named Henry, and he was
about completing his third year--an age at which children are, perhaps,
most interesting, and when their fondling and their prattling sink
deepest into a parent's heart--for all is then beheld on childhood's
sunny side, and all is innocence and love. Now, it was in a lovely day
in April, when every bird had begun its annual song, and flowers were
bursting into beauty, buds into leaves, and the earth resuming its green
mantle, when Lady Clennel and her infant son, who then, as I have said,
was about three years of age, went forth to enjoy the loveliness and the
luxuries of nature, in the woods which surrounded their mansion, and
Andrew Smith accompanied them as their guide and protector. They had
proceeded somewhat more than a mile from the house, and the child, at
intervals breaking away from them, sometimes ran before his mother, and
at others sauntered behind her, pulling the wild flowers that strewed
their path, when a man, springing from a dark thicket, seized the child
in his arms, and again darted into the wood. Lady Clennel screamed
aloud, and rushed after him. Andrew, who was coming dreaming behind, got
but a glance of the ruffian stranger--but that glance was enough to
reveal to him the tall, terrible figure of Willie Faa, the Gipsy king.

There are moments when, and circumstances under which even cowards
become courageous, and this was one of those moments and circumstances
which suddenly inspired Andrew (who was naturally no hero) with courage.
He, indeed, loved the child as though he had been his own; and following
the example of Lady Clennel, he drew his sword and rushed into the wood.
He possessed considerable speed of foot, and he soon passed the wretched
mother, and came in sight of the pursued. The unhappy lady, who ran
panting and screaming as she rushed along, unable to keep pace with
them, lost all trace of where the robber of her child had fled, and her
cries o