minute to look at a clump of ash
trees, surrounding a little ruined hut, which I thought would
make a lovely sketch. At that moment the door of the hut
opened; a man came out and looked cautiously about him--It was
Henry--two others followed him; the very men I had seen at
Salisbury; these last turned into a lane which I knew led into
the high-road to Blandford, and were out of sight in a moment.
Henry stood still for an instant, and then walked off towards
the house. I was not surprised, but my heart sickened within
me. I felt a vague pity for Henry, a nervous terror for
myself; it never occurred to me to point out the two men, or
draw attention to the spot where I had seen them disappear.

In the meantime the groom had brought a plank, by means of
which I crossed the ditch; I got on my horse again, and rode
slowly on to meet the rest of the party, who were galloping
back in great amusement, at having mistaken Mr. Leslie and his
clerk, who had been quietly clambering over a stile, on their
way to the cottage of a sick old woman, for the dangerous
characters they were in search of. We came up with Henry a few
yards from the house. He looked ill and tired; Mr. Brandon
hallooed to him, to know if he had seen or heard anything of
the vagabonds.

"Have you?" was his answer.

"No," cried Mr. Brandon.

"Well then, Miss Moore," (said Henry, with a forced laugh,)
"we must e'en wed to-morrow, or remain single at our peril,"
and he walked off, humming the tune of "_Gai, gai,
mariez-vous_."

The subject of Rosa's adventure was now and then resumed, and
became a sort of standing joke against Henry; evidently a
disagreeable one to him, though he put a good face on the
matter.

One day he asked Rosa, if she had not been laughing at us all,
and whether the whole thing was not a practical joke. He took
to twitting her about her visions, and proposed to write a
ballad on "the two invisible men of Brandon Woods," on which I
said, "And I will write a sequel, which shall be called 'The
ruined Hut of Ash Grove.'"

Mrs. Ernsley looked at Sir Edmund, as much as to say, "What a
silly attempt at _repartie;_" and said in a hesitating manner,
"I do not _quite_ see what would be the point of that."

Henry looked as if the ground had suddenly opened and shut
again before his eyes.

CHAPTER VII.

Turn to the watery world; but who to thee
(A wonder yet unviewed) shall paint the sea!
Various and vast, sublime in all it