our own, my child," was the reply; "and I will cherish
and comfort this little one till we meet again"--for poor Norah was
convulsed with weeping, and only the promise of a home at the Grange
with her sister could console her.

And so the curtain falls, and the bridegroom and the bride pass out of
our sight; but we must take one farewell look at them when years have
gone by, and see how the promise of their early love had been fulfilled.

CHAPTER XIX.

TEN YEARS LATER--1790.

There is no country, however flat and uninteresting, which does not
respond to the glory of a real English summer's day.

The moated Grange, near Louth, was no exception to the rule. The moat
itself had been drained, and was now covered with turf, and studded with
countless daisies, with their golden eyes looking up into the blue,
clear sky.

Even the old-fashioned, low-roofed house, with its many gables and the
heron carved in stone over the porch, was laughing in the sunshine; and
on the well-kept lawn was a group, on which the eye of an artist might
have loved to linger.

A sweet and gracious mother was seated on a low garden bench with a baby
on her knee, while on either side stood two children--twin boys--who
were the joy and pride of her heart.

The little sister of ten months old had come to put the last jewel in
the crown of Griselda Travers's happy wifehood and motherhood.

The place where she sat was under the shadow of a row of tall whispering
poplars, which made the pleasant "sound as of falling showers," as the
summer breeze stirred the leaves. At the back of the house was a
plantation of fir-trees, where the turtle-doves were cooing, and the
murmur as of "far seas" in the dark topmost branches made a low
undertone of melody.

In the old-fashioned garden, or pleasaunce to the right of the house,
bees were humming at their work, and gay butterflies dancing over the
lavender-bushes and large trees of York and Lancaster roses, which made
the air sweet with their fragrance.

A wide gravel-path divided the pleasaunce, and there a pair of happy
lovers were pacing, forgetful of everything but their own happiness.

Presently one of Griselda's boys left her side, and ran across the grass
to a little gate which led from a copse, and bounded the lawn on that
side.

"Father!" the boy exclaimed; and his brother followed him, echoing the
joyful cry.

Griselda also rose, and went across the lawn with the same graceful
movem