nd her thoughts, so lately chained to earth, soared upwards to the
Father of her spirit, and once more she bowed in silent adoration to her
Saviour and her God.

"Forgive me, holy Father!" she murmured. "I have strayed from thy fold,
and my steps have stumbled upon the rough places of the earth. I have
reared up an idol in thy sacred temple, and worshipped the creature more
than the Creator. The love of the world is an unholy thing. It cannot
satisfy the cravings of an immortal spirit. It cannot fill up the
emptiness of the human heart. Return to thy rest, O my soul! I dedicate
thee and all thy affections to thy God!"

She bowed her head upon her hands and wept; such tears purify the source
from whence they flow, and Clary felt a solemn calm steal over her
agitated spirit, as, kneeling beneath the wide canopy of heaven, she
prayed long and earnestly for strength to subdue her passion for
Anthony, and to become obedient in word, thought, and deed, to the will
of God; and she prayed for him, with a fervor and devotion which love
alone can give--prayed that he might be shielded from all temptation,
from the wickedness and vanity of the world, from the deceitfulness of
his own heart.

She was still in the act of devotion, when the sound of rapidly
approaching footsteps caused her to start suddenly from her knees. A man
ran past at full speed, then another, and another: then a group of women
without hats and shawls, running and calling to one another. What could
all this mean, at that still hour of night, and in that lonely place?

Clary's heart beat tumultuously. She rushed to the garden gate, that
opened from the lawn into the main road. She called aloud to one of the
retreating figures to stop and inform her what was the matter. Why they
were abroad at that late hour, and whither they were going? No one
slackened their speed, or stayed one moment to answer her enquires. At
length an old man, tired and out of breath, came panting along; one whom
Clary knew, and springing into the road she intercepted his path.

"Ralph Hilton, what is the matter? Is there a fire in the neighborhood?
Where are you all going?"

"Up to the Hall, Miss Clary. Dear, dear, have you not heard the news?
The old man has been murdered. Murdered by his son. Alack, alack, 'tis a
desperate piece of wickedness! The coroner is up at the old cottage,
sitting upon the body, and I want to get a sight of the murdered man,
like the rest of 'un."

"Who i