sed, was now utterly forlorn. The spray was
rising over the land, the waves were sapping its old foundation, the
weird winds were tearing at the coping of the shattered house; and on
the side where Alice Boswell's turret had stood, stones were rumbling,
and wild weeds streaming. The scene was very dismal and eerie, but
Leslie did not shudder or faint; her senses were bent on one aim, she
was impervious to all else. She sank down in a kneeling position,
staring with unwinking eyes, praying with her whole heart in an agony.
The light which had beguiled her, passed beyond her sight after tossing
for some time to and fro. She could not regain it, she could only
continue ready to seize the first signal of bliss, or woe.

It did not come. The storm raged more madly; the desolation grew more
appalling; Leslie's brain began to whirl; the solitude was rife with
shapes and voices.

Above all stood fair Alice Boswell, wreathed in white flames--from the
wavering cloudy mass of forms the gallant exile plunged anew into the
flood, now seething and rushing to meet its prey.

"Oh woman--Alice Boswell--I did not steal your lover! you kept him from
me long after God and man had given him to me. There are no vows and
caresses in the grave. We have had but one meeting and parting; but one!
Oh, stranger, he is spending his life for her brother, as you were ready
to fling down yours for her. Will none of you be appeased? Then take us
both; in mercy leave not the other! In death let us not be divided!"

The pang was over; Leslie passed into insensibility. When she recovered
herself, the spectres of that horrible dream still flitted around her,
for did she not distinguish through the surge and the blast Hector
Garret's foot speeding to receive his doom?

But "Leslie," not "Alice," was his cry. Beneath the very arches of
Earlscraig, where fair Alice Boswell, her rich hair decked for one, her
bright eyes sparkling for another, her sandal buckled for a third, had
stood, and waved to him her hand--"Leslie! Leslie!" was his cry,
uttered with such aching longing, such utter despair. It was the wail of
no mocking ghost, but the human cry of a breaking heart.

Leslie's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth; but there was no need
of speech to indicate to him his weak, fluttering treasure. Found once
more! Found for ever! raised and borne away swiftly and securely. No
word of explanation, no reproach for folly and desperation, no recital
of his la