Rebekah could not echo the words “

very kind:" she could hardly have told herself why a sensation of pain stole over her at this mention of Mr. Donkin. The arrangements about the sale of the timber had not been finally concluded; what more natural than that an unprincipled man should seize the moment of the steward's sore distress, to renew- -in a less offensive form-his offer of a bribe! Might not Robert have been tempted to yield a little in guarding the interests of a master who never would miss the money, in order to save his only son from the misery, the shame, the contamination of a jail? Would it be so very wrong to do so? Rebekah started at the shadow of evil which was falling on her own soul, and felt indignant with herself for having thought for one moment that it could have rested on her husband. His had never been " eyeservice;" he had been as faithful to the unworthy as to the worthy, as faithful in the least things as the greatest; was it possible that any temptation could make him swerve, but a hair's breath, from the line. of strict integrity? Rebekah's heart gave an indignant negative to the question; the question itself seemed an insult; and yet it was hard to believe that the wood merchant would volunteer to become security for the son of a man whose unyielding honesty stood in the way of his gains. If Rebekah felt perfectly sure that Holdich had entered into no compromise, why was it that she shrank from

mentioning to her husband the name of Donkin, or asking what had induced him to act the part of a friend? Was it not a secret feeling that she could endure anything rather than a discovery of the smallest deviation from strict rectitude in him whom she had regarded as the soul of honour?

XVIII.

Help in Need.

ERY heavily did the cruel suspense of his situation weigh upon young Ned Holdich. His approaching trial at the Assizes was like a sword hung over his head.

The

miseries of his late examination were but a foreshadowing of what he would be called upon to undergo. His imagination pictured the worst; he would be tried, condemned, and transported, sent, the companion of felons, to wear away his youth in a far distant land. His parents would be wretched,— oh, how far more wretched than if they had laid him in an early tomb! They would be worse than childless. His would be a fate more intolerable than that which befell the proud king of old; driven from his country, hunted from men, compelled to dwell with the lowest of his kind; "for never shall I," thought the miserable lad, "be restored to my former place; the felon's brand will be always upon me, no one will trust me, I shall have no means even of earning my bread!"

This last trial was the more vividly presented to

the mind of Ned Holdich, from the enforced idleness of his position. He could not continue to work for Sir Digby Lestrange while standing committed for trial, still less could he quit the place to seek employment elsewhere until his fate was decided. What would not the unhappy boy have given to have been able to recall the lost opportunity of joining his uncle! Two days, but two days before he would have been certain of a kindly welcome; now, the schoolmaster could no more open his door to one committed for theft, than a shepherd admit a wolf into his fold! Ned must drag through the long weary weeks at the home of his father, ashamed to go forth, afraid to be seen, a prisoner though not in a prison. He thought that he would never, till the day of his trial, have courage to cross that threshold, and the very kindness shown by his parents cut the poor boy to the soul. Listless he sat for hours, staring dreamily into vacancy, unable to settle his mind to any kind of occupation.

"Ned, my boy, go and dig up some of our potatoes," said Holdich to his son on the morning following the day of his examination. Ned slowly

rose from his seat.

"And after you have done that, just nail up the clematis on our porch, which has been loosened by the wind."

There was such evident reluctance in the boy's obedience, that his father added, laying a hand on

his shoulder; "Don't give way, Ned, to that listless gloom which would make you a burden to yourself. Remember that man was made to work."

"I have no heart for work," muttered Ned.

Have a heart then for duty, my boy. Your spirits will give way and your health break down if you yield to this feeling of despair. Remember all is not lost, we have God and a just cause still."

Ned glanced up at his father and met a gaze so frank and fearless, that it inspired his young heart with hope. His parent seemed to him as some stately pine over which the winter-blast raves and howls, but which falls not, fades not, whose verdure looks only the richer with its fringe of frost, and burden of snows. Animated and encouraged more by the look than the words, Ned went forth to his work; as soon as he had quitted the cottage, Holdich turned to his wife.

"Are you not expected by your pupil at the Castle?"

"Oh, Robert, I cannot go there! You know not how I shrink from the taunts, nay the very presence of those who dwell there."

"I know it too well," said her husband gravely : "but have you considered, dear wife, that you can retain no situation unless you perform its duties, and that at no time could we less easily spare the salary which you receive? Not to mention the position of your father, I am most anxious to secure the aid of