CHAPTER XVI.

"Attamen ex cunctis supra, reliquisque notandum

OMNE EXIT. —

"

Propria que Maribus.

THE events of the preceding chapter were too marked, too exciting, to serve as the mere wonder of a day to the village. For some weeks, the treacherous spot by the river-fall was sought by crowds of the curious, not only of the adjacent neighbourhoods of Byborough and Pennersley, but from miles around.

The mill and the cottage of farmer Jennings became the show places of the district, to the chagrin of sundry deserving Roman encampments, and Druidical efforts of crude masonry of more venerable merit; and Mary

shrank from the unsought, the unenviable celebrity, that seemed about to fix itself for ever upon her unobtrusive dwelling.

But the keenest appetite becomes palled by indulgence; and curiosity satisfied, ceases to be curiosity. By degrees, the tide of fashion turned aside to more novel horrors; for there is a fashion even in the unquiet passion for the terrific in which mankind are fond of seeking intoxication. Catastrophes to attract the idler, pamper the superstitious, and enchant the gossip, are too frequent, and too diversified, to permit to any one, in particular, a long monopoly of interest.

After a time, the cottage of the young farmer ceased to be invaded by touring strangers, and the wood-work of his mill to be chipped away by visitors zealous of mementoes. Once more, the habitual politics of the village, and the old variety of household or neighbourly topics, resumed their place on the evening discussions of the rustics, over their tankards of home-brewed at the little inn; and, in due time, the name of Mr. Molyneux and his fate, not forgotten, but grown too familiar, gave way to

the more pleasant, and more congenial routine of village conversation.

But a permanent interest had been excited, and had wound itself round the family of Ralph Jennings. The circumstances of his persecutions and his sufferings became widely known; and with them, a favourable knowledge of his integrity and industrious habits: and, as time more fully tested his humble worth, the number of his active patrons, and the scope for his labours, rapidly increased, until a goodly prosperity seemed to have taken up its permanent and happy abode in his cottage.

Two years had passed by, throwing over the world, as ever, their many varied tints of grief and joy. The days of spring were fast brightening into summer. At the Retreat, the Abbey, and Byborough Castle, all were looking to the future. Two years had brought about great schemes to the respective inhabitants; and the hour was approaching when the great schemes were destined to be realised. The arrival of Albert Grey at the Retreat, from the Continent, had thrown a fresh glad

ness upon all in it.

He came to be present

at the important doings about to be enacted here. He had been long away. Shortly after the meeting of that memorable parliament, in which Mr. Auget first assumed his seat, to the great comfort of the ministerial majority, the worthy ambition of his noble patron had been rewarded, through the gratitude of the premier, by the muchenvied appointment of ambassador to one of the great courts of Europe. Partly, through the friendly exertions of Lord Percy Huron, and partly in consequence of a warm desire to repair his recent neglect to his former protégé, his excellency the marquess had once more invited Albert Grey to accept his guidance in the paths that lead to fortune; and had appointed him to a high function in the embassy of which he was the head.

But now the presence of Albert Grey was demanded, to promote domestic and dearer interests; and the young secretary, for a while, gladly bade farewell to foreign diplomacy and foreign intrigue, to the honours of office, and the pomp of courts.

He had not seen Constance for many months. On quitting England, he had left her, as though he were forsaking one who had none else but him to repose upon for support - for sympathy. He returned; but it was to resign her to the lasting care of another's pure and bright affection, and that other was his friend.

The constancy, and the tried, unvarying worth, of Lord Percy Huron had made a deep impression upon Constance. Although her memory of earlier days, and earlier hopes, had not entirely faded away; it was no longer a fascination, a resistless charm. The unveiled character of her early lover no longer permitted her to regard as a calamity the blighting of her first love; and, although she sought to banish all but gentle thoughts of Henry Molyneux, to remember him only as he had been to herself, and to recall no other recollections but of his beautiful thoughts and beautiful voice, his learning, his graceful bearing, and his kindness; yet, even then, she trembled at contemplating her escape.

In the long absence of Albert Grey on the