“Letters to my father! and from London,” exclaimed the surprised girl; “who can he have in the great city to write to him; I have often heard him say he knew no one in London. But hark! I hear the sunset-bell, and my father will be waiting for me for our evening service.” And so saying, with one last look at the distant landscape, Mabel put her arm fondly in Walter’s, and with step as light and graceful as the mountain deer’s, turned toward the little, low-roofed cottage of the Rector of Riverdale. “Will you not come in, Walter,” said Mabel, in soft, persuasive accents. “Not to-night,” he replied; “I have been away all day, and there are numerous duties for me to fulfill ere to-morrow’s round commences. Good-night, sweet love,” he fondly murmured, as Mabel entered the house. She advanced hurriedly to the rector’s study, where she found him seated in his accustomed arm-chair by the window, but she was struck at once with the look of anxiety and sorrow so unusual to his placid and venerable face; an open letter lay in his lap, but his eyes were closed, and his lips moved as if in prayer. “Father, dearest father, what has happened; why do you look so sad,” exclaimed Mabel, as she knelt at his side. “Is it you, my child,” said the old man, softly stroking her silken hair—then a sigh so deep escaped him that Mabel was still more terrified. “Be calm, my love, my little lamb,” he murmured gently, and with accents choked and broken, “listen calmly, and I will tell you all. You know, Mabel dear, that I am not your own father, but you know not, nor did I, until to-day, that your own father is living; that he is a nobleman of high rank, and having been under our new sovereign, King James, restored to his estates, he now claims his daughter, and desires me to accompany you at once to London, or at least to York, where he will meet you.” Mabel’s cheek grew paler and paler, as she took in the full meaning of these to her painful words; her strength forsook her, and she sunk upon the floor at his feet— “My father, my own true, loving father, I cannot leave you, and Walter, oh! where can I hide from this cold, stern man, who has left me so long without a word, and now expects me to break, in a moment, the ties that constant intercourse for fifteen years have formed; no, I will not obey this proud dictate. Say I shall not go, dear, dear father,” said the weeping girl, throwing herself on his neck.