“Nay, I am acquainted with the whole neighborhood. You will do me a greater favor to remain with this deserted lady, and see her safe in the hands of friends.” With a countenance of perfect calmness, the heroic wife and daughter endeavored to hasten the moment of separation. “Farewell,” she said, casting her arms around the old man, while a smile was on her lips. “Farewell; we may be parted for years, perhaps for ever,”—and she made a violent effort to repress her distress. “Bless me and forgive me, my parent, ere you depart.” “Thou hast, thou hast my blessing, my suffering dove; and for my pardon, how canst thou ask it, who hast never done me an offence since God made me parent to so noble a child? May the Lord be to thee a rock of shelter, and a path of deliverance from affliction.” The old man here turned away, and began to descend the hill. “You must not linger longer, William,” said the lady, turning to her husband, who stood with his eyes fixed upon her face. “Farewell; our fortunes look dark, it is true, but mayhap the same bright morning will yet dawn for us. And if not, we are not still denied the glorious hope that in the darkest moments of separation clings to humanity—the anticipation of reunion in the future.” “Farewell,” said Heath, folding her in a long embrace to his heart, while his cheek trembled, and a tear dimmed his manly eye. “My beloved wife, farewell:—my Alice, my own one, adieu.” And drawing his cap over his brow, and tightening the folds of the cloak he had resumed, he broke away, and followed his aged companion. The lady watched the fugitives until they were out of sight, and Stanley remained by her side silent, judging it best not to disturb her feelings at the moment with any ill-timed remark. While they stood, he had time to examine the entrance to the cavern, which had eluded his discovery so completely on his former visits to the rock. Nothing could be more concealed than its entrance. The opening, extremely small, lay in the face of the cliffs, directly behind a large gray rock, or rather upright stone, which served at once to conceal it from strangers, and as a mark to point out its situation to those who employed it as a place of retreat. The space between the stone and cliffs was very narrow, and might easily escape not only ordinary observation, but the minute search of a mind not perseveringly active. The boy did not marvel when he perceived its secret position, that it had previously been unnoticed by him: for it might have eluded the attention of those who had stood at its very opening. As he was still engaged in admiring its security, the lady turned and said to him, “Let us return within till I make the necessary preparation for my departure.” “I leave this spot,” said she, as they entered, “endeared by many sad associations, never to return to it again.”