After many years of service in his own country, Lawless embarked with his regiment for the Crimea, and was present at the engagement of the Alma. As he rushed on, one of the foremost in the action, he received a musket-ball on his chest, and fell, as his comrades believed, never to rise more. How was it that he sprang again from the ground, uninjured and undismayed? The Russian ball had struck him, indeed, but had found a bloodless resting-place—it had lodged in the Bible which he carried in his breast, the dying gift of Ernest of Fontonore! Mr. Hope sank under an attack of apoplexy, a few years after the death of his nephew. The man of the world was called away in the midst of his business, his schemes of ambition, at the time that he had attained the object of his hopes, by being elected member for Allborough. The expenses of his canvass, and residence in town, and the extravagance in which his wife had indulged, had ruined a fortune which had never been a large one; and Mrs. Hope had the misery, intolerable to her proud spirit, of passing the rest of her days a dependant on the generosity of her nephew. Truly might she say, in reviewing her past life, “_Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!_” And what was the fate of the pretty, affected Clementina, the butterfly hovering over the blossoms of pleasure? Let us pass over the space of nearly twenty years, and behold the vain young beauty as she appears now that the first silver lines begin to streak her auburn hair, and all the gay visions of her youth have faded for ever. Let us enter unseen that low parsonage house, from which comes the merry sound of youthful voices. The snow on the ground, the chill in the air, the red firelight flickering so cheerfully through the diamond-paned window overhung with ivy, all tell that the season is winter. The room in which we find ourselves seems all too small for the party of happy, noisy children assembled within it. This is the first day of the new year, and a merry day it is to the family in Oakdale parsonage. Unfailing is the arrival of the welcome box, which at this season finds its way from Fontonore, and every one is present to witness its opening, from the ruddy schoolboy, home for the holidays, to the little infant in arms. Even the pale-faced pastor himself has laid aside his book and closed his desk, to join in the innocent mirth of his children: you might know him, by the likeness which he bears to her, to be the brother of Ellen Searle.