cions, the unrest and misery which had once characterized poor Tremlett, had for ever passed away, and only the sinlessness, and trust, and calm of a sleeping child seemed stamped on his face.*

An inquest was held, and a verdict returned of "died by the visitation of God." It was supposed that Mr. Tremlett had in a sudden frenzy attempted the life of his wife, and that he died in a fit before he could accomplish his intention.†

He was dead, and she was unconscious when they were found, and her state precluded any examination respecting the Occurrence. The magistrates humanely spared her a useless trial,

*I have repeatedly noticed myself the tendency in the features to assume, after death, the expression of early days and more peaceful times-and most medical men have made the same remark. It seems as if the destruction of all mortal passions lent for a moment the unstained innocence of childhood. In other cases very remarkable resemblances to relatives have appeared for the first time which had never been discovered during life.

† An examination went to prove that extensive disease of the brain had long existed, quite sufficient to account for the excitement, and the fatal result.

and so, after some weeks of excitement, the sad business was forgotten. Those who inquired were told that the young widow had left England, perhaps to endeavour in more sunny lands, and beneath brighter skies, to forget, if that might ever be, the sufferings which had darkened her married life.

*

Beneath the village spire, in the dark vault of his sires, lie the mortal remains of poor Lawrence Tremlett, and above him the monumental brasses proclaim his birth and parentage, and give the dates of the beginning and ending of his short career on earth. Many others of the same descent sleep around him, who, if the traditions of their family may be believed, suffered less and sinned more. But the hopes they have blasted, the hearths they have made desolate, the gold they have gambled away, and the manhood they have disgraced, these, which lay so lightly on them in life, may be a burden heavier to be borne elsewhere.

As a man's strength is, so shall it be required of him; and I have thought, as I have looked upon his grave, that at the last it may be found that perhaps the most tried, and not the most guilty of his race, was Lawrence Tremlett.

CHAPTER XIV.

POST TENEBRAS LUX.

SOME five years after these events had happened, I was enjoying, in a region not then as well known as in the present day, that sort of hurried scamper which is dignified by the title of a physician's holiday.

I had wandered about the whole of one long afternoon; the white snows above and beneath, glaciers and chasms and rents in the pale blue ice everywhere around. The solemn silence which filled the air was unbroken, save by the distant rush of an avalanche or the mellow music of the bells on the homeward-bound cattle; and as I stood I forgot business and toil, and the daily sadness and sorrow which surrounded me when I was in old England.

The light faded rapidly from the heavens, the

VO L. I.

21

stars appeared, and the moon streamed forth until the slumbering giant of mountains, from being almost invisible, loomed out ahead like a fairy palace in the skies, with its vast halls illuminated as if for a fête.

Standing some dozen yards from me, half in shadow, were a man and a woman holding converse, of which I could only distinguish the words "dear wife." Unwilling to intrude on them, I made several feints as if to return; but finding them not inclined to precede me, I advanced to pass them. It was too dark to distinguish their faces, but a voice struck on my ears.

"George Carnegie !" "Paul, is that you?" were simultaneous exclamations.

"This is Mrs. Carnegie," said George, gleefully.

I bowed, not much the wiser for this twilight explanation, and followed them into a well-lighted room, where I was enlightened.

"Marion's happiness is in my care now," said George, looking as if he had never known a day's thought or an hour's pain, and I saw once more