him, and receiving the last offices of kindness from the cold hand of charity; but they were not so insufferable as the rack of everlasting suspense. She sent off a sum adequate to cover the expence, which had been incurred on the occasion. She put on mourning, resolving never to take it off, nor to believe her son existed in the world, till she saw him with her own eyes;' and it was agreed between her and her brother, that, should nothing occur within a twelvemonth to alter their purpose, they would visit the distant spot, and see a tomb-stone erected over the ashes of Lefevre!

CHAPTER XXV.

LEFEVRE was not dead. Nor had he now, as formerly, any particular temptation to touch his life.' While, therefore, his relatives are left to weep over his grave; the reader, if not already wearied with his wanderings, must be content once more to trace his devious path in the land of the living.'

On leaving his little cousin, as has been mentioned, Lefevre hastened to free himself of the metropolis, in a direction the opposite to that he had before taken. This was soon accomplished; and, on coming near Kensington, he began to relax his pace, when suddenly his hand was seized by a youth he had not noticed. He started and frowned, expecting he was pursued, and resolving on resistance. But a smiling, grateful, well-known face instantly dis

pelled his alarm. It was the face of his protégé John Graham. He shook his hand in silence, and moved to pass on. Young Graham still fixed an asking and anxious eye on him. Lefevre shrunk from it, and turned his face aside. Graham read its expression. He thought of the former elopement, and exclaimed-“O, Mr. Lefevre, you are going-you are going to. leave us! You are not going to leave us again, are you?"

He spoke not; but endeavoured to disentangle himself from Graham's hold..

"O, Sir," continued Graham, "you wo'n't leave us! Pray don't leave us! What will Mr. Douglas do-what will your mother do?"

Lefevre could not endure these recollections, and, wresting his arm from the affectionate grasp of Graham, he went forward.

Graham's concern gave him courage, He renewed his hold, and pressed upon. his arm, so as to check his course.. Mr. Lefevre, if you are going-if you will go-let me go with you! I will go any

where with you. If you are unhappy, I will comfort you. How much you have done for me, and I have never been able to do any thing for you. Do let me go!" cried he, scarcely knowing, in his fears for Lefevre, what he said.

Lefevre was moved by his generosity; but, wishing to get rid of a parley which gave him such pain, he stopt suddenly, and looking angrily, said-“ Go!~Go where, Sir?-Go home if you please," pushing him from him.

"O, Mr. Lefevre," said Graham, catching and shaking the hand that had repulsed him, "do not be angry! I thought you loved me. And I only meant but- " he could say no more for emotion, and the tear trembled in his eye.

"John," said Lefevre with a hurried voice, "I do love you! But leave me, leave me!"

So saying, he extricated himself for the last time, and turned down a by-street at the corner of which they had been standing. Graham remained on the spot irresolute. He did not like to quit his benefactor in

circumstances, which made it dubious whether they should meet again; nor did he wish to provoke him to anger by follow-" ing him when forbidden. He continued thoughtful and motionless, till Lefevre turned an angle at the bottom of the street and disappeared; then he ran to the corner to catch another sight of him; and at last with tardy steps made his way into town. They were, however, quickened as he felt the propriety of informing his uncle and mother where and when he had seen him.

A

Lefevre, after winding through a few back streets and lanes, came again into the high road, and conveyed himself to Staines by a passing stage coach. He dismounted before the carriage entered the town, and turning off from the road by a path that offered itself on the left hand, he went forth, like Cain, oppressed with a sense of guilt he could neither bear nor escape-a fugitive from the face of God and man.

The path Lefevre had chosen was one of those numerous ones, which traverse the dreary wastes of Bagshot Heath. He