The New York Herald Newspaper, July 15, 1858, Page 8

Mave yo" not ween the air 0 bask, And tender with Der 7 gna the #yo'rrel bide in bie bavel bas ‘Ashamed of us clomsy waye! "Ab if ber peace was gone, And ber aioebe light af ede feared to burt ‘The grass she trod upon? ‘Biavo you pot heard her yileous eighs Bias roaches to otLer yosrs, Andsern the light of hor sweet, sweet eyes ‘Some ont in tears’ ‘Poor jady! when at midvight derk Se iat watch bests his drum, be iurus no wore iw ber Ded, to hark For Jock thus do not come. ‘Whe drier ts thorvy arwe ail wide Hiss throws across ber doer, isard slips where itved and died An? ‘swe wile of Lamley Moore. ——_——_——— GLESDOWER; on TAL NORTH SEA ROVER, @ BVORY OF THE COAST AND WATERS OF OLD BNOLAND. BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR. CHAPTER I. AN ADVESECSR, It wes just after noon, on ac! , calm e, that a Newcastle brig, from the bag iy ieitlacs, bebwonn oar boroug! . A boat was lower- ed, and when the oaramen taken their seats, ‘wo passengers entered, and were rowed to the whore. As soon as the latter were landed the boat returned, and the vessel filled away and stood on her course. Between the ce of the two men who had ting upon the soil of old England striking contrast. The first was a youth mot over three-and ppnow Apa and well ecto ed, with features of marked intelligence and manly beauty, a keen, full gray eye, a a mass of fine, hair, which bung in light brown curls about is neck and tem] Pant — cel juite dark, aaving been bro! by and const exposure to the storm and sunshine; but its texture was pure and firm, and even delicate in its healthy tints. His garb was a sort of undress naval uniform, half 4 between that of an officer and acommon sailor. He wore the ordinary blue jacket and trowsers, but the material was fiver than osual. His buff vest, how- ever, was graced with officers’ battons, and he wore ‘an ofticers’ sword. His cap, which was of blae cloth, also bore the “button.” He stepped lightly, like one who is confident of his own strongth, and yet there was @ grace and reserve ia bis bearing which yed no bravado or sel{-consequence. nd was an old mao, who had certainly seen ‘threescore years. He was shert in stature, barely reaching to his companion’s shoulder, and not very large in trame; but what frame be did have was corapact and solid, and knit together with tough sinews. His featares were bronzed, and wearred, and bony, seeming to have become | im eubstance as well as in color. In fact, ho lo hing like a marine petrifaction, his whole sen thoroughly hardened by long , baking and drying in storm and gun aud wind. His hair was of a coarse, grizzled ray, avd stood out from uuder the broad brim of fi tarpaulin hat, like the well-worn stubs of a frosty serubbing broom. But he had a genial, generous jook, and the light of his sharp, hazel eye was clear and bright. He was dressed in an ordinary sea- man’s garb, and wore @ stout cutles ging upon his left hip. : “Well, Julian,” said the old man, in atone which was deep, full and grim, “would ye kuow this ¢, eh: “Yes, Mark,” returned the youth, gazing about him; ‘I think there are scenes here which I recol- Ject, though Iam sadly at fault in the matter of distances. I remember this landing place very well, for it was here you used to bring me to sail in your boat. Tan’t it so?” “Yes. You're right, Julian. “And I remember that high hill, with the old rain on it; but it seemed to me as though it were many miles away.” ‘ “@, no, me boy. It’s only a couple 0” tulle, or so.” “1 see it’s not, now. it yet, Mark, the place Weks familiar. I should have known it if I had #et down here alone, with no one to guide me.” “And d’ye think ye could flad her way ap to the ed cot!” “Let's wee. Yor. There’s the path, yonder.” “No, no, Julian,” said the old maa, with a smile anda shake of thefiead. “Ye're wrong there, me lad. That's the path that leads to Woldhill Hall, where the Earl o’ Stanbury lives. This is our path, eff here.” “T see, now,” returned the other. “Then we'll beave abead,” pursued Mark, “for we be expected.” sudden flusb,as of anxious hope, suffused the youth's fair featares, and, without speaking, he start- td on. ‘The point where they had landed was within a small cove, flanked on either baad by ragged rocks, bat with a piece of level beach at the ianer extrem ty. Tothe right stretched away a high, steep hi erowned with the ruins of some old feudal stractare; to the left arose another hill, but not so hign as the first, and sweeping away to a far greater distance 5 while directly ahead was a thick wood, which hid the country beyond. It was through this wood that the path led which the two men took. “Julian,” spoke the old man, tarning towards his eompanion, and aurveriog him from head to foot with a look of pride and fondvess, “d'ye thiak ye'll know yer mother?” “Know her?” repeated Julian, ‘suddenly stopping, and then moving on again. “I should koow her were | to meet ber in any part of the world. Ah, Ma:k—a face like her's cannot change as some faces in ear- an ebange. wr can a love like mine forget. My mother!—oh, what music there is in those two words! But—do you think she will kaow mé?” « said the old sailor, again surveying him, She will, Bot ye aren't the same Julian Glendower ‘at took away from England fifteen ago. Ye've growed since then, though there's same look upon yer face, and yer eye’s got the same beamin’ light.” Yes—I think she'll know ye, Julian.” “[ hope she will,” returned the youth. will,” ne ac , “if we meet her together; for Warrenton has not altered, and if she knows w me. “True, have altered mach,” said Mark, holding up his hard, crusted hands, and surveying them as though were a type of the whole body. “At five-and-fort Y Ses a tough old fish, an’ I aren't anything else now, at sixty. Splinter my old timbers, Julian, it don't seem nat’ral to think ‘at I'm “She cer- threescore. oes it seem so to you!” “It makes bat little difference how many years you bave lived, Mark,” the youth repled. “You are ae stoat and firm, and as brave and generous as ever. Your hand and beart cannot grow old while life re- mains. Your head may grow more gray, but your blood is as free and warm as ever.” « . in’ it up rather high, me boy; bat Trm glad it's you tat said it, for | know you speak just as you think. Others might say that and not mean it.” ‘There are hundreds who would say the same thing Mark.” as “Well—mayhap there be. Bat,” the old man ad- ded, as though he would change the subject, “think how old wy mother be, if she’s livia’. Four score, wt least.” “And I'll warrant ye, as hale and hearty as ever,” Je n. Leastwise, she was well the last time p ber.” en had now reached the crown of a ¢, from which the broad expanse of seen, and they stopped and water they had jast left. Mark Warrenton, with con- ye'd know this.” ded Julian. “ These with its great trees, and ® aod far, all bring the blue ocean sy tack to me the scenes Ah—how well I remember the ‘used to haunt my mind when I stood <i upon the great sea. How I wonde ond— what oad of people li garange things there were P other sj Se the borison—and if I should ever see theme f as ae Rae et | nels spend #0 many years PXnd only think what « man you've grow'd to be se then,” said the old man. Ande he adden, ‘another fond look into his companion’s face, “I Bont Want to take praise to myself, bot I think I've U I could for ye.” “ Hay ® mot done everything?” exclaimed the youth, « ‘wing Mark by the hand. “Do I not owe everything to you? ‘on have stood by me in every hour, wd helped me when I could not help it MYT won't den'¥ that, Julian; but f had 9 reason for Goin’ it. I did be Tloved onldn’t hel doin’ it. If ye'd be @n cross, an ugly, a il] temp: § T never should ‘a do.%¢ for ye what I have doue, nor would others ‘ave o We it, either, If ye'd been a ~ 8 i NEW YORK HERALD, THURSDAY, JQiY 15, 1858. esi DATE See” LT Te ee et pin imme cet LITERATURE, roe LIFERATURE, | re egewneees AT ERATURE. ss Ey iRATORE. arse, be a cock’s scallion now, instead af | ovposite arm. As be withdrew the reekine blade, 1 he was yet, fo off and was with joy when | “But do you ky we? Have you any proof!” {Meftesunt of a noble Indiaman. I couldn't 's helped started back, Granker gave weerence “oy a | be come Ur, ihe bold Rien tor er bosoms a few mo: | "T' kuow aL gt Hare you ony prot? ye to an officer's berth, if ye hadn’t ’a bad it in ye to | hoarse curse, !teggored oat ments, and then led him into the cot. around here f over a week, and I'm sure they make one.” pia eee ss BE gy to Padre | W agegee pres eo pg peepee were in th 4" wood on the ‘very afternoon your py .” retarae ; »”, valhons - ‘gazed around Toon, 5 Julian, 2and only hope f may live to repay you.” | into the wood, leaving thelr’ ogo to his ha tht lia” the od ay sid :cming | Then gt y'he on board the brig,” eried the “Phere,” cried i dropping his jion's: re not to notice her son’s question, but ww the youth, * serting from his seat. band, “don’t say no more. {t's ali #, and there : Hg youth and hishand. “{N* yvnaye-I think not so,” returned Adam. Oe San a Aid the yoru man, looking in the aly off, he tart tothe maiden and ald; | Yes Prati shoatd,” returned the 2ame. * sete #00 ant tek te hil ta a fe the old irection pol t. « “YT erust re » Bat tell me—wi _ now J ‘ve hi thee I'd sooner think o: what such a craft cam be doin’ Gab'n beak enn tan: ‘their aim’ Mion caught at the > of it, and sank dow Morey!” excluimed Juliag, starting half way know’d ‘at anything bigger’n a ” You remember what & narrer con- te ns ties an’ how i Yocked in with a?” ‘ "tel remmesaber something about it, Butare you she’s in the bay?” Toes either the bay or ae on ag sin for "t oo other water bear her in that direction. She's in the bay, rortin.” “May be a smuggler,” anpeered Julian. ee, assented ag The, afew momen! * upon the tall big 2 then resumed their “walk, aud ere long ey strack a broader path, which swept aroand the foot of a hill, and where the woods were more open. « We're in the earl’s park now,” said Mark. “We see some deer afore we get home. He used to “ listening at- tentively. “There may be one now. Do you not hear that noise?” ” “Aye, aye; I hear it.” “Something is coming this way.” “Bat it aren’t a deer,” said Mark. «1's 9—_”" Before Juiian could finish his sentence the old man interrupted him with— “Ho, ho, it’s a woruan! See! see! she’s comin’ this way!” Julian started a pace forward, and saw a female running towards the spot where they stood. “She's frightened at something,” said Mark. “See how she runs.” “Perhaps some wild animal has startled her,” ad- ded the man. “We'll see. In a few moments more the girl came up. Our two Selenide sind | Hh er path, and ane stopped. se was a fair form ing, of exqusite symmetry 01 frame, with features of marvellous peg El soft brown eyes, and nut brown tresses, which were now flowing over her neck and shoulders. was not over nineteen, and her belonged to some wealthy family. he ored upon the apeaker with frightened e gazed upon the er with @ took, ad then turned toward Julian. “You are not enemies!” she cried, clasping her hands beseechingly. “You will not do me harm?” “Do ye harm?” repeated the old man. Did feck Harcenien, ever do harm to anybody in dis- “Yon have nothing to fear from ua, gentle lady,” added Julian. “Tell ns how we can help you, and all that we can do for shall be done,” “Mark Warrenton,’ said the girl, hopefully. Glendower,” returned the youth, 2s she ring glance toward him. you will save me, T know.” youl” exclaimed Julian, starting forward ond gazing fixedly into the girl's face. “Is this Emma Dean?” ur. my soul—-so ‘tis!’ erled Mark, taking her hand, and scanning her fair features. “The same I that used to play with Julian years i? You ber Julian. See how he’s grow’d, He's an officer now; an’ he’s a hero, too. But—ye look}fright- ened. What's happened? ' Tell us.” “Four stout men set upon me in the wood. They bound my attendant, Mary Nolan, and were going to bind me, when I slipped From them andran. Oh! here they come now! Save me! Save me! Julian looked, and saw four nae gerd ata swift pace. They were stout, ly fellows, aud habited in sailor garb. He bade the girl stand back, and (ben faced the raffians. “allo!” cried the leader of the party, aa he ap proached the spot where the trio Hood “Who've we got here? Stand out o’ the way, boy, and let me have that gal!” The speaker was a huge fellow, tall and powerful, dark featured and weather scarred, with large black ng and a black beard, which was neatly trimmed. ‘is hair, of the same raven hue, clung about bis bull like bead and neck in short curls, and altogether he was about as abions a looking customer as any one would wish to meddle with. His companions looked rough enough and hard enough, but they were not of such huge proportions. “This lady bas sought our protection, sir, and she shall have it,” replied Julian, when he had measured the giant with his eye. “Zounds!” uttered Mark at this point, having been regarding the ruffian attentively; “I should’t forget that face, nor that great body, though it’s | grow’d some since | saw it last. If it aren’t Dixon ranker, the smuggler, I be blowed.” “Eh!” cried the man thas alluded to, gazing sharply into the old suilor’s face. “I've seen this old crab before.” “If ye remember Mark Warrenton, ye'll remember me,” Said the petrified Indiaman. “O—I remember ye. There's no need of yer tel- lin’ me the name that belongs to such a figger head aa you've Bat TT have to see ye some other time to over old affairs; I've got business now. I must have this gal.” “Keep back!” ordered Julian, as Granker ap- Ee him. “I know that you have no claim and that your aim, whatever it may be, is one of villainy. So I shall defend this lady with my life. I give you fair warning.” “Ha, ha, ha,” laughed the raffian, with a scornful sneer. “A boy and an old dried up man against foar of the hardest’men in the kingdom! I bardly think you're in earnest, jr.” , Hanes gana returned the ruffiana Julian drew his look of defiance. “T want no fray,” he replied, “nor would I have bloodshed; but give not this fair lady up to you while I have life.” “Well spoken, by the holy powers,” returned Granker. “But if you don’t want blood shed, you'd better put up your sword, and stand out of the way. IT don’t want to barm ye; but have this gal 1 must— and quiek, too.” As the fellow apie, be took a step forward and made a motion as gh he would push the youth out of his way. Julian might, under other circum- stances, have shrunk from encountering such a gi- tic opponent; but he could not refuse now, nor id he have such a thought. He trasted to his own skill and quickness of sight, knowing that mere brutal strength did not win battles. And, further, he was unwilling to strike the first blow with mortal weapon, even in such a cause. He had jast placed his foot upon his native soil for the first time after long years of absence, jand he disliked the thought of shedding English blood in his first essay. So he quickly changed his sword into his left hand, and with his fist he dealt the ruffian a blow that sent him recling back. “ Hold on, boys,” said Granker to his mon, as he saw them start; “let me setile with this youngster.” And be advanced again. Emma Dean had been sorely frightened during this opening scene, and now she sprang to Julian's side and caught him by the arm. “No, no,” she exclaimed. “Not forme! They will kill you !” be 2 nd Voy oF aoe eed megan replied the mth, putting her gentlyaway. “I amused tosach inings. and fear ‘them not. You shall go safe to yorr home, or—" He was interrupted here by the near approach of Grunker, and quickly patting himself upon his guard, e cried: “It shall be no boy's play this time.” “No,” returned the other, whose cheek was bleed- ing from the effects of the blow he had received. his is the kind of play I'll make it,” Tle aimed a blow with the heavy cutlass he carried, bat it was parried with the utmost ease. Vill you give up the gal?” he asked. was the ready answer. hen | roust take ‘ad rushed forward and aimed another blow at the s weapon was tu aside, and he re- ind upon the sword-arm. This served to exasperate him, and, with a fierce oath, he set on again. His three followers seemed to think that he would quickly dispose of the youngster, for they showed no disposition to advance. Mark Warrenton of course dared not interfere, for he knew that such a movement would most surely call the three idle ones into action. Emma Dean stood with hands clasped, and her eyes tarned toward heaven. Both the combatants now went at the work in right good earnest; and the huge ruffian soon found that fe had met bis match. AN his blows were turned aside or avoided, while he had rather more than he could comfortably attend to to look oat for the blows that were returned. The sharp steel clashed with a ringing sound, and both weapons were soon sadly scarred. Finally nker thought toc the Ua yey If he could not over- come my t ata fence, he could rash in upon him, and hurl him tothe grownd by main force; ®0 he watched his nity, and at length knock- Fs Julian's eword o agg werful blow, and nstantly leaped upon him. @ Was not so witty as he bad t His antagonist had been reading his plane as clearly as he had made them. His play showed that he waa preparing for some such evup, and when he gave his last blow his very took plain- Tye what his intent waa. So Julian was prepared. offered no resiatance to the stroke which he saw was aimed only at his sword, but let the weapon fall of ite own accord, and then, quick as thought, he rained hie pt fost in season te hie opponent to rush upon it. He held it with » firm hand—it en rufflan’s side, aud passed out wader the He “Indeed I know not, sir,” she replied. “ They arn” “ What isit? Are you faint?” cried the yonth, as he noticed that the girl started and turaed pale, “No—it is uotbing. I only saw that horseman coming.” “Do you know hita?” asked Julian, turning and seeing the new comer, : * i is Sir Thomas Cleaveland.” “The Barl of Stanbury?” “Yes,” Ina moment more the earl came Soaking by to the it. was @ young man, not more a three or four and twenty, with sandy hair and com- e rather tall and muscular, and in one of those countenances which are to from their contradictory characteristics, His fea- ‘tnres were well formed, save that his mouth was too and his chin a trife too short. His eye was of a Wa pale bine, and only took expression when jhis yas were aroused. He wore a geutleman’s or- hunting suit—a green, cute) coat, with short skirts, a long fl: waistcoat, cl breeches or fine buckskin, and a bandsome one, and valuable. th a groan. witFris srother's here, aren’t abe?” asked Mark, “Not now, ..9 son.” “But she ot our letter? She knew we was mae t (ieletter; but—she air, “Yea, she got Ue Wi 2 alr ¢ he “ Vil tell vou ell ubo.*it, by'm by. Ye'd eat some. thing, now, wont yu: “lam bane With this dame left the room, and when she was gone Julian spoke. ud Mark, Thave feared this. All the way through the and all the way over the sea—this fear has haunted me!” “What d’ye mean, me boy?” “Something has happened to my mother!” “How d'ye kaow I wouldn't go to conjurin’ up such feare afore ye have reason for em. Didn’t old dame fey ,at she got our letter?” “Ab—but that was more than six months ago, “No, no-—yo forget. The Prince Charles only sailed h topboote. His horse was | two mouth» fore we did, so our letter couldn't have got here over (wo months ago. Wait till my motner “How now!” he exclaimed, as he drew up before | comes ia” the scene. “What have we here?” He seemed to* be slightly startled, and aclose observer coald have pag os was not well satisfied with the appear- ance of things. “Only a slight brush, my lord,” answered Julian, advan: a pace. ‘We found this fair lady beset by ruffians, and jent her our protection. One of es Thave wounded, and the others ran off upon our approach. 7 Wounded? Where ?” asked the eari, gazing quickly around. Grunker had fallen to the ground, and as Sir ‘Thomas saw him he uttered an exclamation of a3- tonishment, and quickly slipped from his sad- dle. He had taken a step toward the wounded man, when he hesitated, and turued to where Emma “Fair lady,” he said, with a show of reverence, “J should heave béen here to yield thee protection from violence.” “Generous protectors were at hand, my lord,” she lied. 7 cloud gathered upon the Earl’s brow, and his hands were mowentarily cluthed, as if in anger. “J am glad you found succor, surely,” he rasumed, “even at the hands of strangers. But how did it happen! Who were the villains that dared to molest ou: “They seemed to be seafaring men, sir, and were rough aud cruel. They stopped us as we came along, and pulled us from onr horses, but gave no word of explanation, They bound my attendant, and while they were thus engaged,I escaped from them, and met these kind geal lemen just in season to profit by their assistance. “Then you did not know the raffians?”” “No, sir; Inever saw them before. There is one of them—the one who took the feud The earl now turned to wuere Gruaker lay, and stooped down by his side: but what he said could not be heard. ‘The raffian seemed to have faiated— net so much from loss of blood as from a sort of stunning shock which had been given by the blow He revived as Sir Thomas spoke to him, and pointed to his wound. The earl calied Jolian and Mark to his assistance; and, having torn open the man’s clothing, they staunched the blood as best they could. “Now,” said the F ham nobleman, 9 he arose to his feet, “I would like to know to whom we are in- debted for this service rendered to the Lady Erama?” He gazed into Julian's face as he spoke, and the sudden start which he gave seemed % iudicate that he bad seen something nnexpected, “My name is de"an Gteidower, sir,” our hero nied. “ Glendower ?” repeated the earl, as though trying to recall the name, bat evidently ouly seeking to overcome the strange emotion which had seized upon him. “I think I bave heard the name. Do you belong about here?” “Tean ly claim that honor, sir,” replied Ju- lian, “though T spent a few years of my early child- hood in this place.” “This old man J think I know,” resumed Sir Thomas, turning toward Mark. He turned awa from the youth as though he did aot wish to Took upon him apy louger. “Ye haint forgotten old Mark Warrenton, me Jord,” said the sailor, with an obsequious bow. “Oh, no; I remember you very well; and I hope T may meet you both again, but at present T must at tend to these matters. I will see that this fair lady has safe conduct to her home; and I will send some of my people to take care of the wounded mau. I wish you a very good day.” ‘Then turning to Emma Dean, he added— “I saw your attendant back here a few rods, safely bound, but I left her for the ain of seeking and saving her mistress. You shall take my seat until we find your own horse.” The lady did not seem to like this at all, though she choese not to disobey. But she cast oe to- ward Julian which plaiuly indicated that would much rather have had his company. Oar hero caught the lock, and it thrilled him to the very soul. There was more init than he could then realize, though he knew very well that the lady was beau- tiful, and that he should be very happy in her so- ciety. will see that this wounded mon is cared for, eo yon need not wait,” said the earl, as he uoticed that ‘our two friends lingered upon the spot. With this hint Julian and his companion moved away, but not until the youth had once more canght “the young lady's eye, and read the deep gratitude therein expressed. When they had gone a little way, and the tramp of the earl's horse was heard in the distance, Julian stopped, and proposed that they should go back and help the man he bad wounded. “No,” said Mark; “I guess we'd better let him be. ‘The earl wants to bandie him elf. Idon't be- lieve the wound’s a mortal one.” “Do think the earl knows him?” “Don't ask me no question, Julian. I’m pnzzled.” The old man shook his head as he spoke, and passed on, “But what is it that puzzled you, Mark?” asked the youth. “I am puzzled too. Did you notice how ‘his lordship started and turned pale when he saw me° “Yes, I seed it all; and I don't know what it means. And I seed how bis lordship acted when he first went up to where Dixon Grunker lay. You = see that?” “No. “In coarse you didn’t, for yon was lookin’ at me leddy just then. But he went up to the villain jast as though he'd know'd him afore; and when he ke to him, not knowin’ ‘at be was faint he seemed to feel kind of anxions like that Granker shouldn't speak afore he thought. But don’t ask ine no questions, Julian, for I don't kaow nothin’ about it.” The young man gazed upon his companion in sur- jae. “Yon don’t think that Sir Thomas Cleaveland can be a bad man?” he said. “T should hope he wasn’t; but then a lord may he a bad man just as easy as anybody else. Howsura- ever, we've got nothin’ to do with him, so we'll let him go. Ah-here we come to the old road that used te run to the ruins on the hill. Here's where the ghost kicked up such merry times a good many years ago. Ye remember this place?” “Yes—very well.” After this both the men seemed to feel too much interested in their own thoughts to converse further, so they pursued their course in silence. Finally they entered uy an open "2: and not f; ut, at the foot of a high hill, stood a small cot, with thatched roof, and snug outbuildings. An exclama- tion of joy came from Julian's lips as the sceae burst upon his view, and even Mark was called from his af Know ‘this place!” the youth “T know this place!” the cried. “Oh! how natural it see See the old hi mi the ep upon the slope. Ixu't it “ It is the old spot,” replied Mark, with much emo tion. “I was born here—this is vom. In all the long years I've wandered over the wide world I've never once forgotten this blessed old spot. It's been a sort of anchoring gone for my hopes in times of sickness and trouble. When every’ ig ele was dark and threatening, I could turn my thougnts to this kind old spot, and think of home, ani of my motber, and 1d forget my dangers and trials.” “T've had no home to think of,” returned Julian, softly and tenderly; “but I've had a mother. Oh, Mark, Coy Tiare just 2 I saw it fifteen years ago, as I have seen it eversince. it was a hea’ face.” Tt was the beautiful look sad, Jalen.” sr the youth, with an eff rt 3 “Twas thinking—mppose she shouldn't be here.” ana she has see. aren {1 i Nal dame in I. see ir, me boy’ “Yes. fi is you? mother, Mark.” . “Sartin ‘tis. And your mother'll be with her as knows we're comin’. Don’t be oneasy.” Th Sotage, oot. "Dusse, Werrenton arrento hemt beneath the ‘weight of four-ecnrs and well, and beaming with Tmt 800 Wrhilg soon as she Without ‘were soon al was ly bat atill ‘ye and good will, When lame Warrenton returned she bore a tra’ in her hand», and when she had the tab! nepal iret” se sod, an ae! saw the ausity apon « . ,asshe saw Julian's face. “Hat firat, and then we'll talk about other matters. Ye haven't cot anything to be alarm- edabout, Julian, Set right ap here and take hold. Set. eae up, and when you've done we'll talk.” Mark obeyed the summons at once, and Julian soon followed his example. But little was asid dur. ing the meal, save such questions and auswers as — between the old er and her son; but when he cloth had been removed the young man asked, where was his mother. “(’'m goin’ to tell ye all I know,” said the dame, taking a seat and smoothing down her apron by way gulating her ideas. “Yer mother came here, safe and sound, weeks ago yesterday; and here she stayed till three days ago. She was never better, and T never see her when she seemed to be any happier, She had heer’d how gallant and brave her son had | betaved, and how he had been promoted till he was second iu command of a noble ship; and she was proud avd happy. But, as I was tellin’ ye—three doys ago she went away ,and—she hasn't come back.” “Went away?” repeated Julian. “Where did she 0? sa don’t know.” Julian saw that the old lady was not telling all— that she was not givieg her plain thoughts—and he bade her speak planly. “Tell me the whole,” he said. “I would know all, even to your fears or suspicions.” “Aye: aye, mother--out with it,” added Mark. “Juan's not the man to put up with minced mat- ters, nor to be i ee with trifles. How can he steer without a clear chart and a good compass/” “Well,” responded the dame, taking off her iron bowed spectacles, and wiping the lasses wita a cor. ner of her neckerebiel, “I can’t tel ye all I wish I use, I don’t know; but 1 can tell ye this: goret Glendower came down here from Scotland, 4 ye, and she staid bere till three days ago. It was in the afterucon—nigh onto this time, peraps a little later— that she put ou her lightshawl, and said she'd go and take a walk. She went out into the wood, »nd—I haven't seen her since. I don’t know where she went to, aor what has become of her.” n was overwhelmed with fear und doubt. he wasu't out of her head, was she?” asked Mark. “Mercy on me, no. She was never better every bave you searched for her?” it.” said Julian, 4 can you find no traces?” o,” replied the dame. “Adam Nolan--you re- member Adam, don’t ye?” “I remember him,” said Mark. “He was one of and Dean's men.” “Yes,” pursued the old lady; “and he’s now Sir Rolund’s woodman. He bas the care of all Sir Ro- land's parks aud forests. Well—he was in here the pext mornin’ arter Margaret disappeared, and | asked b'm about her. He said he'd seeu some very wd: lookin’ men skalkin’ round the roads for several days, aud he ead he was sure ove of ‘em was Dixon Grauker, the North Sea Rover. He's an awful bad man. He was a smuggler once; but he’s a great deal worsea.now. He's a reg’lar pirate. wise 80 folks say.” “And do you mean that these wretches have got my mother?” cried Julian, with startling energy. “] don’t know, Julian. I was only tellin’ what Adam had seen. Bat Adam ‘ll be here this evenia’, and he know more.” ‘The youth asked some farther questions, but be could gain no further information; and as he was as- sured thet Adam Nolan had been on the search, and would come after supper to report, he made up his mind to wait until the woodman came. He conld not tamer subjects now, 80 he left Mark to tell their adventures, while he went out of doors to calm himself if he could. Bat there was no calm for that soul under such a weight. He lad been living upon the hope of meeting his mother—of seeing that sweet smile, and rearing his head npoo that ~— a a oe ey ~ 3 his and sspirations upon her suppor and en- raging eve—and ‘fren to find the cup dashed from his lips in the very hour when he had be the leased draught was all his own, was bitter in- deed. “Oh!” he cried, ag he sank down upon a stone at the foot of the hill, “this can be no home for me if | find not my mother! My heert shall find no bond here if her love be wanting!” CHAPTER IU. THE OLD avIN. Jost at sandown Adam Nolan made his appear- ance at the cot. He was a stout, burly, red faced, flaxeo hatred, good natured looking ‘fellow, some forty years of age, with a keen, py nd in his bright eye. But little of the Norman could have got mixed up in his blood. His ancest: had surely been Saxon [rom time far removed, an the family tree had not suffered from exotic scions, “Harr! this be old Mark, sure enoagh,” he cried, as he eeized the old sailor by the hand. “Aye, aye, good Adam,” Mark retarned. “This is I — should Pia J gee -, — was you. By the powers, ye don't grow old a bit, me boy. MWh should 1? But ‘where be little Julian ? Eh? this he 7” “Yes,” replied the youth, taking the woodman’s t hand in his own. “And I am glad to see you, dam. I should have known you, I am very sure.” “But—good Woden! bow thon'st grown. Bless me, I'd ne'er ‘a know'd thee, Jnlian. But I ha’ heard 0’ thee, boy—I ha’ heard o’ thy deeds, brave boy—and I be glad to see thee.” Adam then turned to the old dame, and, having saluted her, he took a seat. “Now, good Adam,” said the old lady, “we'll pass over other things, and come right to the basi- ness you and T have in hand. Julian is une: and fearful for his mother’s sake, and ye know aint very easy abont it.” “ Aye,” added the youth, moving his stool nearer to the woodman, “if you have learned anything, y let me know of it.” «Til tell thee,” returned Adam, gazing first upon the dame, and then 7 Mark, and finally fixing his gaze upon the youth. “I ha’ hunted some, an’ watched a good many movements. I saw my sister Mary je«t as | was comin’ away, an’ she told me her adventure in the wood—how the Rover and bis meo bound her, and seized her mistress—and how her mistress hied away, and how thou didst amite the hnge rogue and save the lovely Emma. By the great Thor, but thon’rt sinewy, brave boy.” Julian would have blushed before the honest fel- low’s admiring gaze, but he was too to learn of his mother, so he simply nodded, and remained silent. “ However,” resumed Adam, “I had seen those rogues before. I ba’ watched their apcomin’s and downgoin’s, and ha’ seen that they belong to the brig that lays at anchor in Midnight Bay.” «We saw that brig,” interrupted Mark, “ we saw her spars as we caine up from the cove—and we wondered what such a craft could be doin’ in there.” in there for mischief,” anid the woodman, ih bious shake of the head. “Dixon Grunker be one of the worst villains that carries his head on jis shoulders.” “But don’t the people about here know that the willain is there?” asked Mark, with some surprise. “Why, we've heard o’ this North Sea Rover clear , ‘out in India.” . b’an’t many people about here to take a note o’ such things.” “But there's the Earl and Sir Roland.” “Aye, I know,” returned Adam, with a nod of the head? “but may be busy about other things. My master be and laay, th: good natured and Earl be youn) high, and more (i olin pirate, “et tinay be strange that the troublin’ may villain b’an't taken. However, ina eye, T've been on their track. They would a’ if they could, § an’ my |—1 shouldn't wonder across the floor, and bringing his hauds vehemently together; “what can this mein? What can these wretches aim at in thus seiziug apon a mild, unof- fending and defeacelees woman’ ‘\V uat has she done b zene be thus marked ont for their wick ess i en had the leddy Emma} done?” interposed jam. “Aye,” resumed Julian, “what had she done? By the heavens above mo. these foni fiends shall feel the weight of ay arm it they have done thisthing! Let us to the hill at once, and if my mother be there we ehwil find ber,” “'That’s my idee,” answered Mark, readily. “And it’s the right one,” added A . “We'll go go round by my lone and get lanterns, and set out, at once. ey won't be very likely to be much on their ‘d to-night, for I don’t imagine they suspect that t] mae been seen in that region.” The for setting out were soon arranged, and ‘arrenton lent as much egsistance a3 was in her power. She bade Mark to be care‘ul, and not ex- pose himself needlessly, calling him her ‘boy,” aud exhibiting all a mother's fondness for a loved chiid. Julian buckled on his sword, and sec; ts within his belt, while Mark armed himself in like manner; and when this was done the threo men left the cot. It was already well into the eveaing, though the ve light ithout dif- . It was # well built, comfortable hut, and as they ap- roached, three large dogs came out and commenced bs growl, but at a word from their master Te- turned to their kernels. Ina moment more the door was , and Adam's good wife made her appear- ance with # candle in her hand. “Tt’s me, Peggy,’, sald the woodinan. She retreated as she heard her husbend’s voice, and the three followed her into the cot. Peggy was a stout, buxom woman, with flaxen hair and ruddy face, seemed a fit companion for her mate. ‘When Adam had e» plained to her the object of their miseion, she entered into the spirit of the plan, and seemed proud aud happy to see her husband ‘thus en- guged in so worthy an enterprise. She thought not of the danger where oue of own sex was to be —— from villains, or if she did, she kept it to Adam Nolan armed himself with a brace of pistols anda short axe, and baving procured and lighted two lanterns, one of which he gave to Mark Warren- ton, keeping the other himsel!, the party set forth Dame again. The hillupon which the ruin stood was close by the sea, the eastern base being washed by the waves, aud its summit was about four miles distant from the woodman’s lodge. The path to be followed was not a very good one, baving been used but little in many years, but Adam kuew it weil, and bade his companions to follow him without fear of being led astray. The first three miles was Sasonge a deep, heavy wood, where it would have been pitchy dark Without the lanteras; and even as it was they were obliged to trea carefully. Adam Nolan might have 8} on at a far swifter ace, for he was at home in the tangled forest; but ‘is companions found it more difficult, and he only moved on fast enough to accommodate them. At the end of an hour the way became more difficult still, the path being in many places overgrown with briars and vines; but they pushed on, and finally be- gan to ascend the hill. “From the looks of this way I should not suppose that any one had been up here before us,” said Ja- Lg: oa stopped to pulla tangled vine from the path. % we're the first that ha’ travelled it for a year,” retarned the woodman. ¥ the pirates must have found their way up by another route.” “Yes; they've a way direct from the bay, which be only on the other side o’ the hill. It’s hard way, and one difficult to find, though there be little woods like upon this side; but it’s mostly rocks and devious twistin’s, and no mortal unacquainted would find it ina month. My father showed it to me many years ago, but I've not used it much.” “Bot which a’ye 8" used to be the reg’lar road to the old castle?” asked Mark. “ Oh—this was it,” returned Adam. “Many a ago, when brave Saxon lords and Norman Ket used to hold wassai!, and knock each other's 4 out for sport, rnin was a stout place, and this road was wide, and horses could prance up down. other way, among the rocks, was only a secret passage for eseapin’ to the sea in case . Them was strange times.” Mark admitted that they must have been, and also suggested that there were some strange things n the present. Adam assented to this, and then the party moved on up the steep hill in sifence. After“a tedious climbing of an hour longer, the three adventurers stood by one of the angles of the remains of the old wall. It was a wild, dark Jooking mass of ruins, The walls were crumbled, but parts of the bastions were standing, and more than half of the main tower was in its place. Be- d this tower stood portions of the walls of what ad been the lord’s dwelling, and toward that point | the attention of the party was directed. “It’s either in or under there that the rogues must have found a shelter,” said the woodman. “There be two rooms in fair order that ured to open from the great hall; and then there's any number of cel- lars, and holes, and dungeons, down in the rock un- derneath. Them may sometime fill up, but they can never tumble down nor crumble away. Now hide ———. Mark, and we'll move on.” old sailor concealed the light beneath the flap of his jacket, and they then commenced to make their way over the rocks and creeping vines. They had gained the court, and were moving stealthily op aaa Adam stopped and touched Julian upon | arm. “Dost see that?” he whispered, pointing with his finger toward the wal! before them. young man looked, and saw a faint line of light beyond what seemed to be a window or door- tinued.” “Now let’s creep carefully, and we may soon gain a peep at ‘em.” The three men moved noiselesely forward, and ere they had reached the wall they heard the sound of voices, as of men engaged in rg! At length they beneath the open arch throagh which the light had been seen, and beyond they saw ano- ther passage, which seemed to lead to a_ roofed ihey're here snre enough,” the woodman con: | chorus, ing cups upop ious careful now, for the come all the noise they might be make. “My mother is here !” the young man said. « ’rt right there, I’in sure,” responded Adam. “Then we must overcome these fellows at once. If we take them while they are thus carousing, there will be but little difficulty. Besides, we know their business so well that { should not mind killing them if need be. Is there a door on this side?” “Yee,” said the woodman. *“ There it is,” point- ing to the opposite corner from w! the vine covered enclosure was. “Then what say yon—shall we set upon them at once?” asked Julian, who was all anxiety, and eager for the fiay. “T'm ready,” said Mark. “ Let's be at 'em, then,” added the woodman. “We cannot, pare them if they resist,” su; youth. “ We know their business. is against their country—they are villains and out- We must remember only my mother and ourselves.” “Don't be afeared o’ my sparin’ any on ’em,” said Mark, drawing his heavy cutlass with his right hand, while he took a pistol in his left. “But zemember that they be reckless and despe- characters,” interposed Adan Come on !”” spoke Julian, He advanced as he said this, and the woodman came by his side and raised the heavy brazen latch of the door. * u ready ?”’ the latter whispered. ly '” uttered onr hero, impatiently. The door was thrown open, and the t! adven- . turers burst in upon the revelers ! Mr. Bonner presents to tiie readers of the Herald the above sample of Mr. Cobb’s great story, which is now being sen in the New York » This is only the beginning of this most inte: ig and beautiful tale—the remaioder, or continuation of it, can Oe be found in the ‘New York Ledger, great paper, for which the most popular writers in the country contribute, and which can be found at all the stores t! out the city and coun- ',.where papers are ber and ask for: the New York Ledger ot July 24, which is now ready, aud in it you will get the continuation of the from where it ieaves offhere. If you cannot gs copy at any news office or book store, the of the Ledger will mail you a copy on the recei $2 year, or two coples for 8S Adder your @ year, or two cop’ to Robert Bonner, publisher, No. 44 Ann street, No joni anette cage illustrated eu peper e country, and acterized by a hich moral ronty ft 5 + hai LEDGER IS OUT! rps! usa we ovr! + a LEDGER our! T= LEDGER IS OUT! + ba LEDGER 13 OUT! T= LEDGER 13 OUT! bi ba LED3ER 13 OUT! 7 LEDGER 13 OUT! hii LEDGER [S$ OUT! ag LEDGER i3 OUT! i, LEDGER 13 OUD! Ni LEDGER 13 OUT! ps LEDGER 1S OUT! T= LEDGER I3 OUT! — LEDGER IS OUT! st ma LEDGER our! ' agg LEDGEK 13 OUT! aa LEDGER 1S OUTJ Nie LEDSEK 13 OUT! hp LEDGER 13 OUT! ba LEDGER 18 OUI? 4 LEDGER 18 OUT! | (PE LEDGER Is OUT! og LEDGFR IS OUT! 3ER I OUP! a LEDGER [4 our! re LEDGER 13 OUT! pe LEDGER 13 OU? | aa LEDGER [3 OUT! | T= LEDGER IS OUT! Ms Vial LEDGER 13 OUT! = LEDGER 18 OUT! ne the one in which they nowstood being all open overhead. Wheu they hed gained this second place they saw an open space in one corner, through which the light flowed in a broad stream, and the voices were now distinct. ‘They crept caatiously forward over the stones and rubbish, and finally gained a point where they could look into the apartment from whence the light came without being seen by those within. It was an embrasure of some sort, and a lot of vines, which had crept up the wall, formed a curtain over it, through which our three friends could gaze with little trouble. The apartment beyond was large and high, and near the centre stood a stout oaken table, around which sat six men. They were rongh, uncouth looking fellows, and Julian recognized three of them asthe ones who bad been with Grauker in the forest, and who had fled at the approach of the earl. There were piccesof bread and meat scatter. ed about over the table; but the freebooters had done eating, and were now engaged in drinking and carousing. There were several large flagons before them, and each man had a pewter drinking cup. “T faith,” cried one of them, as he tossed off a cup of wine, “you should have seen the youngster han- die his sword. 1 thought our big captain was the best man in the kingdom, but may I be starved and go athirst if the young ‘an didn’t match him.” “But what in the name of sense does our captain want with these women?” asked a second. “Here we've been layin’ idle over a week just for thie odd freak of bis. What does he mean to do with ‘em?” “T don’t know,” answered the first speaker, “There's a mystery in it. But then Granker mast have his own way; and I don’t know as we should grumble. We've got snag quarters here, and all oar care is to make merry and keep a woman vafe and snug. Rinat's all very well,” said a third man of the number. “The work isn’t much, but I don’t like the idea of the thing. We'll find ourselves in a trap one of these odd days. It ain't to be expected that we can oe here ae we've been doin’ without bein’ su apected.’ “O—to the shades with your croaking,” the ‘one who had spoken before. “Come tin epeons here's a song for ye.” “Hold on!” exclaimed one who had not yet spo- ken. “I want to know if our captain is I to ve us?” “What d’ Nownod a bit of Ww “No—not a it for him this time. We till the aaa LEDGER 13 OUI! Se TEDGER Is OUT! _—" LEDGER 12 OVT! — LEDGER 18 ovr! Tr LEDGER 18 OUT? a our! pe LEDGER 13 OUT! _" LEDGER 18 OUT? _— LEDGER i3 OUT! pu LEDGER TS OUT? _ LEDGER I3 OUT! ig OUT! T LEDGER 13 OUT? T= LEDGER 18 OUT! r= aoe ovr iiss ay eal (Pee tae ~ cigasopotbaane + Feagmensaaeameebaess ee re yong LEDGER 18 OUT! dN LEDGER 13 OUT! i a LEDGER 8 OUT!