Year: 1863

was broken, and he went about moody and
disappointed man; he never coald forgive the
injustice 10 which he had been subjected.


One dark night was sitting alone musing
on our altered fortunes. when my attention was
caught By bright, lurid light in the direction
of the hall. More and more intensely vivid it
grew, and as I watched, loag fakes Of FIRE
shot up into the air. A fearful suspicion cross
ed my mind the Hall must be it flames, aud
nv fa,her-where was he? l searched every
corner. I called, he answered not-he came not
at my cry. Aa hour Of terrible suspense en-
lsaed The flames had died away, and looking
out into the still, dark night, doubted wheth
cr all was not the delusiou of heated magma
tion. \ step upon the gravel path made me
| dy to the door Father | cried but alas {.
my gaze rested not upon his face bu: on that
of a stranger, whom by his dress | recognized
as constable and behind whom stood the
steward and two farm-servants from the hall.


al want John Flower, said the constable.


HE is not here = gasped out. know
not where he is


Very fne.' answered the man bruially,
but by your leave must search


"The steward seeing my pale alfrighted look
said kindly Don't be alarmed, Miss Flower !;
if he can prove an alibi he is safe, and no one
wishes him well out OF it more than do


"'Mr- Jepson,' cried, %, pray explain to
me what has my father done-why does this
man seek him p


".Why, it is sad case, but the squire's
three largest ricks are burnt down, and as
Farmer Flower has been threatening TO be
revenged, we suspect he knows more of the
affair than any one else


As the steward uttered these words, my
father stood upon the threshold; and with a
cry of JOY clasped him in my arms. Foolish
girl that l was l fancied that there he was
safe but was soon undeceived Stepping
quickly up, the constable placed his hand upon
his shoulder, saying, John Flower, you are
my prisoner


80 know what You suspect me Of said my
father, and solemny declare know nothing
of it further than that as l was guiding a gen,
tleman and his servant, who had lost their way
we watched the couaagration from the top of
| Colston Hill, and after | set them on the right
road for Warwick, l returned to the village 10
learn what harm had happened.


off that's the case said the constable, with
more politeuess than he had shown before, you
are safe enough. for you can bring your man
forward if not, you must come with me-


Then replied my father, with a bitter
sigh, I must go with you. for l neither know
the gentlemans name, nor anything about him
except that he was going to Warwick, and
had lost his way Then addressing me, he
said, consolingly, 'Jessy, don't be alarmed, my
poor child | shall get off, never fear. Mr..
Jepson will take care of you until l return.


That 1 will, said the kind hearted stew
ard she shall not want for anything that l
can get her


Gently removing the arms l still held
round him, my father entered the cart that was
waiting for him The steward took seat on
one side; the constable occupied the other
They drove off, leaving me with an aching
heart to pass my first solitary night in this
cottage.


"That long night was over at last and the
first gray dawn of morning saw me on the road
to Warwick. Ny one desire was to seek out
the nameless stranger on whose word hung my
fathers liberty. | resolved to let nothing him
der me until had found him. The sun was
high in the heavens, when, hot foot.sore and
weary, passed under the archway of that an
cent town but my heart beat high with hope,
and my sorrows seemed to sit less heavily upon
me, now that the energy Of my nature was
aroused. From inn to inn | went. At only
one had a gentleman arrived the previous night
and be had come from direction contrary to
our village. inquired diligently if any one
had been received into a private house during
that evening, without success. None to whom
| applied had seen the strangers pass through
the town, even Broken down and crushed n
spirit, walked wearily back to my desolate
home. Many Of the neighbors came in during
the evening hours but their officious pity an
noyed me, while the certainty with which they
spoke of my poor fathers guilt enraged me. l
was but too glad to be left to pass another
lonely night. Very often, during the long
hours, did my thoughts turn to Frank, with a
longing wish that be was near me. l thought
if he only knew our peril, that he could save
US.


The following day learned that my IA
ther having appeared before the magistrates,
had been committed for trial at the assizes,
which were to be held the following week
How I passed the days until the day of the
trial. know not. Some few kind friends, out
of pity for my condition, exerted themselves to
.-aca the etranra gentleman in whose pvi-- +