Glorvina did not perfectly recover her self-possession till she arrived at the door. Then she stopped, and turning, bent her bright gaze full upon the wondering Niall, who moved not another step.
"Niall—if you are Niall—" said the maid. She paused, and a sigh passed, in spite of them, the lips that would have kept it in: "If you are the Niall," she resumed, "to whom I said farewell four years ago, the day and the hour are not unwelcome that bring back, in health, and strength, and happiness, the playmate of our childhood to the land of his fathers; and we bless God that he has suffered them to shine. But why comes Niall hither? Who taught him to doubt the testimony of the tomb? Who directed his steps to the solitudes of the mountains, the woods, and the lakes? Who cried, "God speed!" when his heel left the home of my father behind it? Was it the master of that home?—was it Malachi, my father?"
A thought that had not occurred to him before, seemed suddenly to cross the mind of Niall. His lips that would have spoken remained motionless, his cheek coloured, his eye fell to the feet of Glorvina; he stood confounded and abashed.
"'Tis well!" cried the stately maid. "The tongue of Niall is yet unacquainted with falsehood, though his feet may be no strangers to the steps of rashness. The repast is spread; enter and partake!" and she paused for a second or two. Niall slowly lifted his eyes till they met those of Glorvina; apprehension and supplication mingled in the gaze of the youth. At length, with a tone that spoke at once compassion and resolve, the word "Depart!" found utterance; and the maid and her companion, stepping aside, left the entrance of their lonely habitation free, as Niall mechanically passed in.
(To be concluded in our next.)
THE ROYAL ROSE OF ENGLAND.
AN IRISH BALLAD,
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE PRINCESS VICTORIA,
May 24, 1837.
BY J. A. WADE.
Tune—"Young Love lived once."