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this stronghold of their villany, and they may yet perish with ignominy upon a scaffold."

"It is hard," said Caroline, "for one, who, like myself, has suffered so much, to forgive them, but may God have mercy upon them."

"You are ever too good and gentle," said Claudio.

"The night is waning on apace," said Caroline, rising; "I will leave you to seek that repose which I am sure you so much require."

"For a brief space, dearest, farewell," said Claudio. "Sleep in security; I will watch the while. The least alarm shall bring me to your side."

"Nay," said Caroline, "do you rest, Claudio, there is little danger."

"Heaven give you blest repose, lady," said Maurice.

"I thank you kindly," answered Caroline. "Farewell to both."

She tripped lightly down the turret stairs, and entered her own chamber.

Eleven now sounded from the castle clock, and Caroline, trimming her lamp, sat down for a few moments, lost in a pleasing reverie concerning her affection for Claudio, which had sprung up so strangely amid confusion, difficulty, and oppression.

"Shall I repine," she thought, "at the decree of Providence that brought me to this gloomy abode? No,—no. Have I not here met the one being, who, with a kindred soul, has taught my heart to love?"

After a time, a feeling of dread and intense suffering seemed slowly to creep over her mind. In vain Caroline tried to shake off the oppression of

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her spirits. It seemed to her as if she was upon the eve of some occurrence which had cast a gloomy shadow before upon the pure sunshine of her soul.

She rose and trimmed her lamp, and then holding it high above her head, she looked, she knew not why, suspiciously around her chamber.

A deathlike stillness seemed to reign throughout the whole castle. Caroline stood trying if, by the utmost attention, she could catch the least sound; but nothing met her ears.

She walked to the panel, and bent all her energies to discover if there was any one in Count Durlack’s apartment; but there, too, all seemed perfectly still, and she became satisfied that either he was not there, or had retired to rest for the night.

"All is still," she said, in a low tone. "What an awful wrapt repose seems to pervade the castle; one might imagine oneself in a mansion of the dead."

Caroline’s first thought was to endeavour by placing the furniture, or such of it as she could move, in such a position as regarded the panel and the ante-room, that she would be secure from any sudden or silent intrusion.

With this determination, she placed, one upon another, two of the heavy oaken chairs up against the panel, in such a position that no one could enter by that way without either moving them or throwing them down.

The ante-room door, which opened inwards, she proceeded to secure in the same manner against any noiseless visitor.

She dragged a heavy, high-backed chair to the spot, and placed it against the opening side of the door.

As she was retiring back to her own chamber, her eye caught a slip of paper, which was lying upon the ground close to the door.

Caroline raised it, and read upon it these words,—

Caroline stood for a few moments gazing upon the slip of paper in utter bewilderment of spirit. Her brain seemed to swim round, and she grasped with convulsive energy the arm of the chair for support.

"It is true, then," she said; "my forebodings were not vain. Something terrible is about to occur. Where, oh, where shall I seek protection? Claudio, yes, Claudio will aid me. And, yet, may not this warning be a trick of my worst enemies? Alas! I know not what to think. Unhappy Caroline. Was not the fate of thy parent’s misery enough for thee to hear without accumulated sorrows and persecutions of thine own? Sleep! no, no, I can never sleep in Zindorf Castle."

Again and again Caroline perused the brief but mysterious billet which had so entirely awakened all her worst fears, and she racked her imagination to conceive in what form or manner the threatened danger would present itself.

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Many times she formed the resolution of immediately proceeding to the turret chamber, and throwing herself upon the immediate protection of Claudio; but as often was she checked by the thought, that, by so doing she might be the direct means of ensuring his destruction.

"No," she cried, " no, Claudio, rest in peace. I will myself face this threatened danger, and, at least, judge of its character before I summon thee to share it with me. It may be that I myself may ward it off without compromising thy dear safety, Claudio. What says the note?—‘Face it bravely, and it is innoxious.’ I will face it for thy sake, Claudio. Hark!"

Twelve o’clock now sounded solemnly from the castle clock. Caroline stood still as a statute till the last sound had died away.

" ‘Tis midnight," she said; " midnight—that unhallowed hour, when, ‘tis said, the spirits of the dead can, for a brief space, re-visit the dwellings of man. Can such things be true? ‘Tis not at such an hour that human reason can decide on such a fearful question. I will not think. Now is the hour for any deed of violence."

She cast her eyes round the room with a feeling of intense anxiety.

Suddenly her cheeks became deadly pale, and her frame trembled. She fixed her eyes upon the ante-room door. A dull, rattling sound came from the lock of the door.

Caroline’s breath came thick; she tried to speak, but she could only say faintly, "Claudio, Claudio, help me, Claudio!" when the ante-room door was flung suddenly open and the chairs fell down with a loud crash.

CHAPTER XXXI.

IT would seem that a special Providence had interfered to save Claudio and Maurice from destruction; for scarcely had they descended the stone staircase leading from the chapel to the vaults beneath it, when the chapel door opened, and there entered the Baron and Count Durlack, followed by Roland and Francisco, with torches, for the daylight was rapidly departing.

It seems, that immediately after the conversation that they had had, which was overheard by Euphoric, that some new course of action had suggested itself.

"Roland," cried the baron, "you will light the sconces on the altar. Leave the rest of the chapel in darkness."

Roland advanced with his torch, and lit the candles in the massive candlesticks which stood on the altar. They shed but a faint light over the chapel, which was large and hung with heavy tapestry.

The count beckoned the baron to a window in the chapel, and when they were out of hearing of the attendants, he said, in a tone of sneering exultation,

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" ‘Twas a sudden thought, baron, I admit; but you know when we would take the best aim, we take the quickest and the first."

"I am full of doubts," answered the baron.

"You always are," answered Count Durlack, impatiently. "Who will play the priest?"

"Francisco," said the baron.

"Francisco?" answered Durlack. "I scarcely like that knave, baron. Look at him; methinks even now he casts strange glances at us."

"He knows," said the baron, touching his sword hilt, "the penalty of disobedience to my behests in Zindorf Castle. Trust me, the knave will do his part."

"Well," said Durlack, "so that he awaken no suspicion of his real character, all will be well."

"He dare not for his life," cried the baron.

"Go you then," said the count, "and prepare the baroness for the nuptials of her niece."

"She will be reluctant," said the baron.

"By all the fiends, baron," cried the count, between his clenched teeth, "you seem reluctant yourself. Know you not that the possession of this girl’s wealth, which, ere this, has, by royal decree, passed from my hands, is our only hope of rescue from abject poverty and biting distress in a foreign land—a land, too, where brave spirits like ours are forced to truckle to the laws of greasy citizens and swelling merchants? Money is there supreme, and money we must take with us."

"But if, after all, she dares us, and positively will not consent."

"She will then, to avoid the marriage, when brought to the very steps of the altar, sign any documents that may be proposed to her."

"That, indeed, might answer," said the baron.

"Such documents," continued Durlack, "shall make over her right to the estates to her aunt your wife."

"I see," cried the baron.

"From her you will easily wring them."

"Most easily," said the baron.

"The whole matter must have a just and legal character," said the count. "There must be no flaw—no loop-hole."

"There need be none. But what are we to do with the girl ultimately?"

A dark expression came across the count’s features, and he pointed his finger towards the stone flooring of the chapel.

The baron turned pale, and said, in a faltering voice, "You—you would not, count—"

"I would send her to keep your fair first baroness company," said Durlack, in a hissing whisper.

"I will go," said the baron, "and prepare."

Durlack looked after him with a sneering smile, and muttered,—

"Prepare, Baron Zindorf—yes, prepare! I’ll use you for the accom-

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plishment of my purposes, baron, and then— We shall see—we shall see! Euphoric!"

"Here, my lord," said the page, darting forward from an obscure corner of the chapel.

"Euphoric, prepare for a sudden departure from here. Mention it to no one, but secretly prepare."

"Your orders shall be obeyed," said Euphoric.

The count walked to the door of the chapel, and then paused and cast a hasty glance round the sacred edifice.

"This night," he said, "shall see the full fruition of my hopes. Caroline Mecklenburgh, your fortune shall be mine, and yourself, too, your beauty has inflamed my soul—both—

both—I must have both!"

He dashed open the door of the chapel, and hurried to his own apartment.

The baron walked with a trembling step to the chamber of his unfortunate wife. For a moment he paused at the door to recover the habitual sternness of his demeanour, which had been much disturbed by his interview, brief as it was, with the count, and then, without further hesitation, he entered the apartment.

The anxiety of the baroness’s mind had materially affected her health, and she now lay upon a couch looking the very shadow of her former self.

At the noise made by the baron in entering the room, she started and made an endeavour to rise from the couch.

The baron approached and looked sternly at her.

"This affected sickness, madam," he said, "must be put off for a time. This amiable languor does not suit the present occasion."

"What mean you?" said the baroness, in a weak tone.

"I mean this, madam," replied the baron. "Your gracious presence is required in the castle chapel."

"The castle chapel?"

"Aye, madam, the castle chapel. Are you so shocked at the name of the place?"

"No, baron—would to Heaven I had seen more of the castle chapel than I have."

"Prepare, then, to see it within an hour."

"For what purpose, my lord?"

"To witness your fair niece’s nuptials. Caroline Mecklenburgh will be honoured by the hand of the most gallant nobleman of the court."

"The Count Durlack?" said the baroness clasping her hands in despair.

"The same," cried the baron.

"Oh, say not so—recal those words."

"Wherefore recal them?" said the baron, with kindling anger.

"She cannot," continued the baroness, wringing her hands in an agony of grief, "she cannot, she would not, consent to this odious sacrifice."

"Sacrifice, baroness?" cried the baron.

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"Oh, yes, yes—she has not, she could not consent."

"If she shew any reluctance, madam," said the baron, with a sneer, "your soft influence must overcome it, and teach her her duty."

"Her duty, baron?"

"Aye, madam, her duty. Is it the duty of a penniless girl to refuse a splendid alliance?"

"Is it her duty, baron," answered the baroness, "to abhor the murderer of her parents?"

"Pshaw!—that is an idle dream."

"She has not consented, baron?"

"She shall consent," cried the baron.

"Then there is hope," said the baroness.

"I waste time in idle discourse with thee," said the baron, contemptuously. "Prepare for the chapel within the hour, and recollect," he added, his voice rising to a storm of passion, "recollect, madam, that the Baron Zindorf will not be braved in his own ancient castle with impunity."

"You cannot force Caroline to this marriage."

"We shall see," said the baron.

"She is safe," cried the baroness. "Caroline Mecklenburgh possesses an energy of character which, although I want it myself, I can sufficiently admire it in others. She will die sooner than consent to this odious and most unnatural union."

"Be warned," said the baron, affecting to speak in a tone of calmness—"be warned, Baroness Zindorf. The slightest word from you before the altar in opposition to this settled purpose of my soul, shall involve both you and your niece in one common destruction. Be warned in time."

"I have almost ceased to wish to live," said the baroness, bursting into a passion of tears.

"Your niece may not have the same heroic contempt of death," sneered the baron.

"Heaven help her," sobbed the baroness.

"Recollect," said the baron, walking to the door, "that it is a bridal you are called upon to attend, and let your appearance be becoming."

"I cannot, dare not go."

"You can, and will. You know my commands, madam. Within the hour one will come to conduct you to the chapel."

The baron left the room, and closed the door with a loud crash behind him.

The unfortunate baroness when left to herself, seemed for a few minutes to subside into a state of the most hopeless despair.

The baroness was one of those persons who, in prosperity and peace, are always esteemed for their unassuming virtues, but she did not possess that strength of mind which would enable her to contend against adverse circumstances. Oppression, insult, and tyranny, instead of raising in her breast a spirit of just opposition, tended more to crush and subdue her

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mind, and she spent that time in useless lamentation which, by a bolder spirit, would have been devoted to overcoming, if possible, the difficulties of her situation.

Since her residence in Zindorf Castle, the baron’s conduct to her had been harsh in the extreme, and she had at last a dread of his very presence, which almost took from her the power of resistance to any of his criminal and imperious mandates. Her feeble resistance to him was sure to end in a kind of half obedience to his commands. The late events in the castle had very much preyed upon her mind, and as her bodily health gave way, her mental resources became weaker, so that she had almost become a mere weeping tool in the hands of her wicked and designing husband, the baron.

Her tears now flowed in streams for the unhappy situation of Caroline, but still she saw no resource but to obey the baron.

"Unhappy Caroline," she cried, "why did I tempt you to come hither to partake of the dangerous hospitality of Zindorf Castle? Alas! it has proved thy destruction. How can you resist the commands of the baron? You will be forced, my poor niece, into this hateful match."

The baroness calculated from her own feelings only when she imagined that Caroline Mecklenburgh could be forced into an union with a man she detested, and whose very name brought with it a sensation of horror and loathing

The weak and unhappy wife of the baron could not comprehend that strength at character which Caroline possessed, and which raised her to a height far above the threats and malice of such men as the Baron Zindorf and his companion in iniquity, the Count Durlack.

Caroline’s life and liberty were only in the power of the bad men by whom she was persecuted and coerced, and it would have been but a poor triumph to them to have felt that they had merely the barren satisfaction, and all the trouble and difficulty conjoined with danger and uneasiness, of taking Caroline’s life, or confining her in a dungeon without advancing their objects in so doing one step.

The baron himself had his suspicions that Caroline’s was not exactly the nature to be worked upon successfully by personal threats; but he had sufficient penetration and knowledge of human nature to know that this nobility of mind which would not sacrifice justice and principle to oppression and threats of personal suffering, was generally accompanied by a generosity of feeling which paid the utmost regard to the sufferings and safety of others.

Thus he thought that, by involving her aunt in pain and difficulty, he would be enabled to induce the greatest sacrifices of feeling on the part of the generous and high-minded girl.

In this, however, he was mistaken, for Caroline had too much reasoning power to sacrifice her own mental strength at the shrine of another’s weakness.

Count Durlack, on the contrary, felt sanguine of success. He trusted to

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the suddenness of the whole proceeding to unnerve the mind of his victim; and, at least, he thought if the marriage presented to her so many horrors, she would be more disposed to purchase escape at the price of property which she had never enjoyed the possession of, and which would appear to her mind but a trifling sacrifice in comparison with bestowing her hand upon him.

What other dark purpose the count meditated against the peace of the hapless Caroline after he should have succeeded in gaining possession of her estates, time and the progress of our narrative will show.

CHAPTER XXXII.

WE left Caroline Mecklenburgh in her chamber, anxiously expecting who should enter and disturb the solitude of her prison.

The door of the ante-room opened, and Caroline, whose fears had been wrought up by the peculiar circumstances in which she was placed to a pitch of undue excitement, felt somewhat relieved by seeing the baron enter.

Caroline was more struck by the alteration of his usual appearance than by anything else.

The Baron Zindorf was usually attired in a plain suit of faded black velvet, unadorned by any ornaments. He was now, however, attired in a magnificent suit of purple silk, and a gold chain of exquisite workmanship hung around his neck. On his head he wore a cap, or hat, of similar colour to his dress; in it there waved a plume of white feathers, which were clasped by a brilliant of unusual size and beauty.

All this bravery of costume was sadly at variance with the baron’s face, which was ghastly pale.

He advanced slowly, as if reluctant to encounter Caroline, and he spoke not even when he had arrived within a few paces of her.

Caroline was the first to break the silence, which each moment was assuming a more impressive and disagreeable character.

"I presume, Baron Zindorf," she said, "that something unusual has procured me a visit from you at so unseasonable an hour?"

The baron bit his lips, and seemed at a loss how to reply for a moment, then he said, with as much calmness as he could command—

"Caroline Mecklenburgh will, perhaps, pardon the intrusion when she knows its cause—a cause of happiness, I hope, to all."

"Of that," said Caroline, her heart beating quick with an apprehension of she knew not what, "let each concerned be the judge. It would seem that even repose in peace is denied me in Zindorf Castle."