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that doom—that horrid doom, which, though we may feel, the inhabitants of hell can alone describe.

Breakfast was no sooner ended than the baron retired, and the baroness thus addressed her niece:—

"My love, I am grieved that the baron should thus palpably display so turbulent a disposition before you. Alas ! he loves me not; and why he married me, I cannot conceive." She bursted into tears. Caroline would have offered her some consolation, but she continued;—"I had not made this confession, but I am sensible that it cannot escape your penetration. He loves me not; and what is still more grievous to me, he strives not to conceal it before our little world. But we are now alone, continue, I beseech you, your history, and let me strive to forget my own sorrows—hard fate! whilst I listen to those of a sister!"

"Madame," said Caroline, "I fear I am too prolix, and, consequently, tedious. If that is the case tell me, and I will immediately drop the subject."

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"Far from it," replied the baroness. "Every minutia is interesting to me; repress not, therefore, a sentence, a thought, for I would hear it all."

"If I recollect right, I was observing, when we were last interrupted, how much my father was offended at the speech of my mother, that reflected upon him, as he imagined, for having been unobservant of the improprieties of the count’s behaviour."

"You was," answered the baroness.

Caroline then resumed her story, as will be found in the following chapter.

CHAPTER VI.

"WE saw not my father again that day. The next morning he took a very extraordinary step. My mother, my governess, and myself, were at work in the sitting parlour, when he and the count entered. The latter made his compliments, to which my mother returned a silent curtsey. They seated themselves, but nobody attempted to speak for some time. At length the count, addressing my father,

" ‘What is the matter,’ said he,—’why do you knit your brows?"

"My father arose, and unsheathed his sword.

" ‘Count Durlack,’ said he, ‘I draw, and you must do so likewise, for there is an affair of importance to be settled before you leave this house.’

" ‘By no means in this place,’ returned the count. ‘You are in your own house, and I suppose you know how to treat a friend with civility. But what, again I ask, is the matter?—What would you have?’

" ‘You are,’ exclaimed my father, ‘totally innocent, or the most consummate of villains! You are accused by no less a person than Madame Mecklenburg herself, of having attempted her honour, and, consequently, mine. Acquit yourself of this charge, or one of us moves not alive from this apartment.’

" ‘I am, indeed, sorry,’ said the count, affecting to sigh deeply, ‘that madame has made this accusation. Oh, madame! are you thus, then, resolved on your own destruction? Mecklenburg, take my sword: would I could settle all my accounts with my Maker, as easily as this with you!’

" ‘No, count, keep your sword; you may want it for your defence. I have brought you here to confront you with my wife, and the guilty shall perish.’

"In the meantime my mother would have spoken, though trembling

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with terror, and with a faultering tongue, but the count exalting his voice, owned the sound of her’s.

" ‘Is it possible, madame,’ said he, ‘that you can be so wholly depraved as not only to dishonour your husband, but also to endeavour to dissolve the sacred bonds of friendship which subsisted between us; and to accuse a man, whose only crime has been the giving you such salutary admonitions as were absolutely necessary.’

" ‘Admonitions!’ exclaimed my mother.

" ‘Yes, madame; and indeed my friend, (turning to my father,) I am sorry to say it, but thus called upon, it is unavoidable. The profligacy of your lady has drawn from me so many reproofs, that my company is no longer agreeable. One instance of the truth of this assertion is, that for a considerable time before your return from Buda, I was denied admittance your house.’

" ‘Oh, insufferable insolence!’ cried my mother. ‘My husband, do you believe him?’

"The count appeared to disdain an answer, and I have often thought since on the command of feature he must have acquired, for I never saw an eye indicate so much contempt as his did, when it glanced at that moment upon her. My father observed this. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘my wife has informed me that she refused to see you, but from a far different reason to that you alledge. She tells me, count, that you ceased not to tempt her to be guilty of the greatest of crimes.—That you threw yourself at her feet and conjured her to forget the husband who could forsake or neglect a beautiful wife, and leave the joys of love for the idle and fantastical visions of glory.’

" ‘I deny it—I deny the whole of it; come with me, Mecklenburg, and I will convince you of my innocence and your wife’s infidelity.’

" ‘Oh! go not with that destroyer of innocence, my husband—my love. He, like the first deceiver, will ensnare thy reason with his subtle falsehoods!’

" ‘What, madame! are you afraid my friend should hear the voice of truth?’

" ‘Horrible villain!’ exclaimed my almost-frantic mother, ‘dare at your peril to say any thing to my disadvantage. Go—I am above you—my integrity of heart defies your calumny!’

" ‘Come, then, my friend,’ said the count, ‘and if I fail to prove my allegations, at any rate the field will be a more proper place to satiate your revenge, than your own house.’ He then led the way, and my father followed.

"It will be better for me," continued Caroline, "to relate to you now the facts as they really occurred at the time, though I came not to the knowledge of them until my father had discovered my mother’s innocence.

"When he and this diabolical friend had left the house and proceeded

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to some little distance, the count stopped. ‘Mecklenburg,’ said he, ‘the wife of your bosom has accused me of attempting her chastity. I declare I never did; but I expect not immediate evidence. No; I am too well acquainted with the human heart. But if I prove her false, and thereby attest my own innocence—if I convince you, Mecklenburgh, in spite of your wishes or your feelings, you will surely then restore me to your confidence and your friendship.’

" ‘Certainly.’

"Alas! how it grieves me to wound your heart, but it must be so. And yet how shall I express myself. This accusation of your lady is only made to revenge my impertinence. The other day, when with too fervent a zeal, I advised her to have no more assignations by night in her chamber, and even threatened to acquaint you if she did not reform——’

" ‘Assignations at night!’ interrupted my father, with trembling agitation.

" ‘Yes, Mecklenburg; your lady is known to have entertained men in her chamber at the dead of night.’

"My father was almost overpowered by excess of agony. ‘Prove this, Count Durlack,’ said he, ‘or you die.’

" ‘Nothing more easy,’ cried the count, quite unconcerned. ‘At the coffee-houses, where you are known, the matter is generally spoken of, but your presence would check every one; I will, therefore, conduct you to an assembly of ladies, where, if you are not convinced, I will meet you with my sword whenever you will appoint.’

" ‘Lead on,’ said my father gloomily.

" ‘It is not now the time; but come and dine with me, and in the evening we will go together to the assemblies of some ladies of rank and fashion where you are not known, and I shall conceal your name when I introduce you. There you will not fail to hear a topic discussed, on which scarcely a tongue is silent at this moment in Presburg; and you will also learn the particulars of an act of indiscretion which is almost unparalleled.’

"My father consented."

"Oh! how I feel for my poor sister during your father’s absence," exclaimed the baroness.

"Ah, madame," replied Caroline, "her sufferings were indeed great! But I will attend my father in his tour. The count and he, at a proper hour, went to the Baroness Schwerins. The company there were all engaged at cards or dice."

" ‘Let us remove,’ said the count, ‘ we shall not obtain our end here.’

"They went from hence to the assembly of Madame Taillard, and here they found a large number of persons of both sexes. And I must here observe that the count had, doubtless, communicated to some of his acquaintance his wish that the subject might be brought up; scarcely had my father seated himself in an obscure corner, when a young fop asked one of

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the ladies in an affected whisper, how her friend Madame Mecklenburg was. As the table was near at which the party were engaged, my father heard distinctly the whisper and the ensuing conversation.

" ‘My friend!—excuse me, sir,’ replied the lady. ‘I disdain all friendship with a person who has lost all pretentions to virtue.’

" ‘Madame Mecklenburg;’ said another lady, with a sneer;—’ you, sir, are more likely to inform us of her, as you, perhaps, are one of her favourite heroes.’

" ‘I wish I was,’ returned the fop, ‘for, to say the truth, I have long envied the husband the possession of such charms.’

" ‘You do not mean the exclusive possession,’ said a stiff, formal-looking woman, as she devoured with greedy-looking little eyes, the money she had just won.

" ‘I cannot answer you there, for experience has taught me the difficulty of judging for you ladies.’

" ‘Well, really,’ observed another, ‘madame is very handsome, and if we may judge by her retired life, very good.’

" ‘Retired! yes, but she doubtless finds her leisure hours very agreeable. A woman who lets a man into her apartment after the family are in bed—’

" ‘Ought to be canonized,’ interrupted a young officer, ‘for her spirit.’

" ‘Who are you talking of?’ said an old man who sat at some little distance. ‘I hear you speaking ill of some lady. For shame, suppress this love of scandal. Why do you shoot thus in the dark?’

" ‘Are you there, Mr. Cynic? Oh, heavens protect me from you!’ exclaimed a beautiful young lady; ‘now, for my part, I cannot conceive what business such mortals as you have in the circles of the young and gay! A misanthropist, who, because he has, I suppose, been disappointed by some individual of our sex, swears enmity against the whole, equally despising and despised.’

" ‘I despise only your follies, young lady,’ returned the old man. ‘I admire as much as any other man the female character, when properly supported. But are envy, scandal, and calumny, qualities to create esteem? Forbear, forbear, for shame, ye fops, who aim at the foibles of women and succeed in degrading yourselves below the meanest of them!’

" ‘You may as well save your breath, old gentleman,’ said a young fellow, and turning to another, ‘Pray what says the husband to all this?’

" ‘Ha! ha! poor devil!—He either knows nothing about it, or is obliged to be wonderfully complaisant, as we husbands are sometimes compelled to be.’

"My father could bear no more. He rushed from the room. The count followed."

" ‘Well, my friend,’ said he, ‘are you satisfied?’

" ‘Not quite,’ replied my father.

" ‘Well, then, I entreat of you to go home, and enquire among your ser-

30

vants if, they did not, during your absence at Buda, surprise a man in madame’s bedchamber.’

"My father, bewildered, suspicious, and miserable, followed his counsel; and unfortunately fixed upon my governess to make his enquiries, from."

" ‘Madame,’ said he, ‘I am become the talk of Presburg. A subject for every tittle tattle assembly—A ridiculous wittol—A jest to all that knows me! Say, for I will know, are you privy to any intrigues of my wife?’

" ‘Sir!’

" ‘Answer me immediately, and without prevarication. Are you acquainted with any intrigues carried on in my absence by Madame Mecklenburg?’

" ‘Intrigues, sir!’

"My governess , who had been previously instructed, answered in this manner in order to raise my father’s anger, and give her confession the appearance of being extorted.

" ‘Echo me not, but speak.’

" ‘Ah, my poor lady!’

‘ ‘Why poor, unless vice makes her so?’

" ‘But I fear, sir, you are too willing to suspect her.’

" ‘Not at all—not at all. Have I not, within this hour, heard her and myself ridiculed publicly in one of the first circles of the place?’

" ‘The world, sir, is very censorious.’

" ‘I ask you not for your maxims or advice. You have heard my question. Answer that.’

" ‘Dear sir, how should I know? My lady would—that is my lady—how should I know? If my lady had been guilty, to be sure she would conceal it from me.’

" ‘Perhaps not—you hesitate—and your manner confirms my suspicions. My wife is as damned as guilt can make her.’

" ‘Ah, sir! be not rash, I entreat.’

" ‘Entreat nothing. If you would calm the tumult in my soul, tell me that your lady is innocent.’

" My governess was silent."

" ‘Madame, answer me truly by your hopes of happiness here and hereafter. Do you know of my wife’s being surprised, or did you surprise her whilst I was at Buda, with a man in her chamber?’

" ‘Ah, sir, be merciful.’

" ‘Answer me.’

" ‘Alas! for me—if I must confess, it is too true.’

"Thus was the last blow given to my mother’s peace of mind in this world! Thus was her honour stained—her reputation destroyed! Thus, by the artifices of a villain, was the best, the most amiable of her set doomed to destruction." Caroline wept.

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"Alas!" said the baroness, "it is no wonder my beloved sister was sacrificed by such deep-laid treachery. But the remembrance affects you too much, my dear niece, to proceed at present. Forbear, therefore, until you have regained sufficient composure."

Caroline felt grateful for this considerate tenderness, and the baroness industriously introduced some other topic to divert her mind from dwelling on this.

CHAPTER VII.

SEVERAL days passed without the baroness asking Caroline for the continuation of her history, and the baron’s gloom began to wear off, when one night, after supper, he entered the room in great agitation.

"Where is Roland?" said he.

"He has this moment left the room," replied the baroness.

"What is he doing?"

"He has just taken out the supper trays."

"Where is Namine?"

"Here, at my elbow."

"True; but where is Francisco?"

"I do not know."

"He is in bed, my Lord Baron," said Namine.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I saw him go to bed."

"You saw him go to bed," angrily exclaimed the baroness. "What do you mean Namine?"

"Why, indeed, my lady, poor Francisco has been afraid of being left by himself ever since the ghost tweaked him by the nose; and so, just before Roland and I bring up supper, we light him across the passage, and out of pure compassion, I stay and chat with him at the door till he is in bed, and can cover himself over head and ears with the bed clothes."

"Curse such folly," vociferated the baron.

The baron gravely told her she was very indiscreet, and that the whole was an extraordinary piece of business. While Caroline contemplated in the artless Namine, the similar appearance which perfect innocence sometimes has to consummate guilt.

"But what is the occasion of all this," asked the baroness, gently of the baron. He turned from her without speaking.

"What is the matter my lord?" said she, repeating the question more earnestly.

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"Why, I have long suspected, and am now convinced," answered he "that there are persons, of whom I am ignorant, either residing in the castle, or who have the means of going to and fro in it."

As he spoke, the tempest of his soul was visible. His eye-balls rolled but they expressed the passions of anger and indignation, less than those of horror and consternation. His appearance was that of a man overwhelmed with dismay.

"Why, do you think so?" asked the baroness, in a voice of extreme terror.

He was going to inform her, when, checking himself, "these," said he, "are no women’s matters. Namine, call Roland."

"Here I am my lord baron."

"Well, never mind, Roland; I will speak to you in the morning; in the meantime, be careful to secure the drawbridge, and the inner gates, as well as the outer. Fail not." And so saying, be took a candle and left them.

"This," said Caroline, when he was gone, "must be a whim of the baron’s."

"I do not know," said the baroness, and looked with caution at Roland.

"What do you think, Roland?"

"I cannot say, my lady," answered he, surlily. "Strange things take place in the world, sometimes."

"So there do, Roland," interrupted Namine; "for I myself saw—"

"Be silent, Namine," said the baroness; "conjecture is useless, and may have a bad tendency; besides, it is what I dare not indulge in. Good night, my beloved Caroline. Namine, attend my niece; and mark me, do not go to talk Francisco to sleep again."

While Caroline was undressing, "I declare, ma’amselle," said Namine, "I don’t like this dismal old castle at all. It is just like being buried alive—and then there are so many ghosts and goblins to frighten one. What do you think ma’amselle? For my part, I wish I was in my father’s old cottage again."

"What made you come here, then?"

"Ah ! ma’amselle, I’d never have entered these black ruinous walls if I could have helped myself; but my father is my lord, the baron’s vassal and when he said he wanted me to come and wait upon my lady, you know we durst not refuse. The Lord help me! he would have sent us all to Lapland to fight against the Turks."

"However Namine," said Caroline, "those Turkish Laplanders," smiling at her mistake, "would have done you no injury, your beauty would have been your protection."

"Why indeed, ma’amselle, Francisco often tells me that I am middling handsome."

"That is, I suppose, Namine, when you talk him to sleep."

"La! ma’amselle, I durst not stay a minute at his door, not I, only it