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The wind was momentarily acquiring power, and it swept around the turret in which the page lay in the calm stillness of insensibility, in mournful gusts.

Now and then a dashing shower of rain would fall with a heavy splash against the stone-work of the turret, and trickle down its time-worn sides in a thousand petty rivulets, till it reached the black waters of the moat that washed its moss-grown base

Still Euphoric lay motionless as the mute form of one from whom the soul had taken its flight for ever. Neither the howling of the wind nor the dashing of the rain against the turret seemed sufficient to raise him from his lethargy.

Suddenly, however, the castle clock sounded amid the angry roar of the wind, and Euphoric sprung to his feet. It might have been that the sudden change of sound had struck his ear, but he listened to that clock with a beating heart, and drops of perspiration broke out upon his brow, as he counted, one by one, its heavy clanging strokes.

He counted to "ten," and his heart almost ceased to beat as he listened with trembling eagerness to hear if another sound indicative of a lapsed hour should reach his head upon the bosom of the wind.

No—all was over—it was but ten.

Euphoric clasped his hands in thankfulness and joy.

"Thank Heaven!" he cried, "she is saved! saved! saved! There is yet an hour."

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He was about hastily to leave the turret, when his foot struck against one of the daggers, which lay upon the ground

"Ha!" he cried, eagerly snatching them up and concealing them in his n breast. "Dear friends, I will not part with thee. Next to my heart I will wear you both, for you will help me to that for which alone I live—revenge!"

So saying, with an air of more composure, he left his chamber.

CHAPTER LVI.

EUPHORIC proceeded directly towards the chamber of Caroline Mecklenburgh, for he was determined if possible, to save her from the villany of the Count Durlack.

There was but little time to spare, for time was hurrying onwards, and well the page knew that his atrocious master would be true to the hour of his appointment. He hastily took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door of the ante-room, leading into Caroline’s chamber.

He found her weeping. She but looked up an instant at his approach to see if it was friend or foe, and then resumed her attitude of despair and grief.

"Lady," said Euphoric, "I pray you take heart—all will yet be well."

"And Claudio?" cried Caroline.

"Is in safety," answered the page.

"Hitherto," said Caroline, "I have borne up well against misfortune, but now, Euphoric, my heart is heavy, and I could not check my fears."

"Such revulsion of feeling," answered Euphoric, mournfully, "will often take place in the human heart. But listen to me, lady, I came to warn you of a great danger."

"New danger, Euphoric?"

"A deep villany," muttered the page. "Lady, you must leave here immediately. Within an hour, the Count Durlack projects visiting you."

"Oh, save me!—save me, Euphoric!" cried Caroline.

"I will," he replied, "or—"

"Or what, euphoric?"

"Perish!"

"No—no," cried Caroline; "let me not purchase safety at so dear a rate. I, at least, can die."

"Say no more—say no more," cried Euphoric. "The window of the turret chamber here looks into the castle moat?"

"It does," said Caroline.

"Come with me, then," said the page. "Quick, lady—quick, for we have much to do."

Caroline followed Euphoric with a light step, as he bounded through the panel and up the turret stairs.

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The window he had mentioned was very narrow, and there went across it an iron bar, which divided it into two compartments.

"What would you do, Euphoric?" said Caroline.

"I would induce a belief in the mind of the Count that in a moment of despair you had cast yourself from this window into the castle moat."

"I see—I see it all," cried Caroline. "You can, then, Euphoric, conceal me with—"

"With Claudio," said the page. "The belief of you death will hinder all pursuit."

"It will—it will," cried Caroline. "Oh, Euphoric, how can I thank you! But for you, Claudio—the faithful Maurice—myself—all must have perished."

"I—I have a duty to perform," said Euphoric, "and—and—but we waste precious moments."

He drew from his breast as he spoke highly-tempered dagger which the Count Durlack had given him, and glanced at its fine edge as he said—

"This bar of iron across the window is but confined in its place by lead. With such a weapon as this it will easily be removed."

With as strength that, to look at his fragile form, no one would have believed he possessed, the page began cutting away the lead by which the iron bar was held in its place in the massive stone-work of which the tower was composed.

He soon cleared one end of the bar completely, and then, by a vigorous wrench, he tore it from its place entirely.

"Now, lady," he said, "think you this window is wide enough to allow you to pass through it?"

"Yes," said Caroline, placing herself by it. "You see it is, Euphoric."

"Enough," said the page. "We must now break it, so as to give the appearance of one having passed through it, for you perceive it does not open."

"May not the noise of so doing be heard, and our plan, be frustrated ere we can leave the turret," said Caroline.

"It may," said Euphoric, musing. "Some one might hear the crash, and an immediate alarm would be given. Lady, you must leave here first. I will return and arrange all as it should be here."

"But by so doing," urged Caroline, "you expose yourself to much danger, Euphoric."

"Hark!" cried the page. "The clock!—Gracious Heavens!—should it be eleven we are lost!"

"It is but the half hour’s chimes," said Caroline. "I have heard them often."

"Thank Heaven!" said the page. "But come lady, time still presses us. Come—come!"

He walked hastily from the turret, and Caroline followed him, her mind oppressed by a variety of emotions.

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"Oh, Euphoric," she said, "should we meet any one on our route?"

The page turned to Caroline, and his eyes glanced fire as he said—

"It shall be death to cross our path."

He clutched his dagger firmly in his right hand, and passed with Caroline from the ante-room into the long corridor with which it communicated.

Caroline clung to the arm of Euphoric, for she had left the lamp burning in her chamber, and a pitchy darkness reigned in the echoing corridor in which they were.

"Speak not a word," whispered Euphoric, "but follow me with as noiseless a step as may be. We have to pass the baron’s sitting-room."

"Indeed?" said Caroline. "Is there no other course?"

"None. On, lady—on."

Euphoric led the way through the intricacies of Zindorf Castle with remarkable precision. He had been accustomed to roam ever it at all hours of the night, and its dreary galleries and long staircases were as familiar to him at the hour of midnight as by the glare of a summer’s sun. His gloomy spirit, oppressed and almost goaded to insanity as it was by the circumstances of his father’s awful fate, delighted in the somber melancholy of the night in that ancient feudal residence; and many an hour, when all else in the castle of Zindorf were wrapped in sleep, had the boy risen from his restless pillow, whispering to the echoes the name of his murdered father—Montoni.

Caroline spoke not—nay, she scarcely breathed, so great was her apprehension of encountering the baron or the count in her most perilous progress through the castle, which to her had been such an abode of pain and terror.

The page led her up and down several staircases and through several suits of rooms, until they came to a long gallery, which appeared to be enveloped in the deepest gloom.

When they had traversed some portion of its extent, Euphoric suddenly paused, and laving his hand upon the arm of Caroline, he said, in a cautious whisper—

"See you yon gleam of light which lies upon the floor, like a thread of gold?"

Caroline looked eagerly forward, and at some distance in advance of them, she saw a long narrow streak of light, which went right across the gallery.

"Whence comes it, Euphoric?" she said.

"From the baron’s room," answered Euphoric. "From the apartment wherein he and the Count Durlack sit and plan their deeds of villany."

"And we must pass it?"

"We must."

Caroline shuddered.

"Is there no other way?" she whispered.

"None—none," said the page.

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"What have you dropped?" said Caroline, as she saw by the dim light that came from the narrow windows, that the page was stooping to the floor.

"I am taking off my shoes," answered Euphoric. "We must pass the door like spirits."

Caroline immediately released herself from shoes, and the page taking her by the hand, now led her forward in the direction of the streak of light.

What pen can describe the agonizing anxiety which afflicted the heart of Caroline as each moment she neared the door of the apartment from whence might issue forth in one moment her greatest enemy? She trembled so excessively, that she could scarcely walk, and it was only by strong effort of mind that she preserved herself from fainting.

The page felt her hand tremble in his, and heard the short breathing that came from her tortured breast, and it would seem that he dreaded the violence of her feelings might overcome her strength.

With a tact far beyond his years, he paused a moment, and whispered in her ear.

"For Claudio."

That name was more effectual in nerving her and imparting to her sufficient resolution to undergo the serious trial she was passing through, than would have been the most elaborate arguments founded upon any considerations of her own safety, and with better hope in her heart she pressed the hand of the page, who was risking so much to serve her, and passed onwards.

Now they cam to within a few paces of the streak of light, and Euphoric walked with the most excessive caution.

Caroline looked anxiously at the door from whence it proceeded, and to her consternation, she saw that it was a little way open—a very little way, but still sufficient to render the passing it a matter of much greater danger than as if it had been closed.

Still onward they went, and now their forms intercepted the ray of light, and they were opposite the door.

The murmur of conversation within the room came to Caroline’s ears.

"Euphoric is young," said the voice of the baron.

The reply was in the voice of the count, but it was too low to reach their ears.

The page paused upon hearing his own name mentioned, and Caroline felt him grasp her hand tightly, as if expressive of a mute wish to linger a moment and hear more.

The Count Durlack’s voice was now heard in a higher tone, saying—

"We must rid ourselves, baron, of all incumbrances. Let the boy stab Roland."

"Well, well," said the baron; "be it so."

"And then," continued the count; "either I or you dispose of him as we please."

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"Agreed!" stated the baron.

Euphoric pulled Caroline by the arm and they passed the door.

They soon arrived at a flight of stairs, which they descended, and it was not till they were at the bottom of them, and safe from any risk of being overheard, that Euphoric at last ventured to speak.

"You heard what was said, lady?" he whispered.

"I did," replied Caroline.

"We shall see. We shall see," muttered the page. "Count Durlack, make not too sure that the boy, Euphoric, can be disposed of at any time."

"The wickedness of those two men, the baron and the count, passes all belief," said Caroline.

"I am their evil genius," cried the page; "even now they stand upon a crumbling precipice. The chasm into which they shall fall, howling, is at their feet."

He paused as he spoke, and knocked at the wall near which they stood.

"Who knocks?" said a voice.

"Claudio, Claudio," cried Caroline, and she was in the next moment the arms of her gallant lover.

CHAPTER LVII.

EUPHORIC waited not for thanks. Explanations he left for Caroline, and before the lovers could turn to where he had but a moment before stood, he was gone.

With hasty steps the page rushed up the staircase again, down which he had conducted Caroline, and bounding along the gallery, he was upon the point of passing by the door of the room in which the baron and the count conversing, when it opened wide, suddenly, and one or other of them came forth, which it was Euphoric could not see in the dim light, only that came from the room.

The voice, however, soon told him who it was.

"I can find my way,"’ said Durlack, for it was he; "I shall meet Euphoric by the door of the ante-room. He will probably have a light."

"Nay, but Roland will you hear you if you call," said the baron.

"I care not for darkness," said the count.

He walked on, as he spoke, in the, same direction, as the page was proceeding in, towards the chamber of Caroline.

Euphoric felt that his scheme, with regard to the window, had now failed.

He clasped his hands muttering to himself.

"The time has come. The time has come. I must hurry after him. He must die. The ante-room is open—my key in the lock. He will at once suspect me and with him to suspect is to assassinate. His sword would seek my heart the minute he saw me. He must die! He must die! Yet I would have waited—waited till some moment of triumph, when he thought

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himself secure and beyond all harm. Then, then only would I have dashed the cup of joy from his guilty lips, and plunged my dagger in his heart.

Euphoric was about to rush past the baron’s door, and at once achieve his long cherished purpose of revenging his father’s murder, by taking the life of the Count Durlack, when, to his surprise, he heard him pause, and then turn back towards the room he had just left.

The page withdrew out of sight, and he heard the Count Durlack say, as he came to the door of the baron’s room,

"Lend me your light a moment, baron; I trod upon, something soft in the gallery, and I should like to see what it is before touching it."

"The shoes!" gasped Euphoric.

For the space of a moment he hesitated what to do, and then bounded past the door like a spirit of air, and feeling about for the shoes, he picked them up and rushed onwards towards the chamber of Caroline.

Without a moment’s pause, he bounded through the ante-room, and crossing the chamber, he ascended fleetly the turret stairs.

With a loud crash he then burst out the window, which was composed of small triangular pieces of glass, set in a leaden frame.

Pausing then but another moment to put on his own shoes, and throw Caroline’s down on down on the floor under the window, he rushed again down the turret stairs, and through the chamber at a headlong speed.

The Count Durlack was in the ante-room with a light, looking around him with surprise.

"Euphoric?" he cried as the page approached.

"My lord," said Euphoric.

"What is all this? The door wide open. You rushing through the room with such headlong speed? By hell, Euphoric, there’s something wrong here."

The count placed his hand upon his sword hilt as he spoke, and Euphoric’s right hand was slowly thrust into his breast, as he replied,

"Did you not hear a crash?"

"A crash?" cried Durlack. "In sooth did I."

"Alas! alas!" said the page.

"Wherefore do you cry alas, and wring your hands?"

"She was beautiful."

"Who?"

"The Lady Caroline Mecklenburgh."

"You speak of her as of the dead!" cried the count, advancing and grasping Euphoric by the arm; "explain your meaning instantly."

"I was to meet your lordship at eleven," said the page.

"Well."

"Eleven struck by the castle clock as I stood by the ante-room door. I heard at that moment, then, an awful crashing sound, as of some one breaking glass."

"Go on—go on—what then?"

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"The sound evidently proceeded from these chambers, and fearful of, I knew not what, I instantly unlocked the ante-room and came in."

"And you saw what?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Why Caroline Mecklenburgh, surely."

"She is gone," said Euphoric.

"Gone? Impossible!"

"Come—let me shew you," said Euphoric.

The count followed him in silence across the chamber and up the turret stairs.

"Behold yon window?" cried the page.

The Count Durlack started, and then immediately advanced and looked at the shattered casement.

"Escaped me by all that’s infernal!" he cried.

"She is gone," said Euphoric.

"Damnation!" cried Durlack, stamping with rage.

"The moat rolls sluggishly below here," continued Euphoric.

"The moat?" cried the count. "Then—"

"She cannot have escaped with life."

"Is it possible that she could bring herself—to—to—"

"Perish in the black waters of the moat of Zindorf Castle," said the page, finishing the sentence.

The count looked from the window long and anxiously.

"The height is great," he said; "and death certain. So I am foiled at last: but by death only!"

"Here are a pair of shoes," said Euphoric, "laying under the window, they must have belonged to her who now sleeps in the waters of the moat."

"Most true," said Durlack; "she is gone, Euphoric."

"There can be no doubt," answered the page.

"None—none," said the count; "I could not have believed it to be possible."

For a few moments he remained silent, and, apparently, in deep thought. Then he said—

"Euphoric, we leave Zindorf to-night for ever. You must now accompany me to prepare for our flight. The baron’s fears have induced him, it appears, at various times to cause the entrances to the vaults to be bricked up; some one of these must be opened, and then he tells me there is a clear outlet to the forest by a cavern, which is completely hidden by shrubberies, and the mouth of which is at least half a mile from here."

"Doubt not my lord, that I shall do good service," said Euphoric.

"I do not doubt it," said Durlack; "time, however, now presses. I would be past the frontiers of Bavaria before the break of day."

So saying, Count Durlack left the turret, closely followed by Euphoric.

He took his route directly back to the room in which the baron was sitting, and entering abruptly, he cried: