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is just opposite to the kitchen, and I can see Roland all the time dishing up the supper."

"Well, Namine, you may now go; I have no further occasion for you; good night."

"Oh!" cried Namine, shuddering.

"What is the matter?" asked Caroline.

"I was looking at that old soul there in the picture," replied Namine. "He looks so gruff with his sword and his armour, that I would not sleep in the room with him for all the world; I should expect to see him come down from his frame every moment."

"I am not quite so apprehensive," said Caroline. "But, Namine, your lady must want you; you had better go."

Namine was, however, scarcely gone, before Caroline found herself infected with her fears. As her lamp burnt bright, she could view everything distinctly. She beheld the picture with horror. The glaring eye of the figure seemed fixed upon her. She saw, or thought she saw it move, the eye twinkled, and the whole canvass appeared in agitation. She now, confirmed, in her own mind, thought of Namine’s words, and expected to see the figure descend.

"Is it possible," said Caroline, mentally, "that this could be the illusions of fancy? Are those hollow groans the sounds which congeal my blood, as they sweep through my apartment, or the effect of the rising wind only, as it

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forces itself along the narrow passages of the castle? That painting, too, how it shakes. Is that caused by the same element blowing through the aperture behind? But I will solve these doubts," said she, rising from her seat. "If harm is intended me, I had better meet my foe awake than in bed."

She rushed with collected firmness to the painting, and putting it aside, the well-known vacancy appeared, but nothing else to justify her apprehension. Every thing was silent, and the same as she had left it. Caroline paused for a moment, but with an effort exerting her resolution: "Since I am advanced so far," said she, "I will proceed." Having carefully secured the lamp, and passed through the opening, she was debating whether to ascend the steps, when she observed a panel in the opposite wall very similar to the one she had passed through. She put down her light and examined it. It yielded not so readily as the other had done to her pressure, but, after a time, she forced it open. It appeared to be covered within, in like manner, by a picture, which, with her hand, she could easily raise upwards, so as to permit her passing through. She again hesitated whether to proceed or not. The hoarse blast of the north wind sounded among the lofty turrets, and murmured, though in lower, yet more solemn tones, down the staircase she had passed. Curiosity at length conquered fear, and she advanced. "This room," thought she, "is much like mine, only it has more furniture. I will venture to survey it." There stood in it a lofty bed, on the headpiece of which was worked a coat of arms, but the whole appeared dropping to decay, not so much from time, as the confined and damp air, which made even Caroline’s lamp burn dim. She went to the door, and endeavoured to open it, that she might discover with what part of the castle it communicated. The door was securely locked and nailed up. She then turned towards a dressing-table. She saw an object on it, and advanced to take a nearer view. "Gracious Heaven!" shrieked she. Her heart sickened, her sight failed her, and the lamp dropped from her hand. It was a human skull. Poor Caroline was now in a dreadful situation. In a remote apartment, where she had reason to believe lay the bones of a murdered person—in utter darkness, her light being extinguished by the fall. With its fall, however, she was bereft of sensibility, and happily for a few moments, ignorant of the horrors which surrounded her. It was not immediately after she came to herself, that she recollected where she was; and for some time what had passed, appeared like a dream to her. At length finding herself on the floor, she arose, and groping about the room, endeavoured to find her way back, but the first thing she laid her hand upon, was the identical scull which had occasioned her such an assemblage of frightful ideas. "Oh horror!" exclaimed she, "what shall I do? Heaven have mercy on me!" To remain here all night was dreadful. To get away almost impossible. Without regarding any thing but her fears, she called aloud. But the room was more remote from the baroness’s chamber than her own. She vainly shrieked! Her

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voice was lost among the vast apartments and winding passages. At length she felt the frame of a large picture. She raised it, and to her great joy the remaining embers which still faintly glowed in the fire-place of her chamber, discovered to her the aperture. She lost no time in essaying to pass it, and had almost accomplished her purpose, when her coarse was checked, and she was suddenly held by something behind. To say that Caroline was paralised by terror, would be but feeble to express her feelings. Remembrance of what Namine had asserted of a man having been murdered in these apartments, gave way to the more dreaded apprehension that she was pursued by some of those nocturnal visitants whom the baron professed to have seen in the castle. Her heart was chilled. "Let go your hold," she cried, struggling for articulation! Nobody answered—"whether thou art living or dead, I never injured thee, let me pass!" She made a violent effort and freed herself. She flew through the opening into her own room, and terrified, convulsed, and almost deprived of reason, she threw herself upon her bed. At length when she had in some measure revived,—"Thank heaven," exclaimed she, "I am once more here again; but, ah! the aperture is uncovered, the picture is displaced; there is no partition between me and that horrid room, no security were it even possible for me to sleep. The being, whatever it was which held me, may enter. Dreadful thought." She arose, determined to try if her trembling limbs would support her to Namine’s apartment, but having reached the door, all she effected was to spoil the lock. Defeated in her attempt, she threw herself again upon the bed. She wished for day, but many miserable hours elapsed before it arrived.

Shortly after Caroline left her restless bed, the dawn began to appear, and the sun arose in full splendour from behind the distant hills. She was no less animated than the surrounding objects by his presence, and her heart dancing within her welcomed his joyful appearance. She now cast a fearless look at the picture, and was not appalled at the stern manner in which the warrior it represented, frowned upon her. Her natural good sense got the better of her superstitious ideas, and so much had the invigorating beams of Phoebus inspired her with courage, that she was almost tempted to revisit the apartment in which she had been so much terrified the preceding night; but thinking she might find a much better opportunity to develope its mysteries, she contented herself with replacing the picture, and having opened the door with some difficulty, she went to the breakfast room without waiting for the summons of Namine. She amused herself with her work as well as she could, but her mind dwelt continually on the events of the past night. The scull, and the door nailed up, as she imagined, to conceal a human skeleton, still filled her heart with dismay; and her face was too faithful an index to her mind not to betray her.

The baroness no sooner entered the room than she perceived her discomposure. "Caroline," said she, "what is the matter? you look unwell."

"No, madam," answered Caroline, "I am not ill, but I have not slept

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well. I was disturbed with frightful dreams, or, perhaps, more truly speaking, fancies. I believe I suffered my foolish little head to be infected with the baron’s suspicions."

"Of what, my love?" asked the baroness.

"That the castle contained other inhabitants besides ourselves," replied Caroline.

The baroness attempted to laugh, but her features yielded not to the expression she would have given them, and Caroline perceived the restraint which lurked behind the effort.

When the baron had retired from breakfast, and the two ladies were left alone, Caroline asked the baroness whose beautiful resemblance that was behind the door.

"It is the portrait of the baron’s first wife," replied she; "and when I first came here I found it in a deserted chamber. I was displeased at its being left in that neglected situation, so I had it removed to the place it now occupies; which, indeed, from the vacancy of the panel, and the outline left upon it of a picture of the same size having formerly hung there, I was inclined to believe had been its former position. I imagined that the baron would be gratified by this compliment paid to his first choice; but he was furious when he first beheld it, and I believe suffered it only to remain there because I questioned him what could possibly have happened to render the sight of a woman so universally admired, an object of abhorrence to him."

Caroline had frequently beheld it with pleasure, for the painting was as exquisite as the countenance was charming; and she now found it doubly interesting, as she recalled to her mind Namine’s hints of the unnatural manner of her death. She was crossing the room, therefore, to examine it in a better light, and with more accuracy than she had yet done, when the baroness enquired how she had torn her gown so terribly.

Looking back Caroline perceived a considerable rent. "I did not before discover it," said she.

"Not this morning when you dressed?" asked the baroness.

"No, madam," said Caroline, blushing.

"You blush, Caroline," said the baroness, anxiously. "You conceal something from me! perhaps I ought not to ask you; your cap too is covered with dust and cobwebs—alas! you went not to bed last night! What was the cause?"

Had the baroness taken Caroline entirely unprepared, the latter had, doubtless, found concealment impossible, and would have informed her of everything which had happened; but she had deliberated on the impropriety of diffusing suspicions which could only lead to misery in the mind of her aunt; and, therefore, firmly resolved to say nothing of the discoveries she had made, unless future circumstances should arise which rendered it prudent as well as necessary to do so. She, therefore, evaded her aunt’s enquiries without deviating from the truth; telling her that finding herself unable to sleep, she had traversed her apartment for a length of time, and

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then only lain down on her bed without undressing. "My gown," added she, casting a look of self conviction upon it as she spoke, "has, doubtless, been caught by an old nail, and my cap, I suppose, swept off the cobweb from a picture frame, but I deserved to have my foolish fear thus exposed."

The baroness affected to be satisfied with this account, though, in reality, she was far from being so. "Perhaps, Caroline," said she, "company may be agreeable to you; if so, Namine can sleep in your apartment. She is so young and simple a girl that I have hitherto made her rest in my antechamber; but she shall move her bed into yours if you wish it, for my only motive for placing her near me was care for her."

Caroline joyfully accepted this offer, and the necessary arrangements were made.

At dinner the baron spoke not, until Roland was removing the cloth; then turning to him, he said, "Do not you neglect to search for the implements I told you of, to force open that door."

"Can this be the door," thought Caroline, "that is nailed up?"

"It is very extraordinary," continued the baron, "there are, under the castle, a number of vaults, with which I was formerly very conversant. Suddenly, one of the principal ones is closed up, and the door so secured within, that it resists all my efforts to force it open. Here it is, I am convinced, that the persons I spoke of last night conceal themselves."

Caroline shuddered at the idea of the danger her curiosity might have exposed her to and yet, the vault the baron described, could not, she thought, be under the room she had visited.

"Where is this vault," asked the baroness, with apparent alarm.

"Underneath the castle. However, I will find out the certainty of my conjectures to-morrow morning," said the baron, and hastily left the room.

The afternoon was spent in anxious conjectures by the baroness and Caroline, but the entrance of the baron at the supper hour, imposed silence upon them both; for the baron was gloomy and thoughtful, and at an early hour retired to rest.

"Namine," said Caroline, as she entered her room, "you sleep here to-night."

"Yes, ma’amselle," replied Namine, "my lady told me my bed was going to be removed. But dear me, ma’amselle, I am sure you have seen something, for you have looked so pale all the day. Do pray tell me what you have seen , ma’amselle. Indeed, I am so frightened that you could not make me worse—and indeed——"

"Will you never have done with this, folly, Namine?" asked Caroline, "if not, the only way is to let you talk till you are tired."

"Aye, pray, ma’amselle, do let me talk," replied Namine; "it will be my only comfort for sleeping in these rooms, which I am so much afraid of."

"Well, but Namine," said Caroline, "I had no sleep last night, and, consequently, want it the more now."

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"No sleep last night, ma’amselle?" asked Namine, with a terrified look. "What could have happened to prevent it?"

Caroline perceived her own indiscretion, and endeavoured to repair it by saying she was indisposed. She then persisted in her silence, and poor Namine was obliged to talk herself to sleep.

CHAPTER VIII.

MRS. CHAPONE.

THE next day, an opportunity offering, the baroness requested Caroline to continue the narration of her mother’s history.

"You will have perceived by this time," said Caroline, "that my mother’s ruin proceeded from the ill-judged concealment I have already alluded to. I may be allowed to call it so, since the consequences were so fatal. Had she been beforehand with the count, my father would certainly have believed her, and his villany, consummate as it was, have been fruitless."

"I do not know, my dear," interrupted the baroness, "whether your mother did not act the part which true delicacy of feeling required; but your father was strangely blinded by his partiality for the count, and seems to have preferred the loss of his wife to that of his friend.—But go on."

"My father," resumed Caroline, "perfectly convinced, as he thought, of my mother’s guilt, deemed all explanations with her unnecessary, and left the house without delay, directing my governess to say, that he should call in the morning to convey her from thence. It was now late. We knew that my father held Madame Zylstraw in conversation. I attended on my poor mother, and great was the agitation with which we together waited the result of the conference. At length my governess entered. ‘Where,’ asked my mother, ‘is my husband?’

" ‘Gone, madame.’

" ‘Gone! Where?’

" ‘From home, but he left a message for you, madame.’

" ‘A message! you astonish me; but deliver it.’

" ‘Ah! madame,’ sighed forth that hypocritical woman, ‘my heart bleeds—believe my tears.—Alas! why was I fixed upon to execute this mournful task? I dread to obey my orders, there is a necessity for——’

" ‘Speak,’ said my mother, firmly. ‘It is true that misfortune and I have not long been united, but I will behave with fortitude, at least, I will endeavour to do so.’

"Whether she was attacked with remorse at the wicked and double part

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she was acting, or whether she supposed such behaviour would forward her schemes more effectually, certain it is my governess appeared much affected in executing her commission; and applied every lenitive she could think of to assuage the anguish of my mother’s soul. She informed her that my father commanded her to be prepared by the next morning to move from thence.

" ‘And whither to?’ exclaimed my mother, ‘why am I to be torn from my home?’

" ‘Ah why indeed!’ cried I, whilst my sobs almost drowned the sound of my mother’s complaints. ‘Why must my tender parent be torn from my arms, and why must I be deprived of her protection, —her advice—her example?’

" ‘Indeed,’ said Madame Zylstraw, ‘I am equally distressed with yourselves; but, in short, some insidious friend, or rather, infernal devil, has poisoned the mind of my master, for, without doubt, he is jealous.’

" ‘That infamous count,’ interrupted my mother, ‘has then succeeded. Heaven’s high will be done! I will be calm, nay more, if possible, I will submit without repining; for I trust that the beneficent Being, who governs the universe, who protects the innocent, and succours the afflicted, will not suffer me to be entirely destroyed by his villany.’

"You will imagine, madame, that we had little repose that night. The next morning a carriage stopped at the door. My father appeared, and desired that my mother might be informed that he waited for her. That meek and patient angel, for such she now undoubtedly is, wiped her eyes, which were suffused with tears, and though her heart was corroded, nay, bursting with anguish, assumed sufficient fortitude to present herself before him. Myself and all the domestics followed weeping.

" ‘What,’ said my father, regarding us with a stern aspect, ‘is all this whining about? The only person who has cause for grief, is, you see, unconcerned.’

" ‘Can you then, indeed,’ replied my mother, ‘suppose that I am at ease, or that my soul is tranquil? Impossible! Alas! insensibility has no portion in thy Maria. If I appear at all collected, it is because I am supported by conscious innocence.’

" ‘Rather,’ returned my father, with a look of the most chilling contempt, ‘by hardened guilt! But come,’ said he, presenting his hand, ‘enough time has been lost,—enter the carriage.’

" ‘Explain, I beseech you, my husband, the cause of this. Tell me why you have suffered yourself to be thus deluded?’

" ‘I shall enter into no discussions at present. Suffice it for you to know that your female arts will no longer avail you. The only merit you can now have with me, is obedience.’

"My mother could make no reply. She endeavoured to do it, but her faltering tongue refused its office. Her composure gave way—tears flowed from her eyes, and ran down her pale cheeks. I prostrated myself at the

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feet of my inflexible father, but he turned from me, and sternly asked my mother whether she would enter the carriage quietly, or whether he must be compelled to use force.

" ‘At least,’ said she, ‘allow my daughter to accompany me?’

" ‘By no means.’

" ‘Cruel man ! have you then discarded all affection for me?"

" ‘When a woman—a wife I mean,—discards modesty, the ornament of her sex, she disengages her husband from any obligation.’

"Such were the words which appeared to inspire my mother with resentment. Suddenly her tears stopped, and returning my father his look, she thus expressed herself, while she sunk upon her knees:—

" ‘Oh, Father of mercies! Thou knowest my innocence, and the purity of my heart! Thine infinite wisdom informs thee, that the being before Thee never in thought or deed, transgressed against her conjugal duties. Thou knowest what I feel at this moment! Thou knowest the tears that I have shed, and the declarations that I have made! But since those are disbelieved, and disregarded, and I am thus cruelly treated by him who ought to be my protector, bear witness, from this moment I divorce myself from him. May all suspicions of my guilt be dissipated by Thy merciful goodness, from all other minds but his; and may he, as his worst punishment, retain these injurious doubts, which resist the conviction of reason, and close his heart against every feeling of humanity.’ Then turning to me, and clasping me in her arms, ‘And thou, oh, my daughter!’ continued she, ‘once the pledge of the most tender love, and now the sole remaining comfort left me, dry up these tears. I know that I must at present yield to the deep-laid conspiracy which overwhelms me, but remember that thy mother has affixed no disgrace upon thee. At this parting moment, let me conjure thee solemnly, in whatever situation thou art placed, to rely on the merciful Creator. He is the defender, the protector of injured virtue—the confounder of the wicked—and the supporter of the innocent; and at this moment I feel a sure presentiment, that in His own good time, He will rescue my name from dishonour.’"

"And is it possible, my beloved Caroline," said the baroness, "that your father remained unmoved?"

"He remained silent," continued Caroline, "but again held out his hand to place my mother in the carriage. She disdained to accept it, and imprinting a burning kiss upon my lips, threw herself into the coach. My father followed, and they drove from the door, leaving me in a degree of anguish which you will better imagine than I can describe. My mother’s resentment was roused, though she had determined not to irritate her tyrannic husband by opposition to his will. She could not repress entirely the indignation her offended soul conceived against him; nor did she again attempt to mitigate the unjust suspicions that her husband seemed to harbour against her. Their ride was, therefore, silent, yet, on my father’s inviting her about noon to partake of the refreshment he had pro—