But when Claudia had slept soundly for three hours she was aroused by hearing her name called; she awoke with a violent start; she sat upright in bed, and stared right before her with fixed eyes, pallid face, and immovable form, as though she were suddenly petrified.

For there at the foot of the bed, between the tall posts, in the division formed by the festoons of the curtains, stood the figure of the Viscount Vincent. His face was pale, still, stern, like that of a dead man; one livid hand clutched his breast, the other was stretched towards her; and from the cold, blue, motionless lips proceeded a voice hollow as the distant moan of the wintry wind through leafless woods:

"Claudia, the debt is paid!"

With these words the vision slowly dissolved to air. Then, and not until then, was the icy spell that bound all Claudia's faculties loosened. She uttered piercing shriek upon shriek that startled all the sleepers in the house, and brought them rushing into her room. Katie and Sally being the nearest, were the first to enter.

"For Marster's sake, my ladyship, what is the matter?" inquired the old woman, while Sally stood by in a dumb terror.

"Oh, Katie, Katie! it was Lord Vincent! He has contrived to make his escape in some manner! He is out of prison! he is in this very house! he was in this room but a minute ago, though I do not see him now! and he spoke to me!"

"My goodness gracious me alibe, Miss Claudia, honey, it couldn't a been he! he's locked up safe in jail, you know! It mus' a been his sperrit!" said superstitious Katie, with the deepest awe.

"Claudia, my dearest, what is the matter? What is all this? What has happened?" anxiously inquired the Countess of Hurstmonceux, as, hastily wrapped in her dressing-gown, she hurried into the chamber and up to Claudia's bedside.

"Come closer, Berenice; stoop down; now listen! The viscount has broken prison! he was here but a moment ago! and he is gone! but his unexpected appearance in this place and at this hour, looking as he did so deathly pale, so livid and so corpse-like, frightened me nearly out of my senses, and I screamed with terror. I—I tremble even yet."

"My dearest Claudia, you have been dreaming. Compose yourself," said Lady Hurstmonceux soothingly.

"My dearest Berenice, it was no dream, believe me. I was indeed asleep, fast asleep; but I was awakened by hearing myself called by name—'Claudia, Claudia, Claudia,' three times. And I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, and saw standing at the foot, looking at me between the curtains, Lord Vincent."

At this moment Judge Merlin, in his dressing-gown and slippers, came slowly into the chamber, looking around in a bewildered way and saying:

"They told me the screams proceeded from my daughter's apartment. What is the matter here? Claudia, my dear, what has happened? What has frightened you?" he inquired, approaching her bedside.

"Oh, my poor papa, have you been disturbed, too? How sorry I am!" said Claudia.

"Never mind me, my dear! What has happened to you?"

"Lady Vincent has been frightened by a disagreeable dream, sir," replied Lady Hurstmonceux, answering for her friend.

"My dear lady, you here!" exclaimed the judge, seeing her for the first time since he entered the room.

"I am a light sleeper," smiled the countess.

"I am very sorry, papa, that I aroused the house in this manner," said Claudia, with real regret in her tone.

"It was not like you to do so, for a dream, my dear," replied the judge gravely.

"It was no dream, papa! it was no dream, as the result will prove."

"What was it then, my dear?"

"It was the Viscount Vincent!"

"The Viscount Vincent!" exclaimed the judge, in astonishment.

"Yes, papa; he has contrived to escape and to enter this house and this very room. It was his sudden appearance that frightened me into the screaming fit that alarmed the household; and for which I am very sorry."

"The Viscount Vincent here! But how on earth could he have escaped from prison?"

"I do not know, papa. I only know by the evidence of my own senses that he has done so."

"My dearest Claudia, believe me, you have been dreaming. Judge Merlin, if you knew the great strength and security of our prisons, you would also know how impossible it would be for any prisoner to escape," said Lady Hurstmonceux, addressing in turn the father and the daughter.

"Berenice, that I have not been dreaming to-morrow will show. For to-morrow you and all concerned will know that Lord Vincent has escaped from prison. But my dear Berenice, and you, my dearest father, promise to me one thing; promise me not to give Lord Vincent up to justice; but to suffer him to get away from the country, if he can do so. That is doubtless all that he proposes to himself to do. And such exile will be punishment enough in itself for him, especially as it will involve the resignation of his rank, title, and inheritance. So let him get away if he can. He can work no further woe for me. Frisbie's dying confession has killed off all his calumnies against me. He is harmless henceforth. So leave him to God," pleaded Claudia.

"I am willing to do, or leave undone, whatever you please, my dear; but—do you really think that you actually did see the viscount, and that you did not only dream of seeing him?" inquired the judge, unable to get over his amazement.

"Yes, papa; I saw him; and to-morrow will prove that I did so," said Claudia emphatically.

Lady Hurstmonceux smiled incredulously, for she did not reflect that there were more ways than one of breaking out of prison.

"But supposing it to have been the viscount; and supposing that he had succeeded in bursting locks and bars and eluding guards and sentinels; why should he have come here, of all places in the world? What could have been his motive in so risking a recapture?" inquired the judge, who seemed inclined to investigate the affair then and there.

"I do not know, papa. I have not had time to think. I was so astonished and even frightened at his mere appearance that I never asked myself the reason of it," answered Claudia.

"Did you not ask him?"

"No, papa. I only screamed."

"Did he not speak to you?"

"Yes, papa."

"What did he say?"

"Papa, I had better tell you just how it happened," answered Claudia, giving the judge a detailed account of the dream, vision, or ghost, as the reader chooses to call it; but which she persisted in declaring to be the viscount himself in the flesh.

"It is most extraordinary! How did he get out? Lady Hurstmonceux, had we not better have the house searched for him?" inquired the judge.

"It shall be done if you please, judge; though I think it unnecessary."

"Papa, no! he went as he came. Let him go. I hope he will be clear of the country before to-morrow morning."

At this moment the clock struck five, although it was still pitch- dark and far from the dawn of day.

"There! I declare it is to-morrow morning already, as the Irish would say. Lady Hurstmonceux, do not let me keep you up any longer. I know your usual hour for rising at this season of the year is eight o'clock. You will have three good hours' sleep before you yet. Papa, dear, go to bed or you will make yourself ill."

"Are you sure you will not have anything before I go, Claudia?" inquired the countess.

"Nothing whatever, dear; I think I shall sleep."

Lady Hurstmonceux stooped and kissed her friend, and then, with a smile and a bow to the judge, she retired from the room.

"Do you think now that you will rest, Claudia?" inquired the judge.

"Yes, papa, yes. Go to rest yourself."

He also stooped and kissed her, and then left the chamber.

"Go to bed, Katie and Sally," said Claudia to her women.

"'Deed 'fore de Lord aint I gwine to no bed to leabe you here by yourse'f. I don't want you to see no more sperrits," replied Katie. And she left the room for a few minutes and returned dragging in her mattress, which she spread upon the floor, and upon which she threw herself to sleep for the remainder of the dark hours.

Lady Vincent submitted to this intrusion, because she knew it would be utterly useless to expostulate. But Sally began to whimper.

"Now, den, what de matter long o' you? You seen a sperrit too?" demanded Katie.

"I's feared to sleep by myse'f, for fear I should see somethin'," wept Sally.

"Den you lay down here by me," ordered Katie.

And thus it was that Lady Vincent's two women shared her sleeping room the remainder of that disturbed night—to be disturbed no longer; for, whether it was owing to the presence of the negroes or not, Claudia slept untroubled by dream, vision, or apparition, until the daylight streaming through one window, that had been left unclosed, awakened her.

It was ten o'clock, however, before the family assembled at the breakfast table, where they were engaged in discussing the affair of the previous night, and in each maintaining his or her own opinion as to its character; Claudia persisting that it was the Viscount Vincent in person that she had seen; Berenice contending that it was a dream; and the judge hesitating between two opinions; Ishmael silent.

"A very few hours will now decide the question," said Claudia, abandoning the discussion and beginning to chip her egg. At this moment came a sound of wheels on the drive before the house, followed by a loud knock at the door.

"There! I should not in the least wonder if that is a detachment of police coming to tell us that Lord Vincent has broken prison, and bringing a warrant to search this house for him," said Claudia, half rising to listen.

A servant entered the room and said:

"Sergeant McRae is out in the hall, asking to see his honor the judge."

"I thought so," said Claudia briskly.

The judge went out to see the sergeant of police.

Claudia and Berenice suspended their breakfast, and waited in intense anxiety the result of the interview.

Some little time elapsed, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes, though the impatience of the ladies made it seem an hour in length; and then the door slowly opened and the judge gravely re-entered the breakfast room.

"It is as I said. The Viscount Vincent has broken jail and they have come here with a search warrant to look for him!" exclaimed Claudia, glancing up at her father as he approached; but when she saw the expression of profound melancholy in his countenance, she started, turned pale, and cried:

"Good Heaven, papa, what—what has happened?"

"Partly what you have anticipated, Claudia. The Viscount Vincent has broken out of prison, but not in the manner you supposed," solemnly replied the judge, taking his daughter's arm and leading her to a sofa and seating her upon it.

Lady Hurstmonceux, startled, anxious, and alarmed, followed and stood by her and held her hand. And both ladies gazed inquiringly into the disturbed face of the old man.

"There is something—something behind! What is it, papa? The viscount has broken jail, you say! Has he—has he—killed one of the guards in making his escape?" inquired Claudia, in a low, awe- stricken voice.

"No, my dear, he has not done that. He has escaped the tribunal of man to rush uncalled to the tribunal of God," said the judge solemnly.

Claudia, though her dilated eyes were fixed in eager questioning on the face of her father, and though her ears were strained to catch his low-toned words, yet did not seem to gather in his meaning.

"What—what do you say, papa? Explain!" she breathed in scarcely audible syllables.

"The Viscount Vincent is dead!"

"Dead!" ejaculated Claudia.

"Dead!" echoed the countess.

"Dead, by his own act!" repeated the judge.

Claudia sank back in the corner of the sofa and covered her face with her hands—overcome, not by sorrow certainly, but by awe and pity.

Berenice sat down beside the newly made widow, and put her arms around her waist, and drew her head upon her bosom. Judge Merlin stood silently before them. The only one who seemed to have the full possession of his faculties was Ishmael.

He quietly dismissed the gaping servants from the room, closed the doors, and drew a resting-chair to the side of his old friend, and gently constrained him to sit down in it. And then he was about to glide away when the judge seized his hand and detained him, saying imploringly:

"No, no, Ishmael! no, no, my dearest young friend! do not leave us at this solemn crisis."

Ishmael placed his hand in that of the old man, as an earnest of fidelity, and remained standing by him.

After a little while Claudia lifted her head from the bosom of Lady Hurstmonceux, and said:

"Oh, papa, this is dreadful!"

"Dreadful, indeed, my dear."

"That any human being should be driven to such a fate!"

"To such a crime, Claudia," gravely amended the judge.

"Crime, then, if you will call it so. But I do not wonder at it. May God in his infinite mercy forgive him!" fervently prayed Claudia.

"Amen!" deeply responded the judge.

"Papa, they say that suicides are never forgiven—can never be forgiven—because their sin is the last act of their life, affording no time for repentance. Yet who knows that for certain? Who knows but in the short interval between the deed and the death, there may not be repentance and pardon?"

"Who knows, indeed! 'With God all things are possible.'"

"Oh, papa, I hope he repented and is pardoned!"

"I hope so too, Claudia."

She dropped her head once more upon the bosom of Lady Hurstmonceux, in pity and in awe; but not in sorrow, for his death was an infinite relief to her and to all connected with him. After a little while she raised her head again, and in a low, hushed voice, inquired:

"Papa, at what hour did he die?"

"Between four and five o'clock this morning, my dear."

"Between four and five o'clock this morning! Good Heavens!" exclaimed Claudia and Berenice simultaneously, starting and gazing into each other's faces.

"What is the matter?" gravely inquired the judge.

"That was the very hour in which Claudia was awakened by her strange dream!" replied Lady Hurstmonceux.

"Oh, papa! that was the very hour in which I saw Lord Vincent standing at the foot of my bed!" exclaimed Claudia, with a shudder.

"How passing strange!" mused the judge.

"Oh, papa! can such things really be? can a parting spirit appear to us the moment it leaves the body?" inquired Claudia, in an awe- struck manner.

"My dear if anyone had related to me such a strange circumstance as this, of which we are all partly cognizant, I should have discredited the whole affair. As it is, I know not what to make of it. It may have been a dream; nay, it must have been a dream; yet, even as a dream, occurring just at the hour it did, it was certainly an astonishing and a most marvelous coincidence."

Again Claudia dropped her head upon the supporting bosom of Lady Hurstmonceux, but this time it was in weariness and in thought that she reposed there.

A few minutes passed, and then, without lifting her head, she murmured:

"Tell me all about it, papa; I must learn some time; as well now as any other."

"Can you bear to hear the story now, Claudia?"

"Better now, I think, than at a future time; I am in a measure prepared for it now. How did it happen, papa?"

The judge drew closer to his daughter, took her hand in his, and said:

"I will tell you, as McRae told me, my dear. You must know that from the time Lord Vincent read the published confession of Frisbie, in the afternoon papers, he became so much changed in all respects as to excite the attention, then the suspicion, and finally the alarm of his keepers. At six o'clock after the turnkey, Donald, had paid his last visit to his prisoner, and locked up the cell for the night, he reported the condition of Lord Vincent to the governor of the jail. Mr. Gra'ame, on hearing the account given by Donald, determined to curtail many of the privileges his lordship had hitherto, as an untried prisoner, enjoyed. Among the rest he determined that nothing more should be carried to his lordship in his cell that he, the governor, had not first examined, as a precautionary measure against drugs or tools, with which the prisoner might do himself a mischief."

"I should think they ought to have taken that precaution from the first," said Claudia.

"It is not usual in the case of an untried prisoner; but, however, the governor of Banff jail seemed to think as you do, for he farther determined to make a special visit to the prisoner that night, to search his cell and remove from it everything with which he might possibly injure himself. And accordingly the governor, accompanied by the turnkey, went to the cell and made a thorough search. They found nothing suspicious, however. But in their late though excessive caution they carried away, not only the prisoner's razor, but his pen-knife and scissors. And then they left him."

"And after all, left him with the means of self-destruction," exclaimed Claudia.

"No, they did not. You shall hear. About eight o'clock that night, as the watchman of that ward was pacing his rounds, he heard deep groans issuing from Lord Vincent's cell. He went and gave the alarm. The warden, the physician, and the turnkey entered the cell together. They found the viscount in the agonies of death."

"Great Heavens! Alone and dying in his cell!"

"Yes; and suffering even more distress of mind than of body. When it was too late, he regretted his rash deed. For he freely confessed that being driven to despair and almost if not quite to madness, by the desperate state of his affairs, he had procured laudanum through the agency of his servant, having persuaded the old man that he merely wanted the medicine to allay pain."

"Poor, poor soul!"

"Cuthbert, simple and unsuspicious, and as easily deceived as a child, brought the laudanum to him and bid him adieu for the night. And it was in the interval between the last visit of the turnkey and the special visit of the governor that the prisoner drank the whole of the laudanum. And then to prevent suspicion he washed the label from the bottle and poured in a little ink from his inkstand. So that when the governor made his visit of inspection, although he actually handled that bottle, he took it for nothing else but a receptacle for ink."

"Oh, how dreadful! how dreadful, that anyone should exercise so much calculation, cunning, and foresight for the destruction of his own soul!" moaned Claudia.

"Yes; he himself thought so at last; for no sooner did the poison begin to do its work, no sooner did he feel death approaching, than he was seized with horror at the enormity of his own crime, and with remorse for the sins of his whole life. It would seem that in that hour his eyes were opened for the first time, and he saw himself as he really was, a rampant rebel against all the laws of God and on the brink of eternal perdition. It was the great agony of mind produced by this view of himself and his condition that forced from him those deep groans that were heard by the night-watch, who brought the relief to him."

"Then he must have repented. Oh! I hope that God forgave him!" prayed Claudia, with earnest tones and clasped hands.

"You may be sure that God did forgive him if he truly repented! Certainly it seemed that he repented; for he begged for antidotes, declaring that he wished to live to atone for the sins of his past. Antidotes were administered, but without the least good effect. And when he repeated his earnest wish to be permitted to live that he might 'atone by his future life for the sins of his past,' the physician, who is a good man, sent for the chaplain of the jail, a fervent Christian, who told the prisoner how impossible it was for him, should he have a new lease of life, to atone, by years of penance, for the smallest sin of his soul; but pointed him at the same time to the One Divine Atoner, who is able to save to the uttermost. The chaplain remained praying with the dying man until half-past four o'clock this morning, when he breathed his last. That is all, Claudia."

"Oh, papa, you see he did repent; and I will hope that God has pardoned him," said Claudia earnestly; but she was very pale and faint, and she leaned heavily upon the shoulder of Lady Hurstmonceux.

"My dearest Claudia, let me lead you to your room; you require repose after this excitement," said the countess, giving her arm to the new widow.

Claudia arose; but the judge gently arrested her progress.

"Stay, my dear! One word before you go. The business of McRae here was not only to announce the death of Lord Vincent, but also the approaching trial of Faustina Dugald. It comes on at ten o'clock to- morrow morning. You are summoned as a witness for the prosecution. Therefore, my dear, we must leave Edinboro' for Banff by the afternoon express train."

"Oh, papa! to appear in a public court at such a time!" exclaimed Claudia, with a shudder.

"I know it is hard, my dear. I know it must be dreadful; but I also know that the way of Justice is like the progress of the Car of Juggernaut. It stops for nothing; it rolls on in its irresistible course, crushing under its iron wheels all conventionalities, all proprieties, all sensibilities. And I know also, my daughter, that you are equal to the duties, the exertions, and the sacrifices that Justice requires of you. There, go now! take what repose you can for the next few hours, to be ready for the train at six o'clock," said the judge, stooping, and pressing a kiss upon his daughter's brow, before the countess led her away.

"Ishmael," said the judge, as soon as they were alone, "do you know what you and I have got to do now?"

"Yes, sir," said the young man solemnly, "I know."

"That poor, unhappy man in yonder prison has no friend or relative to claim his body, his father being absent; and if we do not claim it, it will be ignominiously buried by the prison authorities within the prison walls."

"I thought of that, but waited for your suggestion. If you please I will see the proper authorities to-morrow and make arrangements with them."

"Do, my dear young friend," said the judge, wringing his hand as he left him.

Amid the great crises of life its small proprieties must still be observed. This the Countess of Hurstmonceux knew. And, therefore, as soon as she had seen Claudia reposing on her comfortable sofa in her chamber, she ordered her carriage and drove to Edinboro', and to a celebrated mourning warehouse where they got up outfits on the shortest notice, and there she procured a widow's complete dress, including the gown, mantle, bonnet, veil, and gloves, and took them home to Claudia. For she knew that if Lady Vincent were compelled to appear in the public courtroom the next day, she must wear widow's weeds.

When she took these articles into Claudia's room and showed them to her, the latter said:

"My dear Berenice, I thank you very much for your thoughtful care. But do you know that it would seem like hypocrisy in me to wear this mourning?"

"My dearest Claudia, conventionalities must be observed though the heavens fall. You owe this to yourself, to society, and even to the dead—for in his death he has atoned for much to you."

"I will wear them then," said Claudia.

And there the matter ended.

Meanwhile, the news of Lord Vincent's death had got about among the servants. Katie and Sally also had heard of it.

So that when Lady Vincent rang for her women to come and pack up her traveling trunk to go to Banff, Katie entered full of the subject.

"So my lordship has gone to his account, and all from takin' of an overdose of laudamy drops. How careful people ought to be when they meddles long o' dat sort o' truck. Well, laws! long as he's dead and gone I forgibs him for heavin' of me down to lib long o' de rats, and den sellin' ob me to de barbariums in de Stingy Isles. 'Deed does I forgibs him good too. and likewise de shamwally while I'se got my hand in at forgibness," she said.

"That's right, Katie. Never let your hatred follow a man to the grave," said Claudia.

"I wouldn't forgib 'em if dey wasn't dead, dough. 'Deed wouldn't I. I tell you all good too. And if dey was to come back to life I would just take my forgibness back again. And it should all be just like it was before," said Katie, sharply defining her position.

Claudia sadly shook her head.

"That is a very questionable species of forgiveness, Katie," she said.

That afternoon the whole party, including the Countess of Hurstmonceux, who declared her intention of supporting Claudia through the approaching ordeal, left Cameron Court for Edinboro', where they took the six o'clock train for Banff, where they arrived at ten the same evening.

They went to the "Highlander," where they engaged comfortable apartments and settled themselves for a few days.



CHAPTER XLIX.

THE FATE OF FAUSTINA.

Oh, what a fate is guilt! How wild, how wretched! When apprehension can form naught but fears. —Howard.



Early the next morning Ishmael went over to the prison to see the governor relative to the removal of the body of the unhappy Vincent. But he was told that the old Earl of Hurstmonceux had arrived at noon on the previous day and had claimed the body of his son and had it removed from the prison in a close hearse at the dead of night, to escape the observation of the mob, and conveyed to Castle Cragg, where, without any funeral pomp, it would be quietly deposited in the family vault.

With this intelligence Ishmael came back to Judge Merlin.

"That is well! That is a great relief to my mind, Ishmael," said the judge, and he went to convey the news to Lady Vincent and the countess.

At nine o'clock Katie, Sally, and Jim, who were all witnesses for the prosecution in the approaching trial of Faustina Dugald, were dispatched to the courthouse, under the escort of the professor.

At half-past nine Judge Merlin, Ishmael Worth, Lady Vincent, and the Countess of Hurstmonceux entered a close carriage and drove to the same place.

What a crowd!

It is not every day that a woman of high rank stands at the bar of a criminal court to answer to a charge of felony. And Faustina was a woman of high rank, at least by marriage. She was the Honorable Mrs. Dugald; and she was about to be arraigned upon several charges, the lightest one of which, if proved, would consign her to penal servitude for years.

The world had got wind of this trial, and hence the great crowd that blocked up every approach to the courthouse.

Two policemen had to clear a way for the carriage containing the witnesses for the prosecution to draw up. And when it stopped and its party alighted, the same two policemen had to walk before them to open a path for their entrance into the courthouse.

Here every lobby, staircase, passage, and anteroom was full of curious people, pressed against each other. These people could not get into the courtroom, which was already crowded as full as it could be packed; nor could they see or hear anything from where they stood; and yet they persisted in standing there, crowding each other nearly to death, and stretching their necks and straining their eyes and ears after sensational sights and sounds.

Through this consolidated mass of human beings the policemen found great difficulty in forcing a passage for the witnesses. But at length they succeeded, and ushered the party into the courtroom, and seated them upon the bench appointed to the use of the witnesses for the prosecution.

The courtroom was even more densely packed than the approaches to it had been. It was scarcely possible to breathe the air laden with the breath of so many human beings. But for the inconvenience of the great crowd and the fetid air, this was an interesting place to pass a few hours in.

The Lord Chief Baron, Sir Archibald Alexander, presided on the bench. He was supported on the right and left by Justices Knox and Blair. Some of the most distinguished advocates of the Scottish bar were present.

The prisoner had not yet been brought into court. A few minutes passed, however, and then, by the commotion near the door and by the turning simultaneously of hundreds of heads in one direction, it was discovered that she was approaching in custody of the proper officers. Room was readily made for her by the crowd dividing right and left and pressing back upon itself, like the waves of the Red Sea, when the Israelites passed over it dryshod. And she was led up between two bailiffs and placed in the dock. Then for the first time the crowd got a good view of her, for the dock was raised some three or four feet above the level of the floor.

She was well dressed for the occasion, for if there was one thing this woman understood better than another, it was the science of the toilet. She wore a dark-brown silk dress and a dark-brown velvet bonnet, and a Russian sable cloak, and cuffs, and muff, and her face was shaded by a delicate black lace veil.

Mrs. MacDonald, who had followed her into the court, was allowed to sit beside her; a privilege that the lady availed herself of, at some considerable damage to her own personal dignity; for at least one-half of the strangers in the room, judging from her position beside the criminal, mistook her for an accomplice in the crime.

After the usual preliminary forms had been observed, the prisoner was duly arraigned at the bar.

When asked by the clerk of arraignments whether she were guilty or not guilty, she answered vehemently:

"I am not guilty of anything at all; no, not I! I never did conspire against any lady! My Lord Viscount Vincent and his valet Frisbie did that! And I never did abduct and sell into slavery any negro persons! My Lord Vincent and his valet did that also! It was all the doings of my lord and his valet, as you may know, since the valet has been guillotined and my lord has suffocated himself with charcoal! And it is a great infamy to persecute a poor little woman for what gross big men did! And I tell you, messieurs—"

"That will do! This is no time for making your defense, but only for entering your plea," said the clerk, cutting short her oration.

She threw herself into a chair and burst into tears, and sobbed aloud while the Queen's Solicitor, Counselor Birnie, got up to open the indictment setting forth the charges upon which the prisoner at the bar had been arraigned.

At the end of the opening speech he proceeded to call the witnesses, and the first called to the stand was:

"Claudia Dugald, Viscountess Vincent."

Judge Merlin arose and led his daughter to the stand, and then retired.

Claudia threw aside her deep mourning veil, revealing her beautiful pale face, at the sight of which a murmur of admiration ran through the crowded courtroom.

The oath was duly administered, Claudia following the words of the formula, in a low, but clear and firm voice.

Oh! but her position was a painful one! Gladly would she have retired from it; but the exactions of justice are inexorable. It was distressing to her to stand there and give testimony against the prisoner, which should cast such shame upon the grave of the dumb, defenseless dead; yet it was inevitable that she must do it. She was under oath, and so she must testify to "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!"

Then being questioned, she spoke of the sinful league between. Faustina Dugald, the prisoner at the bar, and the deceased Viscount Vincent; she then related the conversation she had overheard between these two accomplices on the very night of her first arrival home at Castle Cragg; that momentous conversation in which the first germ of the conspiracy against her honor was formed; being further questioned, she acknowledged the complete estrangement between herself and her husband, and the actual state of widowhood in which she had lived in his house, while his time and attention were all devoted to her rival, the prisoner at the bar.

Here Claudia begged leave to retire from the stand; but of course she was not permitted to do so; the Queen's Solicitor had not done with her yet. She was required to relate the incidents of that evening when the valet Frisbie was dragged from his hiding-place in her boudoir by the Viscount Vincent. And amid fiery blushes Claudia detailed all the circumstances of that scene. She was but slightly cross-questioned by the counsel for the prisoner, and without effect, and was finally permitted to retire. Her father came and led her back to her seat.

The housekeeper of Castle Cragg was the next witness called, and she testified with a marked reluctance, that only served to give additional weight to her statement, to the sinful intimacy between the deceased viscount and the prisoner at the bar.

Following her came old Cuthbert, who sadly corroborated her testimony in all respects.

Next came other servants of the castle, all with much dislike to do the duty, speaking to the one point of the fatal attachment that had existed between Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald.

And then at length came Katie. Now we all know the facts to which Katie would bear testimony, and the style in which she would do it; and so we need not repeat her statement here. It was sufficiently conclusive to insure the conviction of the prisoner, even if there had been nothing to support it.

But the most fatal evidence was yet to be produced: The Reverend Christian Godfree, chaplain of the jail, was called to the stand and duly sworn. And then a manuscript was placed in his hand, and he was asked if he could identify that as the veritable last confession made by the convict, Alick Frisbie, in his cell, on the night previous to his execution. Mr. Godfree carefully examined it and promptly identified it.

But here the counsel for the prisoner interposed, and would have had the confession ruled out as evidence; and a controversy arose between the prosecution and the defense, which was at last decided by the bench, who ordered that the confession of Alick Frisbie should be received as evidence in the case of Faustina Dugald.

And then the Queen's Solicitor, taking the paper from the witness, proceeded to read the confession with all its deeply disgraceful revelations. From it, the complicity of Faustina Dugald in the conspiracy against Lady Vincent was clearly shown. Having read it through, the solicitor called several witnesses from among the servants of the castle, who swore to the signature at the bottom of the confession as the handwriting of Alick Frisbie. And then the solicitor passed the paper to the foreman of the jury, that he might circulate it among his colleagues for their examination and satisfaction. The solicitor then summed up the evidence for the prosecution and rested the case.

Mr. Brace, leading counsel for the prisoner, arose and made the best defense that the bad case admitted of. He tried to pull to pieces, destroy, and discredit the evidence that had been given in; but all to no purpose. He next tried to engage the sympathy of the judge and jury for the beauty and misfortunes of his client; but in vain. Finally, he called a number of paid witnesses, who testified chiefly to the excellent moral character of Mrs. Faustina Dugald, seeking to make it appear quite impossible that she should do any wrong whatever, much less commit the crimes for which she stood arraigned; and also to the malignant envy, hatred, and malice felt by every servant at Castle Cragg and every witness for the prosecution against the injured and unhappy prisoner at the bar, seeking to make it appear that all their testimony was nothing but malignant calumny leveled against injured innocence.

But, unfortunately for the defense, the only impression these witnesses made upon the judge and the jury was that they—the witnesses—were about the most shameless falsifiers of the truth that ever perjured themselves before a court of justice.

The counsel for the prisoner went over the evidence for the defense in an eloquent speech, which was worse than wasted in such evil service.

The Queen's Solicitor had, as usual, the last word.

The Lord Chief Baron then summed up the evidence on either side and charged the jury. And the charge amounted in effect to an instruction to them to bring in a verdict against the prisoner. And accordingly the jury retired and consulted about twenty minutes, and then returned with the verdict: "Guilty."

The Lord Chief Baron arose to pronounce the sentence of the law.

The clerk of the arraigns ordered the prisoner to stand up.

"What are they going to do now?" nervously inquired Faustina, who did not in the least understand what was going on.

"Nothing much, my dear; his lordship the judge is going to speak to you from the bench. That is all," said Mrs. MacDonald, as she helped the prisoner to her feet; for Mrs. MacDonald never hesitated to tell a falsehood for the sake of keeping the peace.

Faustina stood up, looking towards the bench with curiosity, distrust, and fear.

The Lord Chief Baron began the usual prosing preamble to the sentence, telling the prisoner of the enormity of the crime of which she had been accused; of the perfect impartiality of the trial to which she had been subjected; the complete conclusiveness of the evidence on which she had been convicted; and so forth. He gave her to understand that the court might easily sentence her to fifteen or twenty years' imprisonment; but that, in consideration of her early youth and of her utter failure to carry out her felonious purposes to their completion, he would assign her a milder penalty. And he proceeded to sentence her to penal servitude for the term of ten years. The Lord Chief Baron resumed his seat.

Faustina threw a wild, perplexed, appealing glance around the courtroom, and then, as the truth of her doom entered her soul, she uttered a piercing shriek and fell into violent hysterics. And in this condition she was removed from the court to the jail, there to remain until she should be transported to the scene of her punishment.

"We have nothing more to do here, Judge Merlin. Had you not better take Lady Vincent back to the hotel?" suggested Ishmael.

The judge, who had been sitting as if spellbound, started up, gave his arm to his daughter, and led her out of the court and to the fly that was in attendance to convey them back to the "Highlander." Ishmael followed, with the countess on his arm. And the professor, having the three negroes in charge, brought up the rear. Judge Merlin, Ishmael, Claudia and the countess entered the fly. The professor and his charges walked. And thus they reached the "Highlander," where the news of Faustina Dugald's conviction had preceded them.

The trial had occupied the whole day. It was now late in the evening; too late for our party to think of going on to Edinboro' that night. Besides, they all needed rest after the exciting scenes of the day; and so they determined to remain in Banff that night.



CHAPTER L.

LADY HURSTMONCEUX'S REVELATION.

For life, I prize it, As I weigh grief which I would spare; for honor, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. —Shakspeare.



That same evening, while our party was assembled at tea in their private parlor, at the "Highlander," a letter was brought to Judge Merlin.

It was a formidable-looking letter, with a black border an inch wide running around the envelope, and sealed with a great round of black wax, impressed with an earl's coronet. The judge opened it and read it and passed it to Ishmael.

It proved to be a letter from the Earl of Hurstmonceux and addressed to Judge Merlin. I have not space to give the contents of this letter word for word.

It set forth, in effect, that under the recent distressing circumstances it would be too painful to the Earl of Hurstmonceux to meet Judge Merlin in a personal interview, but that the earl wished to make an act of restitution, and so, if Judge Merlin would dispatch his solicitor to London to the chambers of the Messrs. Hudson, in Burton Street, Piccadilly, those gentlemen, who were the solicitors of his lordship, would be prepared to restore to Lady Vincent the fortune she had brought in marriage to her husband, the late Lord Vincent.

"You will go to London and attend to this matter for me, Ishmael?" inquired the Judge, as he received the letter back, after the young man had read it.

"Why, certainly, Judge Merlin. Who should act for you but myself?" said Ishmael, with an affectionate smile.

"But it may be inconvenient for you to go just now?" suggested the judge.

"Oh, no, not at all! In fact, judge, I was intending to go up to London to join Mr. Brudenell there in a very few days. I was only waiting for this trial to be concluded before setting out," smiled Ishmael.

"Papa, what is it that you are talking about? What letter is that?" inquired Claudia, while Lady Hurstmonceux looked the question she forbore to ask.

For all answer the judge placed the letter in the hands of his daughter, and then, turning to the countess, said:

"It is a communication from Lord Hurstmonceux, referring us to his solicitors in London, whom he has instructed to make restitution of the whole of my daughter's fortune."

"The Earl of Hurstmonceux is an honorable man. But he has been singularly unfortunate in his family. His brother and his sons, who seem to have taken more after their uncle than their father, have all turned out badly and given him much trouble," said the countess.

"His brother? I know of course the career of his sons; but I did not know anything about his brother," said Judge Merlin.

"He was the Honorable Dromlie Dugald, Captain in the Tenth Highlanders, a man whose society was avoided by all good women. And yet I had cause to know him well," answered the countess, as a cloud passed over her beautiful face.

"You, Berenice!" said Claudia, looking up in surprise; for it was passing strange to hear that pure and noble woman acknowledge an acquaintance with a man of whom she had just said that every good woman avoided his society.

"I!" repeated the counters solemnly.

There was certainly fate in the next words she spoke:

"This Captain Dugald was a near relative and great favorite with my first husband, the old Earl of Hurstmonceux; chiefly, I think, for the exuberant gayety of temper and disposition of the young man, that always kept the old one amused. But after the earl married me he turned a cold shoulder to the captain, and complimented me by being jealous of him. This occasioned gossip, in which my good name suffered some injustice."

The countess paused, and turned her beautiful eyes appealingly to Ishmael, saying:

"When you shall become one of the lawgivers of your native country, young gentleman, I hope that the crime of slander will be made a felony, indictable before your criminal courts."

"If I had the remodeling of the laws," said Ishmael earnestly, "slander should be made felonious and punishable as theft is."

"But, dear Berenice, the gossip of which you speak could have done you no lasting injury," said Claudia.

"'No lasting injury.' Well, no eternal injury, I hope, if you mean that," sighed the countess.

"No, I mean to say that a woman like yourself lives down calumny."

"Ah! but in the living it down, how much of heartwasting."

The countess dropped her head upon her hand for a moment, while all her long black ringlets fell around and veiled her pale and thoughtful face. Then, looking up, she said:

"I think I will tell you all about it. Something, I know not what, impels me to speak tonight, in this little circle of select friends, on a theme on which I have been silent for years. Claudia, my dearest, if the jealousy of my old husband and the gossip of my envious rivals had been all, that would not have hurt me so much. But there was worse to come. The wretch, denied admittance to our house, pursued me with his attentions elsewhere; whenever and wherever I walked or rode out he would be sure to join me. I have said such was his evil reputation, that his society would have brought reproach to any woman, under any circumstances; judge you, then, what it must have brought upon me, the young wife of an old man!"

"Had you no male relative to chastise the villain and send him about his business?" inquired the judge.

Berenice smiled sadly and shook her head.

"My husband and my father were both very old men," she said; "I had but one resource—to confine myself to the house and deny myself to visitors. We were then living in our town house in Edinboro'. There my old husband died, and there I spent the year of my widowhood. There my father came to me, and also my kinsman Isaacs."

"Isaacs!" impulsively exclaimed Ishmael, as his thoughts flew back to his Hebrew fellow-passenger.

"Yes; did you know him?"

"I knew a Jew of that name; most probably the same; but I beg your pardon, dear lady; pray proceed with your narrative."

"I mentioned my kinsman Isaacs, because I always suspected him to be a party to a stratagem formed by Captain Dugald at that time to get me into his power. Captain Dugald scarcely let the first six months of my widowhood pass by before he began to lay siege to my house; not to me personally; for I always denied myself to him. But he came on visits to my kinsman Isaacs, with whom he had struck up a great intimacy. He had much at stake, you see, for in the first place he did me the honor to approve of me personally, and in the second place he highly approved of my large fortune. So he persevered with all the zeal of a lover and all the tact of a fortune-hunter. Several times, through the connivance of my kinsman, he contrived to surprise me into an interview, and upon each occasion he urged his suit; but of course, in vain. Captain Dugald was what is called a 'dare-devil,' and I think he rather gloried in that name. He acted upon the maxim that 'all stratagems are fair in love as in war.' And he resorted to a stratagem to get me into his power, and reduce me to the alternative of marrying him or losing my good name forever."

"Good Heaven! he did not attempt to carry you off by violence," exclaimed Claudia.

The countess laughed.

"Oh, no, my dear! Such things are never attempted in this age of the world. Captain Dugald was far too astute to break the laws. I will tell you just how it was, as it came to my knowledge. My town house fronted immediately on Prince's Street. You know what a thoroughfare that is? My bedroom and dressing room were on the second floor—the bedroom being at the back, and the dressing room in front, with three large windows overlooking the street. Large double doors connected the bedroom with the dressing room. I am thus particular in describing the locality that you may better understand the villainy of the stratagem," said the countess, looking around upon her friends.

They nodded assent, and she resumed:

"From some peculiar sensitiveness of temperament, I can never sleep unless every ray of light is shut out from my chamber. Thus, at bedtime I have all my windows closed, their shutters fastened and their curtains drawn, lest the first dawn of morning should awaken me prematurely. Another constitutional idiosyncrasy of mine is the necessity of a great deal of air. Therefore I always had the doors between my bedroom and my dressing room left open."

"After all, that is like my own need; I require a great deal of air also," said Claudia.

"Well, now to my story. On a certain spring morning, in the beginning of the second year of my widowhood, I was awakened very early by a glare of light in my bedroom. On looking up, I saw through the open doors connecting my bedroom with my dressing room that the three front windows of the dressing room, overlooking the street, were open, and all the morning sunlight was pouring in. My first emotion was anger with my maid for opening them so soon to wake me up. I got out of bed, slipped on a dressing-gown and went into the front room. Now judge what my feelings must have been to see there Captain Dugald in his shirt-sleeves, standing before one of the front windows deliberately brushing his hair, in the full view of all the passengers of the street below."

"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Claudia.

"I could not speak," continued the countess. "I could only stand and gaze at the man in speechless amazement. But he was not dismayed. He burst into a loud laugh, and laughed himself out of breath—for he was a great laugher. When he found his tongue, he said to me:

"'You had as well give in now, my lady. The fortress is sapped, the mine is exploded. The city is taken. Hundreds of people, passing up and down the street before this house, have looked up at these windows and seen me standing here half-dressed. And they have formed their opinions, and made their comments, and circulated their news accordingly; and so, if our marriage be not published this morning, you may judge what the consequences will be—to yourself.'"

"What a villain!" said Judge Merlin.

"Astonishment had struck me dumb in the first instance; and anger kept me silent," continued the countess. "I know what I ought to have done. I know that I ought to have summoned the police and given the man in charge on the spot, as a common burglar and housebreaker: only you see I did not think of it at the time. I only rang the bell, and then, without waiting the arrival of my servant, I opened the door and pointed silently to it. He made no motion to go; on the contrary, he began to defend his act, to plead his cause, and to urge his suit. He said 'that all stratagems were fair in love and war'; that it was now absolutely necessary for my fair name that we should be immediately married; that the bride he had won by fraud should be worn with faithfulness. But, with an unmoved countenance, I only pointed to the door, until my servant came in answer to the bell. Then I told that servant to show Captain Dugald out, and if he refused to go to summon assistance and eject him. Seeing that I was determined to be rid of him, he put on his coat, and, laughing at my discomfiture, took his departure. Then I instituted inquiries; but failed to gain any information respecting his means of entrance and concealment in my apartments. I strongly suspected my kinsman Isaacs of being the accomplice of Captain Dugald; but I had no means of ascertaining the fact by questioning him, as he went away that same morning and never returned. The adventure, of course, did me some harm at the time; but the unprincipled hero of it reaped no advantage. He doubtless thought me another Lucretia, who would sacrifice the reality to preserve the semblance of honor. He hoped to find in me one who, in the base fear of being falsely condemned, would marry a man I despised, and thus really deserve condemnation. He was disappointed! From that hour I forbade him the house, and I have never seen him since. A year later I married another," added the countess, in a voice so subdued that, at the close of the sentence, it gradually sank into silence.

Ishmael's beautiful eyes had been bent upon her all the time; now his whole face lighted up with a smile as of a newly inspired, benevolent hope.

"You were right-entirely right, Lady Hurstmonceux, in thus vindicating the dignity of womanhood. And I do not believe that any lasting blame, growing out of a misunderstanding of the circumstances, could have attached to you," said Ishmael earnestly.

"No, indeed, there was not. And soon after that event I left Edinboro' for the south coast of England, and at Brighton"—here the voice of the countess sank almost to an inaudible whisper—"at Brighton I met and married another. And now let us talk of something else, Ishmael," she concluded, turning an affectionate glance upon the sympathetic face of the young man. For there was a wonderful depth of sympathy between this queenly woman of forty-five and this princely young man of twenty-two. On her side there was the royal, benignant, tender friendship with which such sovereign ladies regard such young men; while, on his side, there was the loyal devotion with which such young men worship such divinities. Such a friendship is a blessing when it is understood; a curse when it is misapprehended.

Ishmael turned the conversation to the subject of the act of restitution proposed by the Earl of Hurstmonceux.

Ishmael now possessed the only clear, cool, and undisturbed intelligence of the whole party, who were all more or less shaken by the terrible events of the last few days. He had to think for them all. He announced his intention of departing for London on the ensuing Friday morning, and warned the judge that he should require his final instructions for acting in concert with the solicitors of the Earl of Hurstmonceux.

The judge promised that these should be ready, in writing, to place in his hands at the moment of his departure.

"And while I am in London, had I not better see the agents of the ocean steamers, and ascertain how soon we can obtain a passage home for our whole party? The termination of these trials, and the restitution of Lady Vincent's estate, really leave us nothing to do here; and we know that Lady Vincent is pining for the repose of her native home," said Ishmael.

"Certainly, certainly, Ishmael! The execution of Frisbie, the death of the viscount, the conviction of Mrs. Dugald, and the act of the Earl of Hurstmonceux, really, as you say, leave us free to go home. I myself, as well as Claudia, pine for my home. And you, Ishmael, though you have not said so, have sacrificed already too much of your professional interests to our necessities. You should be at your office. What on earth is becoming of your clients all this time?"

"I dare say they are taken good care of, sir. Do not think of me. Believe me, I have no interests dearer to my heart than the welfare and happiness of my friends. Then I shall engage a passage for us all, in the first available steamer?"

"I—I think so, Ishmael. There is nothing to keep us here longer that I know of; we have nothing to do," said the judge hesitatingly.

"I have something yet to do, before I return home," smiled Ishmael, with a quick and quickly withdrawn glance in the direction of the countess; "but I shall do it before we go, or if not I can remain behind for another steamer."

"No, no, Ishmael! You have stayed long with us; we will wait for you. What do you say, Claudia?"

Claudia said nothing.

Ishmael replied:

"I shall endeavor to accomplish all that I propose in time to accompany you, Judge Merlin. But if I should not be able to do so, still I think that you had better all go by the first steamer in which you can get a passage. You should, if possible, cross the ocean before March sets in, if you would have anything like a comfortable voyage."

"Heavens, yes! you are right, Ishmael. Our late voyage should teach me a lesson. I must not expose Claudia to the chances of such shipwreck as we suffered," said the judge gravely.

Ishmael turned and looked at Claudia. She had not once spoken since her name had been introduced into the conversation. She had sat there with her elbow on the table and her head bowed upon her hand, in mournful silence. She was looking perfectly beautiful in her widow's dress and cap—perfectly beautiful with that last divine, perfecting touch that sorrow gives to beauty. Surely Ishmael thought so as he looked at her. She lifted her drooping lids. Their eyes met; hers were suffused with tears; his were full of earnest sympathy.

"You shall not be exposed to shipwreck, Lady Vincent," he said, in a voice rich with tenderness.

Slowly and mournfully she shook her head.

"There are other wrecks," she said:

"'And I beneath a rougher sea, O'erwhelmed in deeper gulfs may be.'"

The last words were breathed in a scarcely audible voice, and her head sank low upon her hand.

With a profound sigh, that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Ishmael turned away. Passing near the Countess of Hurstmonceux, he bent his head and murmured:

"Lady Vincent seems very weary."

The countess took the hint and rang for the bedroom candles, and when they were brought, the party bade each other goodnight, separated, and retired.

Early the next morning they set out for Edinboro', where they arrived about midday.

The Countess of Hurstmonceux's servants, who had received telegraphic orders from her ladyship, were waiting at the station with carriages. The whole party entered these and drove to Cameron Court, where they arrived in time for an early dinner.

After this, Ishmael and Judge Merlin were closeted in the library, and engaged upon the preliminary measures for a final arrangement with the Earl of Hurstmonceux's solicitors.

The judge, in his good opinion of the earl, would have trusted to a simple, informal rendition of his daughter's fortune; but Ishmael, the ever-watchful guardian of her interests, warned her father that every legal form must be scrupulously observed in the restoration of the property, lest in the event of the death of the Earl of Hurstmonceux his brother and successor, the disreputable Captain Dugald, should attempt to disturb her in its possession.

The judge acquiesced, and this business occupied the friends the whole of that afternoon. In the evening they joined the ladies at their tea-table, in the little drawing room. After tea, when the service was removed, they gathered around the table in social converse.

A servant brought in a small parcel that looked like a case of jewelry done up in paper, and laid it before the countess.

She smiled, with a deprecating look, as she took it up and opened it and passed it around to her friends for inspection. It was a miniature of the countess herself, painted on ivory. It was a faithful likeness, apparently very recently taken; for, on looking at it, you seemed to see the beautiful countess herself on a diminished scale, or through an inverted telescope.

"It has been making a visit," smiled the countess. "A poor young artist in Edinboro' is getting up a 'Book of Beauty' on his own account. He came here in person to beg the loan of one of my portraits to engrave from. I gave him this, because it was the last I had taken. I gave it to him because a refusal from me would have wounded his feelings and discouraged his enterprise. Otherwise, I assure you, I should not have let him have it for any such purpose as he designed. For the idea of putting my portrait in a 'Book of Beauty' is a rich absurdity."

"Pardon me; I do not see the absurdity at all," said Ishmael earnestly, as in his turn he received the miniature and gazed with admiration on its beautiful features.

"Young gentleman, I am forty-five," said the countess.

Ishmael gave a genuine start of surprise. He knew of course that she must have been of that age, but he had forgotten the flight of time, and the announcement startled him. He soon recovered himself, however, and answered with his honest smile:

"Well, my lady, if you are still beautiful at forty-five, you cannot help it, and you cannot prevent artistic eyes from seeing it. I, as one of your friends, am glad and grateful for it. And I hope you will remain as beautiful in form as in spirit even to the age of seventy-five, or as long after that as you may live in this world."

"Thank you, Mr. Worth. I really do value praise from you, because I know that it is sincere on your part, if not merited on mine," said Lady Hurstmonceux.

Ishmael bowed low and in silence. Then he resumed his contemplation of the picture. And presently he looked up and said:

"Lady Hurstmonceux, I am going to ask you a favor. Will you lend me this picture for a week?"

The countess was a little surprised at the request. She looked up at Ishmael before answering it.

Their eyes met. Some mutual intelligence passed in those meeting glances. And she then answered:

"Yes, Mr. Worth. I will intrust it to you as long as you would like to keep it; without reserve, and without even asking you what you wish to do with it."

Again Ishmael bowed, and then he closed the case of the miniature and deposited it in his breast-pocket.

"I hope that youth is not falling in love with his grandmother. I have heard of such things in my life," thought the judge crossly within himself, for the judge was growing jealous for Claudia. He had apparently forgotten the existence of Bee.

As Ishmael was to leave Cameron Court at a very early hour of the morning, before any of the family would be likely to be up to see him off, he took leave of his friends upon this evening, and retired early to his room to complete his preparations for the journey.



CHAPTER LI

ISHMAEL'S ERRAND.

I tell thee, friend, I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love; A day in April never came so sweet, To show that costly summer was at hand. —Shakespeare.



Ishmael left Edinboro' by the earliest express train for London, where he arrived at nightfall.

He took a cab and drove immediately to Morley's Hotel in the Strand, where Herman Brudenell was stopping.

Carpet-bag in hand, Ishmael was shown into that gentleman's sitting room.

Mr. Brudenell sat writing at a table, but on hearing Mr. Worth announced and seeing him enter, he started up, threw down his pen, and rushed to welcome the traveler.

"My dear, dear boy, a thousand welcomes!" he exclaimed, heartily shaking Ishmael's hands.

"I am very glad to come and see you again, sir. I hope that you are quite well?" said Ishmael, cordially responding to this warm welcome.

"As well as a solitary man can be, my dear boy. How did you leave our friends? In good health, I trust,"

"Yes; in tolerably good health, considering the circumstances. They are of course somewhat shaken by the terrible events of the last few days."

"I should think so. Heaven! what an ordeal to have passed through. Poor Claudia. How has she borne it all?"

"With the most admirable firmness. Claudia-Lady Vincent, I should say—has come out of her fiery trial like refined gold," said Ishmael warmly.

"A fiery trial, indeed. Ishmael, I have read the full account of the Banff tragedy, as they call it, in all the morning papers; no two of them agreeing in all particulars. The account in the 'Times' I hold to be the most reliable; it is at least the fullest—it occupies nearly two pages of that great paper."

"You are right; the account in the 'Times' is the true one."

"But, bless my life, I am keeping you standing here, carpet-bag in hand, all this time! Have you engaged your room?"

"No; they say the house is full."

"Not quite! Mine is a double-bedded chamber. You shall share it with me, if you like. What do you say?"

"Thank you, I should like it very much."

"Come in, then, and have a wash and a change of clothes; after which we will have supper. What would you like?"

"Anything at all. I know they cannot send up a bad one here."

Mr. Brudenell touched the bell. The waiter speedily answered it.

"Supper directly, James. Four dozen oysters; a roast fowl; baked potatoes; muffins; a bottle of sherry; and, and, black tea!—that is your milksop beverage, I believe, Ishmael," added Mr. Brudenell, in a low voice, turning to his guest.

"That is my milksop beverage," replied Ishmael good-humoredly.

The waiter went away on his errand. And Mr. Brudenell conducted Ishmael into the adjoining chamber, where the young man found an opportunity of renovating his toilet. When they returned to the sitting room they found the supper served and the waiter in attendance, but it was not until the traveler had done full justice to this meal, and the service was removed, and the waiter was gone, and the father and son were alone together, that they entered upon the confidential topics.

Mr. Brudenell questioned Ishmael minutely upon all the details of the Banff tragedy. And Ishmael satisfied him in every particular. One circumstance in these communications was noticeable—Mr. Brudenell, in all his questionings, never once mentioned the name of the Countess of Hurstmonceux. And even Ishmael avoided bringing it into his answers.

When Mr. Brudenell had learned all that he wanted to know, Ishmael in his turn said:

"I hope, sir, that the business which brought you to England has been satisfactorily settled?"

Mr. Brudenell sighed heavily.

"It has been settled, not very satisfactorily, but after a fashion, Ishmael. I never told you exactly what that business was. I intended to do so; and I will do it now."

Mr. Brudenell paused as if he were embarrassed, and doubtful in what terms to tell so unpleasant a story. Ishmael settled himself to attend.

"It was connected with my mother and sisters, Ishmael. They have been living abroad here for many years, as you have perhaps heard."

"Yes."

"And they have been living far above their means and far above mine. And consequently debts and difficulties and embarrassments have come. Again and again I have made large sacrifices and settled all claims against them. I am sorry to say it of my mother and sisters, Ishmael; but if the truth must be told, their pride and extravagance have ruined them and me, so far as financial ruin goes. If that had been all, it might have been borne. But there was worse to come. About a year ago my sister Eleanor—who had reached an age when single women begin to despair of marriage—formed the acquaintance of a disreputable scoundrel, one Captain Dugald, a younger brother, I hear, of the present Earl of Hurstmonceux—"

"Captain Dugald! I have heard of him!" exclaimed Ishmael.

"No doubt, most people have. He is rather a notorious character. Well, my infatuated sister took a fancy to the fellow; misled him into the belief that she was the mistress of a large fortune; and played her cards so skillfully that—well, in a word, the handsome scamp ran off with her, or rather she ran off with him; for she seems all through to have taken the initiative in her own ruin."

"But I do not understand why she should have run off? She was of ripe age and her own mistress. Who was there to run from?"

"Her mother, her mother; who could not endure the sight of Captain Dugald, and who had forbidden him her house."

"Ah!"

"Well, they were married at Liverpool. He took her to the United States. At my mother's request I followed them there to reclaim my sister, for report said that the captain had already another wife when he married Eleanor. This report, however, I have ascertained to be without foundation. I could not find them in the United States, and soon gave up the search. Captain Dugald had no love for my sister. He appears to have treated her brutally from the first hour that he got her into his power. And when he learned that she had deceived him,—deceived him in every way, in regard to her fortune, in regard to her age, in regard to her very beauty, which was but the effect of skillful dress,—he conceived a disgust for her, abused her shamefully, and finally abandoned her in poverty, in sickness, and in debt."

"Poor, unhappy lady; what else could she have expected? She must have been mad," said Ishmael.

"Mad—madness don't begin to explain it. She must have been possessed of a devil. When thus left, she sold a few miserable trinkets of jewelry his cupidity had spared her, and took a steerage passage in one of our steamers and followed him back to England; but here lost sight of him, for it seems that he is somewhere on the Continent. She came to my mother's house in London in the condition of a beggar, knowing that she was a pauper, and fearing that she was not a wife. In this state of affairs my mother wrote, summoning me to her assistance. I came over as you know. I have ascertained that my sister's marriage is a perfectly legal one; but I have not succeeded in finding her scoundrel of a husband and bringing him to book. He is still on the Continent somewhere; hiding from his creditors, it is said."

"And his unhappy wife?"

"Is on her voyage to America. I have sent them all home, Ishmael. They must live quietly at Brudenell Hall."

"But now that the Viscount Vincent is dead, and Captain Dugald becomes the heir presumptive to the earldom of Hurstmonceux, his prospects are so much improved that I should think he would return to England without fear of annoyance from his creditors; such gentry being usually very complaisant to the heirs of rich earldoms."

"I doubt if he will live to inherit the title and estate, Ishmael. He is nearly eaten up by alcohol. Eleanor, I know, will not live long. She is in the last stage of consumption. Her repose at Brudenell Hall may alleviate her sufferings, but cannot save her life," said Mr. Brudenell sadly. "I have only waited until your business here should be concluded, Ishmael, in order to return thither myself. You have nothing more to do. however, but to act for Judge Merlin in this matter of restitution, and then you will be ready to go, I presume."

"Yes; I have something else to do, sir. I have to expose a villain, to vindicate a lady, and to reconcile a long-estranged pair," replied Ishmael, in a nervous tone, yet with smiling eyes.

"Why, what have you been doing but just those things? What was Lord Vincent? What was Claudia? What was your part in that affair? Never, since the renowned Knight of Mancha, the great Don Quixote, lived and died, has there been so devoted a squire of dames, so brave a champion of the wronged, as yourself, Ishmael," said Mr. Brudenell.

"You may laugh, but you shall not laugh me out of my next enterprise, or 'adventure,' as the illustrious personage you have quoted would call it. And, by the way, do you know anything of a fellow-passenger of ours in the late voyage, the German Jew, Ezra Isaacs?"

"No; why?"

"I need him in the prosecution of this adventure."

"I have not seen him since we parted at Liverpool. I know nothing whatever about him."

"Well, then, after I have been at the chambers of Messrs. Hudson, I must go to Scotland Yard, and put the affair in the hands of the detectives, for have Isaacs hunted up I must."

"Is he the villain you are about to expose?"

"No; but he has been the tool of that villain, and I want him for a sort of state's evidence against his principal."

"Ah! I wish you joy of your adventure, Ishmael. It reminds one forcibly of the windmills," said Mr. Brudenell.

Ishmael laughed good-humoredly.

"I think it will do so, sir, when you find that the objects that you have been mistaking for giants are only windmills after all," he said.

"I do not understand you, my dear fellow."

Ishmael took from his breast-pocket the miniature of the Countess of Hurstmonceux, and opening it and gazing upon it, he said:

"This is the likeness of the injured lady whose honor I have sworn to vindicate."

"Is it Claudia's?" inquired Mr. Brudenell, stretching his hand for it.

"No. it is not Lady Vincent's. Pardon me, upon second thoughts, sir. I wish to tell you this lady's story before I show you her portrait," answered Ishmael, shutting the case and returning it to his pocket.

Mr. Brudenell sat back, looking puzzled and attentive.

"This lady was the young and beautiful widow of an aged peer. She was as pure and noble as she was fair and lovely. She was sought in marriage by many attractive suitors; but in vain, for she would not bestow her hand where she could not bestow her heart. Among the most persevering of these suitors was a profligate fortune-hunter, who, as the near relative of her late husband, had the entre into her house—"

"Ah! I think I have heard this story before," said Mr. Brudenell, with the slightest possible sneer on his handsome lip.

"One side of it, sir, the false side. Hear the other, and the true one. The beautiful widow repulsed this suitor in disgust, and peremptorily forbade him the house. Determined not to be baffled, he resorted to a stratagem that should have sent him to the hulks—that did, in fact, banish him from all decent society. Are you listening, sir?"

"With all my soul," said Mr. Brudenell, whose mocking sneer had disappeared before an earnest interest.

"By tempting the cupidity of a poor kinsman, who was a member of the young widow's family, he managed to get himself secretly admitted to her house and concealed in her dressing room, whose front windows overlooked the street. In the morning this man opened one of these windows, and stood before it half-dressed, in full view of the street, brushing his hair for the entertainment of the passers-by. The glare of light from the open window, shining through the open door into the adjoining bedchamber of the sleeping beauty, awakened her. At sight of the sacrilegious intruder, she was so struck with consternation that she could not speak. He took advantage of his position and her panic, to press his repugnant suit. He plead that his ardent passion and her icy coldness had driven him to desperation and to extremity. He argued that all stratagems were fair in love. He begged her to forgive him and to marry him, and warned her that her reputation was irretrievably compromised if she did not do so."

Ishmael paused, and looked to see what effect this story was having upon Mr. Brudenell. Herman Brudenell was listening with breathless interest.

Ishmael continued, speaking earnestly, for his heart was in his theme:

"But the beautiful and spirited young widow was not one to be terrified into a measure that her soul abhorred. Her first act, on recovering the possession of her senses, was to ring the bell and order the ejectment of the intruder; and despite his attempts at explanation and remonstrance, this order was promptly obeyed, and the lady never saw him afterward. Soon after this she left Edinboro' for the south of England. At Brighton she met with a gentleman who afterward became her husband. But ah! this gentleman, some time subsequent to their marriage, received a one-sided account of that affair in Edinboro'. He was then young, sensitive, and jealous. He believed all that was told him; he asked no explanation of his young wife; he silently abandoned her. And she—faithful to the one love of her life—has lived through all her budding youth and blooming womanhood in loneliness and seclusion, passing her days in acts of charity and devotion. Circumstances have lately placed in my power the means of vindicating this lady's honor, even to the satisfaction of her unbelieving husband."

Ishmael paused, and looked earnestly into the troubled face of Herman Brudenell.

"Ishmael," he exclaimed, "of course I have known all along that you have been speaking of my wife, Lady Hurstmonceux. If you have not been deceived; if the truth is just what it has been represented to you to be; if she was indeed innocent of all complicity in that nocturnal visit; then, Ishmael, I have done her a great, an unpardonable, an irreparable wrong."

"You have done that lovely lady great wrong indeed, sir; but not an unpardonable, not an irreparable one. She will be as ready to pardon as you to offer reparation. And in her lovely humility she will never know that there has been anything to pardon. Angels are not implacable, sir. If you doubt my judgment in this matter, look on her portrait now," said Ishmael, taking her miniature once more from his coat-pocket, opening it, and laying it before Herman Brudenell.

Mr. Brudenell slowly raised it, and wistfully gazed upon it.

"Is it a faithful portrait, Ishmael?" he asked.

"So faithful that it is like herself seen through a diminishing glass."

"She is very, very beautiful—more beautiful even than she was in her early youth," said Mr. Brudenell, thoughtfully gazing upon the miniature.

"Yes, I can imagine that she is more beautiful now than she was in her early youth; more beautiful with the heavenly beauty of the spirit added to the earthly beauty of the flesh. Look at that picture, dear sir; fancy those charming features, living, smiling, speaking, and you will be better able to judge how beautiful is your wife. Oh, sir! I think that in the times past you never loved that sweet lady as she deserved to be loved; but if you were to meet her now, you would love her as you never loved her before."

"If I were to meet her? Why, supposing that I have wronged her as much as you say, how could I ever venture to present myself before her?"

"How could you ever venture? Oh, sir! because she loves you. There are women, sir, who love but once in all their lives, and then love forever. The Countess of Hurstmonceux is one of these. Sir, since I have lived in daily companionship with her, I have been led to study her with affectionate interest. I have read her life as a wondrous poem. Her soul has been filled with one love. Her heart is the shrine of one idol. And oh, sir! believe me the future holds no hope of happiness so sweet to that lovely lady as a reunion with the husband of her youth."

"Ah, Ishmael! if I could believe this, my own youth would be restored; I should have a motive to live. You said, just now, that in the old sad times I had not loved this lady as she deserved to be loved. No—I married her hastily, impulsively—flattered by her evident preference for me; and just as I was beginning to know all her worth and beauty, lo! this fact of the nocturnal sojourn of the profligate Captain Dugald came to my knowledge—came to my knowledge with a convincing power, beyond all possibility of questioning. Oh, you see, I discovered the bare fact, without the explanation of it! I believed myself the dupe of a clever adventuress, and my love was nipped in the bud. If I could believe otherwise now,—if I could believe that she was innocent in that affair, and that she has loved me all these years, and been true to that love, and is ready and willing to forgive and forget the long, sorrowful past,—Ishmael, instead of being the most desolate, I should be the most contented man alive. I should feel like a shipwrecked sailor, long tossed about on the stormy sea, arriving safe at home at last!" said Mr. Brudenell, gazing most longingly upon the picture he held in his hand.

Ishmael was too wise to interrupt that contemplation by a single word at this moment.

"The thought that such a woman as this, Ishmael,—so richly endowed in beauty of form and mind and heart,—should be my loving companion for life, seems to me too great a hope for mortal man to indulge."

Ishmael did not speak.

"But here is the dilemma, my dear boy! either she did deceive me, or she did not. If she did deceive me, lovely as she is, I wish never to see her again. If she did not deceive me, then I have wronged her so long and so bitterly that she must wish never to see me again!" sighed Mr. Brudenell, as he mournfully closed the case of the miniature.

Then Ishmael spoke:

"Oh, sir! I have resolved to vindicate the honor of this lady, and I will do it. Soon I will have the German Jew, Ezra Isaacs, looked up; for he it was who, tempted by the false representations of Captain Dugald, secretly admitted him to her house and concealed him in her dressing room. And he shall be brought to confess it. Then you will see, sir, the perfect innocence of the countess. And for the rest, if you wish to prove her undiminished love; her perfect willingness to forget the past; her eagerness for a reconciliation—go to her, prove it all; and, oh, sir, be happier in your sober, middle age than ever you hoped to be, even in your sanguine youth."

The young man spoke so fervently, so strongly, so earnestly that Mr. Brudenell seized his hand, and gazing affectionately in his eloquent face, said:

"What a woman's advocate you are, Ishmael!" "It is because a woman's spirit has hovered over me, from the beginning of my life, I think."

"Your angel mother's spirit, Ishmael. Ah, brighter, and sweeter and dearer than all things in my life, is the memory of that pastoral poem of my boyish love. It is the one oasis in the desert of my life."

"Forget it, dear sir; forget it all. Think of your boyhood love as an angel in heaven, and love her only so. Do this for the sake of that sweet lady who has a right to your exclusive earthly devotion."

"Oh strange, and passing strange, that Nora's son should advocate the cause of Nora's rival!" said Herman Brudenell wonderingly.

"Not Nora's rival, sir. An angel in heaven, beaming in the light of God's smile, can never have a rival—least of all, a rival in a pilgrim of this earth. For the rest, if Nora's son speaks, it is because Nora's spirit inspires him," said Ishmael solemnly.

"Your life, indeed, seems to have been angel-guided, and your counsels angel-inspired, Ishmael; and they shall guide me. Yes, Nora's son; in this crisis of my fate your hand shall lead me. And I know that it will lead me into a haven of rest."

Soon after this the father and son retired for the night.

Ishmael, secure in his own happy love and easy in his blameless conscience, soon fell asleep.

Herman Brudenell lay awake, thinking over all that he had heard; blaming himself for his share of the sorrowful past, and seeing always the figure of the beautiful countess in her years of lonely widowhood. It is something for a solitary and homeless man, like Herman Brudenell, to discover suddenly that he has for years been the sole object of a good and beautiful woman's love, and to know that a home as happy and a wife as lovely as his youthful imagination ever pictured were now waiting to receive him, if he would come and take possession.

Early the next morning Ishmael arose, refreshed, from a good night's rest; but Mr. Brudenell got up, weary, from a sleepless pillow.

It was to be a busy day with Ishmael, so, after a hasty breakfast, he took a temporary leave of Mr. Brudenell and set out. His first visit was to the chambers of the Messrs. Hudson, solicitors, Burton Street, Piccadilly. Where all parties are agreed business must be promptly dispatched, despite of even the law's proverbial delays. The Earl of Hurstmonceux and Judge Merlin were quite agreed in this affair of restitution, and therefore their attorneys could have little trouble.

As the reader knows, upon the marriage of the Viscount Vincent and Claudia Merlin, there had been no settlements; therefore the whole of the bride's fortune became the absolute property of the bridegroom. Subsequently, Lord Vincent had died intestate; therefore Claudia as his widow would have been legally entitled to but a portion of that very fortune she herself had brought to him in marriage; all the rest falling to the viscount's family, or rather to its representative, the Earl of Hurstmonceux. It was this legal injustice that the earl wished to rectify, by making over to Lady Vincent all his right, title, and interest in the estate left by the deceased Lord Vincent. This business he had intrusted to his solicitors, giving them full power to act in his name, and Ishmael, with the concurrence of Judge Merlin, made it his business to see that every binding, legal form was observed in the transfer, so that Lady Vincent should rest undisturbed in her possessions by any grasping heir that might succeed the Earl of Hurstmonceux.

When this arrangement with the Messrs. Hudson was satisfactorily completed, Ishmael entered a cab and drove to Scotland Yard. He succeeded in obtaining an immediate interview with Inspector Meadows, to whose hands he committed the task of looking up the German Jew, Ezra Isaacs. Next he drove to Broad Street, to the agency of a celebrated line of ocean steamers. After looking over their programme of steamers advertised to sail, and reading the list of passengers booked for each, he found that he could engage berths for his whole party in a fine steamer to sail that day fortnight, from Liverpool for New York. He secured the berths by paying the passage money down and taking tickets at once. Finally, he re- entered the cab and drove back to his hotel. He found that Mr. Brudenell had walked out. That did not surprise Ishmael. Mr. Brudenell generally did walk out. Like all homeless, solitary, and unoccupied men, Mr. Brudenell had formed rambling habits; and had he been a degree or so lower in the social scale, he must have been classed among the vagrants.

Ishmael sat down in the unoccupied parlor to write to Judge Merlin. He told the judge of the satisfactory completion of his business with the solicitors of the Earl of Hurstmonceux; and that he had the documents effecting the restitution of Lady Vincent's property in his own safe-keeping; that he did not like to trust them to the mail, but would bring them in person when. he should return to Edinboro', which would be as soon as a little affair that he had in hand could be arranged; and he hinted that Mr. Brudenell would probably accompany him to Scotland. Finally, he informed the judge that he had engaged passages for their party in the ocean mail steamer "Columbus," to sail on Saturday, the 15th, from Liverpool for New York. He ended with sending affectionate respects to Lady Vincent and the Countess of Hurstmonceux. Being anxious to catch the afternoon mail at the last moment, Ishmael did not intrust the delivery of this letter to the waiters of the hotel, but took his hat and hurried out to post it himself. By paying the extra penny exacted for late letters he got it into the mail and then walked back to the hotel.

Mr. Brudenell had returned, and at the moment of Ishmael's entrance he was in solemn consultation with the waiter about the dinner. After dinner that day Ishmael went out to visit the tower of London, to him the most interesting of all the ancient buildings in that ancient city. At night he went with Mr. Brudenell to the old classic Drury Lane Theater to see Kean in "Richard III." After that intellectual festival they returned to Morley's to supper and to bed. On Sunday morning they attended divine service at St. Paul's. The next morning, Ishmael, with Mr. Brudenell, paid a visit to Westminster Abbey, where the tombs of the ancient kings and warriors engaged their attention nearly the whole day. It was late in the afternoon when they returned to Morley's, where the first thing Ishmael heard was that a person was waiting for him in the parlor.

Mr. Brudenell went directly to his chamber to change his dress, but Ishmael repaired to the parlor, where he expected to see someone from Scotland Yard.

He found the German Jew sitting there.

"Why, Isaacs? Is this you, already? I am very glad to see you! Mr. Meadows sent you, I suppose?" said Ishmael, advancing and shaking hands with his visitor.

"Mishter Meators? Who is he? No, Mishter Meators tit not zend me here; no one tit; I gome myzelf. I saw your name in te list of arrivals at dish house, bublished in tish morningsh babers. Ant I zaid—dish is te name of von drue shentlemans; ant I'll gall to see him; and here I am," replied the Jew, cordially returning Ishmael's shake of the hand.

"Thank you, Isaacs, for your good opinion of me. Sit down. I have been very anxious to see you, to speak to you on a subject that I must broach at once, lest we should be interrupted before we have discussed it," said Ishmael, who was desirous of bringing Isaacs to confession before the entrance of Mr. Brudenell.

"Sbeak ten!" said the Jew, settling himself in the big armchair.

"Isaacs, you had a beautiful kinswoman of whom you used to speak to me on our voyage; but you never told me her name," said Ishmael gravely, seating himself near the Jew.

"Titn't I, verily? Vell, her name vas Berenice, daughter of Zillah; Zillah vas mine moder's shister, and vas very fair to look upon. She marriet mit a rish Lonton Shew, and tiet leafing von fair daughter Berenice, mine kinsvoman, who marriet mit an English lort; very olt, very boor, put very mush in love mit my kinsvoman. He marriet her pecause zhe was fair to look upon and very rish; her fader made her marry him pecause he was a lort; he zoon tied and left her a witow, ant zhe never marriet again; zhe left te country and vas away many years ant I have nod zeen her zince. My fair kinswoman! Zhe hat a great wrong done her!" said the Jew, dropping his chin upon his chest and falling into sad and penitential reverie.

"Yes, Isaacs," said Ishmael, rising and laying his hand solemnly on the breast of the Jew. "Yes, Isaacs, she had a great wrong done her, a greater wrong than even you can imagine; a wrong so great in its devastating effects upon her life that you cannot even estimate its enormity! But, Isaacs, you can do something to right this wrong!"

"I! Fader Abraham, what can I?" exclaimed the Jew, impressed and frightened by the earnestness of Ishmael's words.

"You can make a full disclosure of the circumstances under which the miscreant Dromlie Dugald obtained access to Lady Hurstmonceux's private apartments."

The Jew gazed up in the young man's face, as though he was unable to withdraw his eyes; he seemed to be held spellbound by the powerful magnetism of Ishmael's spirit.

"Isaacs," continued the young man, "whatever may be the nature of these disclosures, I promise you that you shall be held free of consequences-I promise you; and you know the value of my promise."

The Jew did not answer and did not remove his eyes from the earnest, eloquent face of Ishmael.

"So you see, Isaacs, that your disclosures, while they will deliver the countess from the suspicions under which her happiness has drooped for so many years, can do you no injury And now, Isaacs, I ask you, as man speaking to man, a question that I adjure you to answer, as you shall answer at that great day of account, when quick and dead shall stand before the bar of God, and the secret of all hearts shall be revealed—did you admit Dromlie Dugald to the private apartments of the Countess of Hurstmonceux, without the knowledge or the consent of her ladyship?"

"Cot forgive me, I tit!" exclaimed the Jew, in a low terrified voice.

"That will do, Isaacs," said Ishmael, ringing the bell.

A waiter came.

"Is there an unoccupied sitting room that I can have the use of for a short time?" inquired Ishmael.

"Yes, sir."

"Show me to it immediately, then."

The waiter led the way, and Ishmael, beckoning the Israelite to accompany him, followed to a comfortable little parlor, warmed by a bright little fire, such as they kept always ready for chance guests.

"Writing materials, James," said Ishmael.

The man went for them; and while he was gone, Ishmael said:

"We might have been interrupted in the other room, Isaacs; that is the reason why I have brought you here."

When the waiter had returned with the writing materials, and arranged them on the table, and again had withdrawn from the room, Ishmael drew a chair to the table, seated himself, took a pen, and said:

"Now Isaacs, sit down near me, and relate, as faithfully as you can, all the circumstances attending the concealment of Dromlie Dugald in Lady Hurstmonceux's apartments."

The Jew, as if acting under the spell of a powerful spirit, did as he was ordered. He drew a chair to the table, seated himself opposite Ishmael, and—to use a common phrase—"made a clean breast of it."

I will not attempt to give his confession in detail. I will only give the epitome of it. He acknowledged that he had been bribed by Captain Dugald to favor his (the captain's) addresses to the beautiful young widow. But he solemnly declared that he had supposed himself to be acting as much for the lady's good as for his own interest, when he took the captain's money and admitted him freely to the house of his kinswoman, where he himself was staying, a temporary guest, and where he received her suitor as his visitor.

Farther, he more solemnly declared that on that fatal evening when he secretly admitted the captain to the house, and guided him to the boudoir of the countess, he had not the remotest suspicion of the nefarious purpose of the suitor. He thought Dugald merely wished for an opportunity for pressing his suit. He had no idea that the unscrupulous villain designed to conceal himself in the closet of the dressing room, and so pass the night in Lady Hurstmonceux's apartments, and show himself in the morning in dishabille at her open window, for the benefit of all the passengers through the street.