"But you cannot save their lives!" cried Mr. Brudenell, with a gesture of desperation.

"I can keep my word by staying with them," was the firm reply.

While Ishmael spoke there was a rapid consultation going on among his companions on the wreck. Then one of them spoke for the rest:

"Go and save yourself, young gentleman. We give you back your promise."

Ishmael turned and smiled upon them with benignity, as he replied sweetly:

"I thank you, my friends. I thank you earnestly. You are brave and generous men. But from such a pledge as I have given, you have no power to release me."

"Ishmael! Ishmael, for Bee's sake!" cried Judge Merlin, stretching his arms imploringly towards the young man. "For Bee's sake, Ishmael! Think of Bee!"

"Oh, I do! I do think of her!" said the young man, in a voice of impassioned grief. "God bless her! God forever bless her! But not even for her dear sake must I shrink from duty. I honor her too much to live to offer her the dishonored hand of a craven. Tell her this, and tell her that my last earthly thought was hers. We shall meet in eternity."

"Ishmael, Ishmael!" simultaneously cried Judge Merlin and Mr. Brudenell, as they saw a tremendous sea break in thunder over the wreck, which was instantly whirled violently around as in the vortex of a maelstrom.

"Give way! give way! quick! for your lives! The wreck is going and she will draw down the boats!" shouted Ishmael, waving his arm from the whirling deck.

The sailors on board the lifeboats laid themselves vigorously to their oars, and rowed them swiftly away from the whirling eddy around the settling wreck. The passengers on board the boats averted their heads or veiled their eyes—they could not look upon the death of Ishmael,

But as the boats bounded away, something leaped from one of them with the heavy plunge of a large dog into the water, and the next instant the old gray head of Jim Morris was seen rising from the foaming waves. He struggled towards the deck, clambered up its sides and sunk at Ishmael's feet, embracing his knees, weeping and crying:

"Young Ishmael! master! master! Oh, let me die with you!" Speechless from profound emotion, Ishmael stooped and raised the old man and clasped him to his bosom with one arm, while with the other he waved adieu to the rapidly receding lifeboats.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A DISCOVERY.

Why stand ye thus amazed? me thinks your eyes Are fixed in meditation; and all here Seem like so many senseless statues, As if your souls had suffered an eclipse Betwixt your judgments and affections. —Swetnam



We must return to Claudia, and to that evening when she was accosted by Katie on the stairs.

On that occasion Claudia went down to dinner without feeling the least anxiety on the subject of Katie's promised communication. She supposed, when she thought of it at all, that it was some such idle rumor as frequently arose concerning the discovery of some suspected person implicated in the murder of Ailsie Dunbar.

The dinner that evening happened to be more protracted than usual.

And when they arose from the table Mrs. Dugald, contrary to her custom, immediately retired to her private apartments. Claudia was also about to withdraw, when the viscount said to her:

"Excuse me, Lady Vincent; but I must request the favor of a few moments' conversation with you."

"Very well, my lord," answered Claudia, bowing coldly.

He led the way to the drawing room and Claudia followed. Coffee was already served there, and old Cuthbert was in attendance to hand it around.

"You may go, Cuthbert. We can wait on ourselves." said Lord Vincent, as he led his wife to a seat and took one for himself near her.

When the old servant had left the room the viscount turned to Claudia and said:

"Lady Vincent, I have been obliged to solicit this interview because I have much to say to you, while you give me very few opportunities of saying anything."

Claudia bowed a cold assent and remained silent.

"It is of Mrs. Dugald that I wish to speak to you."

"I am listening, my lord," replied Claudia haughtily.

"Lady Vincent, this arrogant manner towards me will not serve any good purpose. However, it is not on my own score that I came to complain, but on Mrs. Dugald's; that lady's position in this house is a very delicate one."

"So delicate, my lord, that I think the sooner she withdraws from it the better it will be."

"You do! It is the to that end, then, I presume, that you have treated her with so much scorn and contempt?" said his lordship angrily.

"My lord, with all my faults, I am no hypocrite; and with all my accomplishments I am no actress."

"What do you mean by that, my lady?"

"I mean that I have not been able to treat your—sister-in-law—with the respect that I could not feel for her," replied Claudia, with disdain.

"No, madam!" exclaimed Lord Vincent, turning pale with rage. "You have treated that lady with the utmost contumely. And I have demanded this interview with you for the express purpose of telling you that I will not submit to have the widow of my brother treated with disrespect in my own house and by my own wife!"

Claudia arose with great dignity and answered:

"My lord, since you desired this interview for the purpose of expressing your wishes upon this point; and, since you have expressed them, I presume the object of our meeting has been accomplished and I am at liberty to withdraw. Good-night."

"Not so fast, not so fast, Lady Vincent! I have not done with you yet, my lady. The will that I have just spoken must be obeyed. Mrs. Dugald must be treated by you, as well as by others, with the courtesy and consideration due to her rank and position. Many abuses must be reformed. And among them is this—your constant refusal to appear in public with her. Ever since your arrival here Mrs. Dugald has been a prisoner in the house, because she cannot go out alone; and she will not go out, attended by me, unless you are also of the party, for fear that evil-minded people will talk."

Claudia's beautiful lip curled with scorn as she answered:

"Mrs. Dugald's scruples do credit to her—powers of duplicity."

"You wrong her. You always wrong her; but, by my soul, you shall not continue to do so! Listen, Lady Vincent! Mr. and Mrs. Dean, the celebrated tragedians, are playing a short engagement at Banff. Mrs. Dugald and myself wish to go and see them. It will be proper for you to be of the party. I desire that you will be prepared to go with us to-morrow evening."

Claudia's face flushed crimson with indignation.

"Excuse me, my lord. I cannot possibly appear anywhere in public with Mrs. Dugald," she haughtily replied.

"If you fail to go with us, you will rue your scorn in every vein of your heart, my lady. However, I will not take your final answer to- night; I will give you another chance in the morning. Au revoir!" he said, with an insulting laugh, as he lounged out of the room.

Claudia remained where he had left her, transfixed with indignation, for a few minutes. And then she began to walk up and down the room to exhaust her excitement before going upstairs to her dressing room, where she supposed that Katie was awaiting her.

She walked up and down the floor some fifteen or twenty minutes, and then left the saloon and sought her own apartments. She had just reached the landing of the second floor, on which her rooms were situated, when she was startled by a low, half-suppressed cry of "Murd—," which was quickly stopped, and immediately followed by a muffled fall and a low scuffling, and the voice of Lord Vincent muttering vehemently: "Faustina!" and other words inaudible to the hearer.

"Ah! they are quarreling as usual!" said Claudia to herself, with a scornful smile, as she crossed the hall and entered her own suite of apartments.

"I have kept you waiting, Katie; but I could not help it, my good woman," she said cheerfully, as she entered her dressing room. But there was no reply. She looked around her in surprise. Katie was nowhere to be seen; the room was empty. The lamp was burning dimly and the fire was smoldering out.

Claudia raised the light of the lamp, and, seating herself in her easy-chair before the fire, stirred the coals into a blaze and began, to warm her feet and hands.

"'The old creature has grown weary of waiting, I suppose, and has gone down to her supper," she said to herself. And she sat waiting patiently for some time before she rang her bell.

Sally answered it.

"Go down, Sally, and tell Katie that I am here and ready to see her now," said Lady Vincent.

Sally went on this errand, but soon returned and said:

"If you please, ma'am, Aunt Katie aint nowhere downstairs. I s'pects she's done gone to bed."

Claudia suddenly looked up to the ormolu clock that stood upon the mantel shelf.

"Why, yes!" she said, "it is nearly eleven o'clock. I had no idea that it was so late. Of course she has gone to bed."

"Mus' I go call her up, ma'am?"

"No, Sally; certainly not. But there was something that she said she had to tell me. Something, I fancy, it was, about the murder of that poor girl. Has anything new been discovered in relation to that affair, do you know?"

"No, ma'am, not as I has hearn. 'Deed it was only jes now we was all a-talking about it in de servants' hall, and Mr. Frisbie he was a-mentioning how misteerious it was, as we could hear nothing. And jes then your bell rung, ma'am, and I came away."

"Well, Sally, you must help me to disrobe, and then you may go."

The waiting maid did her duty and retired.

And Claudia, wrapped in her soft dressing gown and seated in her easy-chair before the fire, gave herself up to thought.

She was thinking of her meeting with Katie on the stairs. Since it was no new rumor connected with the murder, she was wondering what could be the nature of the communication Katie had to make to her. She recalled the anxious, frightened, indignant countenance of the old woman, and in her memory that expression seemed to have a more significant meaning than it had had to her careless eyes at the time of seeing it.

What could it be that Katie had to tell her? Of course Claudia did not know; she soon gave up trying to conjecture; but felt impatient for the morning, when the mystery should be revealed.

Other anxious thoughts also troubled her; thoughts of the dangers to which she was exposed from the hatred of Lord Vincent, the jealousy of Mrs. Dugald, and the depravity of both; thoughts of her father's long and strange silence; thoughts of the insult she had received that evening in being commanded to chaperon Mrs. Dugald to the theater; thoughts of the mysterious sounds she had heard from Mrs. Dugald's room, and which she was so far from connecting with any idea of Katie that she attributed them solely to a quarrel between her two precious companions; and lastly the ever-recurring thoughts of that mysterious discovery which old Katie had made, and which she was so eager to impart to her lady. Ever Claudia's thoughts, traveling in a circle, came back to this point.

Wearied with fruitless speculation she still sat on, watching the decaying fire and listening to the thunder of the sea as it broke upon the rocks at the base of the castle. At length she got up, drew aside the heavy window curtains, opened the strong oaken shutters and looked out upon the expanse of the gray and dreary sea, dimly visible under the cloudy midnight sky.

At last she closed the window and went to bed. But she could not sleep. She lay wakeful, restless, anxious, through the long hours of the middle night, and through the gray dawn of morning and the early flush of day. A little before her usual hour of rising she rang the bell.

Sally answered it.

"Is Katie up?" she inquired.

"No, ma'am. Mus' I wake her?"

"Certainly not. Let her have her sleep out, poor creature. And do you stop and help me to dress."

And so saying Claudia arose and made an elegant morning toilet; for Claudia, like Mary Stuart, would have "dressed" had she been a lifelong, hopeless captive.

When her toilet was made she directed Sally to bring her a cup of strong coffee; and when she had drunk it she sat down to wait with what patience she could for the awakening of old Katie.

Poor Claudia, with all her faults, was kind to her dependents and considerate of their comforts. And so, anxious as she was to hear the communication old Katie had to make to her, she was resolved not to have the old woman's rest broken.

She sat by the window of her dressing room, looking out upon the boundless sea from which the sun was rising, and over which a solitary sail was passing. She sat there until the breakfast bell rang. And then she went below.

She was the first in the breakfast room, and she remained there standing before the fire full ten minutes before anyone else appeared.

Lord Vincent was the next to come in. And Claudia actually started when she saw the awful pallor of his face. Every vestige of color had fled from it; his brow, cheeks, and even lips were marble white; his voice shook in saying "good-morning," and his hand shook in lifting the "Banff Beacon" from the table.

While Claudia was watching him in wonder and amazement, there came a flutter and a rustle, and Mrs. Dugald entered the room all brightness and smiles.

She gave one quick, wistful glance at the viscount, and then addressed him in a hurried, anxious tone, speaking in the Italian language and saying:

"Rouse yourself! Look not so like an assassin. You will bring suspicion!"

"Hush!" answered the viscount, with a quick glance towards Claudia, which warned La Faustina that the American lady might be supposed to understand Italian.

Claudia did understand it, and was filled with a vague sense of horror and amazement.

They sat down to the table. Lord Vincent followed Mrs. Dugald's advice and tried to "rouse" himself. And after he had two or three cups of coffee he succeeded.

Faustina was as bright as a paroquet and as gay as a lark. She prattled on in a perpetual, purling stream of music. Among other things she said:

"And do we go to see Mr. and Mrs. Dean in 'Macbeth' tonight, mon ami?"

"Yes; and Lady Vincent goes with us," answered Lord Vincent emphatically.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I have already declined to do so," said Claudia, speaking with forced coolness, though her heart was burning, her cheeks flaming, and her eyes flashing with indignation.

"You will think better of it, my lady. You will go. Cuthbert, pass the eggs."

"I shall not, my lord," replied Claudia.

"Why will you not? Pepper, Cuthbert."

"For the reason that I gave you last night. Your lordship cannot wish me to repeat it here."

"Oh, a very particular reason you gave me! The salt, Cuthbert," said his lordship, coolly breaking the shell of his egg.

"A reason, my lord, that should be considered sufficiently satisfactory to relieve me from importunity on the subject," answered Claudia.

"If miladie does not wish to go, we should not urge her to do so," observed Mrs. Dugald, as she slowly sipped her chocolate.

"Certainly not. And now I think of it, you can send over for Mrs. MacDonald to come and go with us. The old lady enjoys the drama excessively and will be glad to come. So you shall be sure of your intellectual treat, Faustina."

"That will be so nice!" exclaimed Mrs. Dugald, clapping her hands in childish glee.

Claudia arose from the table and withdrew to her own apartments. She was revolted by the fulsome manners of the strange woman who shared her dwelling, and she was drawn toward the secret, whatever it was, that old Katie wished to impart to her.

When she entered the rooms she found them all arranged tidily by the neat hands of Sally, who since the death of poor Ailsie had had the care of them.

"Sally, has not Katie been up yet?" inquired Lady Vincent.

"No, ma'am; I don't think she's awake yet; I reckon she's a- oversleepin' of herself. And I would 'a' waked her up, only, ma'am, you bid me not to do it."

"What, do you mean to say that she has not yet made her appearance?" demanded Claudia, in alarm.

"Nobody aint seen nothing 'tall of her this morning, ma'am."

"Go to her room at once and see if she is ill. She may be, you know. Go in quietly, so that you will not awaken her if she should be asleep," said Claudia, in alarm, for she suddenly remembered that people of Katie's age and habit sometimes die suddenly and are found dead in their beds.

Sally went on her errand, and Claudia stood waiting and listening breathlessly until her return.

"Laws, ma'am, Aunt Katie's done got up, and made her bed up and put her room to rights, and gone downstairs," said Sally, as she entered the room.

"Then go at once, and if she has had her breakfast send her up to me. Strange she did not come."

Sally departed on this errand also, but she was gone longer than on the first. It was nearly half an hour before she returned. She came in with a scared face, saying:

"Ma'am, it's very odd; but the servants say as ole Aunt Katie hasn't been down this morning."

"Hasn't been down this morning? And is not in her room either?" cried Claudia, in amazement.

"No, ma'am!" answered Sally, stretching her big eyes.

Lady Vincent sharply rang the bell.

The housekeeper promptly answered it, entering the room with an anxious countenance.

"Mrs. Murdock, is it true that my servant Katie has not been seen this morning?"

"Me leddy, she has nae been seen, puir auld bodie, sin' last e'en at the gloaming. She didna come to supper, though Katie isna use to be that careless anent her bit and sup, neither."

"Not seen since last evening at dusk!" exclaimed Claudia, in consternation.

"Na, me leddy, ne'er a bit o' her, puir bodie!"

"Go, Mrs. Murdock, and send the maids to look for her in every place about the castle where she is in the habit of going. And send the men outside to examine the premises. She may be taken with a fit somewhere, and die for want of assistance," said Lady Vincent, in alarm.

"And sae she may, me leddy! That is true enough," replied the dame, nodding her head emphatically as she hurried out on this mission.

Claudia sat down before her dressing-room fire and tried to wait the issue patiently. To be sure, she thought Katie might be in the stillroom, or the linen closet, or the bathroom, and there could be no reasonable cause of uneasiness. But why, then, did she not come up? Well, she might have been busy in some one of the above- mentioned places; and she might have been waiting until she thought her mistress should have got through breakfast; and perhaps she might come now very soon; might even enter at any moment. Such were the thoughts that coursed through Claudia's brain, as she tried to sit still before her little fire.

For more than an hour Claudia waited, and then she impatiently rang the bell. It brought Mrs. Murdock into the room.

"Has Katie been found yet?"

"Na, me leddy, not a bit of her. The servants are still seeking her."

"But this is very strange and alarming."

"It just is, me leddy. And I canna but fear that some ill has happened till her, puir soul!"

"I will go down and assist in the search," said Lady Vincent, rising anxiously.

"Na, me leddy, dinna gang, ye canna do ony good. The lasses are seeking in every nook and cranny in the house; and if she is biding in it they will find her. And the lads hae gone outside to seek in the grounds, whilk same is sune done; for the castle yard and grounds are nae that expansive, as your leddyship kens." "But I cannot sit here, waiting in idleness. It drives me half frantic! Who can say what may not have happened to poor Katie?"

"Nae, me leddy, dinna fash yo'sel'! She may e'en just ha' gone her ways over to Banff, or some gait, and may be back sune. I'll gae see if they ha' brought in ony news."

"Go, then, Mrs. Murdock, and let me know the instant you hear anything definite," said Claudia, sinking back in her chair.

Mrs. Murdock left the room, and another hour of suspense passed. And then, uncalled, the housekeeper came up again, and said:

"It is a' in vain, me leddy. The servants have sought everywhere, within and without the castle, and they can na find the auld bodie at a'! And your leddyship's ain footman, Jamie, ha' come fra Banff and brought the morning mail, and he has na seen onything o' his mither on the road."

"Good Heavens! but this is strange and very dreadful. Send Jim up to me at once."

The housekeeper went to obey. And Jim soon stood in the presence of his mistress.

"Any letters from America, Jim?" inquired Lady Vincent anxiously, and for a moment forgetting poor old Katie's unknown fate.

"No, my lady, not one. There was no foreign mail to-day."

"Another disappointment! Always disappointments!" sighed Claudia. And then reverting to the subject of Katie's disappearance, she said:

"What is this about your mother, Jim? When did you see her last? And have you any idea where she can be gone?"

Jim suddenly burst into tears; for we know that he loved his old mother exceedingly; and he sobbed forth the words:

"Oh, my lady, I am afeared as somebody has gone and made way with her as they did with poor Ailsie!"

"Gracious Heaven, Jim, what a horrible idea! and what an utterly irrational one. Who could possibly have any motive for harming poor old Katie?"

"I don't know, my lady. But, you see, my poor mother was always a- watching and a-listening about after his lordship and that strange lady. And I know they noticed it, and maybe they have done made way with mother—My lady! oh! you are fainting! You are dying!" cried Jim, suddenly breaking off, and rushing towards his mistress, who had turned deadly pale, and fallen back in her chair.

"No, no! water, water!" cried Lady Vincent, struggling to overcome her weakness.

Jim flew and brought her a full glass. She quaffed its contents eagerly, and sat up, and tried to collect her panic-stricken faculties. She had received a dreadful shock. Jim's words had given the key to the whole mystery. In one terrible moment the ghastly truth had burst upon her. She understood, now, the whole. She could combine the circumstances: Katie's agitated meeting with her on the stairs; the communication which the poor faithful old creature seemed so eager to make, and which must have related to some discovery that she had made; the mysterious noises heard in Mrs. Dugald's apartments; the guilty paleness of the viscount at the breakfast table; the strange words spoken in Italian by Faustina; the mysterious disappearance of Katie; all, all these pointed to one dreadful deed, from the bare thought of which all Claudia's soul recoiled in horror.

"Jim!" she gasped, in a choking voice.

"My lady!"

"At what hour last evening did you see your mother?"

"Just a little after sunset. The last dinner bell had rung; and I brought some coal up to put on your ladyship's fire, and I set it on the outside of the door, intending to take it in as soon as your ladyship came out to go down to dinner. Well, I was standing there waiting with the coal when I saw my lord's dor open and Mr. Frisbie come out, with such a face! Oh, my lady! I don't know how to describe it; but it had a cruel, cowardly, desperate look—as if he would have cut someone's throat to save himself a shilling! He passed on downstairs without ever seeing me. And the next minute my lord came out of the same room, with—I beg your pardon, my lady—a look of wicked triumph on his face. He was even laughing, like he had done something that pleased him. And he happened to look up and see me, and he growled:

"'What are you doing there, fellow?'

"And I bowed down to the ground a'most, and answered:

"'I have brought up coal for my lady's rooms, my lord.'

"'Very well,' he said, and he went on.

"Next thing, I was tuk right off my feet, by seeing of my own mother come right out'n that same room. And she came out, did the old woman, with her eyes rolled up and her arms lifted high, looking as she a'most always does when she hears anything dreadful; looking just for all the world as she did the day she heard of poor Ailsie's murder. Well, my lady, I felt sure as she had been a-hiding of herself in my lord's room, and had discovered something horrible. And so I called to her in a low voice:

"'Mother!'

"But she shook her head at me, and ran down the stairs, and stood waiting. And just at that minute your ladyship came out of your room. You may remember, my lady, seeing me standing there with the coal as you came out?"

"Yes, Jim, I remember," replied Lady Vincent.

"Well, my lady, I saw mother stop you, and I heard a whispered conversation, in which she seemed to beg you to do something that you hadn't time to attend to, for you went downstairs and left her."

"I was on my way to dinner, you remember; but I bade Katie go into my dressing room and await me there. When I went up after dinner, however, I found that she had not followed my directions. She was not in my apartments, nor have I seen her since."

"I beg pardon, my lady; but, indeed, poor mother did obey your ladyship. She came upstairs again, and she took the coal hod out'n my hands, and said—said she:

"'You go right straight downstairs, Jim, and I'll tend to my ladyship's fires myself.' And I said:

"'Mother,' said I, 'what's the matter?' And she whispered to me:

"'I done hear somethin' awful, Jim; but I must tell my ladyship before I tells anyone else.'

"'Was it about poor Ailsie's death?' said I.

"'Worse 'an dat,' she answered; and then she went in and shut the door in my face. And I come away. And that was the last time as ever I see my poor, dear old mother. She never come down to supper, nor likewise to play cards in the servants' hall in the evening, as she is so fond of doing. And surely, my lady, I was not uneasy, because I knew she often stayed in your ladyship's rooms until late; and as I had seen her go into them myself that evening, I was feeling full sure that she was with you. And so I went to bed in peace. And this morning, as I got up and went to the post office before any of the woman servants were astir, of course I didn't expect to see her. But the first thing as I heard when I come back, was as she was a- missing! And oh, my lady, I'm sure, I'm dead sure, as somebody has made way with her!" exclaimed Jim, bursting into a fresh flood of tears.

"Don't despair, Jim; we must hope for the best," replied Lady Vincent, in whose bosom not a vestige of hope remained.

But Jim only answered with his tears.

"Compose yourself, boy; and go and say to Lord Vincent that I request to see him in my boudoir."

Jim went out with a heavy heart to do his errand; but returned with an answer that Lord Vincent was engaged.

"I will not be baffled in this way!" muttered Claudia to herself. Then speaking aloud she inquired: "Where is his lordship, and upon what is he engaged?"

"He is sitting in the library, with a bottle of brandy and a box of cigars on the table by him; he is smoking and drinking."

"'Smoking and drinking' at twelve o'clock in the day!" muttered Claudia to herself, with a motion of disgust. Then speaking up, she said: "Go downstairs, Jim, and assist in the search for your poor mother; I will ring when I want you."



CHAPTER XXIX.

A DEEP ONE.

An evil soul producing holy witness, Is like a villain with a smiling face. A goodly apple, rotten at the core. —Shakespeare.



And when her footman had retired Claudia gave herself up to severe and painful thought upon what she had just heard. And the more she reflected on the circumstances the more firmly convinced she became that poor old Katie had suffered foul play; though of what precise nature or by whom exactly dealt she could not decide. Whether Katie had been kidnaped and sent away; or immured in one of the underground dungeons of the castle; or murdered; or whether the perpetrators of either of these crimes were Lord Vincent and Faustina; or Lord Vincent and Frisbie; or Faustina and Frisbie; or finally, whether all three were implicated, she could not determine. And the whole question overwhelmed her with horror. Was this ancient and noble castle really a den of thieves and assassins? One frightful murder had already been committed. Another had perhaps been perpetrated. Was even her own life safe in such a cut-throat place? She feared not; and she knew that she must act with exceeding caution and prudence to insure her safety. What then should she do? What became her duty in these premises? Clearly she could not leave the faithful servant, who had probably lost life or liberty in her service, to such a fate. And yet for Lady Vincent to stir in the matter would be to risk her own life.

No matter! Claudia, with all her faults, was no coward.

And with a sudden resolution she arose and went downstairs and into the library, where Lord Vincent sat drinking and smoking.

"Lady Vincent, I believe I sent you word that I was engaged," said the viscount, as soon as he saw her.

"Not very particularly engaged, I believe, my lord," said Claudia, resolutely advancing toward him.

"I was smoking. And I understood that you disliked smoke," said Lord Vincent, throwing away the end of his cigar.

"There are crises in life, my lord, that make us forget such small aversions. One such crisis is at hand now," answered Claudia gravely.

"Will your ladyship explain?" he demanded, placing a chair for her. Evidently the brandy or something or other had strung up Lord Vincent's nerves.

Claudia took the seat, and sitting opposite to him, fixed her eyes upon his face and said:

"Are you aware, Lord Vincent, that my servant Katie has been missing since yesterday afternoon?"

"Indeed? Where has the old creature taken herself off to? She has not eloped with one of our canny Scots, has she?" inquired the viscount, coolly lighting another cigar and puffing away at it.

"Such jesting, my lord, is cruelly out of place! It has not been many days since a very horrid murder was committed on these premises. The murderer has eluded detection. And apparently such impunity has emboldened assassins. I have too much cause to fear that my poor old servant has shared Ailsie Dunbar's fate!"

Before Claudia had finished her sentence Lord Vincent had dropped his cigar and was gazing at her in ill-concealed terror.

"What cause have you for such absurd fears? Pray do you take the castle of my ancestors to be the lair of banditti?" he asked in a tone of assumed effrontery, but of real cowardice.

"For something very like that indeed, my lord!" answered Claudia, with a terrible smile.

"I ask you what cause have you for entertaining these preposterous suspicions?"

"First of all, the assassination of Ailsie Dunbar and the successful concealment of her murderer. Secondly, the mysterious disappearance of my servant Katie, just at a time when it was desirable to some parties to get her out of the way," said Claudia emphatically, and fixing her eyes firmly on the face of the viscount, that visibly paled before her gaze.

"What—what do you mean by that?"

"My lord, I will tell you. Yesterday afternoon, as I was descending to dinner, old Katie met me on the stairs and with a frightened face told me that she had made an important discovery that she wished to communicate to me. I directed her to go to my dressing room and wait there until my return from dinner, when I fully intended to hasten at once to her side and hear what she had to say—"

"Some 'mare's nest' of a new rumor concerning the murderer of Ailsie Dunbar, I suppose," said the viscount, with a feeble attempt to sneer.

"No, my lord, I rather think it was something concerning my own safety. But I never knew; for you may recollect that on last evening your lordship detained me in conversation some time after dinner. When I went to my dressing room Katie was not there. I thought she had grown sleepy and had gone to bed, and so I felt no anxiety on that score. But this morning, my lord, she is missing. She is nowhere to be found."

"Oh, I dare say she has gone visiting some of the country people with whom she has picked acquaintance. She will turn up all right by and by."

"I fear not, my lord."

"Why do you 'fear not'?"

"Because there are other very suspicious circumstances connected with the disappearance of Katie, that since her evanishment have recurred to my memory, or been brought to knowledge."

"Pray, may one ask without indiscretion, what these suspicious circumstances are?"

"Certainly, my lord; it was to report them that I came here. First, then, last evening on my return towards my own room I was a little startled by hearing a scream, quickly smothered, and then a fall and a scuffling, soon silenced. These sounds came from the apartment of Mrs. Dugald—"

"The demon!" burst involuntarily from the unguarded lips of Lord Vincent.

Claudia heard, but continued to speak as though she had not heard.—"I caught one single word of the conversation that ensued. It was—'Faustina!' and it was your voice that uttered it. I therefore supposed at the time, my lord, that you were only having one of your customary slight misunderstandings with your—sister-in-law."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, that was it! She was suffering from an attack of hysterics; and I had to go in and control her a little. She has been subject to these attacks ever since the death of her husband, poor woman," said he, in a quavering voice.

Claudia eyed him closely and continued:

"That was the circumstance that recurred to my memory with so much significance when Katie was reported missing this morning. Then, upon making inquiries as to where and by whom she was last seen, another very significant circumstance was brought to my knowledge; that she was seen last evening to issue from your rooms immediately after you and your valet left them; and it appears to have been just after that she met me on the steps."

"Flames of—! What was she doing in my rooms?" exclaimed the viscount, losing all self-command for the moment and turning ghastly white with the mingled passions of rage and terror.

"I do not know, my lord; probably her duty, a part of which is to keep your linen in order. But whatever took her to your rooms, on that occasion, or detained her there, it is very evident that while there she made some frightful discovery which she wished to communicate and would have communicated to me had she not been— prevented," said Claudia firmly.

Lord Vincent was tremendously agitated, but struggled hard to regain composure. At last he succeeded.

"Who told you that she was seen coming from my rooms? What spy, what eavesdropper, what mischief-maker have you in your employ that goes about my house—watching, listening, and tale-bearing? If I detect such a culprit in the act I will break his or her neck, and that you may rely upon!" he said.

"Have you broken Katie's neck?" inquired Lady Vincent.

"Ha, ha, ha! If I had caught her hiding in my rooms I should have done so beyond all doubt! Luckily for her I did not do so, as you must be aware, since you say she was seen coming out of them."

"Yes; but she was never seen to leave the castle!"

"Lady Vincent, what is it that you dare to insinuate?"

"My lord, I insinuate nothing. I tell you plainly that I feel myself to be—not in a nobleman's castle, but in a brigand's fastness; and that I suspect my poor old servant has been foully made way with."

"Lady Vincent, how dare you!"

"You may glare at me, my lord, but you shall not intimidate me. I have seen one murdered woman in the house; I do strongly suspect the presence of another, and I know not how soon my own life may fall a sacrifice to the evil passions of the fiend that rules your fate. I have been silent in regard to my deep wrongs for a long time, my lord. But now that my poor servant has fallen a victim to her fidelity, I can be silent no longer! I am here alone, helpless, and in your power! Yet I must make my protest, and trust in God's mercy to deliver me, and what is left of mine, from the hands of the spoiler!" said Claudia solemnly.

Sometimes necessity compels people to think and act with great rapidity; to rally their faculties and charge a difficulty at a moment's notice.

This was the case with the Viscount Vincent now. Very quickly he collected his mind, formed his resolution, and acted upon it.

"Lady Vincent," he said, in a kinder tone than he had yet used, "your words shock and appall me beyond all measure. Your suspicions wrong me cruelly, foully; I know nothing whatever of the fate of your woman; on my soul and honor, I do not! But if you really suspect that anyone had an interest in the taking off of that poor old creature, tell me at once to whom your suspicions point, and I will do my very utmost to discover the truth. By all my hopes of final redemption and salvation, I will!" he added, looking earnestly in her face.

Claudia gazed at him in utter amazement. Could this be true? she asked herself. Could a man look so full in her face, speak so earnestly, and swear by such sacred things, while telling a falsehood? To one of Claudia's proud nature it was easier to believe a man guilty of murder than of lying and perjury. She was thoroughly perplexed.

Lord Vincent saw the effect his words had had upon her, and he was encouraged to follow up his success.

"Whom do you suspect, Claudia?" he inquired.

She answered honestly.

"My lord, I will tell you truly. I suspect you."

"Me!" he exclaimed, with a laugh of incredulity. Never were honest scorn and righteous indignation more forcibly expressed. "Me! Why, Claudia, in the name of all the insanities in Bedlam, why should you suspect me? What interest could I possibly have in getting rid of your amusing gorilla?"

"My lord, I hope that I have wronged you; but I feared that Katie had become possessed of some secret of yours which you wished to prevent her from divulging."

"And for that you thought I would have taken her life?"

"For that reason I thought you would have made away with her—by kidnaping and sending her out of the country, or by immuring her in one of the dungeons of the castle, or even by—"

"Speak out! 'Cutting her throat,' why don't you say?"

"Oh, Lord Vincent, but this is horrible, horrible!" shuddered Claudia.

"Ha, ha, ha! Well, upon my life, my lady, you are excessively complimentary to me! But I am willing to believe that the tragic event of last week has shattered your nervous system and disturbed the equilibrium of your mind. But for that I should hardly know how to pardon your absurd insults. Have you anything more to say to me, Lady Vincent?"

"Only this, my lord; that if I find I have wronged you by this dreadful suspicion, as perhaps I have, I shall be glad, yes, overjoyed, to acknowledge it and beg your pardon. And, in the meantime, I must ask you to keep your word with me, and investigate the disappearance of Katie!"

"I will do so willingly, Lady Vincent. And now a word with you. Will you not change your mind and go with us to Mr. and Mrs. Dean to- night?"

"No, my lord," replied Claudia, in a tone that admitted of no further discussion of the question.

And thus they parted.

For some time after Claudia left the library Lord Vincent remained sitting with his brows contracted, his mouth clenched, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. He was in deep thought. Handsome man as he was, villain was written all over his face, form, and manner in characters that even a child could have read; and, therefore, no one was to be pitied who, having once seen Lord Vincent, suffered themselves to be deceived by him.

Presently he arose, bent toward the door and peered out, and, seeing that the coast was clear, he went out with his stealthy, cat-like step, and stole softly to the room of Mrs. Dugald.

She was in her boudoir.

He entered without knocking, locked the door behind him, and went and sat down by her side.

"What now?" she inquired, looking up.

"What now? Why, all is lost unless we act promptly!"

"I said it."

"Faustina, she has missed Katie!"

"That was a matter of course."

"But she suspects her fate."

"What care we what she suspects? She can prove nothing," said Mrs. Dugald contemptuously.

"Faustina, she can prove everything if she follows up the clew she has found. Listen. She was in the hall, near the door, when the deed was done! She heard the struggle and the cry and a part of our conversation."

"We shall all be guillotined!" cried the woman, starting to her feet and standing before him in deadly terror.

"We have no guillotining in England; but hanging is equally or even more disagreeable."

"How can you talk so when my bones are turning to gristle and my heart to jelly with the fright!" cried Mrs. Dugald.

"I jest to reassure you. If we act with promptitude there will be no danger; not in the least. I have thrown her off the scent for the present; I have told her that the noise, the struggle, the cry, and the exclamation she heard were nothing but this—that you were suffering from an attack of hysterics, and that I was trying to control and soothe you. I told her that I knew nothing whatever of the fate of her gorilla; and I did not spare the most solemn oaths to assure her of the truth of my statement."

"Good! but was she assured?"

"Not fully. She is confused, bewildered, perplexed, thrown out of her reckoning and off the track; and before she has time to recover herself, collect her faculties, and get upon the scent again, we must act. We must draw the net around her. We must place her in a position in which her character as a witness against you would he totally vitiated. To do this we must hasten the denouement of the plot."

"That plot which will rid me of my rival and make me—me—Lady Vincent!" exclaimed the siren, her eyes sparkling with anticipated triumph.

"Yes, my angel, yes! And I would it were to-morrow!"

"Ah, but, in the meanwhile, if I should be found out and guillotined!" she cried, with a shudder.

"Hanged, my angel, hanged; not guillotined! I told you we do not guillotine people in England."

"Ah—h—h!" shrieked the guilty woman, covering her face with her hands.

"But I tell you there is no danger, my love; none at all, if we do but act promptly and firmly. The time is ripe. The plot is ripe. She herself walks into the trap, by insisting on staying at home this evening, instead of accompanying us to the theater. I have sent the carriage for Mrs. MacDonald. She will come to luncheon with us, and afterwards go with us to the play. My lady will remain at home, by her own request."

"Does Frisbie know the part he is to play?"

"Yes; but not the precise hour of his debut. That I shall teach him to-day. He will be well up in his lesson by this evening, you may depend."

"Ah, then we shall finish the work to-night!"

"We shall finish it to-night."

"But Mrs. MacDonald—will she not be in the way?"

"No; as I shall arrange matters, she will be of the greatest use and help to us, without knowing it. First, as a most respectable chaperon for you, and, secondly, as a most indubitable witness of the fall of Lady Vincent."

"Good! good! I see! To-night, then, she shall be cast down from her proud pedestal. And to-morrow—"

"To-morrow she shall be dismissed from the castle."

"But then I shall have to go, too. I could not stay—the world would talk."

"No, Faustina, you shall not go. I shall go and leave you here, and invite Mrs. MacDonald to remain and bear you company until—until I shall be free, my angel, to return and make you my wife."

She clapped her hands with great glee and eagerly demanded:

"And when will that be? Oh, when will that be? How soon? how soon?"

"It may be weeks; it may be months; for the Divorce Courts are proverbially slow. But the time will come at length; for I have taken every measure to insure perfect success."



CHAPTER XXX.

A NIGHT OF HORROR.

He threw his sting into a poisonous libel And on the honor of—oh God!—his wife, The nearest, dearest part of all men's honor, Left a base slur to pass from month to mouth, Of loose mechanics with all foul comments, Of villainous jests and blasphemies obscene; While sneering nobles in more polished guise Whispered the tale and smiled upon the lie. —Byron.



Claudia passed a weary day. She did not cease in her efforts to discover some clew to the disappearance of old Katie. But all her efforts were fruitless of success.

Early in the afternoon the carriage that was sent for Mrs. MacDonald returned, bringing that lady.

Claudia did not go down into the drawing room to receive her; she considered Mrs. Dugald's companion, whatever her pretensions might be, no proper associate for Lady Vincent. She met the visitor, however, at dinner, which was served some hours earlier than usual in order to give the play-going party time enough to reach their destination before the rising of the curtain. She found Mrs. MacDonald to be a thin, pale, shabby woman, about forty years of age; one of those poor, harmless, complacent creatures who, when they can de so without breaking any law of God or man, are willing to compromise a good deal of their self-respect to secure privileges which they could not otherwise enjoy.

And though Mrs. MacDonald was a descendant of the renowned "Lords of the Isles," and was as proud of her lineage as any aristocrat alive, yet she did not hesitate to accept an invitation, to go to the theater with Lord Vincent, who was called a "fast" man, and Mrs. Dugald, who was more than a suspected woman. Claudia treated this lady with the cold politeness that the latter could neither enjoy nor complain of. Immediately after dinner the party left for Banff.

Few good women have ever been so distressingly misplaced as Claudia was; therefore few could understand the hourly torture she suffered from the mere presence of her vicious companions, or the infinite sense of relief she felt in being rid of them, if only for one evening. She felt the atmosphere the purer for their absence, and breathed more freely than she had done for many days.

She soon left the drawing room, whose atmosphere was infected and disturbed with memories of Mrs. Dugald, and retired to her own boudoir, where all was comparatively pure and peaceful.

A deep bay-window from this room overhung the sea. There was a softly cushioned semicircular sofa around this window, and a round mosaic table within it.

Claudia drew aside the golden-brown curtains and sat down to watch the gray expanse of ocean, over which the night was now closing.

While gazing abstractedly out at sea she was thinking of Katie. Now that the darkening influence of Mrs. Dugald's and Lord Vincent's presence was withdrawn from her sphere, she was enabled to think clearly and decide firmly. Now that the viscount no longer stood before her, exercising his diabolical powers of duplicity upon her judgment, she no longer believed his protestations of ignorance in regard to Katie's fate. On the contrary, she felt convinced that he knew all about it. She did not now suppose, what her first frenzied terrors had suggested, that Katie had been murdered, but that she had been abducted, or confined, to prevent her from divulging some secret to the prejudice of the viscount of which she had become possessed. For Claudia had read the viscount's character aright, and she knew that though he would not hesitate to break every commandment in the Decalogue when he could do so with impunity, yet he would not commit any crime that would jeopardize his own life or liberty. Therefore she knew he had not murdered Katie; but she believed that he had "sequestrated" her in some way.

Having come to this conclusion, Claudia next considered what her own duty was in the premises. Clearly it was for her to take every measure for the deliverance of her faithful servant, no matter how difficult or repugnant those measures should be.

Therefore she resolved that early the next morning she would order the carriage and go on her own responsibility and lodge information with the police of the mysterious disappearance of her servant and the suspicious circumstances that attended her evanishment. Claudia knew that the eye of the police was still on the castle, because it was believed to hold the undetected murderer of Ailsie Dunbar, and that, therefore, their action upon the present event would be prompt and keen. She knew, also, that the investigation would bring much exposure and scandal to the castle and its inmates; and that it would enrage Lord Vincent and result in the final separation of herself and the viscount. But why, she asked herself, should she hesitate on that account?

The price for which she had sold herself had not been paid. She had her empty title, but no position. She was not a peeress among peeresses; not a queen of beauty and of fashion, leading the elite of society in London. Ah, no! she was a despised and neglected wife, wasting the flower of her youth in a remote and dreary coast castle, and daily insulted and degraded by the presence of an unprincipled rival.

Claudia was by this time so worn out in body and spirit, so thoroughly wearied and sickened of her life in the castle, that she only desired to get away with her servants and pass the remainder of her days in peaceful obscurity.

And her contemplated act of complaining to the authorities was to be her first step towards that end. Having resolved upon this measure, Claudia felt more at ease. She drew the curtains of her window, and seated herself in her favorite easy-chair before the bright, sea- coal fire, and rang for tea. Sally brought the waiter up to her mistress, and remained in attendance upon her.

"Has anything been heard of Katie yet?" inquired Lady Vincent.

"No, ma'am, nothing at all," answered Sally through her sobs.

"Don't cry; tell them when you go down, to keep up the search through the neighborhood; and if she is not forthcoming before to- morrow morning, I will take such steps as shall insure her discovery," said Lady Vincent, as she sipped her tea.

Sally only wept in reply.

"Remove this service now. And you need not come up again this evening unless you have news to bring me of Katie, for I need to be alone," said Lady Vincent, as she sat her empty cup upon the waiter.

Sally took the service from the room.

And the viscountess wheeled her chair around to the fire, placed her feet upon the fender, and yielded her wearied and distracted spirit up to the healing and soothing influences of night and solitude. As she sat there, the words of a beautiful hymn glided into her memory. Often before this evening, lying alone and wakeful upon her bed,— feeling the great blessing night brought her, in isolating her entirely from her evil companions, and drawing her into a purer sphere, feeling all the sweet and holy influences of night around her,—she had soothed her spirit to rest repeating the words of Mr. Longfellow's hymn:

"From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drinks repose; The fountains of perpetual peace flows there, From those deep cisterns flows.

Oh, Holy Night! from thee I learn to bear What souls have borne before, Thou lay'st thy fingers on the lips of care And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer, Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice prayed-for, the most fair, The best beloved Night!"

She repeated it now. And it soothed her like a benediction,

A solitary night in her own boudoir would not seem to promise much enjoyment; yet Claudia was happier, because more peaceful now than she had ever seen since her first arrival at Castle Cragg.

She sat on, letting the hours pass calmly and silently over her, until the clock struck ten. Then to her surprise she heard a knocking at the outer hall door, followed by the sound of an arrival, and of many footsteps hastening up the stairs.

Claudia arose to her feet in astonishment, and at the same moment heard the voice of the viscount without, saying in ruffianly tones:

"Burst open the door then! Don't you see it is locked on the inside?" And with a violent kick the door of Claudia's boudoir, which certainly was not locked, was thrown open, and Lord Vincent, with inflamed cheeks and blood-shot eyes, strode into the room, followed by Mrs. Dugald, Mrs. MacDonald, and old Cuthbert.

"Keep the door, sir! Let no one pass out!" roared the viscount to his butler, who immediately shut the door and placed himself against it.

"My lord!" exclaimed Claudia, in indignant amazement, "what is the meaning of this violence?"

"It means, my lady, that you are discovered, run to earth, entrapped, cunning vixen as you are!" exclaimed the viscount, with an air of vindictive triumph.

Mrs. Dugald laughed scornfully.

Mrs. MacDonald turned up her chin contemptuously.

Old Cuthbert groaned aloud.

Claudia looked from one to the other, and then said:

"My lord, you and your friends appear to have been supping on very bad wine; I would counsel you to retire and sleep off its effects."

"Ha, ha, my lady! You take things coolly! I compliment you on your self-possession!" sneered the viscount.

Her heart nearly bursting with anger, Claudia threw herself into her chair, and with difficulty controlling her emotions, said:

"Will your lordship do me the favor to explain your errand in this room, and then retire with your party as speedily as possible?"

"Certainly, my lady, that is but reasonable, and is also just what I intended to do," said the viscount, bowing with mock courtesy.

And he drew a letter from his pocket and held it in his hand, while he continued to speak, addressing himself now to the whole party assembled in Lady Vincent's boudoir.

"It is necessary to premise, friends, that my marriage with this lady was a hasty, ill-advised, and inconsiderate one; unacceptable to my family, unfortunate for myself, humiliating in its results. For some weeks past my suspicions were aroused to the fact that all was not right between the viscountess and another member of my establishment. Cuthbert, keep that door! Let no one rush past!"

"Ah, me laird; dinna fash yoursel'! I'll keep it!" groaned the old man, putting his back firmly against the door.

"Lord Vincent," exclaimed Claudia haughtily, "I demand that you retract your words. You know them to be as false—as false as— yourself. They could not be falser than that!"

"I will prove every word that I have spoken to be true!" replied the viscount. Then continuing his story, he said: "This morning certain circumstances strengthened my suspicions. Among others the persistence with which her ladyship, though in good health, and with no other engagement at hand, resolved and adhered to her resolution to remain at home and miss the rare opportunity of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Dean in their great parts of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Suspecting that her ladyship had some unlawful design in thus denying herself an amusement of which I know her to be excessively fond, and preferring to spend the evening at home, of which I know she is excessively tired, I ordered my faithful old servant, Cuthbert, to watch—not his mistress, Lady Vincent, but another individual—"

Here old Cuthbert interrupted the speaker with deep groans.

Claudia remained sitting in her chair, with her face as pale as death, her teeth firmly set, and her eyes fiercely fixed upon the face of the man who was thus maligning her honor.

He continued:

"How well my suspicions were founded, and how faithfully old Cuthbert has performed his duty, you will soon see. It appears that we had but just started on our drive, when Cuthbert, watching the motions of the suspected person, saw him steal towards Lady Vincent's apartments. The old man glided after him, and, unseen himself, saw him, the miscreant, enter Lady Vincent's boudoir."

"It is as false as Satan! Oh, you infamous wretch, what form of punishment would be ignominious enough for you!" cried Claudia, springing to her feet, her eyes flaming with consuming wrath.

But the viscount approached and laid his hand upon her shoulder, and forced her down into her seat again.

And Claudia, too proud to resist, where resistance would be but a vain, unseemly struggle, dropped into her chair and sat perfectly still—a marble statue, with eyes of flame.

The viscount, with fiendish coolness, continued:

"Cuthbert watched and listened on the outside of the door for some time, and then, thinking that the intruder had no intention of leaving the room, he went and wrote a note, and sent it by one of the grooms, mounted on a swift horse, to me. Ladies, you both saw the boy enter the theater and hand me this note. Your interest was aroused, but I only told you that I was summoned in haste to my lady's apartments, and begged you to come with me—"

"And I thought her ladyship was perhaps ill, and needed experienced help, or I should certainly not have followed your lordship into this room," said Mrs. MacDonald, who, however, made no motion to withdraw.

Mrs. Dugald's insulting laugh rang through the room.

"I beg pardon, madam; I know this is not a pleasant scene for a lady to take part in, but I needed witnesses, and necessity has no law. If you will permit me, I will read the note I received," said the viscount, with a diabolical sneer, as he unfolded the paper. He read as follows:

"'It is a' as your lairdship suspicioned. If your lairdship will come your ways hame at ance, you will find the sinful pair in me leddy's boudoir.'"

The note had neither name nor date.

"You know," pursued Lord Vincent, "that we hurried home; you saw me speak aside with Cuthbert in the hall; in that short interview he informed me that he had remained upon the watch, and that the villain had not yet left Lady Vincent's apartments; that he was still within them!"

"Oh, Cuthbert! I believed you to be an honest old man! It is awful to find you in league with these wretches!" exclaimed Claudia, in sorrowful indignation.

"Ou, me leddy! I'd rather these auld limbs o' mine had been streaket in death, ere I had to use them in siccan uncanny wark! But the Lord's will be dune!" groaned the old man, is such sincere grief that Claudia was thoroughly perplexed.

And all this time the viscount was continuing his cool, devlish monologue.

"It was for this reason, ladies, that I burst open the door and called you in; and it was to prevent the escape of the fellow that I placed Cuthbert on guard at the door. Now, my lady, that you understand the cause of the 'violence' of which you just now complained, you will please to permit me to search the room. You cannot complain that I have acted with unseemly haste. I have proceeded with great deliberation. In fact, your accomplice has had abundant time to escape, if he had the means."

"Lord Vincent, these outrages shall cost you your life!" exclaimed Claudia, in the low, deep, stern key of concentrated passion.

"All in good time, my lady," sneered the viscount, commencing the humiliating search. He looked in the recess of the bay window; peeped behind curtains; opened closets: and finally drew a large easy-chair from the corner of the room.

"Pray, whom do you expect to find concealed in my apartment, my lord?" demanded Claudia, white with rage.

"My respectable valet, the good Mr. Frisbie. And here he is!" replied the viscount sarcastically.

And to Claudia's horror and amazement he drew the trembling wretch from his concealment and hurled him into the center of the room, where he stood with dangling arms and bending legs, pale and quaking, but whether with real or assumed fear Claudia could not tell.

"How came this fellow in my room?" she demanded, in consternation.

"Aye, sure enough! how did he come here?" sneered Lord Vincent.

Mrs. Dugald laughed.

Mrs. MacDonald raised both her hands in horror.

"Come! perhaps he'll tell us why he came here! Confess, you scoundrel! Say what brought you here!" exclaimed the viscount, suddenly changing his tone from cool irony to burning rage, as he seized and shook his valet.

"Oh, my lord, I will! I will! only let go my collar!" gasped the man, shaking or affecting to shake.

"Confess, then, you rascal! What brought you here?"

"Oh, my lord, mercy! mercy! I will confess! I will!"

"Do it, then, you villain!"

"Oh, my lord, I—I come—at—at my lady's invitation, my lord!"

"You came at Lady Vincent's invitation?" cried the viscount, shaking the speaker.

"Y-y-yes, my lord!" stammered the valet.

"You—came—at my invitation?" demanded Lady Vincent haughtily, fixing her eyes of fire on the creatures's dace.

"Yes, my lady, you know I did! It is no use for us to deny it now! Ah, my lady, I alwasy warned you that we should be found out, and now sure enough we are!" replied Frisbie.

Claudia clasped her hands and raised her eyes to Heaven with the look of one who would have called down fire upon the heads of these fiends in human form.

Lord Vincent continued to question his valet.

"Does Lady Vincent makes a practice of inviting you to her apartments?"

"Y-y-yes, my lord!"

"How often?"

"Wh-wh-whenever your lordship's abscence seems to make it safe."

"Then I am to understand that you are a favored suitor of Lady Vincent's?"

"Yes, yes, my lord! Oh, my lord, I know I have done very wrong. I know I—"

"Do you know that you deserve death, sir?" demanded the viscount, in a voice of thunder.

"Oh, my lord, mercy! mercy! I know I am a great sinner! I could kill myself for it, if it wasn't for fear of losing my soul! All I can do now is to repent and confess! I do repent from the bottom of my heart; and I will confess everything! Yes, I will tell your lordship all about it and throw myself on your lordship's mercy! cried this remorseless villain.

"Enough! I wish to hear no more from you just at present. Your confession would be scarcely fir for the ears of these ladies. your testimony must be reserved for a future occasion," said the viscont. And then turning to Claudia with the coolest and most insulting hauteur, he said:

"And now! what have you to say to all this, my lady?"

Claudia advanced into the center of the room; her step was firm; her head erect; her cheeks burning; her eyes blazing; her whole form dilated and lifted to grandeur; she looked a very Nemesis—a very Goddess of Retribute Justice, as throwing her consuming glance around upon the group, who fairly quailed before her, she said:

"What have 'I to say to all this'? I say, Lord Vincent, be assured that you shall die for these insults! I say that I know this to be a foul conspiracy against my honor, and as feeble as it is foul! Oh, reptiles! base, venomous reptiles! Do you really suppose that the honor of a pure woman is of such a weak and sickly nature as to be destroyed by the poison of your calumnies? Fools! I shall leave this place for London tomorrow! I shall go at once to the American Legation and see our American minister, who is an old friend of my father. I will tell him all that has taken place and come to my knowledge, since I have lived under this accursed and polluted roof. I will advise with him as to the best measures to be taken for the discovery of my poor old servant, Katie, and for the unmasking and prosecuting to conviction the wretches who have conspired against my honor. What! I am the daughter of Randolph Merlin! The blood of an Indian king, who never spared a foe, burns along my veins! Take heed—beware—escape while you may! My lord, your fate shall find you, even though it follow you to the farthest ends of the earth! You are warned! And now, as a few moments since, my request that you would withdraw your accomplices from the room was disregarded, I must retire to my chamber."

And with the air and manner of an outraged queen, Claudia left the boudoir.

"Friends," said Lord Vincent, turning to his female companions, "your testimony will be hereafter required in this case. I beg you, therefore, in the name of justice, to make a mental note of what you have seen and heard to-night. Remember Lady Vincent's strange conduct in declining to accompany us to the theater and resolving to stay at home; remember the note that was brought me in my box and our unexpected return home; remember particularly that the door leading into Lady Vincent's apartments was fastened on the inside, and that I had to break it open; remember also that we found the wretch, Frisbie, concealed in the room, and that he made a full confession."

"It is not likely that we shall forget it, my lord!" said Mrs. MacDonald gravely.

"No! what horror!" cried Mrs. Dugald.

"And now, ladies, I will no longer detain you from your necessary rest," said the viscount, ringing the bell, which the housekeeper, looking amazed, scandalized, and full of curiosity, answered.

"Murdock, show this lady, Mrs. MacDonald, to the blue suite of rooms, and place yourself at her service. Madam, pray order any refreshments you may require. Good-night, madam. Sister, good- night!"

"Good-night! good-night, my lord! I shall pray that you shall be able to bear this great misfortune with the fortitude becoming a man," said Mrs. MacDonald.

"Good-night, brother!" said Mrs. Dugald.

When the "ladies," attended by the housekeeper, had left the room and were quite out of hearing, Lord Vincent turned to his accomplice and whispered:

"You did that capitally, Frisbie. You would make an excellent actor. Anyone on earth, looking at you this evening and not knowing the truth, would have thought you were dying of mortification and terror—you shook and faltered so naturally."

"Oh, my lord!" returned the valet, in modest deprecation of this praise.

"You did; but now I wish you to tell me. How did you manage to awaken the suspicions of old Cuthbert? How did you manage to draw his eyes upon you—and draw him on to watch you until you entered the room without seeming to know that you were watched?"

"I tell you, my lord, that part of my task was hard. But I contrived to do it by pretending to watch him, and affecting to dodge out of sight every time he saw me. This excited his curiosity, and caused him to conceal himself in order to watch me. When I knew that he had done this, I began to creep towards my lady's apartments, knowing full well that he was stealing after me."

"But how did you contrive to get into the boudoir?"

"I wore list slippers, and your lordship knows that the thick carpets return no echo to the footstep, and that the doors open and shut silently. First I peeped through the keyhole, and I saw that her ladyship was sitting within the curtained recess of the hay window, looking out at sea, her attention being absorbed there, and her back being towards the door. So I just softly opened the door, entered the room, closing it after me and concealed myself behind your lordship's own great easy-chair, that I knew was never drawn from its dark corner,"

"For the good reason that the owner is never there to occupy it," sneered the viscount.

"Just so, my lord. And now I have told your lordship exactly how I managed matters, so as to make old Cuthbert our accomplice without his ever suspecting it."

"Old Cuthbert must think you a grand rascal."

"He does me great honor, your lordship."

"There! now go about your business, Frisbie. Of course you must get away from here by the morning's first light. It must be supposed that you have been kicked out. Remain in the neighborhood of Banff. You will be wanted as a witness."

"Yes, my lord; but in the meantime-I have saved nothing. I have no means."

"Oh, you mercenary rascal! You have saved your neck from the gallows, if you have saved nothing else. But here are ten pounds for present needs; and I will take care not to see you want for the future. Now be off with you. Your longer stay will excite surprise and conjecture."

"Your lordship is too good!" said the caitiff, bowing himself out.

Lord Vincent soon after left the boudoir and went downstairs. In the hall he found old Cuthbert up and waiting.

"You here yet, Cuthbert? Why don't you go to bed?"

"Ou, me laird, I couldna sleep wi' the thought o' siccan dishonor befa'ing the house!" groaned the old man.

"The dishonor attaches but to one person, and the house will be rid of it when she is cast forth," said the viscount.

"Ou, me laird! for pity, dinna do that! Send her ways back to her ain countrie. She's but a wee bit lassie after a'! And she's awa' fra fayther and mither, and a' her folk! And 'deed I canna bring mysel' to think that ill o' her, neither! 'deed no!"

"Cuthbert, are you out of your senses? What are you talking about? The man was found concealed in her room, and being discovered, confessed his guilt," said Lord Vincent.

"Aye, me laird, but she denied all knowledge of him; and she looked grand wi' the majesty of truth, me laird. Folk dinna look that way when they're leeing. And the lad Frisbie looked just as if he were leeing. Folk dinna look as he looked when they're telling the truth."

"Cuthbert, you are an old dolt! We do not depend on Frisbie's word, exclusively. We have the fact of finding him in the room."

"I misdoubt he e'en just hid himsel' in there for the purpose of robbery, unbeknownst to the leddy. And then cast the blame on her to help to shield himsel', the villain!"

"Cuthbert, you are in your dotage!" exclaimed the viscount angrily.

"It may be sae, my laird; but I canna think shame o' the leddy! Nay, I canna! Howbeit! richt or wrong, the shame has come till her. Sae, me laird, in marcy take an auld man's counsel, and e'en just gie her her dower, and send her her ways to her feyther's house."

"Cuthbert, your brain is softening. Hark ye! Get yourself off to bed."

"Aye, me laird," said the old man meekly, as he withdrew to his den; "but I canna think sin o' the leddy! nay, nay, I canna!"

When all the house was still Lord Vincent stole to the apartments of Mrs. Dugald.

"Oh! I have been waiting for you so long and so impatiently," she said, as she placed him a chair at her dressing-room fireside.

"I came as soon as all was quiet. Oh, Faustina, how I am sinking my soul in sin and infamy for your sake!" exclaimed Lord Vincent, as a momentary qualm of shame sickened his heart.

"Do you repent it, then?" she inquired, with a glance that brought him to her feet, a slave once more, "do you repent it?"

"No, my angel, no! though we go to perdition, we go together! And it is joy and glory to lose myself for you—for you!" he exclaimed passionately, and attempting to embrace her.

"Ha! stop! beware! You are not free yet—nor am I your wife!" exclaimed the artful woman, withdrawing herself from his advances.

"But I shall be free soon, and you shall be my wife. You know it, Faustina. You know that I am your slave. You can do with me as you please. Then why be so cruel as to refuse me even one kiss?"

"That I may have nothing to reproach myself with in after time—when I shall be Lady Vincent. That you may not have to blush for your second viscountess, as you have had to blush for your first."

"Oh, Faustina, how coldly cruel and calculating you sometimes seem to me! Why do I love you so insanely that you possess my very soul? Why is it, beautiful witch?"

"Because I love you so much, mon ami."

"You do, you do! You really love me, 'Tina?"

"Oh, I do! You know I do! more than life!"

"Then let Satan have me after death! I do not care!" replied this desperate fool.

"Hush! this is a dangerous topic. It makes me reel. Give me a glass of water, Malcolm, and let us talk of something else," said the wily siren.

When she had drunk the water the viscount brought her she said:

"There is a question I have been dying to ask you all day, but I could get no good chance without the risk of being overheard—and that would have been ruin."

"What is the question, Faustina?"

The woman turned so deadly white that her black eyes gleamed like great balls of jet from a face of stone, as sinking her voice to the lowest key, she said:

"What have you done with it?"

"With what, Faustina?"

"With the dead body of the black woman?"

The viscount slowly lowered his finger and significantly pointed downward.

"Down there?" whispered Faustina.

The viscount nodded.

"Where we left it?"

"Yes."

"Oh, but that is not safe. There is suspicion. Suppose there should be a search; suppose there should be a discovery?" cried the woman in alarm. For she, who was not afraid of committing the worst crimes, was terribly afraid of meeting their consequences.

"Be at ease. I shall not leave her there long; the sea is near at hand," whispered the viscount.

"Yes, you may cast her into the sea; but the sea sometimes casts back its dead—especially when they have been murdered," shuddered the woman.

"The sea will not cast her back," said the viscount significantly.

"Oh. you will tie a heavy weight to her body! But when will you do it? Oh, I am in agony, until that is removed!"

"Be still! I hope to have an opportunity of removing it tonight."

"But you cannot do it alone. Let me help you. I would rather help you."

"No, I can and will do it without your help. Do you think, my angel, that I would permit you to engage in such dreadful work?"

"I helped you to stop her breath," said the woman hoarsely.

"That was a work of necessity that presented itself suddenly before us. This is different."

"But I would rather help. I would rather be present. I would rather see, for then I should know to a certainty that it was gone," she insisted.

"Can you not trust me?"

"No, no, I cannot trust anyone when my head is in danger of the guillotine."

"I tell you there are no guillotines in England."

"The other thing, then, which is worse, because it is more disgraceful. Hanging by the neck until one is dead! Ugh! No, I cannot trust you, Malcolm, where so much is at stake," said the woman, with a terrible shudder.

"You have no confidence in me then? And yet you say you love me. Why, confidence is the very soul of love."

"Oh, yes, I love you, Malcolm. I love you more than words can tell. And it is for your safety as well as for my own that I am so cautious. And I have confidence in you, Malcolm. Only, being alone, you may not be able to do the work effectually. I must help you. The house is all still; everybody has retired; can we not go now and remove it?"

"No, not now; there is a vessel lying at anchor close under the shore. We must wait until she moves off."

"And the vessel may lay there a whole week. And in the meantime what becomes of the body?" exclaimed Faustina, her eyes wild with apprehension.

"I am assured by those who know, that the vessel will sail with the first tide to-morrow morning. So be tranquil. And now, Faustina, there is another subject which we must settle to-night. Lady Vincent leaves the castle early to-morrow morning. That is necessary; and though it cleaves my heart in two to part with you, I must do it for a season. The world must have no cause to talk of you and me, Faustina; of you, especially, for of you it would be the most likely to talk."

"Why of me?" inquired the ex-opera singer testily.

"Because, my dearest, you have more beauty and genius and fame than the world ever forgives in a woman," answered the viscount artfully.

"Oh!" said the siren, with an air of arch incredulity.

"And now, Faustina, it shall be for you to decide. Shall you remain here, with Mrs. MacDonald for a companion and chaperon, while I go to London to take the preliminary steps towards the divorce; or shall you go to Brighton or Torquay, or any other watering-place on the South Coast?"

Mrs. Dugald was very astute; she answered promptly:

"Oh, I will remain here. And then you will not be jealous. There is no one here to admire me except Mrs. MacDonald and old Cuthbert and Murdock."

"Bless you! Bless you! I do believe you love me because you anticipate my wishes so readily," said this devotee fervently.

"And now you must go, and say good-night! It is two o'clock in the morning and I am tired to death. And mind about that below, you know. And the first safe opportunity you have, come to me to help you remove it. Mind!" said Faustina, raising her finger.

"I will mind. Good-night! What, no kiss, even for good-night?" he said, as she recoiled from his offered salute.

"No. I reserve my kisses for my husband," she answered archly. Thus this evil woman, steeped to the lips in sin, affected the prude with the man she wished to secure. And while making and receiving the most ardent protestations of love, disallowed the very slightest caress.

The viscount, baffled and dissatisfied, but more determined than ever to marry this tantalizing beauty, left the room and retired to his own chamber.

Mr. Frisbie's work was over there, and Mr. Frisbie himself was absent, of course.



CHAPTER XXXI.

THE CASTLE VAULT.

It was more dark and lone, that vault, Than the worst dungeon cell, A hermit built it for his fault, In penitence to dwell: This den, which chilling every sense Of feeling, hearing, sight, Was called the Vault of Penitence, Excluding air and light. 'Twas by an ancient prelate made The place of burial for such dead As having died in mortal sin Might not be laid the church within. 'Twas next a place of punishment; Where if so loud a shriek were sent, As reached the upper air, The hearers blessed themselves and said The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoaned their torments there. —Scott.



There was opening from Lord Vincent's dressing room a bay window, having a balcony on the outside, overhanging the sea. The viscount took a night telescope, opened the window, and stepped out upon the balcony. He adjusted the glass and swept the coast. Nothing was to be seen but the solitary vessel that lay at anchor almost under the castle walls.

"The coast is clear," said the viscount to himself, as he re-entered the room and replaced the telescope.

Then wrapping himself in a large maud and pulling a slouched hat over his eyes, he left the room, descended the stairs and went out.

He took the way down to the sands at the extreme base of the promontory. The path that led down the side of the cliff was steep, slippery, and very dangerous even at noonday. And this was one of the darkest hours of the night that precedes the dawn. And the path was more perilous than ever. But the viscount was Highland-bred, and his step was as sure on the steep mountain edge as on the level plain. He reached the foot of the precipice in safety and stood upon the sands and drew from his pocket a small whistle, which he placed to his lips and blew a shrill call.

It was answered from the vessel at anchor. And soon a boat was put off from her side, and rowed swiftly to the shore.

"Is that you, Costo?" inquired the viscount of the man who jumped ashore.

"No, senor; it is Paolo."

"The mate?"

"Yes, senor."

"Where is Costo?"

"On board the vessel, senor."

"What have you brought this time?"

"Cuban tobacco, Jamaica spirits, and some rich West Indian fabrics for ladies' dresses. A cask of spirits and a box of cigars have gone up to the castle. Old Mr. Cuthbert took them in."

"All right; but I have some business now at hand that Cuthbert must know nothing about. For instance, he is in ignorance, and must remain in ignorance, of my visit to the beach to-night."

"We can be silent as the grave, senor."

"Have you had any trouble from the coastguard?"

"No, senor; how could we? Is not your excellency the protector of the poor?"

The viscount laughed.

"It is true," he said, "that the guards at the nearest station are in my power, and know better than to pry too closely into the concerns of any vessels that run into my castle cove; but beyond their domain I cannot protect you; so be cautious."

"We are cautious, senor. So cautious that we shall sail with the first tide."

"For Havana?"

"For Havana, senor."

"Well, now I wish you to take me to the vessel. I must see the captain."

"Surely, senor," said the obsequious mate, as the viscount stepped into the boat.

"Give way, men! Back to the brigantine," said the mate. And the men laid themselves to their oars, and soon reached the vessel's side.

Lord Vincent was received with the greatest respect by the captain, who came obsequiously to the starboard gangway to meet him.

"Let us go into your cabin at once, Costo; I have business to discuss with you," said the viscount.

"Surely, senor," replied the captain, leading the way down to a small, snug cabin.

It was flanked each side by two comfortable berths, and furnished with a buffet at one end and a round table and two chairs in the center.

"Will the senor deign to seat himself?" said the captain, offering one of these chairs to the visitor and taking the other himself.

There were decanters of spirits, glasses, cigars, pipes, and tobacco on the table.

"Will the senor deign to taste this rum, which is of fine quality, and try one of these cigars, which are at once so strong and so delicate of aroma?"

For an answer the viscount poured out a liberal portion of the spirits and quaffed it almost at a draught, and then lighted a cigar and commenced smoking. He smoked away for a few minutes, during which Costo waited respectfully for him to open communications.

At length the viscount spoke:

"Costo, in your island of Cuba able-bodied men and women of the negro race command good prices, do they not?"

"Yes, senor—great prices, since your illustrious statesmen have abolished the African slave-trade over all the ocean."

"For instance, how much would a fine young man, of say twenty-one years of age, bring?"

"From two to five thousand dollars, according to his health, good looks, and accomplishments. I have known a likely boy of fourteen to sell for three thousand dollars. He is now one of the best cooks on the island."

"Humph! then I should say the one I speak of would bring near the highest price you have named. How much would a healthy, handsome girl of eighteen bring?"

"Mulatress or quadroon?"

"Oh, neither. She is a negress, black as the blackest satin, but with a skin as smooth and soft—a Venus carved in jet."

"From a thousand to two thousand dollars, perhaps, as she is a negress but if she were a mulatress she would bring more, or if a quadroon most of all—other things being equal."

"And how much would a stout, healthy, strong-minded woman of fifty bring?"

"That depends upon other circumstances, senor. If, together with her health and intelligence, she should be a good housekeeper and nurse, as women of her age are apt to be, why, then she might bring from nine to twelve hundred dollars."

"Well, Costo, I have three such negroes as I have just described to dispose of."

"Yes, senor? But you are English and this is England!" exclaimed the buccaneer in amazement.

"Scotch—and Scotland. But, no matter—it amounts to the same thing. Will you buy my negroes at a bargain?"

"Pardon, senor, but I do not understand. I thought there was no buying and selling of slaves in England."

"Of course there is not. And there is no free trade in England. Both negro-trading and smuggling are illegal. Yet, as you manage to drive a pretty profitable business in the latter, you might speculate a little in the former. Eh?"

"But, pardon, senor. I am not in the slave-trade."

"What of that? When such a splendid opportunity of doing a fine stroke of business offers, you might step aside from your regular routine of trade to make a considerable sum of money, might you not?"

"If the senor would condescend to explain himself I might understand the affair he proposes to me. I do not yet comprehend how he can have slaves to sell in England," said the captain respectfully.

"Perhaps another would not be able to understand how you manage to import articles upon which heavy duty is laid, free of all duty whatever?" said the viscount, indulging in a sneer.

"If the senor would deign to make his meaning clear?"

"Well, the senor will endeavor to do so. Though more depends upon your perspicacity than his perspicuity. Can you comprehend that when I was on a visit to the States I married a young American lady, who owned a large number of slaves, who, of course, passed into my possession from the marriage day?"

"Oh, yes, senor; that is easily understood."

"Three of these slaves, the three of which I have just spoken, being favorites of their mistress, attended her to this country."

"And became free from the moment they touched English ground, senor; for such is English law."

"We are not talking of law—though I suppose there is as much law for slavery as there is for smuggling. But the less you and I say about law the better. So just suppose we leave law entirely out of the argument."

"With all my heart, senor; if the senor desires it to be left out."

"'The senor' does. So now, then, we shall get along better, These three negroes are at Castle Cragg. At your own estimation, the lot must be worth eight thousand dollars—sixteen hundred pounds in our money; now you shall have them for six hundred pounds—that is, three thousand dollars of your money; and you will thereby make a profit of one thousand pounds, or five thousand dollars, which is nearly two hundred per cent. Come, what do you say?"

"Senor, we are to leave law out of the argument?"

"Of course."

"Then, if I had these negroes on board this vessel, which is to sail with the morning tide, I would give the senor his price for them."

"You shall have them all on board within the hour."

"Good! but, pardon, senor, a thought strikes me!"

"What is it?"

"Since these negroes are favorite servants of the illustrious Senora?"

"What then?"

"She will not consent to part with them."

"Her consent is as unnecessary as the sanction of the law. It is just because they are favorite servants—petted, pampered, and spoiled servants—that I wish to part with them. Such servants are nuisances in the family circle."

"The senor is right, always right! but—shall we have any difficulty with the negroes?"

"None whatever. You will take them in their beds."

"Will they not make an outcry and bring the house upon us?"

"My excellent but too cautious friend, did you never hear of chloroform?"

"Surely, senor."

"It is one of the greatest blessings modern science has conferred upon us. It not only saves much pain in surgical operations, but in other operations it actually saves life. The experienced burglar now, when he enters a house for the purpose of robbery, instead of cutting the throat of a wakeful inmate, simply administers chloroform, and soothes his restlessness so perfectly that he falls into a happy state of insensibility, while he, the burglar, pursues his calling undisturbed and at leisure."

"Well, senor?"

"Well, don't you understand? I will conduct you and such of your men as you can trust to the castle; admit you secretly; lead you to the bedside of the negroes, who are sure at this hour to be in a deep sleep; administer the chloroform to send them into a deeper one; and so transport them to the vessel."

"And by that time we will be ready to raise anchor and sail. And when our sleepers awake we shall be safely on our way to Cuba."

"Exactly. But no time is to be lost. Will you go now?" inquired the viscount, rising.

"Certainly," said the captain, and he went on deck to order the boat manned to go on shore.

In a few minutes it was reported ready, and the captain, the mate, and two sailors whom they supposed they could rely upon, entered it. In a very few minutes they reached the shore and left the boat.

"Leave the two sailors here with the boat; the mate will be sufficient for our purpose," said the viscount.

The captain gave the necessary directions to the boatmen. Lord Vincent, Captain Costo, and Paolo went up the narrow pass leading to the top of the cliff and entered the castle courtyard.

"Your boots are heavy; they might awaken the household, even at this hour of its deepest sleep; you must put them off here," whispered the viscount.

It was no sooner said than done. The men cast off both shoes and stockings and stood in their bare feet.

"We must keep them dry to put on again," said the mate, as he stuffed the stockings into the boots.

Then, silent as death, they stole into the castle and glided along the dark, deserted halls and up its staircases.

The viscount paused before the door of Mrs. Dugald's boudoir, and taking the maid's pass-key from its hiding place, softly unlocked and entered the room, beckoning his companions in crime to follow.

Silently he stole across the room, drew aside the crimson-satin hangings, exposed the oak-paneled walls, and touched a spring.

A secret door opened, revealing a narrow flight of stairs. Making a sign for his companions to follow, he descended.

Down many narrow flights of stairs, through many winding labyrinths, along many dark passages, the sailors followed their leader, until far down in the deepest foundations of the castle they reached a large, circular stone crypt, with many rusted iron doors around it, leading into little dungeons. On one side of this horrible place was a rude stone altar with an iron crucifix. In the center was a block. It was probably a vault which in the old and dark ages had been used for a place of secret imprisonments, executions, and burials.

Lord Vincent flashed his lantern around upon the scene and then went up to one of the grated doors, unfastened it, and entered the dungeon.

It was a small stone cavity, a hard hole, where it seemed impossible for a human being to live and breathe for an hour. And yet poor old Katie, with the wonderful tenacity of life which belongs to the pure African, had clung to existence there ever since the hour when, seeming dead, she had been dragged from the apartments of Faustina to this hideous vault.

So you see he had deceived Faustina into the belief that Katie had died in the vault from the effects of chloroform.

By the dim light of the lantern her form could now be seen squatted in the corner of the dungeon. Her knees were drawn up, her arms folded on them, and her head buried in them. She had fallen asleep; probably after long watching and fasting and the effects of mental and physical exhaustion. The entrance of the viscount did not awaken her.

"This is the woman; I was obliged to confine her here for a violent assault upon a lady of my family. She is fast asleep; but to attempt to remove her might awaken her; so we will make all sure by sending her into a deeper sleep," whispered the viscount, drawing from his pocket first a bottle of chloroform and then a piece of sponge, which he proceeded to saturate with the liquid.

But it required tact to apply it. Katie's face was buried in her arms. So he first put the lantern out of the way where it could not shine upon her, and then went and gently lifted Katie's head with one hand while he applied the sponge near her nose with the other.

"Yes, chile; I tink so too—my ladyship—whited saltpetre—Bottomy Bay," muttered Katie, who was sleeping the deep sleep of her race, and probably dreaming of her lady and her lady's dangers.

The viscount laid her head back on his own breast, put the chloroform sponge to her nose, and fitted his own slouch hat over her face in such a manner as to confine the fumes.

Poor old Katie's wide nostrils soon inhaled the whole of the deadly vapor, which acted with unusual power upon her exhausted frame, so that she speedily lay as one dead.

"Take her up! make haste! There is a shorter way out of this vault; but I could not bring you here by it because it is fastened on this side," said the viscount, leaving the den.

The captain and mate went in, and raised old Katie's unresisting form in their arms, and followed the viscount, who led them from the vault into a long stone passage, at the end of which was a door, fastened on the inside with a chain and padlock.

The viscount unlocked this door, which opened out into a rocky cave, through which they passed to an intricate, winding, and rugged labyrinth, which finally led out into the open air, on the beach near which the boat was left.

The captain and mate laid down their burden, and stretched their limbs, and took a long breath. The viscount beckoned the boatmen to approach, and they came. Then turning to the captain, he said:

"You had better order these men to take this woman immediately to the boat, and carry her across to the vessel, and lock her up in some place of safety. Then they can return for us; and in the meantime we will return to the castle for the other two."

"Yes, senor," said the captain; and he promptly gave the order.

The viscount waited until he saw Katie safely in the boat and half across on her way to the vessel, and then he beckoned his companions to follow him, and led the way back to the castle.

This time he conducted them to an old turret that had been appointed to the use of Lady Vincent's servants; it was remote from the sleeping apartments of the other domestics. The locks were without keys.

"We will take the man first," said Lord Vincent, softly opening an old oaken door and leading them into a small circular room, scantily furnished, where, upon a rude bedstead, lay poor Jim in a profound sleep. He was a fine subject for their villainous practices. He was lying on his back, with his head stretched back over his pillow, his eyes fast closed, and his mouth wide open. One touching incident in the appearance of this poor fellow was the presence of two large tears on his cheeks. He had probably lain awake all night, and just cried himself to sleep over the fate of his mother, whom his loyal heart loved so faithfully.

The viscount applied the chloroform, and Jim's sleep sunk into insensibility. The captain and the mate then raised him in their arms and bore him from the room and through the many passages and down the many stairs, and along the great hall to the outside of the castle.

They had a hard time getting him down the cliff. But they accomplished the task at last. They found the boat returned and the boatmen waiting patiently for their arrival.

"Captain, the tide serves," said one of these men.

"I know it, Jacques. We will sail in half an hour. Where did you put the woman?"

"I locked her in your cabin for the present, captain."

"Did she recover her senses?"

"No, captain."

"The devil! I hope she won't die."

"No danger, Costo; they lie insensible under the influence of chloroform sometimes for hours, and then recover in a better condition than they were before," said the viscount, hazarding an opinion on a subject of which he knew very little. "But, now, order the sailors to convey this man to the vessel and then return once more for us."

"Pardon, senor. We had better bind him first. If he should recover before he reaches the vessel he might jump out and make his escape," replied the captain, drawing a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and tying the hands of the captive firmly behind his back.

"Lend me yours, Paolo," he next requested, holding his hands out for the required article.

With this second handkerchief twisted into a rope the captain firmly tied together the feet of the captive.

Jim was now as effectually bound as if his fetters had been iron or rope; but he was beginning to show signs of recovery. The viscount saw this and applied the chloroform again, and Jim relapsed into insensibility. In this condition he was conveyed into the boat and rowed swiftly to the vessel.

Meanwhile Lord Vincent and his confederates in crime retraced their steps up the cliff.

"We must be very quick this time, for the household will soon be astir," whispered Lord Vincent eagerly, as he noticed on the eastern horizon the faint dawn of the late winter morning.

They entered the castle, which, luckily for them, was still buried in repose, and wound their circuitous way back to the turret where the last victim, poor Sally, lay.

The viscount opened the oaken door and preceded his companions into her chamber.

But, oh, horror! Sally was awake and up! She was seated on the side of her bed and in the act of putting on her shoes. On seeing the viscount enter she raised her eyes and gazed in dumb amazement.

He lost no time. Like a wild beast he sprang upon her before she could utter a cry.

Throwing one arm around her throat, with his hand upon her mouth, he forced her head back against his breast and applied the chloroform until she succumbed to its fatal power and sunk like a corpse in his arms.

Then his two accomplices took her, and by the same winding route of halls, stairs, and passages carried her out of the castle and down to the beach, where the boat was waiting to receive her. They put her into it, and the viscount, the captain, and the mate followed. In three minutes they reached the vessel, and all went on board, taking the captive girl with them.

The viscount accompanied the captain to his little office and received the six hundred pounds in gold which was the price of this last infamy.

Then the accomplices shook hands and parted.

The sailors rowed the viscount back to the shore, and then returned to their vessel. The viscount stood on the beach, watching the brigantine until she raised her anchor and made sail. And then, as it was growing light, he turned and climbed the cliff and entered the castle, wearing a smile of triumph.