De Vlierbeck bent over his child and impressed a kiss on her forehead, as he was about to utter some words of consolation, when suddenly Lenora sprang from his arms and pointed eagerly to the window, as if listening to approaching sounds.

The noise of wheels and the clatter of horses on the road soon gave Monsieur De Vlierbeck to understand why his daughter had been so startled. His face assumed a more animated expression, and, descending hurriedly, he reached the door as Monsieur Denecker alighted from his coach.

The merchant seemed in exceedingly good humor; he grasped De Vlierbeck's hand, expressing his delight at seeing him once more. "How goes it with you, my old friend? It seems that rogue, my nephew, has taken advantage of my absence." And, although De Vlierbeck ushered him into the saloon with all the formality imaginable, Denecker slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and continued,—

"Well! well! we were good friends from the beginning; and now I understand we are to be regular gossips:—at least I hope so. That scamp hasn't bad taste, I must confess. He would have to make a long search before he found a handsomer or more amiable woman than Lenora. Look you, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, we must have a wedding frolic that people will talk of twenty years hence!"

By this time they had got into the saloon and taken their seats; but De Vlierbeck, nervous as he was, had considerable doubt as to the tone of Denecker's remarks, and whether he was jesting or serious.

"It seems," continued Denecker, assuming a graver tone, "that Gustave is madly impatient for this union, and begs me to hasten it. I have taken compassion on the young fellow and left all the business of our house topsy-turvy to-day to arrange matters with you. He tells me you have given your consent. That was kind of you, sir. I thought a great deal of this affair during my journey, for I had observed that Cupid's arrows had gone clean through and through the boy; yet I had fears about your consent. Inequality of blood, old-fashioned ideas, might perhaps interfere."

"And so Gustave told you that I consented to his marriage with Lenora?" said the old gentleman, paying no attention to Monsieur Denecker's remarks.

"Did he deceive me, sir?" said Denecker, with surprise.

"No; but did he communicate something else to you, which ought to strike you as of equal importance?"

Denecker threw back his head with a laugh, as he replied,—

"What nonsense you made him believe! But, between us two, that passes for nothing. He tells me that Grinselhof don't belong to you and that you are poor! I hope, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, you have too good an opinion of my sense to imagine I have the least faith in such a story?"

A shudder passed over the poor gentleman's frame. Denecker's good-humored familiarity had made him believe that he knew and credited all, and nevertheless responded to his nephew's hopes; but the last words he heard taught him that he must again go over the sad recital of his misfortunes.

"Monsieur Denecker," said he, "do not entertain the least doubt, I beg you, in regard to what I am about to say. I am willing instantly to consent that my daughter shall become your nephew's wife; but I solemnly declare that I am poor,—frightfully poor!"

"Come, come!" cried the merchant; "we knew long, long ago that you were mightily fond of your money; but when you marry your only child you must open your heart and your purse, my dear sir, and portion her according to your means. They say—pardon me for repeating it—that you are a miser; but what a shame it would be to let your only daughter leave your house unprovided for!"

Poor De Vlierbeck writhed on his chair as Denecker poured forth his incredulous jokes. "For God's sake, sir," cried he, "spare me these bitter remarks. I declare, on the word of a gentleman, that I possess nothing in the world!"

"Well!" cried the merchant, taking no heed of his remarks, and with a mocking smile, "come; let us cipher the matter out on the table. You suppose, perhaps, that I have come here to ask some great sacrifice of you: but no, De Vlierbeck, thank God, I have no occasion to be so close in my calculations. Yet a marriage is a thing to which there are always two parties, and it is just that each should bring something into the common stock."

"Oh, God! oh, God!" muttered the poor gentleman, as he clenched his hands convulsively.

"I propose to give my nephew one hundred thousand francs," continued Denecker; "and if he wants to continue in business my credit will be worth as much more to him. I have no wish that Lenora's portion shall equal his. Your high birth, and especially your character, will make up what is wanting in her fortune; but what say you to the half,—fifty thousand francs? You will consent to that, or I am much mistaken. What say you? Is it a bargain?"

Pale and trembling, De Vlierbeck sat riveted to his chair; but at last, in a low, melancholy voice,—

"Monsieur Denecker," said he, "this conversation kills me. I beg you to stop this infliction. I repeat that I possess nothing; and, since you force me to speak before you apprize me of your own intentions, know that Grinselhof and its dependencies are mortgaged beyond their value! It is useless to inform you of the origin of these debts. Let it suffice to repeat that I tell the truth; and I beg you, without going further, now that you are informed of the state of my affairs, to declare frankly what are your designs as to your nephew's marriage."

Although this declaration was made with that feverish energy which ought to have satisfied Denecker of its truth, it nevertheless failed to convince him. A degree of surprise displayed itself on the merchant's face; but he continued his observations in the same incredulous tone:—

"Pardon me, De Vlierbeck, but it is impossible to believe you. I did not think you were so hard in a bargain. Yet be it so: every man has his weakness; one is too miserly, another too prodigal. Now, for my part, I confess that I am extremely anxious to spare Gustave the anxiety of delay. Give your daughter twenty-five thousand francs, with the understanding that the amount of her portion is to remain a secret; for I don't want to be laughed at. Twenty-five thousand francs!—you cannot say it is too much;—in fact, it is a trifle that will hardly pay for their furniture. Be reasonable, my good sir, and let us shake hands on it!"

De Vlierbeck said nothing; but, rising abruptly from the table, opened a closet with a trembling hand, and, taking from it a package of papers, threw them on the table.

"There!" said he; "read; convince yourself."

Denecker took up the papers and began to examine them. As he went on, the expression of his face gradually changed, and at times he raised his head and looked upward, as if in deep thought. After he had been engaged for some time in this disagreeable task, De Vlierbeck recommenced the conversation in a tone of cutting irony:—

"Ah! you would not believe me, sir. Well, let your determination be founded on those papers alone. It is right you should know every thing; for I have determined never again to be tortured. Besides the evidences of debt which are before you, I owe a bill of exchange for four thousand francs, which I cannot pay! You see now, Monsieur Denecker, that I am worse than poor, for I have debts!"

"Alas! it is but too true," said the stupefied merchant; "you have indeed nothing! I see by these documents that my notary is also yours; and, although I spoke to him of your fortune, he left me unadvised, or, I should rather say, in error."

De Vlierbeck breathed more freely, for he felt as if a rock had fallen from his breast. His face resumed its ordinary calmness; and, seating himself, he continued:—

"Now, sir, if you have no longer any reason to doubt my poverty, let me ask what are your intentions."

"My intentions?" replied the merchant; "my intentions are that we shall remain as good friends as we were before; but, as to the marriage, that of course falls to the ground. We will speak no more about it. What were your calculations, Monsieur De Vlierbeck? I think I am just beginning to see a little clearly into this matter! You imagined, I suppose, that you would make a good business out of it and sell your merchandise as high as possible!"

"Sir," exclaimed De Vlierbeck, bounding from his chair in rage, "speak respectfully of my daughter! Poor or rich, do not dare to forget who she is!"

"Don't get angry! don't get angry! Monsieur De Vlierbeck. I have no desire to insult you. Far from it. Had your enterprise succeeded I would probably have admired you; but finesse against finesse always makes a bad game! Permit me to ask, since you are so touchy on the point of honor, if you have acted a very honorable part in courting my nephew and allowing his passion to absorb him?"

De Vlierbeck bowed his head to conceal the blush that suffused his aged cheeks; nor did he awake from his painful stupor till the merchant recalled him by the single word,—

"Well?"

"Ah!" stammered De Vlierbeck, "have mercy on me! Love for my child, probably, led me astray. God endowed her with all the gifts that can adorn a woman. I hoped that her beauty, the purity of her soul, the nobility of her blood, were treasures quite as precious as gold!"

"That is to say, for a gentleman, perhaps; but not for so common a person as a merchant," interrupted Monsieur Denecker, with a sneer.

"Don't reproach me with having courted your nephew," continued De Vlierbeck. "That is a word that wounds me deeply; for it is unjust. Their attachment was reciprocal and in every way unstudied. I thanked God daily in my prayers that he had cast in our path a savior for my child:—yes, a savior, I say; for Gustave is an honorable youth, who would have made her happy not so much by money as by his noble and generous character. Is it then so great a crime for a father who has unfortunately become poor to hope that his child should escape want?"

"Certainly not," replied the merchant; "but every thing is in success; and in that respect, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, your enterprise has been unfortunate. I am a man who examines his goods twice before he buys, and it is difficult to pass apples on me for lemons!"

This heartless, trafficking slang tortured the unfortunate bankrupt to such a degree that he arose from his seat in a passion and began to pace the apartment.

"You have no consideration for my misfortunes, sir," said he. "You pretend that I designed deceiving you; but was it you who discovered my poverty? Are you not free to act as you please, after the disclosures that I have voluntarily given you? And let me remark, sir, that if I listen humbly to your reproaches—if I even acknowledge my fault—the sense of manhood is not dead in my soul. You talk of 'merchandise' and 'goods,' as if you came here to buy something! You allude to my Lenora, do you? All your wealth, sir, could not purchase her! and, if love is not powerful enough in your eyes to obliterate the pecuniary inequality between us, know that I am a De Vlierbeck, and that name, even in poverty, weighs more than all your money!"

During this explosion his face kindled with indignation and his eyes shot forth their fiery rays upon the merchant, who, alarmed by the loud words and animated gestures of De Vlierbeck, regarded him with an air of stupefaction from the other side of the apartment.

"Good God, sir," said he at last, "there is no need of so much violence and loud talk! Each of us remains where he is; each keeps what he has, and the affair is at an end. I have but one request to make of you, and it is that you will never again receive my nephew,—or else—"

"Or else?" interrupted De Vlierbeck, passionately; "do you dare to threaten me?" But, restraining himself almost instantly, he continued, with comparative calmness, "Enough! Shall I call Monsieur Denecker's carriage?"

"If you please," replied the merchant. "We cannot do business together, it seems; but that is no reason why we should become enemies."

"Well! well! we will stop short of that, sir. But this conversation annoys me; it must end!" And, so saying, he led Monsieur Denecker to the door and bade him farewell abruptly. Be Vlierbeck returned to the parlor, fell into his chair and covered his brow with both hands, as a heavy groan burst from his breast, which heaved with almost hysterical emotion. For a long time he remained silent and motionless; but soon his hands fell heavily on his knees, a deathly paleness overspread his face, and the room whirled around the heart-broken man.

Suddenly he heard footsteps in the chamber above, and, rousing himself by a strong effort, "Oh, God! my poor child!" cried he; "my poor Lenora! She comes! my punishment is not yet complete! I must break the heart of my own child; I must tear from it all its hopes, blot out its dream, behold it withered up with grief! Oh that I could escape this dreadful disclosure! Alas! What to say to her? how to explain it?"

A bitter smile contracted his lips as he continued, with bitter irony:—"Ah! hide thy suffering, old man; rally thy strength; take courage! If thy heart is torn and bleeding,—if despair devours thy soul,—oh, smile, still smile! Yes! your life has been a continual farce! Yet, miserable abortion that thou art, what canst thou do but submit, yield without a fight, and bow thy neck to the yoke like a powerless slave? Begone, rebellious feeling! Be silent, and behold thy child!"

Lenora opened the door and ran to her father, her questioning eyes fixed on his with a look of hope. All of poor De Vlierbeck's efforts to disguise his suffering were unsuccessful, and Lenora soon read in his face that he was a prey to some overwhelming sorrow. As he still obstinately kept silence, she began to tremble, and asked, with feverish impatience,—

"Well, father,—well,—have you nothing to say to me?"

"Alas! my child," said he, sighing, "we are not happy. God tries us with heavy blows. Let us bow before the will of the Almighty."

"What do you mean? what is there to fear?" said Lenora, beside herself. "Speak, father! Has he refused his consent?"

"He has refused it, Lenora!"

"Oh, no! no!" cried the maiden; "it is impossible!"

"Refused it, because he possesses millions and we—nothing!"

"It is true, then? Gustave is hopelessly lost to me!—lost to me forever!

"Hopelessly!" echoed the father.

A sharp cry escaped Lenora as she tottered to the table and fell on it, weeping bitterly.

De Vlierbeck arose and stood above his sobbing daughter, and, joining his uplifted hands, exclaimed, in suppliant tones,—

"Oh, pity me, pity me, Lenora! In that fatal interview I have suffered all the torments that could rack the heart of a parent; I have drunk the dregs of shame; I have emptied the cup of humiliation; but all, all are nothing in comparison with thy grief! Calm yourself, child of my love; let me see the sweet face I so love to look on; let me regain my lost strength in thy holy resignation! Lenora! my head swims; I shall die of despair!"

As he uttered these words he sank heavily into a chair, overpowered by emotion. The sound of his fall seemed instantly to recall Lenora to herself, and, dashing the tears from her eyes, she leaned her head on his shoulder to listen and assure herself that he had not fainted.

"Never to see him more! to renounce his love forever! to lose the happiness I dreamed of! Alas! alas!"

"Lenora! Lenora!" exclaimed her father, entreatingly!

"Oh, beloved father," sobbed the poor girl, "to lose Gustave forever! The dreadful thought overwhelms me! While I am near you I will bless God for his kindness; but my tears overpower me; oh! let me weep, let me weep, I beseech you!"

De Vlierbeck pressed his daughter more closely to his heart, and respected her affliction in silence.

The stillness of death reigned throughout the apartment, while they remained locked in each other's arms until the very excess of grief relaxed their embrace and opened their hearts to mutual consolation.



CHAPTER VI.

Four days after Denecker had refused his consent to the marriage, a hired carriage might have been Been drawing up carefully in a screen of wood that bordered a by-road about half a league from Grinselhof. A young man got out of it, and, giving directions to the coachman to await him at a neighboring inn, walked briskly across the moor toward the old chateau. As soon as Grinselhof began to loom up over the trees, he moved cautiously along behind the hedges and thickets, as if seeking to avoid observation; and then, stealing across the bridge, he opened the gate, passed through the dense copse that surrounded the house, and entered the garden.

The first object that greeted his sight was Lenora, seated at her table beneath the well-known catalpa, with her head resting on the board, evidently absorbed in sorrow. Her back was turned toward him as he approached; and, although he advanced with the utmost caution, the sound of his footsteps disturbed her in the intense silence of the spot, and she leaped to her feet, while the name of Gustave broke in surprised accents from her lips. She was evidently anxious to escape into the house; but her lover threw himself on his knees, and, grasping her hand, poured forth a passionate appeal:—

"Listen to me, Lenora! listen to me! If you fly and refuse me the consolation of telling you with my last farewell, all I have suffered and all I hope, I will either die here at your feet, or I will go hence forever, a broken-hearted wanderer over the face of the earth! Listen to me! listen to me! Listen to me, Lenora, my sister, my beloved, my betrothed! By our pure and holy love, I beseech you not to repulse me!"

Though Lenora trembled in every limb, her features assumed an expression of wounded pride, as she answered, with cold decision,—

"Your boldness surprises me, sir! You are indeed a daring man, to appear again at Grinselhof after your uncle's insulting conduct to my father! He is ill in bed; his soul is crushed by the outrage. Is this the reward of all my affection for you?"

"Oh, God! oh, God! Lenora, do I hear you accuse me? Alas! what have I done, and what could I prevent?"

"There is nothing, sir, any longer, in common between us," said the girl. "If we are not as rich as you, the blood that runs in our veins cannot suffer by comparison. Arise! begone! I will see you no more!"

"Mercy! pity!" exclaimed Gustave, lifting his clasped hands toward her; "mercy, Lenora, for I am innocent!"

The maiden dashed away the tears that began to start in her eyes, and, turning her back on him, was about to depart.

"Cruel, cruel!" exclaimed Gustave, in broken tones. "Can you leave me without a farewell?—without a word of consolation? Will you remain insensible to my grief and deaf to my prayers? 'Tis well; I will submit to my lot, for you have decided it! You, Lenora, my love, have sentenced me! I forgive you: be happy on earth without me, and farewell forever!"

As he uttered those words his strength seemed utterly to fail him, and, sinking into the chair which Lenora had quitted, his head and arms fell lifeless on the table.

The determined girl had made a few steps in her retreat to the house, when she suddenly halted on hearing the agonized tones of Gustave's farewell and the sudden sound of his fall on the table. As she glanced backward at the convulsed frame of her lover, a spasm that denoted the violent conflict between duty and affection passed over her beautiful face; and, as her heart appeared gradually to conquer in the fight, the tears began to pour in showers from her eyes. Step by step and slowly she retraced the path to the table, and leaning over the sufferer, took one of his hands tenderly in hers:—

"Are we not wretched, Gustave? Are we not wretched?"

At the touch of that gentle hand and the sound of that beloved voice, life seemed once more to stir in his veins, and, raising his eyes languidly to hers, he gazed mournfully into them as he half said, half sighed,—

"Lenora, dear Lenora, have you come back to me? Have you taken pity on my agony? You do not hate me, do you?" "Is a love like ours extinguished in a day?" returned Leonora, with a sigh.

"Oh, no, no!" cried Gustave aloud; "it is eternal! Is it not eternal, Lenora, and omnipotent against every ill as long as the hearts beat in our bosoms?"

Lenora bowed her head and cast down her eyes.

"Do not imagine, Gustave," said she, solemnly, "that our separation causes me less grief than it does you; and, if the assurance of my love can assuage the pangs of absence, let it strengthen and encourage you. My lonely heart will keep your image sacred in its holiest shrine; I will follow you in spirit wherever you go, and I will love you till death shall fill up the gulf that separates us. We shall meet again above, but never more on earth."

"You are mistaken, Lenora," cried Gustave, with a feeble expression of joy; "you are mistaken! There is still hope; my uncle is not inexorable, and his compassionate heart must yield to my despair."

"That may be," replied Lenora, in sad but resolute tones; "that may be, Gustave; but my father's honor is inflexible. Leave me, Gustave; I have already disobeyed my father's orders too long, and slighted my duty in remaining with a man who cannot become my husband. Go now; for, if we should be surprised by some one, my poor, wretched father would die of shame and anger."

"One moment more, beloved Lenora! Hear what I have to tell you. My uncle refused me your hand; I wept, I besought him, but nothing could change his determination. In despair I was transported beyond myself; I rebelled against my benefactor; and, treating him like an ungrateful wretch, I said a thousand things for which I begged his pardon on my knees when reason resumed her empire over my excited soul. My uncle is goodness itself to me: he pardoned my sin; but he imposed the condition that I should instantly undertake a journey with him to Italy, which he has long designed making. He idly hopes that travel may obliterate your image from my mind; but think not, Lenora, that I can ever forget you! A sudden thought flashed through my fancy, and I accepted his terms with a secret joy. For months and months I will be alone with my uncle; and, watching him ever with the love and gratitude I feel for all his kindness, I will gradually wear away his objections, and, conquering his heart, return, my love, to place the bridal wreath upon your brow, and claim you, before the altar of God, as the companion of my choice!"

For an instant a gentle smile overspread the maiden's face, and her clear, earnest gaze was full of rapture at the vision of future happiness; but the gleam disappeared almost as quickly as it arose, and she answered him, with bitter sadness,—

"Alas! my dear friend, it is cruel to destroy this last hope of your heart; and yet I must do it. Your uncle might consent; but my father—"

She faltered for an instant.

"Your father, Lenora? Your father would pardon all and receive me like a long-lost son."

"No, no; believe it not, Gustave; for his honor has been too deeply wounded. As a Christian he might pardon it; but as a gentleman he will never forget the outrage."

"Oh, Lenora, you are unjust to your father. If I return with my uncle's consent, and say to him, 'I will make your child happy; give her to me for my wife; I will surround her path with all the joys a husband has ever bestowed on woman;'—if I tell him this, think you he will deny me?"

Lenora cast down her eyes.

"You know his infinite goodness, Gustave," said she. "My happiness is his only thought on earth; he will thank God and bless you."

"Yes, yes; he will consent," continued Gustave, with ardor; "and all is not lost. A blessed ray lightens our future, and let it rekindle your hope, beloved of my heart! Yield not to grief; let me go forth on this dreary journey, but let me bear along with me the assurance that you await my return with trust in God. Remember me in your prayers; utter my name as you stray through these lonely paths which witnessed the dawn of our love and where for two months I drained the cup of perfect bliss. The knowledge that I am not forgotten by you will sustain my heart and enable me to endure the pangs of separation."

Lenora wept in silence. Her lover's eloquence had extinguished every spark of her pride; and the rebellious heart which so lately was ready to cast off its rosy fetters had no longer a place for any thing but love and sadness. Gustave saw that he had conquered.

"I go, Lenora," said he, "strong in your affection. I quit my country and my loved one with a confident hope. Whatever may happen to me, I will never be downcast. You will think of me daily, Lenora, will you not?"

"Alas! I have promised my father that I will forget you!" sobbed the maiden, as her hand trembled in his.

"Forget me!" exclaimed Gustave. "Can you force yourself to forget me?"

"No, Gustave; NO!" said she, firmly, fixing her large eyes on him with an intense and lingering gaze. "No: for the first time in my life I will disobey my father. I feel that I have net the strength to keep my idle word. I cannot forget you: till the last hour of my life I will love you; for it is my fate, and I cannot resist."

"Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks, Lenora!" exclaimed Gustave, in a transport. "Thy tender love strengthens me against destiny. Beloved of my heart, rest here under the guardian eye of God. Thy image will follow me in my journey like a protecting angel; in joy and grief, by day and night, in health and sickness, thou, Lenora, wilt ever be present to me! This cruel separation wounds my heart beyond expression; but duty commands, and I must obey. Farewell, farewell!"

He wrung her hands convulsively, and was gone.

"Gustave!" sobbed the poor girl, as she sank on the chair and allowed the pent-up passion of her soul to burst forth in tears.



CHAPTER VII.

Leonora secretly cherished in her heart the hope of a happy future; but she did not hesitate to inform her father of Gustave's visit. De Vlierbeck heard her listlessly, and gave no other reply but a bitter smile.

From that day Grinselhof became sadder and more solitary than ever. The old gentleman might generally be seen seated in an arm-chair, resting his forehead on his hand, while his eyes were fixed on the ground or on vacancy. The fatal day on which the bond fell due was perhaps always present to his mind; nor could he banish the thought of that frightful misery into which it would plunge his child and himself. Lenora carefully concealed her own sufferings in order not to increase her father's grief; and, although she fully sympathized with him, no effort was omitted on her part to cheer the old man by apparent contentment. She did and said every thing that her tender heart could invent to arouse the sufferer from his reveries; but all her efforts were in vain: her father thanked her with a smile and caress; but the smile was sad, the caress constrained and feeble.

If Lenora sometimes asked him, with tears, what was the cause of his depression, he adroitly managed to avoid all explanations. For days together he wandered about the loneliest paths of the garden, apparently anxious to escape the presence even of his daughter. If she caught a glimpse of him at a distance, a fierce look of irritation was perceptible on his face, while his arms were thrown about in rapid and convulsive gesticulations. If she approached him with marks of love and devotion, he scarcely replied to her affectionate words, but left the garden to bury himself in the solitude of the house.

An entire month—a month of bitter sadness and unexpressed suffering on both sides—passed in this way; and Lenora observed with increased anxiety the rapid emaciation and pallor of her father, and the suddenness with which his once-lively eye lost every spark of its wonted vivacity. It was about this time that a slight change in the old gentleman's conduct convinced her that a secret—and perhaps a terrible one—weighed on his heart. Every day or two he went to Antwerp in the caleche, without informing her or any one else of the object of his visit. He came back to Grinselhof late at night, seated himself at the supper-table silent and resigned, and, persuading Lenora to go to bed, soon went off to his own chamber. But his daughter was well aware that he did not retire to rest; for during long hours of wakefulness she heard the floor creak as he paced his apartment with restless steps.

Lenora was brave by nature, and her singular and solitary education had given her a latent force of character that was almost masculine. By degrees the resolution to make her father reveal his secret grew in her mind. And, although a feeling of instinctive respect made her hesitate, a restless devotion to the author of her being gradually overcame all scruples and emboldened her for the enterprise.

One day Monsieur De Vlierbeck set off very early for town. The morning wore away heavily; and, toward the afternoon, Lenora wandered wearily about the desolate house, with no companion but her sad reflections. At length she entered the apartment where her father usually studied or wrote, and, after a good deal of hesitation, in which her face and gestures displayed the anxiety of her purpose, opened the table-drawer, and saw in it, unrolled, a written document. The paleness of death overspread her countenance as she perused the paper and instantly closed the drawer. After this she left the apartment hastily, and, returning to her chamber, sat down with hands clasped on her knees and eyes fixed on the floor in a stare of wild surprise.

"Sell Grinselhof!" exclaimed she. "Sell Grinselhof! Why? Monsieur Denecker insulted my father because we were not rich enough for him. What is this secret? and what does it all mean? If it should be true that we are beggars! Oh, God! does a ray of light penetrate my mind? is this the solution of the enigma and the cause of my father's depression?"

For a long time she remained motionless in her chair, absorbed in reverie; but gradually her face brightened, her lips moved, and her eyes glistened with resolution. As she was endeavoring to fight bravely against misfortune, she suddenly heard the wheels of her father's caleche returning to Grinselhof. She ran down instantly to meet him; and as he drew up at the door she perceived the poor sufferer buried in a corner of the vehicle, apparently deprived of all consciousness; and, when he descended from the vehicle and she saw his expression distinctly, the deadly pallor that covered his haggard cheeks almost made her sink to the earth with anxiety. Indeed, she had neither heart nor strength to utter a word to him; but, standing aside in silence, she allowed the old man to enter the house and bury himself as usual in his chamber.

For some minutes she stood on the door-sill, undecided as to what she should do; but by degrees her brow and cheeks began to redden, and the light of resolution shone in her moistened eyes.

"Ought the feeling of respect to restrain me longer?" said she to herself; "shall I let my father die without an effort? No! no! I must know all! I must tear the worm from his heart; I must save him by my love!"

Without a moment's further delay, she ran rapidly through three or four chambers, and came to the apartment where her father was seated with his elbows resting on the table and his head buried in his hands. Throwing herself on her knees at his feet, and with hands raised to him in supplication,—

"Have mercy on me, father!" exclaimed she; "have mercy on me, I beseech you on my knees; tell me what it is that distresses you! I must know why it is that my father buries himself in this solitude and seems to fly even from his child!"

"Lenora! thou last and only treasure that remainest to me on earth," replied De Vlierbeck, in a broken voice, with despair in his wild gaze,—"thou hast suffered, dreadfully, my child, hast thou not? Rest thy poor head in my bosom. A terrible blow, my child, is about to fall on us!"

Lenora did not seem to pay any attention to these remarks, but, disengaging herself from her father's embrace, replied, in firm and decided tones,—

"I have not come here, father, for consolation, but with the unalterable determination to learn the cause of your suffering. I will not go away without knowing what misfortune it is that has so long deprived me of your love. No matter how much I may venerate you and respect your silence, the sense of duty is greater even than veneration. I must—I will—know the secret of your grief!"

"Thou deprived of thy father's love?" exclaimed De Vlierbeck, reproachfully and with surprise;—love for thee, my adored child, is precisely the secret of my grief. For ten years I have drained the bitter cup and prayed the Almighty to make you happy; but, alas! my prayers have always been unheard!"

"Shall I be unhappy, then?" asked Lenora, without betraying the least emotion.

"Unhappy, because of the misery that awaits us," replied her father. "The blow that is about to fall on our house destroys all that we possess. We must leave Grinselhof."

The last words, which plainly confirmed her fears, seemed for a moment to appall the girl; but she repressed her feelings, and answered him, with increased courage,—

"You are not dying this slow death because ill-fortune has overtaken you, my father; I know the unconquerable force of your character too well for that. No! your heart is weak and yielding because I have to partake your poverty! Bless you, bless you, for your affection! But, tell me, father, if I were offered all the wealth of the world on condition that I would consent to see you suffer for a single day, what think you I would answer?"

Dumb with surprise, the poor man looked proudly at his daughter, and a gentle pressure of her hand was his sole reply.

"Ah!" continued she, "I would refuse all the treasures of earth and meet poverty without a sigh. And you, father,—if they offered you all the gold of America for your Lenora, what would you do?"

"How can you ask, child?" exclaimed her father; "do we sell our hearts' blood for gold?"

"And so," continued the girl, "our Maker has left us that which is dearest to us both in this world; why then should we mourn when we ought to be grateful for his compassionate care? Take heart once more, dear father; no matter what may be our future lot,—should we even be forced to take refuge in a hovel,—nothing can harm us as long as we are not separated!"

Smiles, astonishment, admiration, and love, by turns flitted over the wan features of the poor old man, who seemed altogether unnerved and disconcerted by the painful denouement. At length, after some moments of unbroken silence, he clasped his hands, and, gazing intensely into her eyes through his starting tears—

"Lenora, Lenora! my child!" he exclaimed, "thou art not of earth—thou art an angel! The unselfish grandeur of thy soul unmans me completely!"

She saw she had conquered. The light of courage was rekindled again in her father's eye, and his lofty brow was lifted once more under the sentiment of dignity and self-devotion that struggled for life in his suffering heart. Lenora looked at him with a heavenly smile, and exclaimed, rapturously,

"Up! up! father; come to my arms; away with grief! United in each other's love, fate itself is powerless in our presence!"

Father and daughter sprang into each other's arms, and for a long while remained speechless, wrapped in a tender embrace; then, seating themselves with their hands interlocked, they were silent and absorbed, as if the world and its misery were altogether forgotten.

"A new life—a new and refreshing current of blood—seems to have been suddenly poured into my veins," said Monsieur De Vlierbeck. "Alas, Lenora, what a sinner I have been! how wrong I was not to divulge all! But you must pardon me, beloved child; you must pardon me. It was the fear of afflicting you—the hope of finding some means of rescue, of escape—that sealed my lips. I did not know you, my daughter; I did not know the inestimable treasure that God in his mercy had lavished on me! But now you shall know all; I will no longer hide the secret of my conduct and my grief. The fatal hour has come; the blow I desired to ward off is about to fall and cannot be turned aside! Are you prepared, dear child, to hear your father's story?"

Lenora, who was delighted to behold the calm and radiant smile that illuminated the face of her heart-broken parent, answered him instantly, in caressing tones,—

"Pour all your woes into my heart, dear father, and conceal nothing. The part I have to perform must be based on complete knowledge of every thing; and you will feel how much your confidence relieves your burdened soul."

"Take, then, your share of suffering, daughter," replied De Vlierbeck, "and help me to bear my cross! I will disguise nothing. What I am about to disclose is indeed lamentable; yet do not tremble and give way at the recital, for, if any thing should move you, it must be the story of a father's torture. You will learn now, my child, why Monsieur Denecker has had the hardihood to behave toward us as he has done."

He dropped her hand, but, without averting his eager gaze from her anxious eyes, continued:—

"You were very young, Lenora, but gentle and loving as at present, and your blessed mother found all her happiness centered in your care and comfort. We dwelt on the lands of our forefathers; nothing disturbed the even tenor of our simple lives; and, by proper economy, our moderate income sufficed to support us in a manner becoming our rank and name.

"I had a younger brother, who was endowed with an excellent heart, but generous to a fault and somewhat imprudent. He lived in town, and married a lady of noble family who was no richer than himself. She was showy in her tastes and habits, and, I fear, induced him to increase his revenue by adventurous means. There can be no doubt that he speculated largely in the public funds. But probably you do not understand what this means, my child. It is a species of gambling, by which a man may in a moment gain millions; and yet it is a game that may, with equal rapidity, plunge him into the depths of misery and reduce him as if by magic to the condition of a beggar.

"At first, my brother was remarkably successful, and established himself in town in a style of living that was the envy of our wealthiest citizens. He came to see us frequently, bringing you, who were his godchild, a thousand beautiful presents, and lavished his affection with testimonials of kindness which were proportioned to his fortune. I spoke to him often about the dangerous character of his adventures, and endeavored to convince him that it was unbecoming a gentleman to risk his property upon the hazards of an hour; but, as continued success emboldened him more and more, the passion for gambling made him deaf to all my appeals, all my advice.

"At last the evil hour came! The luck which had so long favored him became inconstant; he lost a considerable portion of his gains, and saw his fortune diminishing with every venture. Still, courage did not fail him; but, on the contrary, he seemed to fight madly against fate, with the idle hope of forcing fortune to turn once more in his favor. But, alas, it was a fatal delusion!

"One night—I tremble as I recall it—I was in my chamber and nearly ready to retire; you were already in bed, and your mother was saying her prayers on her knees beside your little couch. A tremendous storm raged without: hail beat in torrents against the windows, and the wind howled in the chimneys and swayed the trees as if it was about to blow down the house. The violence of the tempest began to make me somewhat anxious, when suddenly the door-bell was pulled and the sound of horses heard at the gate. In a moment the summons was answered by one of our servants,—for we kept two then,—and a female rushed into the room, throwing herself in tears at my feet. It was my brother's wife!

"Trembling with fright, I of course hastened to raise her; but she clung to my knees, begging my assistance, imploring me, by every passionate appeal she could think of, to save her husband's life, and convincing me by her sobs and distraction that some frightful calamity was impending over my brother!

"Your mother joined me eagerly in my efforts to calm the sufferer, and by degrees we managed to extract the cause of her singular conduct and unseasonable visit. My brother—alas!—had lost all he possessed, and even more! His wife's story was heart-rending; but its conclusion filled us with more anxiety for her husband than his losses; for, overcome by the certainty of a dishonored name, haunted by the reflection that law and justice would soon overtake him, my poor brother had made an attempt upon his life! The hand of God had providentially guided his wife to the apartment, where she surprised him at the fatal moment and snatched the deadly instrument from his grasp! He was then locked up in a room; dumb, overcome, bowed down to the earth, and guarded by two faithful friends. If any one on earth could save him, it was surely his brother!

"Such was the wild appeal of my wretched sister-in-law, who, heedless of the stormy night, had thrown herself into a coach and fled to me, through the tempest, as her only hope for their salvation. There she was at my feet, bathed in tears, sobbing, screaming, beseeching me to accompany her to town. Could I—did I—hesitate? Your tender mother, who saw at once the frightful condition of the family, and sympathized as woman's heart alone can do with human misery, eagerly implored me not to lose a moment. 'Save him, save him!' exclaimed she; 'spare nothing: I will consent to every thing you may think proper to do or sacrifice!'

"We flew back to town through the storm and darkness. You grow pale, Lenora, at the very thought of it, for it was indeed frightful, and you can never know the impression it made on me: these whitened hairs—whitened before their time—are the records of that terrible night! But let me continue.

"It is needless to describe the wild despair in which I found my brother, or to tell you how long I had to wrestle with his spirit in order to force a ray of hope into his soul. There was but one means by which we could save his honor and life; but—oh God!—at what a sacrifice! I was obliged to pledge all my property as security for his debts. Nothing could be spared; our ancestral manor-lands, your mother's marriage-portion, your moderate dowry,—all were ventured with the certainty that the greater part would unquestionably be lost! On these hard conditions my brother's honor might be saved; and, if that could be rescued, he was willing to renounce the determination to escape shame by death. I must in justice say that it was not he who demanded the sacrifice from me: on the contrary, he did not suppose that I could or would make it; but I was satisfied in my mind that if I did not settle his affairs, at all hazards, he would execute his criminal project against his life. And yet—and yet, my child—I hesitated!"

"Father!" exclaimed Lenora, "you did not refuse!"

A happy smile beamed on his face as he met the questioning glance of his daughter and answered, firmly,—

"I loved my brother, Lenora; but I loved you, my only child, much more. The sacrifice demanded of me by his creditors insured misery for your mother and for you!"

"Oh, God! oh, God!" sobbed Lenora.

"On one side my heart was distracted by this dreadful thought, while on the other I was assailed by the despair that was present in the bankrupt's chamber; but generosity conquered in the awful trial, and at daylight I sought out the principal creditors and signed the documents that saved a brother's life and honor but gave up my wife and child to want."

"Thank God!" gasped Lenora, as if she had been relieved from a horrible nightmare. "Bless you, bless you, father, for your noble, generous conduct!"

She rose from her seat, and, passing her arms around his neck, gave him a glowing kiss with as much solemnity as if she had been anxious to endue this mark of love with all the fervor and sacredness of a benediction.

"Ah! but canst thou bless me, my child," said he, with eyes foil of gratitude, "for an act that should implore thy pardon?"

"My pardon, father!" exclaimed Lenora, with surprise on all her features. "Oh, had you done otherwise, what would I not have suffered in doubting the goodness of my parent's heart! Now, now, I love you more than ever! Pardon you, father? Is it a crime to save a brother's life when it is in your keeping?"

"Alas, Lenora, the world does not reason thus, and never forgives us for the guilt of poverty. Reduced to that, we suffer humiliations which any one may observe in the lives of multitudes of our nobles. Yes; society regards poverty as a crime, and it treats us like outcasts. Our equals avoid us in order not to be confounded in our misery; while peasants and tradesmen laugh at our misfortune as if it was a sort of agreeable revenge. Happy, happy they to whom heaven has given an angel to pour comfort and consolation into their hearts in hours of want and dejection! But listen, my child!

"My brother was saved, and I concealed most carefully the assistance I had been to him; he left the country and went with his wife to America, where, ever since, he has worked hard and gained hardly enough to support a miserable existence. His wife died during the voyage. And, as to ourselves, we no longer possess any thing; for Grinselhof and our other lands were mortgaged for more than they were worth. Besides this, I was forced to borrow from a gentleman of my acquaintance four thousand francs upon my bond.

"When your mother heard of the sacrifices to which I was forced to submit, she made no reproaches; at first she fully approved my conduct. But very soon we became necessarily subjected to privations under which your mother's strength declined, till, without a sigh or complaint, she began to fade away slowly from earth. It was a dreadful situation; for, to conceal our ruin and save our ancestral name from contempt, we were forced to part with the last ounce of our silver to pay the interest on our debts. Gradually our horses and servants disappeared; the paths that led to our neighbors soon became grass-grown; and we declined all social invitations, so as to avoid the necessity of returning the compliment. A rumor about us began to spread through the village and among the noble families that had formerly been on terms of intimacy with us; and scandal declared that avarice had driven us to a life of meanness and isolation! We joyously accepted the imputation, and even the coldness with which our holiday friends accompanied it; it was a veil with which society thought proper to cover us, and beneath its folds our poverty was safe from scrutiny.

"But I am approaching scenes, my child, the recollection of which almost unnerves me. My story has reached the most painful moment of my life, and I beseech you to hear me calmly.

"Your poor mother wasted away to a skeleton; her sunken-eyes were hardly visible in their deep sockets; a livid pallor suffused her cheeks. As I saw her fading,—fading,—the wife whom I had loved more than life,—as I gazed on those death-struck features and saw the fatal evidences each day clearer and clearer,—I became nearly mad with despair and grief."

Lenora shuddered with emotion as her breast heaved convulsively under the sobs she strove to repress. Her father stopped a moment, almost overcome by the recital; but, rallying his courage quickly, he forced himself to go on with his sad recollections:—

"Poor mother! she did nothing but weep! Every time she looked at her child—her dear little Lenora—tears filled her eyes. Thy name was always on her lips, as if she were forever addressing a prayer for thee to God in heaven! At last the dreadful hour arrived when she heard the Almighty's voice summoning her above. The clergyman performed the services for the dying; and you, my child, had been taken from her arms and sent out of the house. It was midnight, and I was alone with her whose icy lips had already imprinted on mine their last sad kiss. My heart bled. Oh, God! how wretched—how wretched—were those parting hours! My beloved wife lay there before me as if already a corpse, while the tears yet trickled down her hollow cheeks and she strove to utter your name with her expiring breath. Kneeling beside her, I implored God's mercy for her passing hour, and kissed away the sweat of agony that stood upon her brow. Suddenly I thought I perceived an effort to speak, and, bending my ear to her lips, she called me by name, and said, 'It is over, my love, it is over; farewell! It has not pleased the Almighty to assuage my dying hour, and I go with the conviction that my child will suffer want and wretchedness on earth!'

"I know not what my love inspired me to say in that solemn moment; but I called God to witness that you should escape suffering, and that your life should be happy! A heavenly smile illuminated her eyes, and she believed my promise. With an effort, she lifted her thin hands once more round my neck and drew my lips to hers. But soon those wasted arms fell heavily on the bed;—my Margaret was gone;—thy mother was no more!"

De Vlierbeck's head fell on his breast. Lenora's bosom heaved convulsively as she took his hand without uttering a word; and, for a long time, nothing was heard in that sad confessional but the sobs of the maiden and the sighs of her heart-broken father.

"What I have yet to say," continued the poor gentleman, "is not so painful as what I have already told you: it concerns only myself. Perhaps it would be better if I said nothing about it; but I need a friend who possesses all my confidence and can sympathize with me thoroughly in all I have undergone for the last ten years.

"Listen, then, Lenora. Your mother was no more; she was gone;—she who was my last staff in life! I remained at Grinselhof alone with you, my child, and with my promise,—a promise made to God and to the dead! What should I do to fulfil it? Quit my hereditary estate? wander away seeking my fortune in foreign lands, and work for our mutual support? That would not do, for it would have devoted you at once to the chances of a wretched uncertainty. I could not think of such a course with any degree of satisfaction; nor was it till after long and anxious reflection that a ray of hope seemed to promise us both a happy future.

"I resolved to disguise our poverty more carefully than ever, and to devote my time to the most elaborate cultivation of your mind. God made you beautiful in face and person, Lenora; but your father was anxious to initiate you into the mysteries of science and art, and, while he endowed you with a knowledge of the world, to make you virtuous, pious, and modest. I desired to make you an accomplished woman, and I hoped that the nobility of your blood, the charms of your beauty, the treasures of your heart and intellect, would compensate in society for the portion that was denied you. Thus was it, my child, that I thought in time, you would make a suitable alliance which would restore you to the position you hold by birth. For ten years, Lenora, this has been my occupation and my hope. What I had forgotten or never learned, I studied at night to teach you next morning; I labored hard that I might not only instruct you wisely but that you might acquire easily; and, at the same time, I strove by every honest means to conceal from you every thing that could give a hint or cause a suspicion by which your life might be shadowed. Oh, Lenora,—shall I confess it?—I have suffered hunger and undergone the most cruel privations; I have passed half my nights mending my clothes, working in the garden, studying and practising in the dark, so as to hide our poverty from you and the world. But all that was nothing; in the silence of night I was not forced to blush before any one. By day I had to encounter all kinds of insults, and, with a bleeding heart, swallow affront and humiliation."

Lenora looked at her father with eyes moistened by compassion. De Vlierbeck pressed her hand, and continued:—

"Be not sad, Lenora; if the Lord's hand inflicted deep wounds with every blow, he bestowed a balm which cured them. One little smile of thy gentle face was sufficient to make me pour forth an ejaculation to Heaven: you, you at least were happy, and in your happiness I saw the fulfilment of my promise!

"At length I thought that God himself had thrown in our path one who would save you from threatening danger. A mutual inclination arose between Gustave and you, and a marriage seemed the natural consequence. Under these circumstances I apprized Monsieur Denecker, during his last visit, of the deplorable condition of my affairs; but no sooner did I make the disclosure than he peremptorily refused his consent to the union. As if this terrible blow, which withered all my hopes, had not been sufficient to overwhelm me, I learned, almost at the same time, that the friend who loaned me four thousand francs, with the right to renew my obligation to him every year, had died in Germany, and that his heirs demanded the payment of the debt! I ran all over town, rapped at every friendly door, ransacked heaven and earth in my despair, to escape this last ignominy; but all my efforts were fruitless. To-morrow, perhaps, a placard will be stuck on the door of Grinselhof, announcing the sale not only of our estate but also of our furniture and of every trifling object that memory and association have rendered dear to us. Honor requires that we shall surrender, to public sale, every thing of the least value to pay our debts. If fate were kind enough to allow us to satisfy every creditor it would be a great consolation, my child, in our misery. Does not this fatal history break your heart?"

"Is that all which makes you despond, father? Have you no other grief? Does your heart conceal no other secret from me?" asked Lenora.

"None, my child. You know every thing."

"I can very well understand," replied Lenora, gravely, "that others would consider a blow like this as a frightful misfortune; but how can it affect us? You even appear calm. Why, father, do you, like me, appear indifferent to the inexorable decree of fate?"

"Because you have inspired me with courage and confidence, Lenora; because your love is restored to me fully after a long constraint; because you let me hope that you will not be unhappy. I know what you want to say, noble child, whom God has given me as a shield against every ill! Well, I will encounter ruin without bowing my head, and submit with resignation to the hand of God! Alas!" continued he, sadly, "who can tell what sufferings are yet in store for us? We may be forced to wander about the world,—to seek an asylum far from those we know and love,—to earn our daily bread by the labor of our hands! Oh, Lenora, you know not how bitter is the bread of misery,—of poverty!"

The maiden shuddered as she saw the cloud falling once more like a curtain over her father's face. She grasped his hand tenderly, and, fixing her gaze intently on his, said, in beseeching tones,—

"Oh, father! let not the happy smile that just now lighted your features depart from them again! Believe me, we shall still be happy. Fancy yourself in the position that awaits us: and what do you see in it so frightful? I have skill to do all that woman can do; and then your instructions have made me able to instruct others in the arts and sciences you have taught me. I shall be strong and active enough for both of us, and God will bless my labor. Behold us, father, peacefully at home, with tranquil hearts and always together in our neat apartment: we will love one another, set misfortune at defiance, and live together in the heaven that our common sacrifice has made! Oh, it seems to me, father, that the true happiness of our lives is only beginning! How can you still give yourself up to despair when pleasure is in store for us,—a pleasure such as few upon earth are permitted to enjoy?"

Monsieur De Vlierbeck looked at his daughter with rapture. Those enthusiastic but gentle tones had so touched his heart, that noble courage had inspired him with so much admiration, that tears of joy filled his eyes. With one hand he drew Lenora to his bosom, and, placing the other on her forehead, he looked to heaven with religious fervor. A silent prayer, a blessing on his child, an outpouring of thankfulness, arose from his heart, like the sacred flame from an altar, toward the throne of Him who had bestowed that angelic child!



CHAPTER VIII.

A few days afterward, as De Vlierbeck had predicted, the public sale of all their property was inserted in the papers and placarded over the city and neighborhood. The affair made some noise, and every one was astonished at the ruin of a person whom they considered rich and miserly.

As the sale was stated to be in consequence of his departure from the country, the gossips would have been unable to discover the genuine motive if the news had not come from Antwerp that De Vlierbeck had resolved to pay his debts and was wretchedly poor. The cause of his misfortune—that is to say, his liability for his brother—was known, though all the circumstances were not fully understood.

As soon as the publication was made, the poor old gentleman led, if possible, a more retired life than ever, in order to avoid explanations. Resigned to his fate, he quietly awaited the day of sale; and, although his feelings often strove to master his resolution, the constant care and encouragement of his noble-hearted daughter enabled him to encounter the fatal hour with a degree of pride.

In the mean while he received a letter from Gustave at Rome, containing a few lines for his child. The young man declared that absence from Lenora had only increased his affection, and that his only consolation was the hope of future union with her by the bonds of marriage. But in other respects the letter was not encouraging. He said with pain that all his efforts to change his uncle's determination had, up to that time, been fruitless. De Vlierbeck did not conceal from Lenora that he no longer had a hope of her union with Gustave, and that she ought to strive against this unhappy love in order to escape from greater disappointment. Indeed, since her father's poverty had become publicly known, Lenora was convinced that duty commanded her to renounce every hope; yet she could not help feeling pleased and strengthened by the thought that Gustave still loved her, and that he, whose memory filled her heart, dreamed of her in his distant home and mourned her absence.

She kept her promises to him faithfully. How often did she pronounce his name in the solitude of that garden! How often did she sigh beneath the catalpa, as if anxious to trust the winds with a message of love to other lands! In her lonely walks she repeated his tender words; and often did she stop musingly at some well-remembered spot where he had blessed her with a tender word or look.

But poor De Vlierbeck was obliged to undergo additional pain; for, as if every misfortune that could assail him was to be accumulated at that moment on his devoted head, he received from America the news of his brother's death! The unfortunate wanderer died of exhaustion in the wilderness near Hudson's Bay. The poor gentleman wept long and bitterly for the loss of a brother whom he tenderly loved; but he was soon and roughly turned aside to encounter the catastrophe of his own fate.

The day of sale arrived. Early in the morning Grinselhof was invaded by all sorts of people, who, moved by curiosity or a desire to purchase, overran every nook and corner of the house, examining the furniture and estimating its value.

De Vlierbeck had caused every thing that was to be sold to be carried into the most spacious apartments, where, aided by his daughter, he passed the entire preceding night in dusting, cleaning, and polishing the various articles, so that they might prove more attractive to competitors. He had no personal interest in this labor; for, his funded property having been sold some days before at great loss, it was certain that the sale of all his remaining possessions would not exceed the amount of his debts. It was a noble sentiment of honor and probity that compelled him to sacrifice his rest for his creditors, so as to diminish as much as he could the amount of their losses. It was clear that De Vlierbeck did not intend to prolong his stay at Grinselhof after the sale; for among the articles to be offered were the only two bedsteads in the house, with their bedding, and a large quantity of clothes belonging to him and his daughter.

Very early in the day Lenora went to the farm-house, where she remained until all was over. At ten o'clock the saloon was full of people. Nobles and gentlefolks of both sexes were mixed up with brokers and second-hand dealers who had come to Grinselhof with the hope of getting bargains. Peasants might be seen talking together, in low voices, with surprise at Do Vlierbeck's ruin; and there were even some who laughed openly and joked as the auctioneer read the terms of sale!

As the salesman put up a very handsome wardrobe, De Vlierbeck himself entered the apartment and mingled with the bidders. His appearance caused a general movement in the crowd; heads went together and men began to whisper, while the bankrupt was stared at with insolent curiosity or with pity, but by the greater part with indifference or derision. Yet, whatever malicious feeling existed in the assembly, it did not last long; for the firm demeanor and imposing countenance of De Vlierbeck was never on any occasion more instinct with that dignity which inspires respect. He was poor; fortune had struck him a cruel blow; but in his manly look and calm features there beamed a brave and independent soul which misfortune itself had been unable to crush.

The auctioneer went on with the sale, assisted in his description of the various articles by Monsieur De Vlierbeck, who informed the bidders of their origin, antiquity, and value. Occasionally some gentleman of the neighborhood, who, in better days, had been on good terms with Lenora's father, approached him with words of sympathy; but he always managed to escape adroitly from these indiscreet attempts at consolation. Whenever it was necessary for him to speak, he showed so much self-command and composure that he was far above the idle compassion of that careless crowd; yet if his countenance was calm and dignified, his heart was weighed down by absorbing grief. All that had belonged to his ancestors—articles that were emblazoned with the arms of his family and had been religiously preserved as heirlooms for several centuries—were sold at contemptible rates and passed into the hands of brokers. As each historical relic was placed on the table or held up by the auctioneer, the links of his illustrious race seemed to break off and depart. When the sale was nearly over, the portraits of the eminent men who had borne the name of De Vlierbeck were taken down from the walls and placed upon the stand. The first—that of the hero of St. Quentin—was knocked off to a dealer for little more than three francs! In the sale of this portrait, and the laughable price it brought, there was so much bitter irony that, for the first time, the agony that had been so long torturing De Vlierbeck's heart began to exhibit its traces in his countenance. No sooner had the hammer fallen, than, with downcast eyes and a sigh that was inaudible even to his nearest neighbor, the stricken nobleman turned from the crowd and left the saloon, so as not to witness the final sacrifice of the remaining memorials that bound him to his race.

The sun was but an hour or two above the horizon. A deathlike silence had taken the place of the noise, bustle, and vulgarity that ruled at Grinselhof during the morning; the solitary garden-walks were deserted, the house-door and gate were closed, and a stranger might have supposed that nothing had occurred to disturb the usual quiet of the spot. Suddenly the door of the dwelling opened, and two persons appeared upon the sill; one, a man advanced in life, the other, a pale and serious woman. Each carried a small package and seemed ready for travel. Lenora was dressed in a simple dark gown and bonnet, her neck covered by a small square handkerchief. De Vlierbeck was buttoned up to the chin in a coarse black greatcoat, and wore a threadbare cap whose large visor nearly masked his features. Although it was evident that the homeless travellers had literally stripped themselves of all superfluities and had determined to go forth with the merest necessaries of decency, there was something in the manner in which they wore their humble costumes that distinctly marked their birth and breeding. The old man's features were not changed; but it was difficult to say whether they expressed pleasure, pain, or indifference. Lenora seemed strong and resolute, although she was about to quit the place of her birth and separate herself, perhaps forever, from all she had loved from infancy,—from those aged groves beneath whose shadows the dawn of love first broke upon her heart,—from that remembered tree at whose feet the timid avowal of Gustave's passion had fallen on her ear. But a sense of duty possessed and ruled her heart. Reason in her was not overmastered by sensibility; and, when she saw her father tottering at her side, all her energy was rallied in the effort to sustain him.

They did not linger at the door, but, crossing the garden rapidly, directed their steps toward the farm-house, which they entered to bid its occupants farewell. Bess and her servant-maid were in the first apartment below.

"Mother Bess," said Monsieur De Vlierbeck, calmly, "we have come to bid you good-by."

Bess stared a moment anxiously at the travellers, and, lifting her apron to her eyes, left the apartment; while the servant-maid leaned her head against the window-frame and began to sob as if her heart would break. In a short time Bess returned with her husband, whom she had found in the barn.

"Alas! is it true, sir," said the farmer, in a stifled voice,—"is it true that you are going to leave Grinselhof, and that, perhaps, we shall never see you again?"

"Come, come, mother Bess," said the poor bankrupt, as he took and pressed her hand; "don't weep on that account; you see we bear our lot with resignation."

Bess raised her head, threw her eyes once more over the humble dress of her old master, and began to cry so violently that she could not utter a word. Her husband strove manfully to repress his emotion; and, after an effort or two, addressed Monsieur De Vlierbeck in a manly way:—

"May I ask the favor of you, sir, to let me say a word or two to you in private?"

De Vlierbeck entered the adjoining room, where he was followed by the farmer, who shut the door carefully.

"I hardly dare, sir," said he, "to mention my request; but will you pardon me if it displeases you?"

"Speak out frankly, my friend," returned De Vlierbeck, with a smile.

"Look you, sir," stammered the tender-hearted laborer. "Every thing that I have earned I owe to you. I had nothing when I married Bess; and yet, with your kindness, we have managed to succeed. God's mercy and your favor have made us prosperous; while you, our benefactors, have become unfortunate and are forced to wander away from their home,—God knows where! You may be forced to suffer privations and want; but that must not be: I would reproach myself as long as I live. Oh, sir!" continued he, as his voice faltered and his eyes filled with tears, "all that I have on earth is at your service!"

De Vlierbeck pressed the hard hand of the rustic with a trembling grasp, as he replied,—

"You are a worthy man indeed, and I am, happy that it was once in my power to protect and serve you; but I cannot accept your offer, my friend: keep what you have earned by the sweat of your brow, and do not concern yourself for our future fate, for, with God's help, we shall find means to live."

"Oh, sir," said the farmer, beseechingly, and clasping his hands in an attitude of entreaty, "do not reject the trifle I offer you;"—he opened a drawer and pointed to a small heap of silver.—"See!" said he; "that is not the hundredth part of the good you have done us. Grant me this favor, I beseech you: take this money, sir; and if it spare you a single suffering or trial I shall thank God for it on my knees!"

Tears streamed down the wan and wrinkled cheeks of the poor gentleman as he replied,—

"Thanks! thanks! my friend; but I must refuse it. All persuasion is useless. Let us leave this room!"

"But, sir," cried the farmer, in astonishment, "where do you intend to go? Tell me, for God's sake!"

"I cannot," replied Monsieur De Vlierbeck, "for I don't know myself; and, even if I did, prudence would make me silent."

Uttering these words, he returned to the other room, where he found everybody in tears. He saw at once that for his own sake as well as his daughter's he must end these trying scenes; and accordingly, in a firm voice, he told her it was time to be gone. There were a few more tender and eager pressures of hands, a few more farewells, a few last looks at the old homestead and its surroundings, and the bankrupt pair sallied forth with their bundles, and, passing the bridge just at sunset, departed on foot across the desolate moor.

It is hard to bid farewell and quit the spots with which, even in a summer's journey, we have formed agreeable associations: but harder far it is to bid adieu forever to the home of our ancestors and the haunts of our youth. This dreadful trial was passing in De Vlierbeck's heart. From a distant point on the road where the domain of Grinselhof was masked by thickets, the wanderer turned his eyes once more in the direction of the old chateau. Big tears stood in his eyes and slowly rolled down his hollow cheeks as he stood there, silent and motionless, with clasped hands, gazing into vacancy. But night was rapidly falling around the wayfarers; and, recalling him to consciousness with a kiss, Lenora gently drew her father from the spot till they disappeared in the windings of the wood.



CHAPTER IX.

Monsieur De Vlierbeck had not been gone a week, when a letter addressed to him from Italy reached the village post-office. The carrier inquired of Farmer John where the old proprietor of Grinselhof had fixed his residence; but neither from him, the notary, nor any one else in the neighborhood, could he discover the bankrupt's retreat. The same fate awaited three or four other letters which followed the first from Italy; and, indeed, nobody bothered himself any more about the wanderers except the peasant, who every market-day pestered the country-folks from every quarter with questions about his old master. But no one had seen or heard of him.

Four months passed slowly by, when one morning a handsome post-chaise stopped at the door of our old acquaintance the notary and dropped a young gentleman in travelling-costume.

"Where's your master?" said he impatiently to the servant, who excused the notary under the plea of his present engagement with other visitors, but invited the stranger to await his leisure in the parlor.

The youth was evidently disconcerted by the delay; for he paced the apartment with rapid strides and seemed altogether absorbed by some anxiety or disappointment which made him extremely restless. The notary's visitors seemed to be either very tedious clients or engaged in very important business; for more than half an hour elapsed before that functionary made his appearance. He came into the room ceremoniously, prepared to measure his words and reception by his visitor's rank; but no sooner did he perceive who it was than his calculating features relaxed into a professional smile, and he advanced rapidly toward Gustave with outstretched hands.

"How are you, how are you, my dear sir?" said he. "I have been expecting you for several days, and I am really happy to see you at last. I am greatly flattered by the confidence you are disposed to place in me, and am ready, whenever you please, to devote myself to your affairs. By-the-way, I suppose there is a will?"

A shadow passed over Gustave's brow and his face became serious as he took a portfolio from his overcoat and drew forth a package of papers.

"I am pained, sir, at your loss," said the notary. "Your excellent uncle was my friend, and I deplore his death more than that of any one else. It pleased God that he should die far away from his home. But such, alas! is man's fate. We must console ourselves by the reflection that we are all mortal. Your uncle was very fond of you, and I suppose you have not been forgotten in his last moments?"

"You may see for yourself," said Gustave, as he placed the package on the table.

The notary ran his eyes over the papers, and, as he perused them, his face exhibited by turns surprise and satisfaction.

"Permit me," said he, "to congratulate you, Monsieur Gustave; these documents are all in order and unassailable. Heir of all his fortune! Do you know, sir, that you are more than a millionaire?"

"We will speak of that another time," said Gustave, interrupting him rather sharply. "I called on you to-day to ask a favor."

"You have but to name it, sir."

"You were the notary of Monsieur De Vlierbeck?"

"I was."

"I heard from my uncle that Monsieur De Vlierbeck had become very poor. I have reasons for desiring that his misfortunes may not be prolonged."

"Sir," said the notary, "I presume that you intend to do him an act of kindness; and, in truth, it could not be bestowed on a worthier man, for I know the cause of his ruin and sufferings. He was a victim of generosity and honor. He may have carried these virtues to imprudence and even to madness; but he deserved a better fate."

"And now, sir," said Gustave, "I want you to let me know, with the least amount of details possible, what I can do to assist De Vlierbeck without wounding his pride. I know the condition of his affairs; for my uncle told me all about them. Among other debts there was a bond for four thousand francs, which belongs to the heirs of Hoogebaen: I want that bond immediately, even if I have to pay four times as much as it is worth."

The notary stared at Gustave without replying.

"You seem disconcerted by my demand," said Gustave, somewhat anxiously.

"Not exactly," returned the notary; "but I do not altogether understand your emotion, although I fear the news I must impart will affect you painfully. If my anticipations are correct I have cause to be sorry for you, sir!"

"Explain yourself," cried Gustave, alarmed; "explain yourself, sir! Has death been at Grinselhof? Is my last hope destroyed?"

"No, no," replied the notary, quickly; "don't tremble so; they both live, but they have been stricken by a great misfortune."

"Well? well?" exclaimed Gustave, with questioning eagerness, rising from his chair.

"Be calm, be calm, sir," said the notary, soothingly; "sit down and listen; it is not so terrible as you may perhaps think, since fortune enables you to soften their misery."

"Oh, God be thanked!" cried Gustave. "But let me beg you to hasten your disclosures, for your slowness racks me!"

"Know, then," continued the notary, "that during your absence the bond in question fell due. For many months De Vlierbeck made unavailing efforts to find money to honor it at maturity; but all his property was mortgaged, and no one would assist him. In order to escape the mortification of a forced sale, De Vlierbeck offered every thing at public auction, even down to his furniture and clothes! The sale produced about enough to pay his debts, and everybody was satisfied by the honorable conduct of De Vlierbeck, who plunged himself into absolute beggary to save his name."

"And so he lives in the chateau of his family only as a tenant?"

"No; he has left it."

"And where does he reside, then? I want to see him instantly."

"I do not know."

"How?—you do not know?"

"Nobody knows where he dwells: he left the province without informing any one of his designs."

"Alas!" cried Gustave, with profound emotion, "and is it so? Shall I be forced to live longer without them?—without knowing what has become of them? Can you give me no hint or clue to their residence? Does nobody, nobody know where they are?"

"Nobody," replied the notary. "The evening after their sale De Vlierbeck left Grinselhof on foot and crossed the moor by some unknown road: I made efforts to discover his retreat, but always without success."

As this sad news was imparted to Gustave he grew deadly pale, trembled violently, and covered his forehead with his clasped hands, as if striving to conceal the big tears that ran from his eyes. What the notary first told him of De Vlierbeck's misfortunes had wounded his sensibility, though he was less struck by that recital, because he had already become partially aware of the poor gentleman's embarrassment; but the certainty that he could not immediately discover his beloved Lenora and snatch her from want overwhelmed him with the bitterest anguish.

The notary fixed his eyes on the young man, shrugged his shoulders, and regarded him with an expression of pity.

"You are young, sir," said he, "and, like most men at your time of life, exaggerate both pain and pleasure. Your despair is unfounded; for it is easy in our time to discover people whom we want to find. With a little money and diligence we may be sure, in a few days, to discover Monsieur De Vlierbeck's retreat, even if he has gone abroad to a foreign country. If you are willing to charge me with the pursuit I will spare neither time nor trouble to bring you satisfactory news."

Gustave stared hopefully at the notary as he grasped his hand and replied, with a smile of gratitude,—

"Oh, render me that inestimable service, sir! Spare no money; ransack heaven and earth if it is necessary; but, in God's name, let me know, and let me know soon, where De Vlierbeck and his daughter are hidden. It is impossible for me to describe the sufferings of my heart or the ardor of my desire to find them. Let me assure you that the first good news you bring will be more grateful to my soul than if you had restored me to life."

"Fear nothing, sir," answered the notary. "My clerks shall write letters of inquiry this very night in every direction. To-morrow morning early I will be off to Brussels and secure assistance from the public offices. If you authorize me to spare no expense the secret will disclose itself."

"And I," said Gustave,—"I will put the numerous correspondents of our house under contribution, and nothing shall be omitted to detect their refuge, even if I have to travel over Europe."

"Be of good cheer, then, Monsieur Gustave," said the notary; "for I doubt not we shall soon attain our end. And, now that you are assured of my best services, I will be gratified if you allow me to speak to you a moment quietly and seriously. I have no right to ask what are your intentions, and still less the right to suppose that those intentions can be any thing else than proper in every respect. May I inquire if it is your design to marry Mademoiselle Lenora?"

"That is my irrevocable determination," replied the young man.

"Irrevocable?" said the notary. "Be it so! The confidence which your venerable uncle was always pleased to repose in me, and my position as notary of the family, impose on me the duty of setting before you coolly what you are about to do. You are a millionaire; you have a name which in commerce alone represents an immense capital. Monsieur De Vlierbeck is penniless; his ruin is generally known; and the world, justly or unjustly, looks askance at a ruined man. With your fortune, with your youth and person, you may obtain the hand of an heiress and double your income!"

Gustave listened to the first words of this calculating essay with evident impatience; but he soon turned away his eyes and began to fold up the papers and put them in his portfolio. As the notary finished, he answered, quickly,—

"Well, well, I suppose you have done your duty, and I thank you; but we have had enough of that. Tell me who owns Grinselhof now?"

The man of business appeared considerably disconcerted by the contemptuous interruption of his visitor; yet he strove to conceal his mortification by a sorry smile, as he replied,—

"I see, sir, that you have taken a firm stand and will do as you please. Grinselhof was bought in by the mortgagees, for the price offered was below its value."

"Who lives there?"

"It is uninhabited. No one goes to the country in winter."

"Can it be bought from its present proprietor?"

"Certainly. I am authorized to offer it to any one for the amount of the mortgages."

"Then Grinselhof belongs to me! Be kind enough to inform the owners of it at once!"

"Very well, sir. Consider Grinselhof as your property from this moment. If you wish to visit it you will find the keys at the tenant's house."

Gustave took his hat and made ready to go, and, as he did so, pressed the notary's hand with evident cordiality:—

"I am tired and need repose, for I feel somewhat overcome by the sad news you have given me. May God help you in your efforts to fulfil your promises! My gratitude will surpass all you can imagine. Farewell till to-morrow!"



CHAPTER X.

Spring, gentle spring, had thrown aside the funeral garb of winter, and earth awoke again to vigorous life. Grinselhof reappeared in all the splendor of its wild, natural scenery; its majestic oaks displayed their verdant domes, its roses bloomed as sweetly as of old, elder-blossoms filled the air with delicious odor, butterflies fluttered through the garden, and every thicket was vocal with the song of birds.

Nothing seemed changed at Grinselhof: its roads, its paths, were still deserted, and sad was the silence that reigned in its shadows. Yet immediately around the house there was more life and movement than formerly. At the coach-house two grooms were busy washing and polishing a new and fashionable coach; while the neigh of horses resounded from the stable. A trim waiting-maid stood on the door-sill laughing and joking with the lackeys, and a respectable old butler looked knowingly on the group.

Suddenly the clear silvery ring of a bell was heard from the parlor, and the waiting-maid ran in, exclaiming, "Good Heavens! there's Monsieur ringing for his breakfast, and it is not ready yet!"

A few moments afterward she was seen mounting the staircase with a rich silver salver covered with breakfast-things; and, entering the parlor, she placed them silently on a table before a young gentleman who seemed entirely absorbed by his own thoughts, and then instantly left the room without a word.

The young man began his meal with a careless, indifferent air, as if he either had no appetite or did not know what he was about. The furniture of the apartment in which he sat presented odd and striking contrasts to an observer. While some of the articles were remarkable for the richness and elegance of their modern style, there were chairs, tables, and cabinets whose sombre hue and elaborate carving denoted an antiquity of several centuries. On the walls were numerous pictures, dimmed by smoke and time, encased in frames that had lost half their ornaments and gilding. These were portraits of warriors, statesmen, priests, and prelates. In the dim corners of the canvas armorial bearings of the house of De Vlierbeck might be seen, and many of the articles of furniture were embellished with the same blazonry.

We were told a while ago that a public sale at Grinselhof had dispersed among a crowd of competitors every thing that belonged to Monsieur De Vlierbeck. How has it come to pass that these portraits have returned to their old nails on walls which they seemed to have abandoned forever?

The listless youth rose from the table, walked slowly about the room, stopped, looked mournfully at the portraits, recommenced his walk, and approached an antique casket placed on a bracket in the corner. He opened it with apparent indifference and took out some simple jewelry,—a pair of ear-rings and a coral necklace. He gazed long at these objects as he held them in his hand; a few tears fell on them, a deep sigh escaped from his bosom, and he then replaced the jewels in their casket.