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I fear have entered into an unlucky league against me a poor dependent orphan girl, and while I can awe them from an approach of actual violence, it would be worse than heartless selfishness, Claudio, to endanger your safety."

"Oh, Caroline," replied Claudio, "think not of my safety; I should suffer more from the agony of my mind if I thought you unprotected from these fiends in human form, than all they could inflict upon me, even were I at their absolute mercy."

"Hark!" cried Maurice, "I hear a noise."

Caroline and Claudio listened attentively.

"It comes from the direction of my chamber" said Caroline.

Claudio drew his sword half way from its sheath, and made a step towards the turret stairs.

"There again, I hear it."

"Hush!" said Caroline, "for Heaven�s sake be still. Should it be the baron, the least noise would be destruction. The castle is solely inhabited by creatures devoted to his service."

Caroline walked calmly to the door, and prepared to descend the stairs.

"Promise," said Claudio, "oh, promise, that you will give an alarm upon the least occasion."

"Not upon the least occasion," said Caroline, with a smile, disengag-

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 ing her hand from Claudio and rapidly advancing towards her own chamber.

As she came near to the panel, her heart beat quickly, and she paused for a moment to reflect upon what answer she should make the baron if it should be he who was in the chamber, and he should question her, as doubtless he would, with regard to her business in the turret.

After a moment�s thought, she determined to take advantage, if possible, of his superstitious fears, to deter him from adventuring a visit personally to the turret chamber.

When she stepped from the open panel into her room, the first object which presented itself to her sight, was not the baron, but a person who she had never seen before; and, at the sight of whom, she started back with considerable consternation and surprise.

The being who confronted Caroline thus mysteriously in her own chamber, did not seem above sixteen or eighteen years of age, and was habited in the fantastic garb that pages usually wore in the middle ages.

His dress consisted of a Spanish suit of deep crimson velvet, and in his hand he carried a hat adorned with a profusion of feathers. A small poniard richly chased and ornamented hung by his side, and a gold cord was twisted with a degree of ostentation round his neck and across his vest. His hair was as dark as the raven�s wing, and his flashing eyes rivalled the most sparkling jet.

He rose, for he had been sitting, as Caroline entered, and with a flashing glance of his black eyes, seemed to wish to read her very soul.

CHAPTER XX.

HOW dreadful must be the pangs of a conscience overladen with guilt! The Baron Zindorf, although most of his schemes of villany had fully succeeded, was, notwithstanding, a prey to the bitterest anguish, and afflicted by mental tortures, far more intense than any he could inflict upon others by the utmost stretch of ungovernable will and arbitrary power.

In vain he told himself that he had accomplished the greater part of his designs. In vain he assured himself that not one project of his life had failed; but he trembled, to ask himself if he was happy, or if he had been successful in retaining that peace of mind, which in the evening of life is given us by Heaven, and which, could man be but taught to think so, is his brightest and most glorious possession�a possession, however, which when once bartered, can never be redeemed�a sunshine of the soul, which having once departed, never again will yield it with beauty and heavenly innocence.

Oh! if a man can stand even upon one of the wildest, most barren wastes of nature, and say with truth before high heaven, "I have lost all�all has departed from me�I have been unsuccessful in everything, but I

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have retained as my own sole possession the bright purity of truth and purpose, which I had originally from the hands of my Maker!" Then�then is that man rich indeed! Then, does he still possess a jewel of particular lustre�a glorious property, which the heaped up wealth of a thousand worlds could not purchase. Let him, then, if it be the will of Providence, lie down calmly and die! for death to him can bring no pang�the grave over him can have no victory!

The spectre of the murdered Vileroy was ever present to the baron�s fevered imagination, and the sudden appearance of Claudio, who bore so strong a resemblance to his unfortunate brother, at the panel had confirmed him in the mental delusion, and he now almost feared to stir through the castle, lest at each step he should encounter the avenging spirit of Vileroy.

After leaving the chamber of Caroline, he returned in confusion to his own private apartment, which he paced for a length of time and with an unequal pace indicative of the disturbed state of his mind.

"The coming here," he muttered, "of Count Durlack, at this juncture is a sad stroke of fate. My very life is in his hands, and I dare not refuse to aid him in every and any purpose. Confusion! That I should be involved in all this difficulty and trouble, for no object but a whim of the count�s. And yet I dare not even hint disapprobation, much less a refusal to aid him. And what is my reward, even should this girl be forced into a union with him? Nothing. For once the Baron Zindorf toils for nothing. Nothing but his secrecy upon matters long gone by. Perdition seize him! What hinders me, now that he is in my power, from crushing all my apprehension, along with his life? Yet, let me pause. He said there was a secret connected with his desire to aid this girl, the possession of which should profit me. We shall see�we shall see. In the meantime, Count Durlack, do not ha! ha!�do not feel too secure in Zindorf Castle."

Again he paced the apartment, and a grim smile of anticipated triumph played upon his swarthy features.

"I may," he said, "work upon the fears and weakness of the baroness to induce her to use her persuasions to this headstrong niece of hers, whom I must have been besotted ever to permit to enter the castle, to embrace Durlack�s proposal."

He approached the door as he spoke, and opened it nervously and cautiously, as if he feared some sight of terror might present itself, and thus passed from the room.

With a hasty step he walked to the apartment occupied by the baroness, and flinging open the door, he, with a smiling brow, stalked into the room. The baroness was reclining upon a sofa, apparently in deep dejection, when the baron entered. An air of langour and fatigue was perceptible in her appearance, and her face was very pale and thin.

She started as the baron entered, and made a strong effort to recover her composure, as she rose to receive him.

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"How now, madam," he said, with a fawning aspect; "am I ever to find you in tears, and breathing melancholy sighs?"

"I pray you," answered the baroness, "to tell me how is my poor niece?"

"Your poor niece," said the baron, ironically, "is quite well enough, madam, to resist everything which her best friends can devise for her benefit."

"She is well, then?" cried the baroness.

"I tell you, madam," said the baron, his voice rising to a passionate key, "that she is strong in her obstinacy. She is quite well enough to threaten even one whose bread she is eating, to insult my friends, to bully my servants, and to defy me, even here in my own Castle of Zindorf!"

"Heaven help her!" cried the baroness.

"Oh, madam" replied the baron, with a sneer, "you need not call upon Heaven to help your niece. She can help herself."

"I thank God," cried the baroness, "that she has not the yielding spirit of her poor mother, but that she has a soul which raises her above the shafts of petty disappointed malice."

"Well, madam," said the baron, "now that you have so piously returned thanks that your niece is of so obstinate a temperament, we will proceed to business, if you please."

"Oh, release her, release her!" said the baroness, imploringly. "My lord, she came here as a guest. Do not break the sacred bonds of hospitality."

"Peace!" cried the baron. "She still tastes of the hospitality of Zindorf Castle."

"But oh, recollect she was a bidden guest."

"When a guest," cried the baron, furiously, "of the Baron Zindorf defies him, and menaces him beneath his own ancient roof, that guest loses all title to respect, and becomes worse than an open enemy."

"What�what has Caroline done?"

"What has she done?" continued the baron, "talk not to me of the claims of hospitality. Caroline Mecklenburgh lost all title to consideration when she became a domestic spy."

"They fear no spies," said the baroness, "who hide no evil."

"Cease!" cried the baron, stamping his foot frantically upon the oaken floor. "Hark you, madam, I will not be bearded by you. You do your niece small service by your advocacy."

"I well believe it," said the baroness, sighing.

"Oh," sneered the baron "you well believe it, madam, do you? Then, madam, learn to put a bridle on your tongue, and teach your niece, who you consider so providentially obstinate and self-willed, to know herself the beggar that she is."

"She has a small pittance," said the baroness, "from the remnant of

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her father�s extensive property, and would gladly with that retire to a convent, where, at least, she would have peace and serenity."

"She is very considerate," sneered the baron, "and so are you, madam. Of course, when once outside the walls of Zindorf, she has nothing to say against her kind uncle? She would not point the finger of suspicion against him and the ancient home of his race? She the partaker of his bounty, would not, of course, be the first to raise a clamour at his very gates? Madam, permit me to say, that your niece, in the pursuance of that high spirit, for which you return such special thanks to Heaven, has gone a little too far."

"What has she said?" asked the baroness.

"She has said too much, madam," fiercely cried the baron, and then subduing his tone to the ironical sneer which made him a scowling demon, he continued: "By accident, madam, she has seen something."

The baroness shuddered, and the baron proceeded.

"She has guessed something more."

"Heaven help her!" ejaculated the baroness.

"By all means," replied the baron. "In the vigour of her imagination, madam, she has fancied more still, and with that charming obstinacy of disposition, and determination of purpose, or high spirit, or whatever you please to call it, Madame Zindorf, she has proclaimed to me even to me, her guesses, her surmises, and her brilliant freaks of imagination."

"Poor, poor Caroline."

"Oh," cried the baron, "perhaps you now, madam, think that a small portion of the high spirit might have been dispensed with?"

"Caroline Mecklenburgh," said the baroness, "is incapable of behaving as you state. She is the last person who would insinuate anything against any one."

"No doubt, madam. Let me do the young lady justice. She insinuates nothing. Oh no. What she says, she says with charming clearness and boldness."

"But was not all this, if it really exist," said the baroness, "provoked by your imprisonment of her?"

"Not all, madam. The imprisonment was provoked by some of it."

"But what can you have to fear, baron, if you are innocent?"

"Your simplicity is charming," said the baron, with a perfectly demoniacal sneer. "Do you not know, madam, that innocence, even pure as mine, is frequently no protection against the shafts of malevolence?"

"Oh, baron, baron," cried the baroness, despairingly, "you speak not your true thoughts. If my poor unfortunate niece has become unhappily possessed of some dread secret of this fearful place, bind her to secresy, but oh, harm her not."

"Hem!" cried the baron. "What dread secret can you imagine to exist?"

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"What do you mean?" said the baroness. "Why do you thus torture me?"

"There you see," said the baron, "had your good niece heard you say so much, she would, in the beautiful candour of her soul, proclaim that the Baron Zindorf tortured his beloved wife."

"You jest with our miseries," cried the baroness. "If, as I before said, Caroline be possessed of any secret which�which�"

"Pray go on, madam."

"Which might involve you in trouble and difficulty, I will answer for her, that, provided it perpetuates no suffering or injustice, she will never let it pass her lips to a living being."

"You will promise so much for her?" said the baron.

"I will fully," answered the baroness.

"But recollect," sneered the baron, "her candour, her beautiful obstinacy."

"She will promise, baron, and her word is sacred."

"I am sure you will forgive me," said the baron. "I act from the most amiable of motives. There is one means by which your delightful niece may place herself high in rank and wealth, and at the same time ensure to me her good faith."

"And how is that, baron?" said the baroness.

"That is," continued the baron, "by her consent to an alliance with a nobleman of high rank and fortune, who condescends to seek the hand in marriage of the pennyless Caroline Mecklenburgh."

"You mean the Count Durlack?"

"I do, madam."

"He is a monster!"

"He is my friend, and will be your fair niece�s husband."

"Never�never!" cried the baroness. "Caroline, I am sure, would prefer death to an union with Count Durlack."

"You must use your soft influence, madam," said the baron, "to overcome her scruples to a match which reflects honour upon her."

"I persuade Caroline to wed Count Durlack?"

"Yes, you, madam."

"My lord baron," said the baroness, calmly and firmly, "I cannot."

"But my lady baroness," replied the baron, with difficulty suppressing his rage; "you can, and shall."

"For myself," said the baroness, "I may suffer and endure anything, but I will not even pretend to be the instrument of another�s woe. Full well I know, that were I to stoop so low as to solicit Caroline Mecklenburgh to wed the destroyer of her parents, she would scorn both me and my proposal."

"But you will try, madam?" said the baron.

"The trial would be worse than useless."

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"But then, you know, you would have the grand consolation of having done your duty," sneered the baron.

"My duty," replied the baroness, "is to do what my heart tells me is right."

"Your duty is to obey me."

"Not in dishonour."

"Beware, madam, beware," said the baron. "You are in danger."

"I believe it,�I know it," cried the baroness. "You can take my life,�I have heard of such things; but you cannot force me to an action which my soul abhors."

The baron for a few minutes did not speak, but the working of his face shewed the wild passions which he was trying to subdue.

"You refuse?" he said.

"I do," answered the baroness. "I cannot, will not ask Caroline Mecklenburgh to wed Count Durlack, the destroyer of her parents."

"Are you aware, madam," said the baron, in a low husky voice, and his face turning a shade paler as he spoke, "that there was once another Madame Zindorf?"

"I�I am," answered the baroness.

" �Tis well," cried the baron. "She disobeyed her husband."

"I hear you," answered the baroness, faintly.

"And," continued the baron, darting an uneasy glance around the apartment;�"and she died!"

"We are all," said the baroness, shuddering, "in the hands of Providence."

"But she�she died suddenly;" continued the baron.

The baroness felt a sickness come over her heart.

"Bear in mind," continued the baron, rising; "she died suddenly, after disobeying her husband. Beware!"

The baroness answered not, but covered her face with her hands, and sunk down upon the sofa.

"Beware! I say," shrieked the baron. "I give you till to-morrow, to consider well your situation."

So saying, he rushed from the room, leaving the baroness in a state of mind of the most agonizing description.

CHAPTER XXI.

Caroline was much astonished to find the stranger in her chamber, who has been described, and she regarded him for several minutes in mute surprise.

"Who are you?" she said; "and by what means have you gained admittance to this private apartment?"

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"My name," said the page, "is Euphoric."

"But how come you hither?"

"My master stands at yon door," replied the page, pointing to the door of the ante-room; "he has the means of procuring admittance here."

"Who is your master?" said Caroline, hastily.

"The Count Durlack," replied the page.

"You serve a villain, then," cried Caroline, passionately.

The page started as if a serpent had stung him, and seemed about to say something suddenly, but he refused the impulse, and casting a quick glance towards the door of the ante-room, he said:

"Lady, my master is a noble gentleman."

"You are an Italian?" asked Caroline.

"I am," said the boy; "and an Italian never forgets a benefit. Of course I love my master."

"Your master is my greatest enemy," said Caroline. "He may be listening to my words, but I despise him from my soul, and proclaim him a villain!"

The page cast an anxious glance towards the ante-room door, as Caroline spoke, and then suddenly advancing with the quickness of lightning, he seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips. In another instant he was at the further end of the chamber. So sudden and quick had been his movement, that Caroline had not time to move, or even think, before the page was again standing in a respectful attitude, with his plumed cap in his hand, at some yards distant from the panel close to which she still stood.

She was about to question him as to the cause of this sudden action, but he placed his finger on his lips, and looked so imploringly towards the door of the ante-room, that she refrained, and merely said:

"What is your errand here?"

"From my master," replied the page.

"I hold no communion with your master," said Caroline. "I wish not to hear his detested name again."

Again the boy�s eyes flashed with an excitement, which alarmed Caroline as she spoke; but placing his hand upon his heart, he seemed to be trying to repress some powerful feeling, as he replied:

"I have a note for you, mademoiselle, from the count."

"I will not take it," replied Caroline. "Tell him I hold no intercourse with a foul murderer!"

The boy here could not suppress a cry of surprise, and he said in a low tone:

"Murderer!"

"Yes, murderer!" cried Caroline. "I proclaim it to all; Count Durlack is the murderer of my parents!"

The page�s eyes flashed fire as Caroline spoke, and he grasped the hilt of the ornamented poniard which hung upon his breast.