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"Here, lady," he said, in a voice of suppressed emotion, "is the letter; I pray you take it from me."

"Never!" cried Caroline; "your master knows well I hold him in detestation and scorn. He can write nothing to me, even were his language humblest that the mind of man could conceive, that could ever induce pity from one who he has so deeply injured, and even persecutes with a suit which at least from him I should never have heard. The name of Mecklenburgh ought to be to Count Durlack a sound of terror from which he should fly."

"You will not take the letter?" said the page.

"I will not," answered Caroline.

"My master loves you, signora," said the page, raising his voice.

"He lies!" cried Caroline. "He is incapable of loving any human being."

"He bids me commend him to you, and to promise if you will be his, to restore you to your former home."

"Tell him," cried Caroline, "I scorn�yet, no;�tell him nothing. Caroline Mecklenburgh has no answer for Count Durlack."

"He promises," continued the page, "the restoration of everything which was your father�s, into your own hands."

Caroline made no answer.

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"You reject with scorn him and his proposals?" said the page.

"From my soul I do," answered Caroline.

"You refuse his letter?"

"I do."

"You consider him a blood-stained monster?"

"Before Heaven, I do!"

"Enough, lady," said the page; "I will to my master, the kind and good Count Durlack."

This conversation was carried on in a most singular manner on the part of the page Euphoric. Every word that was flattering, or might be considered pleasant, or advantageous to the suit of the count, the page gave full and free utterance to; but all his other strange expressions were muttered in a low tone, but at the same time, with an air and manner which plainly showed that the application of the opprobrious epithets which he applied to his master, afforded him the sincerest satisfaction.

He walked quickly towards the door, and as his hand was upon the lock, he said:�

"Farewell, lady; think better of Count Durlack."

As he spoke, the door opened, and the count himself appeared on the threshold.

Caroline kept as close as possible to the panel, and the knowledge that her slightest cry would bring her the most efficient assistance, nerved her to endure with composure, the forced presence of the man, of all others, who she believed she had the most cause to shun and dread the sight of.

"My faithful Euphoric, retire," said the count.

With a slow and lingering step, the page left the apartment; but ere he did so, he cast a look at Caroline, the meaning of which, she was quite at a loss to comprehend.

"You refuse," said the count, "my apologies for last night�s unfortunate intrusion?"

"There is but one course that Count Durlack can pursue towards Caroline Mecklenburgh," said Caroline; "which can ever make her hear with patience his name."

"And what course is that, charming Caroline," cried the count, advancing into the room a step or two.

"By shunning her presence," said Caroline; "as she will for ever shun his."

"But you forget," said the count, with an affected air of gallantry, "my ardent passion for you. You forget your own charms."

"I do not forget my father�s and mother�s destroyer," cried Caroline. "Oh, would that I could!"

"You mistake," said the count; "you labour under some strange delusion. Your mother owed not her misfortunes to me."

"Wretch!" cried Caroline; "dare not to profane the name of one who will plead against you at the great judgment seat of Heaven! Have

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you no shame;�no remorse for your crimes? Do you�can you forget? Is Heaven so merciful to you as to wipe from your conscience the stains of blood that dim it?"

" �Tis you forget," cried the count;�" �tis you who forget your present situation, Caroline Mecklenburgh."

"I do not," answered Caroline; "I trust in Heaven!�A trust which you can never have, Count Durlack."

"I care not," he replied. "Trust you to Providence, and I will trust to my good friend the baron, your kind uncle, and the strong walls of Zindorf Castle."

"Impious man, what mean you?"

"My meaning," said the count, with a smile of triumph, "is plain. You are here my prisoner, and from here you stir not but as my wife."

"Then, if Heaven so wills it," said Caroline, "be this place my tomb."

"You are powerless," continued the count, "and I am powerful. You are weak and I am strong. I have decided that you shall become the countess of Durlack."

"Begone!" cried Caroline, "I will hold no further talk with thee. The spirits of my murdered parents might well reproach me for exchanging words with their fell foe and wicked destroyer."

"This affected scorn," said the count, "will not save you. Mine you must and shall be. I have sworn it, and I will keep my oath."

"Providence," replied Caroline, for a time sometimes permits the wicked to triumph over the innocent; but right will be done at last."

"Beware," said the count, in a tone of anger, "that you change not my love to a deadly hatred. You trifle with your fate, Caroline Mecklenburgh."

"No, count," replied Caroline, "I do not. You trifle with your fate. Your soul is blackened with crimes�your life is nearly spent, and yet you strive not to make your peace with Heaven."

"Cease this silly jargon," cried the count. "You know not your danger."

"You know not yours," said Caroline, firmly. "You are as one plucking flowers on the edge of a frightful precipice."

"Ha! ha!�a goodly simile. You are the flower, and I would pluck you from the very brink of hell."

"It is in vain," cried Caroline.

"It is," shouted the count. "I leave you now, because I know my prize to be secure. Consent to be mine in lawful wedlock, or the time will come when on your knees you will sue in vain for that high honour."

"Never, never!"

"Rash girl, forbear. Make no rash vows."

"Leave me," cried Caroline, "leave me."

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"Your fate is inextricably mingled with mine," said the count. "Destiny has thrown you into my hands. Escape is impossible. Submission in you would become a new grace. Beware, before it is too late."

"I do dread thee," said Caroline, "as I would dread some venomous monster who I knew was armed for my destruction and knew not mercy."

"What hope can you have," he said, "to escape from me?"

"The hope that in the order of things the innocent shall not become the victim of the guilty�the hope that some interposition of Providence will yet preserve me from your insatiable fury."

"That hope you may banish, " said the count. "This Castle of Zindorf has ere this seen stranger scenes than any in which the extent of my wishes destine you to be an actress."

"I may well believe it," said Caroline. "The wail of the murdered has rung through this old building, I know."

"It may do so again," said the count.

"It may," replied Caroline, "and the guilt will be great."

The door of the ante-room, which the page had but partially closed after him, now slowly opened, and the ferocious and bearded countenance of Roland appeared at it.

"What means this interruption?" cried Count Durlack.

"It means, " replied Roland, sullenly, "that my lord wants to see you instantly."

"Wherefore, Roland? The baron knows I am engaged."

"He has seen something," muttered Roland, "and has fainted."

"Seen something?" cried the count. "What trash. How could he tell you to send for me if he had fainted?"

"It was your page, count, who sent for you."

"What did he see, Roland?" asked the count.

"Nay, I know not," answered the man, sullenly. "He heard something too; and for the matter of that, I heard it as well."

"And what was it?"

"Why, the same voice that came the other day."

"What voice? I heard nothing of it."

" Why, my lord, the baron," said Roland, "about ten minutes since was talking with me about filling up some of the vaults, as he has done one already, in consequence of the strange noises that came from them, and he left me to proceed to his own room. He could not have got far when I heard him cry out for help."

"Well�proceed, Roland," said the count, " what then?"

"Why, I went quickly to the spot, and the baron was lying upon the floor of the great northern gallery insensible."

"Then you don�t know what he saw?"

"No; but when I arrived at the spot I heard a voice, as if it came from far off, and yet it was very distinct."

"What did it say?"

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"It said, �The time is evening�Zindorf is doomed!�"

"And you heard nothing more?"

"Nothing."

" �Tis very strange," said the count, "I suspect there is some trickery at the bottom of all this. I will seek the baron."

He walked to the door, and then turning to Caroline, he said�

"Be warned. Your fate is in your own hands. Honour, wealth, and distinction, or disgrace and death await you. Make your choice, there is no other alternative. Count Durlack boasts the proud distinction of being yet unbaffled. Death alone ever robbed him of the fruits of his resolutions. "

He turned from the ante-room as he spoke, and Caroline heard him double lock the door which shut her from the world.

"Heaven," she cried, "direct me what to do. Fly from this place I must, although I should meet death in the attempt. Claudio, Claudio, I must trust to thee. If any passage, however fearful and beset with danger, could be found through the vaults, I would adventure the attempt. I must perish if I remain here. I could but perish in an attempt at self-preservation."

As she spoke, the sky became suddenly darkened, and the loud boom of distant thunder smote her ears.

"A storm," she cried, looking from her casement. "A storm in this monotonous region must have tenfold horrors."

The blackness of the sky deepened, and a vivid flash of lightning shot past her window with livid brightness.

Loud roared the distant thunder, and the old Castle of Zindorf seemed to shake to its very foundations.

CHAPTER XXII.

COUNT DURLACK, when he left the chamber of Caroline, hurried with impetuous steps to the apartment of the Baron Zindorf.

Before he could arrive the storm had commenced with all the suddenness which is the peculiar characteristic of elemental commotion in mountainous districts,

The sky, from being previously serene and nearly cloudless, was in a few minutes nearly as dark as night, and the broad flashes of lightning, accompanied by thunder, the grandeur and effect of which was increased tenfold by the surrounding echoes, was so incessant and awful, that more than once Count Durlack paused in dismay on his route to the baron�s chamber.

"These storms are frequent in these regions," said Roland.

"They are very violent, " said the count.

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"Yes," replied Roland, "I sometimes think the old Castle of Zindorf will topple from the hill on which it stands. Ha! ha! if it were to do so, some strange scenes would come to light."

"How mean you," said the count.

"Why, the vaults would be uncovered."

"Lead on, lead on," cried the count. "This garrulity to any one but me might be most dangerous."

"Who cares?" answered Roland, in a surly tone. "I settle all dangers with my stiletto."

Louder and louder burst the thunder over the castle as they reached the baron�s room. The Baron Zindorf had recovered from his fainting fit, and was setting upon the side of a couch, looking pale and anxious.

"You look unwell," said the count.

"I am rather so," replied the baron. "How loud the storm is."

"It does certainly," said Durlack, "rattle about the battlements and turrets of the old castle at a tremendous rate."

"We can scarcely hear ourselves speak," said the baron. "Durlack, this has become a fearful abode to me."

"Why so? You were not wont in years gone by to be scared by idle superstitions. What is the meaning of this strange story I hear from our friend Roland?�who, by the way, is rather too free with his tongue."

"He is as free with his sword," said Roland, "to do my master or the noble Count Durlack service."

"I know it, Roland," said the count, with a peculiar smile. "Who knows but we may want your aid again�eh, baron?"

The storm had now nearly reached its height. The lightning came flash after flash with such rapidity, that there was no perceptible period of time between each. The thunder was unceasing, and being taken up and prolonged by the echoes among the mountains, the noise was tremendous, and more resembled the repeated discharges of a whole park artillery than anything else.

The baron did not answer Count Durlack, but with staring eyes gazed at a large window, which was at the further extremity of the apartment, and which was every moment lit up with dazzling brilliancy by the flashes of the electric fluid.

"Why do you fix your gaze so earnestly on the window?" said the count, as loud as he could, in order to make his voice heard above the incessant roar and din of the tempest which raged without.

"Do you hear nothing peculiar amid the howling of the wind?" said the baron in a trembling voice, and laying his hand upon the count�s arm.

"I hear nothing," said the count, "but the deafening thunder, and occasionally the blast as it sweeps past the castle walls."

"Do you hear nothing, Roland?" asked the baron.

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"Nothing but the usual sounds of the storm," answered the sullen Roland.

" �Tis strange," said the baron.

"What is strange?" cried Durlack.

"I hear a moaning noise amid the thunder�s war," said the baron shuddering.

"Tush! tush!" said the count, "this is a trick of the imagination."

"He says," continued the baron, " �Woe, woe to Zindorf.�"

"These are idle tremours," said Durlack.

"No. Even now I hear the words plainly," said the baron, "�woe, woe to Zindorf.�"

"The storm is subsiding," growled Roland.

"It is," said the count. "Rouse yourself, Baron Zindorf, and shake off these idle fancies that are unworthy of you."

"I feel," said the baron, "that my race is nearly run."

"Nonsense," cried the count. "You have become nervous and imaginative in this old feudal residence of yours. You must come again to the court, baron, and you will leave these melancholy fancies along with the cobwebs of your own ancestral castle of Zindorf, which I advise you for the future to see as little of as possible; that is to say, after we have settled our present business."

"That may be long ere it be settled," said the baron,

"That depends upon ourselves," cried Durlack. "Tell me, however, before we enter upon that subject of discourse, what it was that so unmanned you, and caused you to faint just as the storm commenced?"

"I was passing," said the baron, "along the great northern gallery, when, as I came opposite a door, which leads by a winding staircase to the castle vaults, I heard a shriek come from it, and that was immediately followed by the same words that I could swear I heard repeated by the howling wind; even now, as it swept in gusts past my castle�s ancient walls."

"You must," said the count, "have been thinking of these horrors, and your imagination connected some accidental sound into the words you heard."

"A sudden darkness," continued the baron, "then came over the place."

"That was the gathering storm," urged the count.

"And as I stood for a moment irresolute, some form dashed past me as the uncertain light!�A form which my mind told me was not of this world."

"Well; what then?"

"I know not. I suppose it must have been the thunder, which my mind was in too excited a state to recognise; but I thought the old towers of Zindorf were falling around me and I swooned."

"You see," said the count, "that after all, this alarm resolves itself to nothing."

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"There is one thing, however, that is certain," said the baron.

"And what is that?"

"That my castle," he continued, "is accessible to mortal or immortal beings, who take a pleasure in tormenting me and my household. Noises have been heard by every one of the establishment."

"Then I should advise," said Count Durlack, "that you called a strong party, and thoroughly explore every corner of the edifice."

"You forget, count," said the baron, faintly, "that some apartments in Zindorf, and in the vaults beneath it, had better remain closed."

"At this distance of time," muttered the count, slightly reddening; "surely the remains of�of�"

"Name them not;�oh, name them not," cried the baron. "I have already built up one entrance to the vaults. I will build up another; and the only one which remains at all accessible to ordinary observation."

"But does not the�"

"Hush!" cried the baron; "whisper not the name; he does still live."

"Why not," said the count; "leave him to famine?"

"I know not why" said the baron; "but I seem as if I dared not. As often as I have determined upon his destruction, something has happened to prevent the execution of my purpose, and disarm me of my vengeance."

"And yet," replied the count, "while he to whom we allude lives, your life must be one of disquietude and dread; and you hold your rich possessions by a most frail and uncertain tenure. You can feel no safety."

"That is most true," replied the baron; "but a little longer period of time must end my anxieties. He is old, and infirm."

"As you please," cried the count; "that matter concerns not me so particularly, as it does you, baron."

"With this exception, Durlack," replied the baron; "we have so many interests in common, that the destruction of one of us, must pull down the other."

"This is idle talking," answered the count. "To the business in hand, baron. Your fair niece enacts the heroine in grand style."

"Pho, Pho," cried the baron ; "she is but a woman."

"And as such," said Durlack; "more troublesome to manage than any ten men. You don�t know the sex so well as I do, baron."

"I ought," replied the baron.

"Women feel, baron," continued the count; "but they don�t think. They are creatures of feeling, not reflection. One never knows what motive of action to present to them."

"Count," said the baron; "you have not confided to me your principal motive for so earnestly desiring an union with the penniless Caroline Mecklenburgh. I cannot believe that you, Count Durlack, are solely actuated by your admiration of the personal charms of the fair niece of the baroness."

"I honour your penetration," said the count, casting at the same time a