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the noble lady to be absent from my poor nuptials, when even the blushing bride has arrived at the altar’s foot."

Caroline was indignant as astonished at this audacious speech, and she immediately thought its motive must be to blind the ecclesiastic to the nature of the present proceeding; she, therefore, instantly replied:—

"If I am alluded to by the Count Durlack, I here state that I have been dragged from my chamber to this spot, and that I utterly abhor and detest the Count Durlack, and would suffer death rather than he should have the power to call me his bride. I cannot wed a murderer."

The priest moved not, and Caroline began then, indeed, to think that she was friendless, and with nothing but her own firmness and resolution for her safeguard.

"This modest reluctance, dearest Caroline," said the count, in the same sneering, audacious tone he had before spoken in, "is most amiable, and most usual, on these surely interesting occasions.—Add anything you please, my lovely bride, in the same sweet strain, which only lends an additional charm to beauty and grace which must enchant all beholders."

"Ruffian!—Accomplished villain!" cried Caroline, with indignation.

"Exactly," sneered Durlack.

"Monster!—murderer!"

"Nay, nay, you will quite shock the holy father."

"Oh, Heaven help me!" cried Caroline, "and protect me, in this temple reared to thy worship, from all scorn."

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"Say ‘Amen,’ holy father," sneered the count, in a mocking tone.

The priest shook his head slowly, but he still kept his face covered.

"Roland!" cried the baron, who had listened to this little dialogue with great and manifest impatience.

"Here," growled Roland, advancing a pace or two, and glancing at Caroline as if he anticipated that the next order would be to offer her some personal violence, in revenge for her freedom of speech.

"Fetch the baroness," said the baron. "You understand? Bring her here. We wait her gracious presence."

"We do, indeed," said Durlack, carelessly adjusting his collar of Valenciennes lace. "Lovers are an impatient race, and, I doubt not, my beauteous bride shares in her gentle fluttering heart, the anxieties of mine."

Caroline disdained further reply to the count, who she saw was intent upon carrying on a mocking discourse with her, either to gratify the malignant whim of the moment, or for some sinister purpose that she knew not of. Her hopes of the interference of the priest were becoming each moment fainter and fainter, for he stirred not, nor spoke not, seemingly resolved to take no interest whatever in her fate.

The door of the chapel by which Baron Zindorf and Caroline had entered, now opened again, and Roland appeared, with a malignant smile upon his face, and holding his torch above his head.

Caroline looked anxiously at the little door-way, and in another moment she saw the form of her poor aunt appear.

The baroness paused upon the threshold of the chapel, and seemed unable, for a short space, to proceed another step.

Caroline sprang forward, and clinging round the pale and sickly-looking baroness, she exclaimed:—

"Dear aunt, do I again in this world see you? What must you not have suffered. You are looking ill, and I—I—have been the wretched cause of all that you have had to endure from—"

"Hush, Caroline. Hush!" said the baroness, in a tone of alarm. "I—I am better. Say nothing that—that may aggravate those who are our persecutors."

Caroline noticed the nervous tone and trembling accents in which the baroness spoke, and a pang of anguish came across her heart, as she saw that her unfortunate relative had been completely terrified and subdued by the unwearying and violent persecution to which she had been subjected.

"Do you know, Caroline," said the baroness, in an agitated whisper; "do you know why you are brought here?"

"It is," said Caroline, " to force me into a marriage with the most odious of mankind."

"The Count Durlack?"

"The same. The persecutor—the ruthless destroyer of my mother, and the murderer of my unfortunate father."

"You—you will not consent?"

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"Consent, aunt! How can you deem the question necessary?"

"No, no," said the baroness, a slight flush passing across her pale features, and then leaving them paler and more haggard than before. "I am sure you would not. And yet—"

"Yet what, aunt? Can there be the slightest mental reservation in such a case?"

"No, child,—no. But the baron,—he is violent. Oh, reflect, reflect."

"I have, unhappily," answered Caroline, "had cause sufficient to reflect upon the violence of the Baron Zindorf."

"This castle," continued the baroness in a tone of nervous alarm, which betrayed the shattered state of her mind. "This castle, my dear Caroline, is a fearful place."

"It way be so," said Caroline, "if, by our fears, we make it such."

"You—you will not wed the count?"

"Oh, aunt, aunt," said Caroline, clasping her hands, "do not again ask me so cruel a question. You know death were infinitely preferable."

"Death?" said the baroness, shuddering.

"Yes, aunt, death. I do not speak idly, or in metaphor. I mean that the cruellest death would be preferable to the hateful and unnatural union proposed to me by the baron, and the—I cannot pronounce his hateful name."

The baroness groaned, and wrung her hands in despair.

"We shall both perish," she said, "both perish!"

Caroline was much afflicted to perceive her aunt in so weak a state, and the persecutions of the Baron Zindorf and the Count Durlack had all failed to inflict upon her the misery she now experienced at seeing the only relative to whom, she could look for advice and consolation, reduced almost to a pitiable state of mental and bodily infirmity, and ready to sink under a pressure of circumstances which she could not controul, and had not strength of mind sufficient to support herself with due calmness and resignation under.

The baron now strode with a frowning look towards the aunt and niece, who were maintaining a dialogue so unsatisfactory to each other.

The baroness trembled as he approached, and laying her hand on Caroline’s arm, she said, in an alarmed whisper:—

"Hush—hush! Here is the baron. Oh, hush!"

Caroline gave a deep sigh. "I am, indeed, alone," she thought. "Claudio is distant from me. The priest—the holy minister of religion, whose most sacred duty it is to protect the innocent, refuses me aid. My only relative is unable even to afford me one word of hope or consolation. I am forsaken by all but Heaven."

"To the altar!" cried the baron. "We waste time."

He seized Caroline rudely by the arm, and dragged her from the door. The baroness followed with tottering steps.

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"This," said Caroline, when they arrived at the altar, "is a mockery, as idle and wicked as it is useless."

"You will find it is no mockery," cried the baron.

"No earthly power," cried Caroline, "can compel me to wed the Count Durlack, contrary to my inclination."

"Difficulty is the food of love," sneered Durlack.

"Caroline Mecklenburgh," cried the baron, "take your place at the altar."

"I have no place here," said Caroline. "To you, holy sir," addressing the priest, "do I appeal against this desecration of this temple of religion. I am forced here against my will."

The priest groaned.

"Priest," cried the baron, drawing his sword, "to your duty!"

The priest, in a trembling voice, began to chaunt some unintelligible prayer.

Count Durlack advanced, and with the greatest effrontery, before Caroline was aware of his intention, he took hold of her hand.

"Off, villain!—off!" she cried, vehemently. "Touch me not. There is pollution in your very presence!"

"Sweet maidenly modesty," said Durlack, in a mocking voice, which, however, but partially concealed the passion which he was endeavouring to suppress.

"Cease, priest!" cried Caroline, nerved to desperation by her situation. "Cease your unholy exhortations. Tremble!—Do you not fear the instant vengeance of that God you are now mocking?"

The priest’s voice faltered, and he dropped a small book, from which he was, or affected to be, reading.

"Ha!" cried Caroline. "You are ashamed. You are human.—Protect me, oh, protect me." She clung to the robe of the priest, as she spoke, and sunk on her knees at his feet, imploring his succour.

"Rise!" cried Count Durlack, in a voice of thunder, his passion overmastering his prudence, and at once dissipating the tone of cruel irony in which he had hitherto persisted in addressing Caroline.

"Save me! save me!" cried Caroline, still clinging to the priest’s robe. "You, too, my aunt; have you no word to say for her who looked up to you as a second mother for advice and protection?"

The baroness only wrung her hands and sobbed.

"Rise!" again cried the count, drawing his sword, and laying his hand heavily upon Caroline’s shoulder.

"Help!" cried Caroline, "help!" and the chapel echoed her cries.

"Confusion!" cried the baron, stamping upon the stone floor.

"Spare her! Spare her!" cried the baroness, in a tone of frenzy.

"Claudio! Claudio!" cried Caroline, in the extremity of her despair.

"Who do you call upon?" cried the baron.

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"Vileroy!" shrieked Caroline; "Vileroy!—Murderer! I call upon Vileroy!"

"He is here!" said a solemn voice.

The baron shrieked till the ancient chapel rung again, and fell heavily upon the steps of the altar.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

ALL eyes were now turned in the direction from whence the mysterious voice proceeded, and Caroline’s among the rest. With a joy which imparted new life to her, she saw standing behind the altar, Claudio.

Count Durlack even, for a moment drew back and turned pale, and the priest, with a loud cry, rushed from before the altar.

"Can this be real?" said Durlack, passing his hand across his eyes.

"Save me! save me!" cried Caroline, rushing towards Claudio, who met her half way, and clinging to his left arm. In his right he brandished his sword.

"By the foul fiend !" cried Count Durlack, recovering from his first surprise, "this is no vision! Whoever you be, your life shall pay the penalty of this rash interference!"

"Cowardly ruffian!" cried Claudio. "Disgrace to manhood, and reproach of nobility, I defy thee, and thy vain threats."

"Ha!" cried Durlack, "are you so bold?"

"I am villain, for my cause is just," answered Claudio.

Count Durlack now made a rush at Claudio with his drawn sword, but he did not calculate upon the consummate skill which Claudio showed in the management of his weapon.

Although encumbered by Caroline, who was hanging to his arm, Claudio successfully parried the assault of the count, and inflicted upon him a wound which roused him to a height of the greatest passion and exasperation.

The clash of the swords rang through the chapel, and Count Durlack, with all his skill, could obtain no advantage over his youthful adversary.

The baroness had fainted, and Roland had stood for a few moments perfectly astounded by the sudden change in the posture of affairs. Now, however, he dashed his torch to the ground, and drawing his sword, he rushed toward Claudio and the count.

Claudio had purposely retreated step by step, before the count’s attack, intending, if possible, to effect a retreat down the trap-door behind the altar, from which the reader will readily surmise he had ascended to the chapel.

As the combat between the Count Durlack and Claudio proceeded, without the former gaining any advantage, his rage became excessive, and he

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fought with a desperation which would have ensured the destruction of any less accomplished swordsman than Claudio.

Just as Roland neared the spot of conflict, Claudio stood with his fair burthen by the brink of the staircase which led to the vaults.

"Maurice! Maurice!" he cried; "take her! take her!"

Maurice extended his arms, and received Caroline.

"Descend!" cried Claudio. "Descend, Maurice, and save her!"

"Fiends!" cried Count Durlack;—"think you thus to escape my vengeance?"

As he spoke, he made a ferocious lounge at Claudio, who, stepping on one side with the rapidity of lightning, evaded the sword of his enraged antagonist.

The count could not recover his guard, and his sword striking against the stone work of the altar, was shivered in his hand.

"Receive, monster," said Claudio, "the reward of your crimes!" He drew back his arm, and the mortal career of the Count Durlack would have then closed, had not Roland crossed his sword at that critical moment over the defenceless body of the count.

The safety of Caroline was Claudio’s principal object. He cast one glance down the trap-door, and crying:—

"Count Durlack, we shall meet again." He plunged down the narrow opening.

"A sword!" cried Count Durlack. "A sword!—Perdition seize the weapon!—A sword, Roland!—A sword!"

"You are wounded," said Roland.

"What matters?" cried Durlack. "Hell’s fiends, am I to be thus thwarted, and the prize snatched from my grasp by a beardless stripling? A sword, I say, Roland!—A sword!—You shall accompany me."

"That I will not," said Roland. "I know not what force yon fellow may have below. I saw another besides himself."

"Damnation!" roared the count;—"am I to be cheated of my revenge?"

"No," answered Roland;—"they cannot escape from the vaults; the only entrance from the forest is built up. They are in a cage."

"Say you so?—Art sure, Roland?"

"Quite sure. We must descend with sufficient force, and then we art sure of them. They cannot escape.—You bleed, my lord."

"A trifle," said Durlack; "a mere accident. By the fiend! the fellow has the trick of fence."

"I never saw a weapon handled better," said Roland, in a tone of sulky admiration.

"Tell me," said the count, "who is this gallant?"

"I knew him not at first," said Roland; "but his name is Claudio. He was an inmate of the castle for a short time."

"How came he here?"

"Nay, I know not, unless the devil brought him so inopportunely. He

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bears a marked resemblance to one the baron shrinks from the remembrance of."

"Who is that?"

"Vileroy."

"Ah! I know that matter. Then that accounts for the dismay of the baron. Rouse him from his trance, Roland, for this is an affair which brooks not delay."

The count and Roland now raised the baron from the ground.

"Rouse thee, baron," cried Durlack; "there is work still to do. Shake off this woman’s vein. Rouse thee."

"Is it gone?" said the baron, faintly, without unclosing his eyes.

"There is no one here," said Roland, gruffly, "but ourselves; if we except the baroness. She’s dead, I think."

"Dead!" said the baron. "God of Heaven!"

"She only swooned," said Durlack.

"Then it is gone?" cried the baron, in a more confident voice.

"Aye, gone, indeed," growled Roland.

"Oh, Roland," said the baron, slowly unclosing his eyes, and looking round him with a shudder. "Did not your blood freeze in you heart?"

"No;" said Roland, bluntly.

"You helped to slay him, Roland," continued the baron; "your dagger assisted at the deed!—Could you look on that face unmoved?"

"The figure you saw behind the altar," said the count, "it appears is one Claudio, who was sometime your guest, I hear."

"Claudio!" said the baron; "was it he?"

"It was," said Roland. "He has wounded my lord, the count, and carried off the lovely Caroline."

"Then it was not the vision of Vileroy that glared upon me?"

"No;" said Durlack; "I’ll undertake to say that it was no vision."

" ‘Tis strange," said the baron. "Roland, how came he here? ‘Tis some time since he left us."

"I know not," answered Roland. "He has some force with him, and is now in the vaults."

"From whence he must never depart," said Durlack. "We lose time, baron. Get together what assistance you can, and let us visit your underground habitations."

"Beneath this chapel, count, is the dungeon of—"

"Of who?" said the count, turning a shade paler.

"Roland can tell you."

"Montoni," said Roland.

"We—we need not penetrate there," said Durlack. "Surely that was too secretly hidden."

"Let us hope so," said the baron, "You say, Roland, he had companions?"

"I saw one," replied Roland.

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"He had a servant in attendance upon him," said the baron. "They must have secreted themselves in the castle, instead of departing."

"What force can you muster?" said Durlack.

"Five with ourselves," answered the baron.

"Then," continued the count, "let us lose no time in securing again the person of Caroline Mecklenburgh, who has so singularly escaped us."

"They cannot escape from the vaults," remarked the baron.

"Give me another sword," said Durlack. "You assemble your men, and I will keep guard the while over the trap-door, through which this daring Claudio descended with his fair prize."

"Rouse the baroness," said the baron, to Roland, "and conduct her to her chamber."

Roland advanced with a grim smile to where Caroline’s unfortunate aunt was lying and lifted her from the stone floor.

"To your chamber, madam," said the baron, sternly.

"Curse on all this swooning," cried Durlack. "I suppose the trembling coward, Francisco, will be found next in a sensitive faint."

"He shall pay dearly," said the baron, "for his pusilanimity."

"I could have found in my heart to run him through on the spot," said Durlack. "He trembled like an aspen leaf."

"He dies!" said the baron. "I suspect him."

"But the baroness?" cried Roland, in a sneering tone.

"To your chamber, madame," roared the baron. "These fine sensibilities are out of place here."

She answered not.

"Come, come, madame," continued the baron; "be pleased to recover. There is scarcely sufficient light here to show off the interesting paleness of your countenance, and no one to admire its langour if there were."

"To her chamber?" said Roland.

"Aye, to her chamber," repeated the baron.

Humph!" said Roland, with a demoniac chuckle. "Might she not be as well here?"

"Obey your orders," said the baron.

"Oh, as you please, my good lord," answered Roland. "Only I thought—"

"You thought what?" said Durlack.

"It would save trouble," chuckled Roland, "to leave the lady here."

"Wherefore?" inquired the baron.

"Oh, nothing particular," answered Roland; "only you see my gracious master’s—"

"What?—Why pause you?"

"She is dead!"

The baron staggered as if he had been shot, and clutched convulsively at the altar for support.

"Dead!" cried the count.