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"Yes," said Frederique, "nearly so—I want to explain, and I can’t.

"Explain what?" said the Chevalier.

"Everything, and nothing," shouted Frederique. "I’m a fool—twice,—twice—I’ll climb up a tree—dig a hole, and bury myself—anything—anything."

So saying, he darted into the forest, leaving the Chevalier D’Anville in perfect amazement and horror.

"Oh, father," said Constance, "is he not distracted?"

"It would appear so," answered D’Anville. "But tell me, Constance, how came you here, and what has passed?"

Constance hid her face on her father’s breast, as she said—

"Oh, father, forgive me. I knew you were telling the young soldier the history of your wrongs, and I thought to urge him more than I knew you would do, to see justice done to you after your years of unmerited suffering."

"But whence arose your alarm, Constance?"

"His conduct, father, was so strange. At first he was all enthusiasm and rapture—"

"Humph!" said D’Anville.

"Then," continued Constance, "he seemed half frantic, and called you unworthy—"

"Indeed!"

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"Then he said he was mad; and, truly, I think he is father, for his talk was wild and incoherent."

"I fear he is mad," answered D’Anville.

"In truth, I think so," said Constance. "I’m so very sorry I spoke harshly to him."

"Go home, Constance," said D’Anville. "The madness of this youth is, I fear, but too common a distemper."

"Common, father?"

Yes, Constance, common. The malady under which he suffers is one of the most powerful for good or evil that the world ever saw."

"Alas, poor youth!" sighed Constance.

"Hence, girl—to the cavern," said D’Anville. "I will be with thee shortly; go—go Constance. I will seek the youth."

Constance departed, and the Chevalier D’Anville stood for a few moments in an attitude of deep musing.

"Mad!" he said, "yes, it is a madness; oh, love—love, what can withstand thy wondrous power? Constance, Constance, your own heart is as yet unknown to you. This madness may be mutual; I must be wary. I honour you, Frederique—I love your frank, noble, fiery nature, but I must know you better ere I risk the peace of all that is dear to me in the world in thy keeping. I guessed the meaning of this madness, although Constance, thou, in thy pure innocence, beautiful as thou art, didst not."

Again he mused for a brief space, then speaking hurriedly, he said,—

"I should know this forest better than he. I will cross his path once more to-night, and judge him more closely."

The Chevalier D’Anville now cast his eyes up to the heavens, where twinkled as yet but a few faint stars, and choosing, by them, his direction, he plunged boldly into the intricacies of the dark forest.

Frederique, when be darted among the trees, from Constance and her father, rushed forward with great precipitation for some few hundred yards, and then, with all the inconsistency of passion, he paused, and would have given worlds had he had them to bestow that he had staid.

Back again he wildly rushed, and when about half way, by some other revulsion of feeling, he again paused

Distracted by conflicting emotions, he threw himself on the ground, and bewailed what he denominated his own vain folly.

"Oh, how could I be so besotted," he cried, "to believe for one moment that so pure, so angelic a creature would wander out into the forest to avow, unblushingly, an ardent attachment for one she had seen but twice? and yet, carried away by my own feelings, I did think so, and took to myself her innocent expressions of attachment and love for her father. Oh, supremely ridiculous! vain folly, beyond comparison. Can I ever explain my conduct? Can I say I thought you were in love with me? No, no, no—that would be to banish me from her presence for ever. But am I not already banished forever? Shall I, can I tell D’Anville how superlatively

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foolish—how ineffably ridiculous should I appear to her? How deeply offensive, too, would ever the tainted suppositions be that she, Constance, his darling child, could possibly act in such a manner? Oh, I am lost, lost, lost. If I was not mad then—which I think I must have been, I shall be soon. Oh! I could tear myself to bits."

CHAPTER LI.

WHEN Caroline Mecklenburgh once more found herself in the privacy of her own chamber, she sank into a seat, and a flood of tears came to the relief of her overcharged feelings.

"When, oh!" she cried, "when will all this cruel persecution end? Shall I be at length consigned, like my poor aunt, to the silent tomb in the midst of my afflictions, without one ray of sunshine to bring comfort to my aching heart? or is this but some fearful probation I am passing through, to add, in time to come, a keener zest to joy, peace, and serenity?"

It was now morning, and the sun was rising to another day of anxiety and feverish apprehension.

And Claudio, too.—Oh, how the thought of him wrung tears of bitter agony from her eyes. She pictured him in his dreary dungeon lingering on the remains of hope, expecting, momentarily, the aid that came not. She pursued this visage in her mind till it became insupportable, and she resolved to proceed to the turret, and with all the energy of despair, attempt to raise the trap-door, and if she succeeded, search the vaults for him, who, for her sake, was suffering so dreadful and dismal a confinement.

"I will not—cannot wait longer," she cried. "It will, at least be a relief to try my utmost strength against that trap-door which leads to his dungeon. I may not save him, but I can die in the attempt."

Dashing the tears from her eyes, Caroline walked hastily to the panel. She had hardly gained it, however, when she heard some one turning a key in the lock of the ante-room door.

Instinctively she paused, and her heart beat high with the hope that it might be Euphoric provided with the means of rescuing Claudio from his protracted and horrible imprisonment.

It was the page; and Caroline was on the point of rushing towards him, with the name of Claudio upon her lips, when he made her a sign of caution, and in the next moment she saw that he was closely followed by Roland, bearing a tray with her usual breakfast.

She turned to one of he windows, and looked out in silent disappointment until she was again left alone.

"Oh," she cried, "this is a mockery. What do I with food when he is starving? Oh, Euphoric, have you, too, deserted me?"

As she glanced listlessly towards the tray, she saw a small piece of

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folded paper; she sprang forward and instantly seized and opened it. There were but a few words, but they were words of hope. They were these,—

"He who would assist the innocent and oppressed, will return in a short time. Be of good cheer, lady—all will be well."

Caroline, upon this, resolved to remain in her chamber for a time, and rely upon the avowal of Euphoric, with the means of overcoming the weight of the trap-door.

Not long had she to endure the torture of suspense. Again she heard a key turn in the lock, and, in a minute, Euphoric had entered and secured the door again on the inside.

He bore in his hand an iron bar, which was flattened to an edge at one end, and by his side hung a rapier.

"Euphoric, Euphoric!" cried Caroline. "You have come at last. Oh, how I have longed to see you. Hasten, Euphoric! Let us fly to save him."

"Dispel your fears, lady," answered Euphoric. "Claudio must be well, they had ample provisions for the time they have been in the dungeon; and they had it, too, with a caution to be provident.

"For that, and everything which has ameliorated Claudio’s and my conditions, we have, Euphoric, to thank thee," said Caroline.

"Oh, say no more, lady," answered the page. "I live but for one object; but if in the course of my weary pilgrimage I can convert a tear to a smile upon the face of one, such as thee, I may indulge in the pleasure without detracting from the object, to accomplish which, I have dedicate my existence."

"And that object, Euphoric?"

"Is to avenge my father’s murder, lady! Come, come—to the turret."

Caroline needed not a second injunction; but hastily following Euphoric, they shortly stood together by the side of the trap-door, which, indeed, no ordinary strength, unaided by tools, could have raised.

Euphoric now produced a small lantern, which he desired Caroline to take charge of, while he commenced operations for raising the trap-door.

There was but a small crevice where the trap-door joined the flooring of the turret; but still it was sufficiently wide to allow Euphoric to press in the flattened end of the crow-bar.

The door was now easily raised some inches, and leaving the bar of iron, so as to keep it so, Euphoric said,—

"Now, lady, that we can get a fair hold of the edge of the trap-door, I think our united strength will be sufficient to raise it."

Caroline immediately bent all her energy to the task, and they succeeded in turning the trap-door over.

"The greatest difficulty is now over," said the page. "The door of Claudio’s dungeon opens by a spring from the outside, although no human strength could force it from the inner."

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"Let us instantly descend," cried Caroline.

"I am ready," said the page.

They left the trap-door open, and commenced the descent of the staircase which presented itself before them.

Caroline’s feelings as she descended from the light of day to the rescue of Claudio were of the most excited description.

"Does he still live?" she asked herself, "or has he sunk beneath the horrors of that gloomy abode? Oh, Claudio! Claudio! if you be despairing, hope now, for your deliverance is at hand."

The page preceded Caroline, and conducted her as quickly as he could, by the dim light which the lantern emitted, towards the vaulted passage.

"Now, lady, " he said, as they arrived at its entrance, "we are close to the dungeon of Claudio. Be assured he is safe."

"Oh, lose not a moment, good Euphoric!" cried Caroline, clasping her hands.

She darted into the vaulted passage as she spoke, and it was with difficulty that Euphoric could keep up with her agile figure.

"Where," she cried, "where, Euphoric, is the dungeon door?"

"But a few paces further," answered the page, holding the lantern so as to cast its pale radiance on the damp, glistening wall.

"It was here Euphoric," said Caroline, "that those awful sounds were heard that almost turned my heart to stone with horror."

"It was," answered Euphoric, with a deep sigh. "Pray Heaven we hear them not again."

"Can you, Euphoric, have any explanation of them?" asked Caroline.

"I think those cries were not mortal," said Euphoric. "Fearful crimes have been committed in these dungeons of Zindorf, and it may well be that the spirits of the murdered wander among these gloomy passages, making the gloom hideous, and awakening echoes by their unearthly screams."

"I cannot entertain this idea," said Caroline. "Such a supposition is contrary to all our observation of the ways of Providence."

"Hold!—Here is the dungeon door," cried Euphoric.

"Open it!—open it!" cried Caroline. "The spring, Euphoric! The spring!"

"Is here," said Euphoric, pressing upon it.

The door flew open.

"We are friends!" cried Euphoric.

"Claudio—Claudio!" exclaimed Caroline, rushing in.

No one spoke in answer to her. She looked round wildly, and again the name of Claudio burst from her lips.

"Speak," she said; "oh, Claudio! answer me.—But one word—one sigh to tell me that you live. Claudio! Claudio! Oh, Heavens! what means this death-like stillness?—Euphoric—lights!—Claudio—Claudio!"

The echoes of her own voice alone responded to her cries.

Euphoric was not less amazed than Caroline at finding that no voice answered to her repeated calls.

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"Hush! lady, hush! The dungeon is untenanted,"

"Let me see," cried Caroline, "oh, let me convince myself they are not dead, and I will thank Heaven, Euphoric."

"They have by some means escaped," said Euphoric. "There is nothing here but—"

"But what, Euphoric?"

"The mouldering remains of my murdered father, lady."

"Oh, forgive me, Euphoric, that I asked you," said Caroline.

"Heed it not—heed it not," said the page. "My sorrows lie too deep to be disturbed by ordinary causes."

"I would not for the world, Euphoric," said Caroline, "say aught to wound your just feelings for your poor father."

"I know it, lady," answered Euphoric. "I know you would not—nor have you."

"I feared I had, Euphoric."

"No—no. The human heart is like a deep and silent pool. Its surface is ruffled with a breath. Thousands of light and airy sorrows float upon its top, and these the lightest summer wind will set in wild commotion. But the grief, lady, that, like a heavy weight of lead, plunges at once to its utmost depths, will there remain, a heavy, listless clog; but unmoved by all that can affect the lighter sorrows, which lie exposed to every casual circumstance."

"See, lady," he added, after a pause of some moments. "This door is open—your lover has escaped by some rare chance."

Caroline looked eagerly in the direction indicated by Euphoric. The door leading to the chapel was open.

"He is free—he is free!" she cried.

"He cannot have left the Castle," said the page, "and, if I may be permitted to judge his nature, he would not."

"Let us proceed at once to the chapel, Euphoric, he may be there."

"Caroline!" cried a voice she knew well, and in a moment Claudio entered the dungeon through the open door.

With a cry of joy she threw herself into his arms, and all sorrows, all fears were forgotten in the delight of that moment of re-union with one for whom she had suffered so much anxiety, and who for her sake had endured such miseries and dangers.

"Dear Caroline," cried Claudio, "do I indeed behold you once again? Oh, happy moment!—dear recompense for all my sorrows."

"Oh, Claudio! what agony it was to me to find that you were not here. How did you contrive to leave this place?"

"I had every faith in Euphoric," answered Claudio, "but who can answer for the peculiar circumstances in which persons may be placed? A thousand accidents might have prevented you, Euphoric, from coming to my deliverance."

"It is true," said Euphoric. "Even now, I am twelve hours later than I intended."

"Taking this view of the case," continued Claudio, "no sooner were Maurice and myself secure from interruption, than we recruited our strength with the provisions, and commenced immediate operations upon this door, assisted only by a broken poniard, which belonged to myself, for, as you are aware, our swords were taken from us."

"But the door was strong, Claudio," said Caroline,

"It was," answered Claudio, "and I only succeeded in getting it open by—as you may perceive, with infinite labour,—cutting through the wall close to the lock."

"Oh, could I but have known you had been successful in freeing yourself from the noxious air of this dungeon, what pangs—what uneasiness and sickness of heart would it have spared me."

"It was but about ten minutes since, dear Caroline, that our labours were completed," answered Claudio.

"And Maurice, too," said Caroline; "where is he?"

"I am here, lady," said Maurice, advancing, "and thank Heaven that it has permitted me to see you once again."

"We had no intention of attempting to proceed further than the chapel," continued Claudio, "and we were proceeding there when I was blessed by hearing your sweet voice pronounce my name."

"You are alive, Claudio, and well," said Caroline. "All other sorrows sink into airy nothing, in comparison with the sufferings I have endured, in the supposition that you, perhaps, lay fainting in this dismal place."

"Your pity, dearest," said Claudio, "lends ever a sweet charm to misfortune."

"How long have we been confined here?" said Maurice to Euphoric. "It seems to me a long and weary time."

"You have been here four-and-twenty hours," answered the page, "but I doubt if with all their bitterness, they have equalled those which this lady has passed since last you saw her."

"Oh, Caroline!" cried Claudio, "the thought of what you probably were compelled to endure, believe me, was my bitterest pang of all."

"Speak not of it now," answered Caroline; "let us not think of the past—the present demands all our attention."

"What do you propose, Euphoric?" said Claudio.

"Upon you we all rely, Euphoric," cried Caroline. "You are our hope."

"What can be done," answered the page, "that I will do."

"Shall Claudio," said Caroline, "again occupy the turret chamber?"

"No, lady, that would be useless," answered Euphoric; "I will endeavour, Claudio, to convey you and Maurice tot he wing of the castle, which has not been inhabited since the death of the first baroness."

"Can that be done with safety?" said Caroline.

"It can, I think, now," answered Euphoric. "You know the great hall which you passed through, lady, to approach the chapel?""

"I do, Euphoric, it has a deserted aspect."

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"There is," continued Euphoric, "a long neglected passage leading from it to the suite of apartments I mention, to which I have the means of access."

"Then there can be but little risk of encountering any one," said Claudio, "in traversing so short a space,"

"But when," said Caroline, "oh, when is all this to end?"

"Patience, lady, patience," said Euphoric. "Any attempt to escape from the castle, the more especially that it is guarded with increased jealousy, would be attended with the greatest danger, afford a pretext if unsuccessful for some act of violence on the part of the baron, which he at present shrinks from."

"We are already fully in his power," said Claudio; "if he meditate my destruction, he might have accomplished it."

"He fancies he has accomplished it," answered the page. "You are left here to die a lingering death by starvation!"

"The villain!" cried Claudio.

"This dungeon will not again will not again be visited by either the baron or the count. I alone shall find company there."

"Euphoric," said Claudio, "engrossing as are my own distresses, yet believe I feel deeply, most deeply for thee."

"I know it," said Euphoric; "I thank you."

"Grief is ever selfish," said Caroline, "and you will forgive us, Euphoric, that sometimes we forget your heavier sorrow in a contemplation of our own."

The page waved his hand as if beseeching them to drop the subject, and then continued to develop his plans as regarded the concealment of Claudio from the baron and the Count Durlack.

"Let," he said, "the baron and the count think you dead! Let them fancy that you have perished in this dungeon! You can remain in concealment until Sir Gaston de Beauvais arrives to storm the castle."

"By Heavens," cried Claudio, "I long to strike a blow at Zindorf! Grant Heaven that he may come soon."

"You, Claudio," continued the page, "along with Maurice and myself may in the event of an assault, render the most efficient assistance to the besiegers; but should you be previously seen, it would involve you, and possibly the whole of us in destruction."

"I will follow your advice, Euphoric," said Claudio, "implicitly."

"Do, Claudio," said Caroline. "Euphoric is our only friend;—without him we must have all been lost indeed."

"That is most true," cried Claudio;—"and Euphoric shall ever live dear in my esteem."

The page smiled faintly, as he said:—

"The memory of Euphoric, you mean?"

"Nay, give not way to such gloomy images, Euphoric," said Caroline, kindly. "Live for the sake of those you have saved from destruction."

"Yes—yes," cried Euphoric, "if I could have snatched one more from