his terrible denunciations, and saw the frown which darkened his manly beauty, we both thought we had succeeded. But how little did we know the difference between rooted passion and passing inclination! The heart we thought to alienate from its dead partner, we destroyed; and the reason we conspired to deceive was maddened!" When her voice ceased, so profound a silence reigned in the place, that the roar of the distant cannonade sounded close at hand, and even the low murmurs of the excited town swept by, like the whisperings of the wind. Job suddenly ceased to breathe, as though his spirit had only lingered to hear the confession of his mother, and Polwarth dropped the arm of the dead simpleton, unconscious of the interest he had so lately taken in his fate. In the midst of this death-like stillness, the old man stole from the side of the body and stood before the self-condemned Abigail, whose form was writhing under her mental anguish. Crouching more like a tiger than a man, he sprang upon her, with a cry so sudden, so wild, and so horrid, that it caused all within its hearing to shudder with instant dread. "Beldame!" he shouted, "I have thee now! Bring hither the book! the blessed holy word of God! Let her swear! Let her swear! Let her damn her perjured soul, in impious oaths!" "Monster! release the woman!" cried Lionel, advancing to the assistance of the struggling penitent; "thou, too, hoary-headed wretch hast deceived me!"

"Lincoln Lincoln!" shrieked Cecil, "stay that unnatural hand! you raise it on thy father!" Lionel staggered back to the wall, where he stood motionless, and gasping for breath. Left to work his own frantic will, the maniac would speedily have terminated the sorrows of the wretched woman, had not the door been burst open with a crash, and the stranger who was left, by the cunning of the madman, in the custody of the Americans, rushed to the rescue.

"I knew your yell, my gentle baronet!” cried the aroused keeper, for such in truth he was, "and I have a mark for your malice which would have gladly had me hanged! But I have not followed you from kingdom to kingdom-from Europe to America, to be cheated by a lunatic!"

It was apparent, by the lowering look of the fellow, how deeply he resented the danger he had just escaped, as he sprang forward to seize his prisoner. Ralph abandoned his hold the instant this hated object appeared, and he darted upon the breast of the other with the undaunted fury that a lion, at bay, would turn upon its foe. The struggle was fierce and obstinate. Hoarse oaths, and the most savage execrations burst from the incensed keeper, and were blended with the wildest ravings of madness from Ralph. The excited powers of the maniac at length prevailed, and his antagonist fell under their irresistible impulse. Quicker than thought, Ralph was seen hovering on the chest of his victim, while he grasped his throat with fingers of Vengeance is holy!" cried the maniac, bursting into a shout of horrid laughter, at his triumph, and shaking his gray locks till they flowed in wild confusion around his glowing eye-balls; "Urim and Thummim are the words of glory! Liberty is the shout! Die, damned dog! die like the fiends in darkness, and leave freedom to the

iron.

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air!"

By a mighty effort the gasping man released his throat a little from the gripe that nearly throttled him, and cried, with difficulty"For the love of heavenly justice, come to my aid!-will you see a man thus murdered?"

But he addressed himself to the sympathies of the listeners in vain. The females had hid their face, in natural horror; the maimed Polwarth was yet without his artificial limb; and Lionel still looked upon the savage fray with a vacant eye. At this moment of despair, the hand of the keeper was seen plunging with violence into the side of Ralph, who sprang upon his feet at the third blow, laughing immoderately, but with sounds so wild and deep, that they seemed to shake his inmost soul. His antagonist profited by the occasion, and darted from the room with the headlong precipitation of guilt.

The countenance of the maniac, as he now stood, struggling between life and death, changed with each fleeting impulse. The blood flowed freely from the wounds in his side, and, as the fatal tide ebbed away, a ray of passing reason lighted his pallid and ghastly features. His inward laugh entirely ceased. The glaring eye-balls became stationary; and his look, gradually softening, settled on the appalled pair, who took the deepest interest in his welfare. A calm and decent expression possessed those lineaments, which had just exhibited the deepest marks of the wrath of God. His lips moved in a vain effort to speak; and, stretching forth his arms in the attitude of benediction, like the mysterious shadow of the chapel, he fell backward on the body of the lifeless and long-neglected Job, himself perfectly dead.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

As the day advanced, the garrison of Boston was put in motion. The same bustle, the same activity, the same gallant bearing in some, and dread reluctance in others, were exhibited, as on the morning of the preceding summer. The haughty temper of the royal commander could ill brook the bold enterprise of the colonists; and, at an early hour, orders were issued to prepare to dislodge them. Every gun that could be brought to bear upon the hills was emp.oyea to molest the Americans, who calmly continued their labours, while shots were

whistling around them on every side. Towards evening a large force was embarked, and conveyed to the castle. Washington appeared on the heights, in person, and every military evidence of the intention of a resolute attack on one part, and of a stout resistance on the other, became apparent. But the fatal experience of Breed's had taught a lesson that was still remembered. The same leaders were to be the principal actors in the coming scene, and it was necessary to use the remnants of many of the very regiments which had bled so freely on former occasion. The half-trained husbandmen of the colonies were no longer despised; and the bold operations of the past winter had taught the English generals that, as subordination increased among their foes, their movements were conducted with a more vigorous direction of their numbers. The day was accordingly wasted in preparations. Thousands of men slept on their arms that night, in either army, in the expectation of rising, on the following morning, to be led to the field of slaughter. It is not improbable, from the tardiness of their movements, that a large majority of the royal forces did not regret the providential interposition, which certainly saved them torrents of blood, and not improbably the ignominy of a defeat. One of the sudden tempests of the climate arose in the darkness, driving before it men and beasts, to seek protection, in their imbecility, from the more powerful warring of the elements. The golden moments were lost; and, after enduring so many privations, and expending so many lives, in vain. Howe sullenly commenced his arrangements to abandon a town, on which the English ministry had for years lavished their indignation, with all the acrimony, and, as it now seemed, with the impotency of a blind revenge. To carry into effect this sudden and necessary determination was not the work of an hour. As it was the desire of the Americans, however, to receive their town back again as little injured as possible, they forbore to push the advantage they possessed, by occupying those heights, which, in a great measure, commanded the anchorage, as well as a new and vulnerable face of the defences of the king's army. While the semblance of hostilities was maintained by an irregular and impotent cannonade, conducted with so little spirit as to wear the appearance of being intended only to amuse, one side was diligently occupied in preparing to depart, and the other was passively awaiting the moment when they might peaceably re-possess their own. It is unnecessary to remind the reader, that the entire command of the sea by the British would have rendered any serious attempt to arrest their movements perfectly futile. In this manner a week was passed, after the tempest had abated, the place exhibiting, throughout this period, all the hurry and bustle, the joy and distress, that such an unlooked for event was likely to create. Towards the close of one of those busy and stirring days, a short funeral train was seen issuing from a building, which had long been known as the residence of one of the proudest families in the province. Above the outer door of the mansion was suspended a gloomy hatchment, charged with the "courant" deer of Lincoln, encircled by the usual mementos of mortality, and bearing the rare symbol of the "bloody hand." This emblem of heraldic grief, which was never adopted in the provinces, except at the death of one of high importance, a custom that has long since disappeared with the usages of the monarchy, had caught the eyes of a few idle boys, who alone were sufficiently unoccupied, at that pressing moment, to note its exhibition. With the addition of these truant urchins, the melancholy procession took its way toward the neighbouring churchyard of the King's Chapel. The large bier was covered by a pall so ample that it swept the stones of the threshold, while entering into the body of the church. Here it was met by the divine we have had occasion to mention more than once, who gazed, with a look of strange interest, at the solitary and youthful mourner that closely followed in his dark weeds. The ceremony, however, proceeded with the usual solemnity, and the attendants slowly moved deeper into the sacred edifice. Next to the young man, came the well-known persons of the British commander-in-chief, and of his quick-witted and favourite lieutenant. Between them walked an officer of inferior rank, who, notwithstanding his maimed condition, had been able, by the deliberation of the march, to beguile the ears of his companions, to the very moment of meeting the clergyman, with some tale of no little interest, and great apparent mystery. The remainder of the train, which consisted only of the family of the two generals, and a few menials, came last, if we except the idlers, who stole curiously in their footsteps. When the service was ended, the same private communication was resumed between the two chieftains and their companion, and continued until their arrival at the open vault, in a distant corner of the enclosure. Here the low conversation ended; and the eye of Howe, which had hitherto been riveted in deep attention on the speaker, began to wander in the direction of the dangerous hills occupied by his enemies. The interruption seemed to have broken the charm of the secret conversation; and the anxious countenances of both the leaders betrayed how soon their thoughts had wandered from a tale of great private distress, to their own heavier cares and duties. The bier was placed before the opening, and the assistants of the sexton advanced to per form their office When the pall was removed, to the evident amazement of most of the spectators, two coffins were exposed to view. One was clothed in black velvet, studded with silver nails, and ornamented after the richest fashions of human pride, while the other lay in the simple nakedness of the clouded wood. On the breast of the first rose a heavy silver plate, bearing a long inscription, and decorated with the usual devices of heraldry, and on the latter were simply carved on the lid the two initial letters J. P. The impatient

looks of the English generals intimated to Dr. Liturgy the value of every moment, and in less time than we consume in relating it, the bodies of the high-descended man of wealth, and of his nameless companion, were lowered into the vault, and left to decay, in silent contact with that of the woman, who, in life, had been so severe a scourge to both. After a hesitation of a single moment, in deference to the young mourner, the gentlemen present, perceiving that he manifested a wish to remain, quitted the place in a body, with the exception of the maimed officer, already mentioned, whom the reader has at once recognised to be Polwarth. When the men had replaced the stone above the mouth of the vault, securing it by a stout bar of iron, and a heavy lock, they delivered the key to the principal actor in the scene. He received it in silence, and, dropping gold into their hands, motioned to them to depart. In another instant, a careless observer would have thought that Lionel and his friend were the only living possessors of the churchyard. But under the adjoining wall, partly hid from observation by the numerous head-stones, was the form of a woman, bowed to the earth, while her figure was concealed by the cloak she had gathered shapelessly about her. As soon as the gentlemen perceived they were alone, they slowly advanced to the side of this desolate being. Their approaching footsteps were not unheeded, though, instead of facing those who so evidently wished to address her, she turned to the wall, and began to trace, with unconscious fingers, the letters, of a tablet in slate, which was let into the brick-work, to mark the position of the tomb of the Lechmeres. "We can do no more," said the young mourner, "all now rests with a mightier hand than any of earth."

The squalid limb, that was thrust from beneath the red garment, trembled, but it still continued its unmeaning employment.

"Sir Lionel Lincoln speaks to you," said Polwarth, on whose arm the youthful baronet leaned.

"Who?" shrieked Abigail Pray, casting aside her covering. "I had forgotten-I had forgotten! the son succeeds the father; but the mother must follow her child to the grave!"

"He is honourably interred with those of his blood, and by the side of one who loved his simple integrity!"

"Yes, he is better lodged in death than he was in life. he can never know cold nor hunger more!"

Thank God! "You will find that I have made a provision for your future comfort; and I trust that the close of your life will be happier than its prime."

"I am alone," said the woman hoarsely. and the young will look upon me in scorn! heavy on my soul !"

"The old will avoid me, Perjury and revenge lie The young baronet was silent, but Polwarth assumed the right to reply"I will not pretend to assert," said the worthy captain, "that these are not both wicked companions; but I have no doubt you will find somewhere in the Bible, a suitable consolation for each particular offence. Let me recommend to you a hearty diet, and I'll answer for an easy conscience. I wouldalso suggest the expediency of commencing soon, with something substantial, as you show altogether too much bone, at present, for a thriving condition. I would not wish to say any thing distressing, but we both of us may remember a case,

where the nourishment came too late."

"Yes, yes, it came too late!" murmured the conscience-stricken woman; "all comes too late! even penitence, I fear!"

"Say not so," observed Lionel; "you do outrage to the promises of one who never spoke false."

Abigail stole a fearful glance at him, which expressed all the secret terror of her soul as she half whispered

"Who witnessed the end of Madam Lechmere? did her spirit pass in peace?" Sir Lionel again remained profoundly silent.

"I thought it," she continued; "'tis not a sin to be forgotten on a death-bed! to plot evil, and call on God, aloud, to look upon it! Ay! and to madden a brain, and strip a soul like his to nakedness! Go," she added, beckoning them away with earnestness; ye are young and happy; why should ye linger near the grave! Leave me, that I may pray among the tombs! If any thing can smooth the bitter moment, it is prayer.'

Lionel dropped the key he held in his hand at her feet, and said before he left her: "Yon vault is closed for ever, unless at your request, it should be opened, at some future time, to place you by the side of your son. The children of those who built it are already gathered there, with the exception of two, who go to the other hemisphere to leave their bones. Take it, and may heaven forgive you, as I do."

He let fall a heavy purse by the side of the key, and without uttering more, he again took the arm of Polwarth, and together they left the place. As they turned through the gateway into the street, each stole a glance at the distant woman. She had risen to her knees; her hands had grasped a head-stone, and her face was bowed nearly to the earth, while, by the writhing of her form, and the humility of her attitude, it was apparent that her spirit struggled powerfully with the Lord for mercy. Three days afterwards the Americans entered triumphantly, on the retiring footsteps of the royal army. The first among them who hastened to visit the graves of their fathers, found the body

of a woman, who had, seemingly, died under the severity of the season. She had unlocked the vault, in a vain effort to reach her child, and there her strength had failed her. Her limbs were decently stretched on the faded grass, while her features were composed, exhibiting in death the bland traces of that remarkable beauty which had distinguished and betrayed her youth. The gold still lay neglected where it had fallen. The amazed townsmen avoided this spectacle with horror, rushing into other places to gaze at the changes and the destruction of their beloved birthplace. But a follower of the royal army, who had lingered to plunder, and who had witnessed the interview between the officers and Abigail, shortly succeeded them. He lifted the flag, and, lowering the body, closed the vault; then hurling away the key, he seized the money, and departed. The slate has long since mouldered from the wall; the sod has covered the stone, and few are left who can designate the spot where the proud families of Lechmere and Lincoln were wont to enter their dead. Sir Lionel and Polwarth proceeded, in the deepest silence, to the Long wharf, where a boat received them. They were rowed to the much-admired frigate, that was standing off-and-on, under easy sail, waiting their arrival. On her decks they met Agnes Danforth, with her eyes softened by tears, though a rich flush mantled on her cheeks at witnessing the compelled departure of those invaders she had never loved.

"I have only remained to give you a parting kiss, cousin Lionel," said the frank girl, affectionately saluting him, "and now shall take my leave, without repeating those wishes that you know are so often conveyed in my prayers.'

"You will then leave us?" said the young baronet smiling for the first time in many a day. "You know that this cruelty-"

He was interrupted by a loud hem! from Polwarth, who advanced, and taking the hand of the lady, repeated his wish to retain it for ever, for at least the fiftieth time. She heard him in silence, and with much apparent respect, though an arch smile stole upon her gravity, before he had ended. She then thanked him with suitable grace, and gave a final and decided refusal. The captain sustained the repulse like one who had seen much similar service, and politely lent his assistance to help the obdurate girl into her boat. Here she was received by a young man, who was apparelled like an American officer. Sir Lionel thought the bloom on her cheek deepened, as her companion assiduously drew a cloak around her form to protect her from the chill of the water. Instead of returning to the town, the boat, which bore a flag, pulled directly for the shore occupied by the Americans. The following week Agnes was united to this gentleman, in the bosom of her own family. They soon after took quiet possession of the house in Tremont-street, and of all the large real estate left by Mrs. Lechmere, which had been previously bestowed on her, by Cecil as a dowry. As soon as his passengers appeared, the captain of the frigate communicated with his admiral, by signal, and received, in return, the expected order to proceed in the execution of his trust. In a few minutes the swift vessel was gliding by the heights of Dorchester, training her guns on the adverse hills, and hurriedly spreading her canvass as she passed. The Americans, however, looked on in sullen silence, 'and she was suffered to gain the open ocean, unmolested, when she made the best of her way to England, with the important intelligence of the intended evacuation. She was speedily followed by the fleet, since which period the long oppressed and devoted town of Boston has never been visited by an armed enemy.

The keeper, who had been sent in quest of the fugitive madman, never returned to his native land. No offers of forgiveness could induce the unwilling agent in the death of the baronet to trust his person, again, within the influence of the British laws. Perhaps he was conscious of a motive, that none but an inward monitor might detect. Lionel, tired at length with importuning without success, commissioned the husband of Agnes, to place him in a situation, where, by industry, his future comfort was amply secured. Polwarth died quite lately. Notwithstanding his maimed limb, he contrived, by the assistance of his friend, to ascend the ladder of promotion, by regular gradations, nearly to its summit. At the close of his long life, he wrote Gen., Bart., and M.P. after his name.

Within a year of their arrival, the uncle of Cecil died, having shortly before followed an only son to the grave. By this unlooked-for event, Lady Lincoln became the possessor of his large estates as well as of an ancient barony, that descended to the heirs general. From this time until the eruption of the French revolution, Sir Lionel Lincoln, and Lady Cardonnell, as Cecil was now styled, lived together in sweetest concord; the gentle influence of her affection moulding and bending the feverish temperament of her husband, at will. Before the end of the century, the rich baronet, having previously received a peerage, was further advanced to a dormant earldom, that had in former ages, been one of the honours of an elder branch of his family. Of all the principal actors in the foregoing tale, not one is now living. Even the roses of Cecil and Agnes have long since ceased to bloom, and Death has gathered them, in peace and innocence, with all that had gone before. The historical facts of our legend are beginning to be obscured by time; and it is more than probable that the prosperous and affluent English peer, who now enjoys the honours of the house of Lincoln, never knew the secret history of his family, while it sojourned in a remote province of the British empire.

repent of having said too much about it, for I would not inspire you with a hope, which later-but be patient, and soon

At this instant, a prolonged sound rose in the direction of the Castel-Novo, and they saw a whirl of dust eddy near to the drawbridge. The monk ordered the rowers to return in all haste to the palace.

"I am greatly deceived," said he to Andrew, or that is the Duke de Duras, who brings us back from Avignon the answer I expected." Andrew was plunged in a deep reverie, and did not require from his master a fuller explanation. Ere long they had regained the shore; a numerous crowd had taken possession of the vast courtyard of the Castel-Novo; and the resounding clarions announced the arrival of a high and puissant lord. The Duke de Duras, and Mary of Anjou, his wife, had, in fact, just arrived. Charles de Duras at once expressed a desire to hold a private conference with Brother Angelo. In this interview, which lasted a quarter of an hour at most, it was agreed that, considering the importance of the news brought by the Duke, they should immediately proceed to assemble the Court, in order that the news might be proclaimed before as many people, and with as much publicity as possible.

Immediately after leaving Charles de Duras, the Dominican eagerly assembled the desired meeting. His ability was displayed on this occasion. He took care only to apprise a small number of the partisans of Joan, while the partisans of the King were all carefully assembled.

At the expiration of about an hour everything was prepared. On one side of the hall selected for this reception was Queen Joan, with but a small train of faithful adherents; on the other was King Andrew, encircled by all his courtiers. The absence of the Duchess Mary, the wife of the Duke, and the Queen's sister, was generally remarked, for she had arrived at the same time as her husband.

It was then that at a signal, previously agreed upon, Charles de Duras entered. He ostentatiously directed to the group round the Queen merely a haughty and collected bow. He then advanced straight to Andrew, and, bending his knee, said, in a solemn tone: "Blessed be God, Sire, for the distinguished favour that he accords me to-day, in allowing me, on the part of our holy father, Pope Clement VI, to bring you the happy bull which confers on you the title of King of Sicily and Jerusalem, and fixes at eight days hence the period of your coronation."

Words cannot describe the terrible emotion which suddenly pervaded the whole assembly. On the King's side, a thunder of phrenetic applause; on the other, the silence of doubt and amazement. The crowd then dispersed. Joan, less moved than surprised, made a sign that she wished to be left alone. But, just as she was going to withdraw, one of her waiting women slipped into her hand a billet, which she opened with a tremor which she could not conceal. Then the light mist of sorrow, which for a moment had spread itself over her face, was dissipated, and she read with eagerness that letter, every line of which answered, doubtless, to some secret impulse of her heart, and, forgetting in the intoxication of a new thought the bitterness of the feelings which had just been contested by the possession of her soul, she returned to her apartments, pressing in her hand the precious talis nan whose influence, even in the moment of so unforeseen a blow, came to restore her courage and dry up her tears. This was a love letter. The writer of it was one of the most accomplished lords of the Neapolitan Court, and his name was Bertrand d'Artois.

Joan had placed herself at her window, whence she contemplated the beautiful spectacle of a sky shaded with clouds and stars. She once more read the happy billet, and murmured-"Oh, what matter to me the fierce efforts of this weak King and his impotent councillors? I am beautiful-I am beloved. A gesture froin me, and to-morrow all Naples would fall at my feet!"

Joan's first thought was of Bertrand d'Artois, the second was of her sister. The report had quickly circulated that Mary de Duras had accompanied the Duke, her husband, and she was astounded that, after the tender friendship which had linked them, and especially after so long an absence, her sister did not manifest more eagerness to come and embrace her. Suddenly she heard a sound of light footsteps, and turned quickly round.

"Mary!" cried she, opening her arms to her. "Oh! silence," said Mary, with a gesture which signified fear of a surprise.

"What is it ?" said the terrified Queen; "and why did not I see you just now at that solemn meeting?"

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tone.

They forbade me to be present," said the Duchess in an under

"Forbade! And who, then ?"

"Charles de Duras!" "And why ?"

"Because I love you, and he knows well that if I had seen you unhappy and humiliated, I should have cursed him, perhaps." "Dear sister!"

"Oh, if you knew," said the Duchess de Duras, "how I longed to hear these two words, the testimony of your faithful memoir! But let us haste to enjoy this happy moment, Joan, for if I bave been able to reach you it is without Charles's knowledge, who takes a cruel pleasure in separating me from all I love in the world. Happily, God has not allowed me to come to Naples without once more seeing my sister, and has given me a few moments liberty! Just now, the Duke, enveloped in a long mantle, issued in a mysterious manner from the Castel-Novo, without telling me where he was going, or when he would return. So I must leave you soon, for if the Duke knew that I was with you ——”

"It is strange! So the Duke de Duras forbids me to love my sister-and, yet, he has brought you back here." "Yes, to take me hence again immediately. To-morrow we return to Provence."

"And what imperious motive?——”

"I know it. He wishes, at whatever cost, to take me away from you."

The Queen cast an anxious look on Mary, and said to her : "You horrify me, sister. I knew well that my cousin, Duras, was impetuous in his anger, and blind in his hatred. There was even a time when he sought to engage in the most frightful, the most abominable project. Oh, then, I swear to you he was no friend of Andrew! But, no more of that. I knew that it was at least imprudent to rely on his support, and he gave me a proof of his politic inconstancy, by bestowing on my husband all the devotion he at first offered at my feet. But I confess, that now his abrupt transition, his secret intrigues, his whole conduct, in a word, is so mysterious--"

"That I begin to understand it," interrupted the Duchess in a tone of conviction. "Listen. Charles de Duras is the most ambitious of the princes, to whom the death of Robert of Anjou, our grandfather, gave claims to the kingdom of Naples. Repulsed in his projects of alliance with the Queen, he has used all his efforts to marry her sister. Both of us too young, we have not been able to understand the vastness of his projects: he denied you, for the diadem already on your forehead; he chose me for that which undeveloped destiny may reserve for my birth. He had sided with Andrew, but he hates him, probably more than he hates you. He elevates him in order to abuse you, purposing, then, to ruin him, too, to build on the wreck of your two fortunes the first foundations of his own. Joan would have given him a sceptre. Mary brings him near the throne. It is in this hope that he keeps a watchful eye upon me, surrounds me, and isolates me. He would willingly teach me to hate you, my good sister, my only friend on earth. Not a day passes wherein he does not seek to inspire me with envy, ambition, hatred; but in vain, nothing can ever divide us. Is it not so, Joan?"

“Oh, never!” repeated the Queen.

"But, alas!" said Mary mournfully, "I forget myself with you. And if Charles returned- -adieu, perhaps, for a long time. Tomorrow, at the break of day, the vessel which has conveyed us from the shores of Provence to those of Naples will await us in the waters of the gulf."

"And who commands this vessel? inquired the Queen. "The Admiral Raynaud de Baux, with his son Robert," answered Mary.

Raynaud! Robert!" replied Joan, with an e pression o' joy. "Oh, it is well; they are old and faithful servants of the House of Anjou, and I am more at case when I know that you are under their protection."

Tender adieus were renewel between Joan and Mary; a moment afterwards Mary passed along the corridor, to regain the apartment where she was to pass the night. Charles de Duras, fortunately, was not yet returned.

Joan, as may have been seen, tenderly loved Mary, and this brief interview had contributed to spread a consolatary baim over the wounds which an hour before had been her pride as a queen. Plunged in a world of recollection, she began to regret the happy time when this sisterly friendship, fulfilling all the wants of her heart, served her as a shield against the tormen's of an ambitious and turbulent life. She was yielding to this fine dream, when a woman, whose features testified violent emotion, appeared before her, her eyes fixed, her arms crossed, and spoke these words with a hollow voice :-

"Queen of Naples! on what are you thinking ?"

The woman who spoke thus was no longer young, but still pre