the inspired writers, to adorn their pageantries and confirm their power. And they have done this so well that they have deceived thousands and tens of thousands; though I trust that within their tents and courts and gardens of imagery there have been many of the hidden ones of our Lord. For we cannot believe that all are lost to God who, during the long ages of past darkness, were counted among the members of the Roman Catholic church."

There was much in all this to render us very thoughtful; but nothing touched us more than the hope held out to us that all our former companions, and those who had walked before them in the way of error, were not lost. This expression of William brought us to tears. We wept abundantly, and our hearts were relieved by these tears. The young man was evidently affected also, for he instantly changed the discourse, and resumed, without an effort, his usual airiness of

manner.

How lovely was the gradual approach of evening! The stillness of the air, the balmy fragrance of the breeze, and the advance of the shadows up the sides of the mountains, and the golden line of declining day retreating before them, till at length the snowy heights, seen at a distance, assumed that pale cold hue which every lover of natural phenomena must have observed on the superior heights in mountainous countries, a few moments before the veil of night renders all things indistinct, unless it may be the bare outline of the hills upon the clear expanse of the heavens. Then followed a glorious night. The moon arose, her horn being nearly filled, and having cleared herself of the mountain above which she first appeared, we observed her image on the water, with a long ray of her soft light forming a line across the lake.

Oh, that moon!" said Pauline, "on what a scene did it shed its light last night! What would I give to know what is now passing at St. Siffren! Poor Mère Genefride! where is she now? Where are la Mère Aymée and the sisters? Oh, Angelique! happy, in comparison with them, are those that sleep in the dust!"

“ That is,” said William, “if they have been deceived, and not been themselves deceivers. In the latter case, I would not willingly exchange with the dead."

It was eleven by the night when we arrived at the little village where we were to land. There was a small custom-house by the edge of the lake, where William was well known, and near to this a little inn, to which he brought us. Here he found two servants of his father, with a sort of carriage used for the mountains, drawn by four mules. Within this he placed us, and recommending us to the care of the servants, he took his leave, meaning to repass the lake that very night, in order to join the party which he had left behind. We knew not how to thank him for all his kindness; but the tears which we could not repress, when we expressed our hope that all who had set out together from St. Siffren might soon meet in perfect safety, were more to him than any words we could have used. The place of our destination was what our old driver called an hour from the lake," and the road, he informed us, was as safe and smooth as the palm of a lady's hand.

Pauline smiled at the comparison, and said that ladies' hands were sometimes treacherous-not so, she hoped, the road. However, we found no great difficulties, although, when about a third of our way, we entered such a gorge as I could hardly have conceived. It gaped upon us like the mouth of some horrid monster; and although we were continually ascending, we seemed every moment to be more deeply involved in darkness. We could not ascertain by the eye the height of the rocks on either side of us, though we could discern the outline made by their jagged summits on the sky. We were also aware that there was a torrent on one side of us, by the dashing sound which it made; and we passed two or three cascades, the white foam of which showed distinctly amid the mass of dark foliage which shaded the place of their fall. At length the gorge opened, and we entered a valley of a circular form, covered with an uncommonly fine greensward, having neither hedges nor fences, and being scattered with cottages-all of that singularly beautiful description denominated "Suisse."

CHAPTER IX.

THE REFUGE.

HAVING passed several of these, our driver pointed out to us, with no small glee, his master's house, standing high on the bank, and being of dimensions and proportions vastly superior to those we had already seen. Near it were many barns and outhouses, indicating the prosperous farmer, and huge stacks of wood, neatly arranged for winter fuel. Instead of one gallery of carved wood, as we had seen in the cottages we had passed, there were two around this house, the highest being near the overhanging roof; and whereas, in most countries, the gable-ends of a house are on each side, in this mansion they were to the back and front. A long line of small casement-windows opened on each gallery, the lights shining from within as if many of the panes of glass were coloured; the panes in the higher story were circular or octagon, fitting curiously into each other; and on a beam over the lower range of windows was a motto written in German, and in letters of gold. The whole of the house was composed of timber, which was quite bright and polished, and of the hue of oak. Behind the house was a garden, encompassed with palisades.

It is not to be supposed that I observed all these particulars on my first approach, and by moonlight, though I mention them in this place in order to help the imagination of my reader to accompany me as I go. It was a steep pull for the mules to bring us up from the road to the front of the house. Nor was the noise of our approach lost upon the inmates; for they had been already warned of our speedy arrival by a peasant who had gone forward from the cottage where we had laid aside our nuns' habits during the night. The carriage, therefore, had scarcely stopped, before a most venerable pair appeared in the front of the house, ready to receive us to their arms and hearts, not making any apparent difference between Pauline and me. There was a mo

mentary demur at the non-appearance of William, which was speedily explained by the servant, who said that his young master gave his love to his mother, and hoped to be with her by the next day. There was nothing then to be done but to take us into the house.

We ascended to the first floor by means of the stairs without, and were introduced into a sort of apartment which I could not easily designate. It was floored and wainscoted with oak much imbrowned by time. It had a sort of tent-like bed, in an alcove at one end, and a long board for dining, with benches, at the other. There was a stove in the apartment, covered with Dutch tiles, whereon several dishes were set to be kept warm for our supper, and, in a corner of the room, a most superb clock, in a very high case. All this I saw with one glance, regarding these objects as signs of comfort and opulence; for it would have been excessively painful for me to come, under the circumstances I then was, into any place where I thought that my maintenance might be an inconvenience.

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But the excellent lady was herself taking the dishes from the stove, and setting them on the table for us. "You must be hungry, dear young ladies," she said; sup, my children, and then to rest. We have been hoping you might come for several days; but one of the boys came forward this morning, to tell us you were on the road."

From this young man it seems that she had heard the particulars of our escape from St. Siffren, with the extraordinary account of the recaptured sister. Being thus kindly invited, we ate a little, but were so overpowered with sleep, that we could give no account of ourselves. However, the good old gentleman would not let his wife take us away, till we had knelt together, and united in a prayer of thankfulness for our deliverance but the prayer was short, and soon after it was concluded we were both in a deep sleep, in a delightful upper room where were two beds. About four in the morning, I was awakened for an instant, by a noise, as I thought, under the window. I started up in bed for a moment, but the sweet conviction that I was in a place of safety coming to my mind, I lay down and slept again; nor did I awake a second time till the rays of the mid-day sun were beaming through the curtains.

Madame d'Ivannois was standing by my bed when I

opened my eyes, and she had brought with her changes of apparel for us both.

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My love," she said, addressing me with a smiling countenance, “it is late; give God thanks for your long repose. You look another thing than when you arrived last night:" and then, smiling, she added, "here is company come, and desiring to see you, my daughters :— good friends, who are anxious for your welfare."

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"What!" exclaimed Pauline and I, in one breath, are our friends arrived, and our poor sister with them? Are they all safe, all well?"

In reply, she informed us that they had all appeared early in the morning, and that they had brought with them a doctor from the small town on the edge of the lake; that the rest of the party were quite well; but that the poor lady had been so exhausted that, from the time she had been laid on the litter, she had never spoken distinctly, or given any account of herself; that she had been placed in bed the moment she arrived, and was so low that they had feared for a short time she could not be brought about. "Nevertheless," she added, "our last reports from her room are very cheering; our good doctor tells us that her pulse is amended, and that she has slept calmly for the last hour."

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May I see her ?" asked Pauline, hastening to dress herself.

"No," replied Madame d'Ivannois; "she must not be disturbed on any account. And her room is nearly dark she seems to be so wonderfully oppressed with light, that we all believe that she has long been confined in total obscurity: we have therefore shaded her

room.

"What is she like ?" we asked; "is she young or old?"

"Poor creature!" replied madame; "I cannot say that I could tell you. I was too busy to get her into bed to look much at her face; but assuredly she is not an old woman."

"If it is Agnace," said Pauline," she has been confined at least thirty years, and must be near fifty."

Madame d'Ivannois shuddered, and replied, “The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. Poor creature! think what she must have suffered! Thirty years, did you say? The Lord help her! But I trust that her sorrows are now at an end. She has fought the good fight;