whom she could not love? Answer me that--if he was rolling in wealth--answer me that!"

"I would do what I considered was for her good," said Madame Dallheimer, somewhat disconcerted.

"And you would consider that for her good? Bawd! bawd! and supposing her husband found out that it was a prostitute you had sent into his bed--a prostitute of the heart, which is the worst denomination,-what would you think if he drowned her? Answer me that---would you not be surprised? Ho! ho! ho!" and Peter Schwarz began to move with such immense strides, that very soon he was only seen by the two ladies like a landmark in the distance.

The shades of evening were now stealing around them! the road--if it was deserving that name at all--was so rude and uneven, that Madame Dallheimer began to fear she could go no further. Just as she arrived at this point, however, they found themselves within a hundred paces of a farm-house.

The house, like many others in this part of the country, was built among the wrecks of an ancient chateau; the remaining apartments of which served for stables and other outhouses. The walls of the cháteau-beneath which the farm was built-rose vast and lofty above the roof of the latter; although it was manifest that the interior of the building was an utter ruin.

The

whole picture had at once an air of grandeur and desolation; and it touched the fancy of the younger lady so much, that she hardly remembered the cause of her visit.

When they entered the farm-house alone-as Peter the Black, having merely pointed to the door, retiredthey were received with great civility by the inmates, who appeared to be in no respect different from other persons of the same class. An excellent, and indeed somewhat fastidious supper was then set before them, including wine, which Madame Dallheimer knew to be worth an English guinea the bottle; and when they signified a wish to retire for the night-not a syllable having passed on either side relative to the nature of their

visit they were shown into one of the most comfortable bed-rooms they had ever slept in in their lives.

The way which led to it, indeed, was singularly long and intricate; in the course of which they had to pass through an open court, and enter what appeared to be a part of the ruins. They were too weary, however, to be very critical; and they were scarcely well in bed, after having bolted themselves securely in, when, instead of entering into a discourse upon their adventures, they fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER II.

SHOWING HOW SOCIETY CREATES ROGUES IN ORDER TO HANG THEM.

It was late in the morning before Madame Dallheimer and her daughter awoke; and when they did so, they could hardly imagine, for some time, that the events of the preceding day had been anything more than a dream. The apartment was quite as comfortable as a bed-room in an inn of the second class, and a smaller chamber adjoining afforded them every convenience for the toilet. The windows were not barred; nor, in short, was there apparently the slightest circumstance which could give rise to the suspicion that they were prisoners in the stronghold of a robber.

Soon after they were up, breakfast was brought to them by the girl who had served supper the evening before. She was a coarse, vulgar, country wench, but simple and good-natured, and, as it seemed, without the remotest idea that she was made a party in any illegal transaction.

"Are we at liberty to resume our journey?" asked Madame Dallheimer, half tempted to believe that there was some mistake.

"Madame ?" said the girl, staring-"Oh no, certainly not, without the master's commands."

"Can we see the master ?"

"He is not at home."

"When is he expected to return?" "I cannot tell."

"What is his name?"

"Madame ! You don't know my master's name! He he!-that is odd. Well, his name is Buckler, Johann Buckler. You must be a stranger in these parts."

"Buckler!" cogitated Madame Dallheimer, "I never heard the name before. Do you know what he means to do with us?"

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Nay, Madame, how should I? I should have thought," she added, examining, with a look of perfect simplicity, the beautiful face of Ida-" but no, the master has got a wife already, whom he dearly loves." The girl then retired, and left them alone till dinner-time. The perplexity of the prisoners increased every mo ment, and their terror diminished. It was evident that nothing like violence was contemplated, but that their liberty would be bought and sold like an article of commerce. The idea was consoling to persons who had abundance of wealth at their disposal; and yet they could not help at times feeling a qualm of fear come over them as they remembered that they were in the hands of such men as Peter the Black and his comrades. The "master" they acquitted of ferocity, at least in its external indications; but he was but one man in a numerous band, and who could tell how far his power or influence extended over the rest?

The al

This day passed away, and then another. most unconscious hopes that the mother had formed, from reflecting that the baron Wolfenstein must be in the same neighbourhood, and would probably hear of so important a capture as that of travellers who journeyed in their own carriage, attended by an armed escort, began gradually to die away. He had been in haste, she remembered with a sigh, to get to Mayence; and even if the reports of the abduction had reached his ears, it

would have been impossible for him to suspect that the sufferers were his friends. He was no doubt, ere now, at the place of his destination, and occupied in arranging his affairs, so as to be able to lay the state of his property and heart before her at the same time.

Madame Dallheimer, however, was deceived. The baron was too generous and high-minded not to feel an interest in the heroines of the romantic reports which already, it seemed, had begun to fly about the country, whether they were strangers or not; and the following epistle, put into the trembling hands of the ladies by the servant girl, will, we trust, redeem his character with the reader:

"My dear Madame Dallheimer,

"How little did I know that you, and your angelic daughter, were the wandering damsels, with whom public rumour is so busy, who were spirited away by the demons of the mountain! My sympathy being excited by the story, although I believed that the parties were strangers, I could not determine on leaving the scene of the melodrama till I had ascertained whether it were possible for me to be of any service. In the course of my inquiries I learnt sufficient to convince me that I ought to have a much stronger interest in the fate of the fair victims than that inspired by the calamities of strangers; and throwing myself upon the generosity of the outlaws-who really possess a kind of grotesque honour (!)--I am allowed to visit you in your cell, and endeavour to mediate between you and the avarice of your captors.

"It now only remains for me to receive your permission also; when I shall immediately fly to offer you my condolence-my purse-my life itself, if necessary. "Believe me to be, my dear Madame Dallheimer,

It is needless to say with what delight this epistle was perused and reperused by her to whom it was addressed, or with what eagerness the permission was given which

the writer, with a politeness that seemed to be rather illtimed, had thought it necessary to solicit. Madame Dallheimer began to think that every thing had happened for the best, and she confidently reckoned that, before reaching Mayence, the affair would be completely arranged between her daughter and the baron.

Wolfenstein at length made his appearance, and Madame Dallheimer, in the fulness of her joy, met him at the door and threw herself in his arms-calculating, possibly, on the effect of example on Ida. The baron, however, instead of anticipating a similar indulgence from the daughter, bowed gravely, and then advancing slowly, raised her hand to his lips. There was some

thing, notwithstanding, in this mode of salutation which pleased both ladies. With the mother it was timidity, respect, devotion; with Ida, it was the homage of a man of gallantry who did not love.

After the first condolences, griefs, regrets, and then hopes and congratulations, were over, Wolfenstein could not help expressing his amazement at the comparative comfort in which he found them lodged.

"When I first saw the building," said he, "I expected to find you in a subterranean dungeon; for no human being could have imagined that the chambers above ground had even a roof to cover them. Come, come, my dear madame, matters might have been much worse. Suppose yourself in a country inn, detained by a storm, and you will be quite comfortable; and, as for the ransom, you can set it down as merely a little extravagance in the bill."

"Since we have now a friend in whom we can confide," replied Madame, "to cheer and sustain us, my daughter and I will cease to murmur. But can you give me any idea how long our imprisonment is to last? Mine host, so far from being in a hurry to bill, has as yet not even seen his guests. they tell us, is Buckler-Johann Buckler. -but that is a foolish question."

"He is the renowned Schinderhannes."

present his His name What is he?

Ida grew

pale, and Madame Dallheimer uttered an exclamation

of terror.