I am therefore contented to return to my fá. ther, and thus spare you further calamity. me; This is a rash determination, replied La Motte; and if you pursue it, I fear you will severely repent. I speak to you as a friend, Adeline, and desire you will endeavour to listen to me without prejudice. The Marquis, I find, has offered you his hand. I know not which circumstance most excites my surprise, that a man of his rank and consequence should solicit a marriage with a person without fortune or ostensible connexions, or that a person so circumstanced should even for a moment reject the advantages thus offered her. You weep, Adeline; let me hope that you are convinced of the absurdity of this conduct, and will no longer trifle with your good fortune. The kindness I have shown you must convince you of my regard, and that I have no motive for offering you this advice but your advantage. It is necessary, however, to say, that should your father not insist upon your removal, I know not how long my circumstances may enable me to afford even the humble pittance you receive here. Still you are silent. The anguish which this speech excited, suppressed her utterance, and she continued to weep. At length she said, Suffer me, Sir, to go back to my father; I should indeed make an ill return for the kindness you mention, could I wish to stay after what you now tell me; and to accept the Marquis, I feel to be impossible. The remembrance of Theodore arose to her mind, and she wept aloud. La Motte sat for some time musing. Strange in fatuation! said he; is it possible that you can per sist in this heroism of romance, and prefer a father so inhuman as yours, to the Marquis de Montalt! a destiny so full of danger, to a life of splendour and delight! Pardon me, said Adeline; a marriage with the Marquis would be splendid, but never happy. His character excites my aversion, and I entreat, Sir, that he may no more be mentioned. CHAPTER X. Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sound LEAR, THE Conversation related in the last chapter was interrupted by the entrance of Peter, who, as he left the room, looked significantly at Adeline, and almost beckoned. She was anxious to know what he meant, and soon after went into the hall, where she found him loitering. The moment he saw her, he made a sign of silence, and beckoned her into the recess. Well, Peter, what is it you would say? said Adeline. Hush, Ma'mselle; for heaven's sake speak lower; if we should be overheard, we are all blown up.Adeline begged him to explain what he meant. Yes, Ma'mselle, that is what I have wanted all day long: I have watched and watched for an opportunity, and looked and looked till I was afraid my master himself would see me; but all would not do, you would not understand. Adeline entreated he would be quick. Yes, Ma'am, but I'm so afraid we shall be seen; but I would do much to serve such a good young lady, for I could not bear to think of what threatened you, without telling you of it. For God's sake, said Adeline, speak quickly, or we shall be interrupted. Well then ;-but you must first promise by the Holy Virgin never to say it was I that told you; my master would I do, I do! said Adeline. Well, then-on Monday evening as I-hark! did not I hear a step? do, Ma'amselle, just step this way to the cloisters: I would not for the world we should be seen: I'll go out at the hall door, and you can go through the passage. I would not for the world we should be seen.-Adeline was much alarmed by Peter's words, and hurried to the cloisters. He quickly appeared, and, looking cautiously round, resumed his discourse. As I was saying, Ma'mselle, Monday night, when the Marquis slept here, you know he sat up very late, and I can guess, perhaps, the reason of that. Strange things came out, but it is not my business to tell all I think. Pray do speak to the purpose, said Adeline impatiently; what is this danger which you say threatens me? Be quick, or we shall be observed. Danger enough, Ma'mselle, replied Peter, if you knew all; and when you do, what will it signify? for you can't help yourself. But that's neither here nor there; I was resolved to tell you, though I may repent it. Or rather you are resolved not to tell me, said Adeline; for you have made no progress towards it. But what do you mean? You was speaking of the Marquis. Hush, Ma'am, not so loud. The Marquis, as I said, sat up very late, and my master sat up with him. One of his men went to bed in the oak room, and the other staid to undress his lord. So as we were sitting together-Lord have mercy! it made my hair stand on end! I tremble yet. So as we were sitting together, but as sure as I live yonder is my master: I caught a glimpse of him between 1 the trees if he sees me it is all over with us. I'll tell you another time. So saying, he hurried into the abbey, leaving Adeline in a state of alarm, curiosity, and vexation. She walked out into the fo rest ruminating upon Peter's words, and endeavouring to guess to what they alluded: there Madame La Motte joined her, and they conversed on various topics till they reached the abbey. Adeline watched in vain through that day for an opportunity of speaking with Peter. While he waited at supper, she occasionally observed his countenance with great anxiety, hoping it might afford her some degree of intelligence on the subject of her fears. When she retired, Madame La Motte accompanied her to her chamber, and continued to converse with her for a considerable time, so that she had no means of obtaining an interview with Peter.-Madame La Motte appeared to labour under some great affliction; and when Adeline, noticing this, entreated to know the cause of her de jection, tears started into her eyes, and she abruptly left the room. This behaviour of Madame La Motte concurred with Peter's discourse to alarm Adeline, who sat pensively upon her bed, given up to reflection, till she was roused by tlie sound of a clock which stood in the room below, and which now struck twelve, She was preparing for rest, when she recollected the MS. and was unable to conclude the night without reading it. The first words she could distinguish were the following: Again I return to this poor consolation-again I have been permitted to see another day. It is now midnight! My solitary lamp burns beside me; the time is awful, but to me the silence of noon is as the silence of midnight: a deeper gloom is all in which they differ. The still, unvarying hours are num bered only by my sufferings! Great God! when shall I be released! * * * But whence this strange confinement? I have never injured him. If death is designed me, why this delay; and for what but death am I brought hither? This abbey-alas!-Here the MS. was again illegible, and for several pages Adeline could only make out disjointed sentences. O bitter draught! when, when shall I have rest? O my friends! will none of ye fly to aid me; will none of ye avenge my sufferings? Ah! when it is too late-when I am gone for ever, ye will endeavour to avenge them. * * * * Once more is night returned to me. Another day has passed in solitude and misery. I have climbed to the casement, thinking the view of nature would refresh my soul, and somewhat enable me to support these afflictions. Alas! even this small comfort is denied me, the windows open towards other parts of this abbey, and admit only a portion of that day which I must never more fully behold. Last night! last night! O scene of horror! Adeline shuddered. She feared to read the coming sentence, yet curiosity prompted her to proceed. Still she paused: an unaccountable dread came over her. Some horrid deed has been done here, said she; the reports of the peasants are true : murder has been committed. The idea thrilled her with horror. She recollected the dagger which had impeded her steps in the secret chamber, and this circumstance served to confirm her most terrible conjectures. She wished to examine it, but it lay in one of these chambers, and she feared to go in quest of it, Wretched, wretched victim! she exclaimed, could |