HE comite, whose consideration had probably saved Arnold from the fate which overtook the

young martyr of the galley, was no longer in office. D'Argenton had procured him a place on shore, after his last voyage, and provided himself with a younger and more active officer, who strove to merit his master's favour by strictly enforcing every rule of discipline, and punishing with stripes in due number, any misdemeanour the unhappy slaves might commit.

Arnold, sheltered from all severity, by D'Argenton's orders, and the special indulgence conceded to his invalid condition, was nevertheless exposed to various annoying. acts of petty tyranny inflicted by the new comite in the mere pride of office. He bore them patiently and without complaint, nourishing the hope that time and use would blunt the restless zeal which inflicted them; in the meantime he carefully complied with all the trifling forms required of him, and abstained from any conduct which could draw upon him the unfavourable notice of his new taskmaster.

All his circumspection proved fruitless during the visit of Marguerite and her friends to the galley; their presence excited the extreme vigilance of the comite, and the long and evidently interesting conversation between Arnold and

the ladies of the party, provoked his jealous attention. He could not approach to listen unobserved, and he dared not interfere with his captain's guests, so he waited impatiently till the galley was deserted by its gay visitors; then, after watching them disappear on shore, he turned with suppressed eagerness towards the isolated seat where the artist pursued his work.

Arnold had finished the beautiful head, bust, and arms of his figure, and was busily engaged with the drapery, when the comite stood before him with an insolent air, and insisted on searching his person, lest he should have received some forbidden gift or communication.

“Indeed I have taken nothing whatever," said Arnold ; but as the man regarded him incredulously, he laid aside his work and submitted in silence to the required examination.

The search seemed fruitless; nothing suspicious appeared, till the contents of Arnold's work-basket were poured out on the deck. Then, among wood and tools, there lay a small well-secured packet, inscribed with some written cha

racters.

Arnold saw it with dismay, but the comite seized it triumphantly, exclaiming—

"I knew how it would be, notwithstanding your airs of mock innocence. Will you tell me again you received nothing ?"

"Certainly," answered Arnold; "that packet was placed in my basket without my knowledge. I never before."

saw it

"Of course you will say that," said the comite rudely; but you will nevertheless have to answer for its possession to your master. The packet is heavy, with gold, doubtless,

and the writing is not French. However, if you confess at once who sent it, you will perhaps get off with nothing worse than a reprimand."

With this consolatory observation, the comite bore away his prize to D'Argenton.

The Chevalier received his communication with an air of great vexation. He opened the parcel without comment; it contained money, and the envelope was half covered with writing in an unknown character. Crushing the paper in his hand, he walked directly to the spot where Arnold stood, and addressed him without any sign of anger.

"I am sorry this has happened," he said, " for I am willing to believe that the parcel was placed in your basket without your complicity. Nevertheless, you will incur severe punishment unless this writing enables you to discover your correspondent."

As he spoke, he placed the envelope in Arnold's hands. The writing was in a cypher well known to Arnold and to but a few others; the writer was a Huguenot banker, who had outwardly conformed to the Roman Catholic faith, and who sought to expiate his dishonest compliance by charity towards the steadfast martyrs and confessors of his creed. Without Arnold's concurrence, simply from the high character he bore, this banker had chosen him as a distributor of alms among the Protestant galley-slaves, and pointed out the Turk Malek as his fit agent in the office, both from his faithful and charitable disposition, and from the liberty he enjoyed of going on shore unwatched.

So much Arnold gathered from the cypher in a few minutes, and in his distress and confusion he faltered

"There is no signature, the writing is in cypher."

"I am aware of the latter fact," said D'Argenton, im

patiently; "what I require is, that you translate word for word these hieroglyphics into good French; I see you understand them well enough."

To obey was to consign the banker to the galleys, and perhaps to send the kind Turk to the bastinado; to disobey, was to bring the latter punishment on himself, and in such measure, as would probably result in death.

"Heaven's will be done!" he said with a deep-drawn breath; "the man has a wife and large family, I cannot do your bidding and give him up to ruin."

The tone of his voice was manly though sad, and it checked the Chevalier's rising anger.

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'My poor fellow," he said, "there must be no holding back, or you make yourself an accomplice in this unlawful act, and incur horrible punishment."

Arnold was respectfully silent, and D'Argenton continued in an injured spirit, and with ever increasing vehemence— "You owe me obedience as your master, as one who has shown you much kindness. My credit is affected, and contempt rests on my authority while this gross breach of discipline remains unpunished. I will know the audacious offender. I command, I entreat you, give me his name.

"It grieves me to the heart," answered Arnold," to resist your orders. I submit myself without complaint to the extreme penalty outraged discipline requires, for I would rather sink under the lash than bring an innocent man to the galleys and a whole family to ruin."

"You abuse my forbearance," exclaimed D'Argenton, now giving way to his anger; "you set all my feelings on edge, and provoke me by rebellion the first time I put your obedience to the test. You hardly exist, with the gentlest treatment; you will not survive even a dozen stripes, and

yet you force me to play the butcher's part, and bring your blood on my head."

D'Argenton's features worked fiercely, a selfish sense of thankless ill-usage possessed his mind; for irresponsible power over men in the lowest state of degradation had not failed to stamp its debasing mark on his soul. If in that moment of trial Arnold had shown signs of weakness, if there had been any trace of faintness, of glistening eyes, or faltering tongue, he would have perished. The comite was at hand, the cruel order was on the master's lips, and once spoken, there would have been no reversal, though death on one hand, and fruitless remorse on the other, had followed its execution.

But no such catastrophe ensued, the nobility of Arnold's nature was fully roused, it gave strength to his own physical weakness, and awakened D'Argenton's slumbering generosity.

"Heaven visit my blood on no man," he said, "least of all on you, my benefactor. If I die, it will be but one of the many miseries of this inhuman place, which evil laws and man's iniquity render the very type of Hell. My religious faith may deprive me in your eyes of a Christian's name, but at least consider, I have the instincts of a gentleman, of an honest man; a sacred duty ties my tongue. Alas! my hard case merits compassion rather than resentment; do not, with unkind reproaches, add a sharp pang to the torture which awaits me, but believe, while I retain consciousness, I shall feel gratitude to you."

D'Argenton's countenance changed; pride struggled with righteous almost affectionate emotion in his breast, and he made a compromise between the two contending feelings. One look told Arnold of repentance, of reconciliation, and