quenched-she fell lifeless into the arms of Rosenheim. With the assistance of Dorothy and the governess, she was conveyed to her bed, and Rosenheim and old Rupert retired to the great hall, where the latter was most minute in his inquiry into the circumstance of Frederic's caption. Having received a most full relation, he shook his head-" there is some where, some deep and foul play," he said, "but time will unravel all things."

“Do you attach suspiciou to any particular person?" Rosenheim asked.

"I have seen much," said Rupert, but at present I say little,”—and he added, with a significant look, "the thunder will burst over certain heads before it is long-there are wolves in sheep's clothing hereabouts-but I will tear the covering from their backs,"

"Explain yourself," said Rosenheim, "in me you will find a heart and hand to second all your views to bring criminality to light"

"Harkee!" Signor,-" there is something in thy face and manner, which prepossesses mémuch in thy favour-but look at these grey hairs, and thou canst not but suppose that during the time in which they have been whitening, some little stock of prudence has not been gained when thou hast lived half the number of years which have passed over my head, thou wilt then have learned when silence becomes a duty-and that every hand that is proffered to thee is not the

hand of a friend. You are a stranger to me, Signor, but I believe thee good-let that suffice thee for the present-be circumspect, and say little-it is an old man's advice-have thine eyes in every quarter-thine ears constantly on the alert-thy hand upon thy sword-thy tongue in chains. this is the counsel of a friend. Hast thou any thing to communicate to me-let thy look speak-walls have been known ere now, to echo a whisper-The dead will speak ere now." A thrilling sensation pervaded the frame of Rosenheim, as he listened to this speech of the Seneschal and the mysterious air with which he pronounced the latter part of it, evidently betrayed, that he was either in possession of some dreadful secret, or that he had discovered the clue to it-but that he would not betray it, till he had followed it to its source.

"Was the death of the old Count sudden ?" Rosenheim asked.

"It is now late," said the Seneschal, "the recital of his death would trespass on your sleepyou must be fatigued--let me conduct you to your chamber-to-morrow you shall know every particular of his death."

Rosenheim now declared his intention, after having visited his sister, of setting out in search of Frederic.

"And I will accompany you," said the old man, "though my face and hands be wrinkled--the blood still flows merrily though my veins, VOL. 1. No. 8.

2 A

and it cannot be better spilt than in the defence of my worthy master."

"We will converse upon that point to-mor row," said Rosenheim.

Deborah at this moment entered to inform Rosenheim that Adeline was composed, and bid, ding her good night, he retired with the old Seneschal to his apartment. The gates were soon after closed, and silence reigned in the Castle.

CHAPTER XV.

Hear from thy ebon throne, profoundest night-
Thou and thy gloomy daughters all, that smile
On deeds of horror, and on frauds of hell—
That keep the door of black conspiracy,

And scent the grateful scent of human blood; - From Acheron's sulphureous banks arise

And bursting through the barriers of the world,
Stand in dread contrast to the golden sun-
And spread around your pestilential blasts,
That wither every virtue in the blood.

Bur all do not sleep who lay themselves to sleep. It is only on the eye-lids of the happy that sleep will rest. In the silence of the night, when the distraction of earthly scenes has ceased, and the mind retires within itself, to rally its scattered powers-then start before it the forms of those we once have loved, but from whom we are for ever separated by death or wayward destiny-the scenes which once shed their sunshine on our days, stand before it arrayed in all the charms of a regretted reality-then the eye-lids that ought to be closed by the dews of sleep, are weighed by the tear of sorrow, and imagination hovers with its busy brood of fear

ful shapes on the brink of the future, to wake. the nerve where agony is born.

Short indeed, were the slumbers of Adelinewhat were now her prospects?-To whom could she now look for advice or cousolation ?-She had seen but little of her uncle Leopold-but she knew his character too well to expect an affectionate treatment, and much less that support of which she stood so much in need. She rose in the morning unrefreshed by sleep, and the deep dejection which was pourtrayed on her countenance, rendered her still more lovely in the eyes of Rosenheim. There was so visibly imprinted on her features, the supplication of distress, with the resignation of the christian, and the melancholy of the wounded heart struggling with the natural gaiety of youth, that had her charms not been themselves all-powerful, she would without them have made an impression on every feeling heart. She met Rosenheim with a look, which imparted to him both pain and pleasure-there was a faint smile of joy on again meeting with him, but it was clouded by the veil of sorrow in which her face was wrapped. Rosenheim saw the necessity of withdrawing from Niolo, for under the peculiar circumstances in which Adeline. was then placed, he wished to avoid all uneasiness to her heart, and with that delicacy which is due to the female character, and which is never refused by the truly sensible mind, he made known to Adeline his immediate intention of visiting his sister