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helplessly and hopelessly by persisting in your pursuit of Isabel. Think how young she is, and how dearly she loves Herbert and is beloved by him. Were she to be forced into a marriage with you, and Herbert with Ida, misery would be the inevitable result to all-unspeakable misery. Rise superior to your passions, my noble friend. Save us all from destruction. In you I place my trust— in your noble mind, your generous disposition. You will not betray to the count this desperate appeal to you. You will not break my heart and the hearts of my children, for Isabel is as a dear daughter unto me.' To this she added that she knew how warmly Hugo loved Ida, and how unhappy her contemplated union with his younger brother must make him. When Isabel had finished she signed the countess's name to it, all in such perfect imitation of her cousin's handwriting that it would have taken a clever expert indeed to detect the deception. She then proceeded to pen a postscript to the other letter with a firm hand and a clear mind, though in fear and trembling lest she should be interrupted before she could finish it all. In this postscript the mother explained to the son, in a few concise sentences, the state of affairs at home. She adjured Hugo to disregard his father's injunction to stay in Berlin. She entreated him to hasten to Heimburg, to come to her, his unhappy mother's, rescue, and to his brother's. She took upon herself to assure him, as it were of her own knowledge, of Ida's continued love. He, Hugo, was of age now, she said; he was the future head of the family, and as such he had sacred duties to fulfil, among which it was surely not one of the least important to strive to curb by reason and firmness the count's unhappy tendency to an

unbridled indulgence in the most despotic and arbitrary acts. Isabel signed this postscript also, placed the two letters in the envelopes, sealed them, and left them on the table. She then made her escape from the apartment unperceived.

When the countess returned a few minutes after, she felt a little surprised at first to find the envelopes duly sealed. But she soon came to believe that she had unwittingly sealed them herself. 'My poor head!' she murmured. 'It has come to this: that I know no longer what I am doing. How will it all end? In bitterest misery to all of us if the Lord vouchsafe not, in His mercy, to save us.' And she piously folded her hands and breathed a fervent prayer for help to the Almighty Disposer and Dispenser of all things.

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To the countess's intensest surprise, the general's confiden man handed her in secret a note from his master. 'Dear countess,' this note said, 'you have read me aright. You have awakened me from a perilous dream. I thank you. Be without fear. I will do all I can to justify your honourable trust in me. Tranquillise the little girl's mind; she will henceforth find a paternal friend in me. Breathe not a word of this to the count, but rely confidently upon your devoted servant, who bears you still the same old affection as ever.'

This strange to her utterly incomprehensible-note puzzled the

good lady very much indeed. The Lady Hilda, to whom she confided the matter, was equally unable to suggest an explanation of the mystery. The countess was a pious woman; she had fervently prayed to God to vouchsafe His almighty help. Might there not be some mysterious interposition of Providence in this? Isabel was drawn into the confidence of the two ladies. She blushed scarlet, but she kept her counsel, and encouraged the countess in her pious belief.

The fact was that the general had indeed been profoundly moved by the supposed passionate appeal of his old flame to his chivalrous feelings. He had, however reluctantly, seen the folly of his indulgence in love's young dream at his age of threescore and ten. He also thought it expedient for the first time to consult his niece, and he was considerably taken aback when he found that the young widow had not the remotest notion of bestowing her heart, her hand, and her fortune upon the Count Herbert. When he pressed her upon the point she blushingly confessed to him that her love was given to the elder brother, and that she had only consented to espouse the Baron Hohenfels because she had felt convinced that Count Heimburg would never give his sanction to his elder son's union with a dowerless bride.

Whilst the general was maturing his plan of campaign, to keep his word to the countess, the Count Heimburg burst upon him to demand an explanation of his missive.

The old man had ample opportunity afforded him to convince himself by personal experience how completely the count had lost all self-restraint, and how little he had ever schooled himself to brook the least opposition to his own sovereign will. He was a cool-headed

old man, much accustomed to curb refractory spirits. As he exercised the firmest self-control in his stormy interview with the count, he succeeded in the end in tiring out and calming down the latter's frenzied outbursts of angry pas sion. He calmly counselled the impetuous man to take time to reflect more coolly upon the matter. He hinted to him, that although the Princess Wanda von Wartenberg had a higher title of nobility, yet the wealth of Hohenfels must surely considerably outweigh the dower of a younger daughter of even a princely house. All this made little impression perhaps upon the count; but it certainly made some impression, and there was much gained already in merely showing the imperious nobleman that his will was not absolute law everywhere and to every one.

The accident to the count's right hand was not very serious; still a little wound-fever set in, which compelled the patient to keep his room. This gave Isabel the much desired opportunity of an undisturbed interview with Herbert, to whom she confided, under the seal of absolute secrecy, her little stratagem. Hugo of course would have to be taken into the confidence of the lovers, to guard against any untoward mischance from awkward allusions to the supposed maternal postscript.

On the third morning Hugo arrived suddenly at Heimburg Castle, unexpected by all save Herbert and Isabel, but to the inexpressible joy of his mother and also of his aunt, who loved him dearly and had not seen him for six years.

Herbert, who was prepared for Hugo's arrival, managed to have an interview with his brother ere he had reached the castle. He briefly explained to him the position of affairs in the family, so that

the Count Hugo was fully forewarned and forearmed at all points.

When Hugo first presented himself to his father, there was a fearful scene; tempered a little, however, by the weakening effects of the fever. Still it was a fearful scene, and all Hugo's gentle firmness could not altogether restrain the frenzied outbursts of the count's imperious temper. How had his son dared to come to the castle in the very teeth of the father's explicit prohibition? The son calmly reminded the father that he was of age now, and that he must respectfully repudiate the assumption of such authority over his acts and deeds as the count would seem to claim. He declared that he was determined to protect henceforth his mother and his brother against all merely arbitrary acts; and that he must also decline being handed over by his parent to the Princess Wanda, as a kind of chattel as it were. It was he himself who had to marry and to secure his happiness in life-not the count, whom he must, with all due reverence and submission, but with equal unyielding firmness, inform that he was resolved to choose his bride for himself, and that his heart was given to the Countess Ida, from whom his father had so cruelly and ruthlessly torn him in the days when he was still a minor. Every fresh word brought on a fresh access of fury; and in the end the count, in his blind tempestuous rage, forgot himself, and what he owed to himself as a gentleman, and to his rank and position in life, so far that he dashed his left hand furiously into his son's face. Hugo turned deadly pale, except where the blow had left its crimson mark. He looked at his father more in sorrow than in anger. I forgive and pity you, father,' he said

gently, and turned him to go. But the fierce paroxysm of unbridled fury had passed; and the old man wept bitter tears of sorrow and regret, though, in his stubborn pride, he could not bring himself to ask his insulted son's pardon for his inexcusable violence. But, in his heart of hearts, he felt strangely proud of the son who nobly dared to defy his tyranny. He had, unhappily, ever since his own father's demise, been used to find all around him slavish submission to his imperious will. His sister had rightly expressed it: he had indeed been brought up in a most pernicious school, in which he had passed through abjectest slavishness, to graduate at last in most monstrous despotism. Indeed, there is no saying more true in every sense than that it is the slave who makes the tyrant.

After this frantic outburst, when he had calmed down a little, he sent for Herbert, to do what, in the fierce pride of his despotic nature, he had not even dreamt of doing before-to wit, to ascertain his views upon the projected marriage of the young man with the widow of Baron Hohenfels; and he found, to his profound amazement, but at the same time to his inward gratification, that Herbert also, whilst warmly professing the deepest reverence for his parent, was firmly resolved to contest the right of that parent to decree away the happiness of the son's life. Well, what with the chastening and sobering effects of the fever, the secret pride which the sick man was beginning to take in his noble boys, who were thus boldly daring to assert their manhood, and what with the loving care of his wife and his sister, and the tender ministrations of Isabel, the count might almost have been ready to give in, but for his rash promise to Prince Leopold von Warten

berg, which now weighed heavily on his mind.

But here good Fortune came in to cut the knot. It appeared that the Princess Wanda had given her young heart away to the younger son of a princely house with large strictly entailed estates. There seemed thus no possible prospect that this 'foolish' love affair could ever prosper; and poor Wanda had of course been told to prepare for her union with the man chosen for her by her princely father. However, the elder brother of her unhappy young lover was over-fond of riding fiery horses. One of these dangerous animals brought the young prince to grief with a broken neck. The instant the younger son stepped into his elder's shoes, Prince Wartenberg was only too glad to secure his darling daughter's happiness in

life by consenting to her union with her lover, Count Heimburg handsomely waiving his claim!

When all was thus settled to the satisfaction of every one, Herbert let out Isabel's little secret, at the which there was much marvelling.

Ah, you little naughty puss! said the count-who was quite a changed man now-how dared you commit the high crime and misdemeanour of forgery?'

'Why, most gracious Sir Count,' replied the fair damsel demurely, 'I had always been told that in love and war all things are fair; and, as you now know, most gracious Sir Count, I was deeply in love, and therefore, of course, at desperate war with all that threatened to stand between me and the chosen lord of my heart. So I dared all to gain all.'


IF we, indeed, could surely gain
The end to which we toil and strain;

Could grasp the thing we deem most dear,
And hold it firm, and keep it near;

Could say, 'Behold, the good we sought
Unto our very doors 'tis brought !'—
Ah, is it clear that we should be
In truth more favoured or more free?
For while in vain we ply our task,
And Fate forbids the boon we ask,
Some greater good do we not find
When round our neck fond arms are twined,

And kind lips whisper words unfeigned,

'All is not lost if love be gained !'
All is not lost! Nay, rather say,
That all is won, and ours to-day.
Upon the mountain's height we thought
To gain the prize for which we sought;
Ah, love, 'twas well we strove in vain;
Did we not meet, love, on the plain?







ABOUT a week after the outrages we have narrated, Vere-glad to be once more with, and under the command of, his old chum Kyrle Desborough-found himself fortunately despatched from the vicinity of Morant Bay, which he now loathed, to other scenes. The governor and General Nelson had made arrangements to save Port Antonio-a rich and beautiful district from the rebels, who were committing rapine and havoc about twelve miles to the eastward thereof, and were known to be meditating its destruction. Hence a number of the English settlers had taken shelter on board of a large American ship, whose commander, to save them, humanely put to sea.

By occupying Port Antonio in time, the authorities not only saved that district from total destruction, but they met and barred the progress of the insurrection to the eastward of it, and accomplished some important results in a very brief space of time.

All the troops that could be spared from Kingston were effectively disposed of by being landed on each side of the island to the eastward, whence they marched down on the blacks, and completely crushed them in time. One post was established at Morant Bay, another at Port Antonio, and the ground between was oc


cupied by the friendly Maroons. Thus the whole of the rebel force was completely hemmed in within the country eastward of this line; but meanwhile the alarming reports which came from every other quarter of Jamaica, and the evident intention of further revolts if opportunity favoured, caused the gravest anxiety in the minds of all the whites.

The total number of her Majesty's troops in the whole island at this crisis was only a thousand men of these five hundred were engaged in repressing the rebellion, in a district occupied by fully forty thousand blacks; while the other five hundred were required to protect and garrison Kingston, Up Park Camp, and Newcastle; and even when succour came from Barbadoes and Nassau, the whole number only amounted to seventeen hundred bayonets.

The rebels in arms were Africans,. as uncivilised as they were when in their native wilds, and to such the lash and the bullet could be the only arguments applied. A thousand of their dwellings wereburned by the troops; and though the fact sounded startling to English ears, it should be borne in mind that they were only wretched little huts of cane and thatch, and that in no instance was any hut destroyed unless the plunder taken from our colonists was found in it, thereby showing the complicity of its owner with the revolt.


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