CHAPTER If.

8¢ His teeth he still did grind, And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain. oer
IT is now time to return to Lord Vargrave. His most sanguine hopes were realised; all things seemed to prosper. The hand of Evelyn Cameron was pledged to him, the wedding-day was fixed. In less than a week she was to confer upon the ruined peer a splendid dowry, that would 3 smooth all obstacles in the ascent of his ambition, From Mr. Douce he learned that the deeds, which were to transfer to himself the baronial possessions of the head of the house of Maltravers, were neatly completed; and, on his wedding- day, he hoped to be able to announce that the happy pair had set out for their princely mansion of Lisle Court. In | politics, though nothing could be finally settled till his return, letters from Lord Saxingham assured him that all was auspicious: the court and the heads of the aristocracy daily growing more alienated from the premier, and more prepared for a cabinet revolution. And Vargrave, perhaps, © like most needy men, overrated the advantages he should
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derive from, and the servile opinions he showld conciliate
in, his new character otf landed proprietor and wealthy — peer. He was not insensible to the silent anguish that Evelyn seemed to endure, nor to the bitter gloom that
hung on the brow of Lady Doltimore. But these were
clouds that foretold no storm—light shadows that obscured © -- not the serenity of the favouring sky. He continued to
seem unconscious to either; to take the coming event as a matter of course, and to Evelyn he evinced so gentle, un- familiar, respectful, and delicate an attachment, that he left no opening, either for confidence or complaint. Poor
é : Evelyn! her gaiety, her enchanting: levity, her sweet and _ infantine playfulness of manner, were indeed vanislied. Pale, wan, passive, and smileless, she was the ghost of her former
self! But days rolled on, and the evil one drew near: she recoiled, but she never dreamt of resisting. How many equal victims of her age and sex does the altar witness !
One day, at early noon, Lord Vargrave took his way to Evelyn’s. He had been to pay a political visit in the Faubourg St. Germain, and he was now slowly crossing the more quiet
and solitary part of the gardens of the Tuileries, his hands
clasped behind him, after his old, unaltered habit, and his eyes downcast ; when, suddenly, a man, who was seated alone beneath
one of the trees, and who had for some moments watched his
steps with an anxious and wild aspect, rose and approached him.
Lord Vargrave was not conscious of the istrusion, till the man
laid his hand on Vargrave’s arm, and exclaimed—
“It is he! it is! Lumley Ferrers, we meet again !”
Lord Vargrave started and changed colour, as he gazed on the intruder.
“ Ferrers,” continued Cesarini (for it was he), and he wound
his arm firmly into Lord Vargrave’s as he spoke, “ you have not
changed ; your step is light, your cheek healthful ; and yet I— you can scarcely recognise me. Oh, I have suffered so horribly since we parted! Why is this—why have I been so heavily visited >—and why have you gone free ?—Heaven is not just!” -Castruccio was in one of his lucid intervals; but there was ‘that in his uncertain eye, and strange uanatural voice, which
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showed that a care might dissolve the avalanche. Lord
Vargrave looked anxiously round ; none were near: but he knew
that the more public parts of the garden were thronged, and through the trees he saw many forms moving in the distance. He felt that the sound of his voice could summon assistance in an instant, and his assurance returned to him.
“My poor friend,” said he soothingly as he quickened his pace, “it grieves me to the heart to see you look ill; do not think so much of what is past.”
“There is no past !” replied Cesarini, gloomily. “The Past is” ‘my Present! And I have thought and thought, in darkness and in chains, over all that I have endured, and a light has broken on me in the hours when they told me I was mad! Lumley Ferrers, it was not for my sake that you led me, devil as you are, into the lowest hell! You had some object of your own to — serve in separating her from Maltravers. You made me your instrument. What was I to you that you should have sinned for my sake? Answer me, and truly, if those lips can utter truth!” —
“Cesarini,” returned Vargrave in his blandest accents, “another — time we will converse on what has been ; believe me, my only — object was your happiness, combined, it may be, with my hatred of your rival.” ;
“Liar!” shouted Cesarini, grasping Vargrave’s arm with the strength of growing madness, while his burning eyes were fixed upon his tempter’s changing countenance, “You, too, loved — Florence—you, too, sought her hand—yow were my real rival!”
“Hush! my friend, hush!” said Vargrave seeking to shake : off the gripe of the maniac, and becoming seriously aiarmed; — “we are approaching the crowded part of the gardens, we shall ‘ be observed.” _ “And why are men made my foes? Why is my own sister become my persecttor? why should she give me up to the | torturer and the dungeon? Why are serpents and fiends my comrades? Why is there fire in my brain and heart? and why — do you go free and enjoy liberty and life? Observed! what care © you for observation? All men search for me /” a
“Then why so openly expose yourself to their notice? why -—~”
2 me ! Serine “When I escaped from 1e Rorrible prison into which I was Pahneed. aiee I scented the fresh air, and bounded over the grass—when I was again free in limbs and spirit—a sudden strain of music from a village | came on my ear, and I stopped short, and couched down, and held my breath to listen. It ceased; and I thought I had been _ __ with Florence, and I wept bitterly! When I recovered, memory came back to me distinct and clear: and I heard a voice say to ~ me, ‘ Avenge her and thyself!’ From that hour the voice has been heard again, morning and night! ‘Lumley Ferrers, I hear — it now! it speaks to my heart—it warms my blood—it nerves my hand! on whom should vengeance fall ? Speak to me!” Lumley strode rapidly on: they were now without the grove: gay throng was before them. “All is safe,” thought the Englishman. He turned abruptly and haughtily on Cesarini, and aved his hand; “Begone, madman!” said he, in a loud and tern voice,—* eescne! vex me no more, or I give you into custody. Begone, I say!”
Cesarini halted, amazed and awed for the moment; and then,
with a dark scowl and a low cry, threw himself on Vargrave. The eye and hand of the latter were vigilant and prepared: he grasped the uplifted arm of the maniac, and shouted for help. But the madman was now in his full fury ; he hurled Vargrave to the. _ ground with a force for which the peer was not prepared, and umley might never have risen a living man from that spot, if _two soldiers, seated close by, had not hastened to his assistance. ' Cesarini was already kneeling on his breast, and his long bony ngers were fastening upon the throat of his intended victim. Torn from his hold, he glared fiercely on his new assailants; and, after a fierce but momentary struggle, wrested himself from their gripe. Then, turning round to Vargrave, who had with some effort risen from the ground, he shrieked out, “I shall have hee yet!” and fled through the trees and disappeared,
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