he was watching the lovers. There was something in his countenance of envy, as he saw them looking at each other with intense affection, and as he listened to their whispered protestations.

Edith herself introduced the subject to her lover: she told him that she was sure her father now regretted having affianced them, not from any want of affection for Leon, but because of his dead brother's wishes. But she told him quietly, that even if it were proposed, she would never consent to a union with her cousin. Leon thanked her warmly, and also declared that he should trust to the old man's word, and hasten on the marriage. He added, however, that he was quite sure the cousin would make an effort; he thought him a youth not likely to give up the battle so easily as it appeared. They must therefore be cautious and observant, and not give the enemy, in this one sense, any opportunity of action. Young Karl himself was mute and impassive: what were his hopes and wishes, it was impossible to say.

V.

There was apparently little change in the position of affairs. Leon remained at the head of the house; Edith attended to the domestic affairs; Karl carried on his vast business; and the nephew commenced his education under an able professor. He took, however, much more to fencing, and all the manly sports and exercises, than to mental accomplishments. His uncle gave him a handsome allowance; and he soon began to cut a figure amongst the dashing young men of the town-those who thought more of pleasure than business. He did not, however, do anything to disgrace the name he bore, kept reasonable hours, and never wholly neglected his cousin or uncle. Indeed, he sought in every way to ingratiate himself with Edith; made, in fact, undisguised love to her; and began, after a few weeks, to look solemn and sad: but Edith repelled his advances firmly. As he grew attentive, and even spoke of his deep regret at her being engaged, she grew cold and distanton thoughtful.

Karl said nothing: never thought of interfering to break off a connection he had himself formed, but his regret at not being free to carry out his brother's wishes could not be concealed. He watched the progress of events with painful anxiety. If his nephew had not taken the thing to heart, if he had fixed his affections on the richest heiress in the town, Karl would not have cared he would have felt himself released from all anxiety; but the boy seemed really to love his cousin, and the old merchant suffered much. He respected and liked Leon as much as ever; he could not do otherwise: he was assiduously attentive to his interests his whole thoughts appeared centered in the house.

A man struggling between a powerful sense of duty and a

No. 11.

9

strong affection, suffers much; a good man like Karl Rosenfelt would naturally feel more than most persons, and yet he never swerved he was firm in his determination to be just; but he racked his brain to find the means of making up to young Karl for his disappointment. He invited the good men and true of Ghent to come and sup with him, with their wives and daughters -he tried to draw the youth's attention towards several beautiful girls. His nephew spoke them the necessary words of politeness, and then returned where he could now and then speak a word to his cousin.

Old Karl Rosenfelt grew full of melancholy and remorse. Every night he retired to rest with the hope that the morning would bring him fresh counsel. He never reflected that his nephew was in all probability totally unfit to make Edith happy. A youth who had lived a wandering and semi-savage life in a country so uncivilised as the newly-discovered Mexico, could not be reasonably expected to replace Leon, a young man of superior education and polished manners for his day, and who possessed the affections of his daughter; but then Karl Rosenfelt had nourished this hope of union with a child of his elder brother's for years, and had only given it up when time rendered the other's return improbable.

The nephew said little about the matter, but he threw out occasional hints of regret ; told his uncle how much he grieved that he had not come a year sooner; to all which Karl answered not. As things were, he saw no use in encouraging a passion which could only prove fatal to the youth, and painful in the extreme to Leon and Edith.

One evening, however, the youth spoke to Karl too pointedly for him to put off the reply: they did not notice Leon and Edith, who were seated side by side in an adjoining room, of which the door was open.

Uncle,' said young Karl, 'I must leave you; I cannot remain and witness the happiness of Leon; I cannot be present at the wedding it is beyond my strength.'

'Nephew, what mean you?' replied old Karl in a state of profound agitation. 'My brother's only child leave me! it cannot be.' 'I had hoped so too. If my cousin could have listened to my addresses, I should have been but too happy; but she is another's: she cannot be mine. Let me leave you-not altogether: give me the means of travelling; let me go to Paris, to England; it will do me good. When I return, my feelings will be conquered, and I can see Edith as a cousin only."

Karl Rosenfelt sat motionless and silent for some minutes. At length he spoke. 'Nephew, your decision is wise. The dearest wish of my heart would have been to unite you to my daughter, you the son of my dear, long-lost brother; but it cannot be. Let us silence our grief, let us stifle our regrets. Come to my arms, my boy, and wonder not if an old man weeps. I

never dreamed of your being in existence, and yet I had a hope that I might live to see in my nephew a son-in-law. But go; you shall travel at your ease: I will give you letters for every capital in Europe; and you shall see courts, and kings, and festivals everything that can distract your attention, and fill your mind.'

'Thank you, my uncle at my age, travel cannot fail to do good, though, when I read my father's letter, this was not what I hoped for.'

The reply of the young man was uttered in a tone of pique and disappointment, but this old Karl did not notice. He sat talking for some time, and then supped as usual with the whole family, and went to bed.

VI.

Next morning, Leon did not appear at breakfast-time; but two letters were handed to the old merchant, one for himself, and one for Edith: they were in the handwriting of the French clerk. Old Karl opened his anxiously; Edith hers tremblingly. He bounded on his chair; she wept with mingled pride, joy, and grief.

The letter to the old man was brief:-
:-

'I cannot allow my benefactor to turn his brother's child from the door for my fault. I love your daughter, and shall never love another woman. I thought her mine, and looked forward to a brilliant and happy future in her society. I find that my happiness is your sorrow. You have other wishes; and though I know well you would keep to your word, I cannot build my joy on your regrets. I make here a great, a bitter sacrifice to my benefactor; but I do my duty, and the sentiment of acting rightly will be some compensation. I shall be on my way to Bruges before you receive this letter. Please send me thither an order to receive my quarter's salary, as I have not money enough to enable me to reach home.'

The old man bowed his head, and wept. A moment after, he handed the letter to Edith, and took hers. It was much like that to him, and ended thus: "My dear Edith, you will regret your poor Leon, but you will make your dear father happy. He will die a joyful old man, with his brother's child near him. Forget me: it is your duty. Think, if you will, that I love you not, and set your whole heart on loving your cousin.'

A noble boy! a generous boy!' cried old Karl.

"My husband!' cried Edith, clasping her hands; 'noble and generous indeed. But the sacrifice is useless: I will never be the wife of any man but Leon!'

'But, cousin,' put in the youth in a timid voice, he leaves you; he gives you up you cannot be willing to recall him.'

'No,' said the old man; 'that is my duty. He shall come back. I cannot make so rare a man miserable for a whim-a caprice. I shall start after him for Bruges in an hour. Edith, my dear, hurry the preparations for your marriage: it shall take place in a week. My nephew, you must resign your hopes: be a man; take example by him, and shew only one-half his noble courage. The love of an old man will be doubly yours. My life, my fortune, are at your disposal.?

I will have courage!' said young Karl impetuously. Go, bring him back, marry them, and then I will travel for a month or two in search of a wife. By your aid, I shall soon find one! Now you are my own brother's child!' replied Karl warmly, while Edith kept coldly aloof.

'Do you not forgive me?' said young Karl. en

'I will forgive you when my husband has returned,' answered Edith very coldly.

The old man looked at her with an anxious and wondering glance. 'It is not his fault if Leon be gone,' he said in a deprecating tone.

1

It is, my father,' said Edith firmly. He was well aware that we were affianced, and yet he made advances to me which he knew you would encourage, if you could. His conduct has not been generous, and he has not acted the part of a cousin.

Young Karl bit his lip, and looked half inclined to be angry; but the banker changed the subject to that of his journey, which was to be performed on horseback, with four armed attendants, as the road was not safe, and they had to pass through a thick wood. Karl had never before ventured that way, except in company with many other traders; but his feelings towards Leon were too strong to allow him to think of anything else. He gave a few minutes' instructions to Edith, placed her in the charge of the old attendant, handed young Karl a full purse, and then, after one or two adieus, departed on his way, in a hopeful but serious mood.

About a day's journey from Ghent, there was, in the days of which we write, a thick wood. On one side, it climbed a gentle hill; on the other, it descended to a winding river of small dimensions. At the spot where the scene is most picturesque, and where now there is a railway station, stood a small roadside inn, where carters, packmen, and retarded travellers were sometimes wont to stop, but which bore a very ill name in the country some even going so far as to call it the Devil's House. It had certainly an evil look about it. It appeared half in ruins, or rather its upper storey had never been finished, and the windows were all stuffed with hay, rags, and fagots, presenting to the eye a most miserable and uninviting aspect. A sign creaked with a dismal

sound over the door, and a pond of musty water, fed by a spring, was disputed by a pig and a flock of ducks, when horses were not driven there to drink. A wretched-looking girl served as hostler, chamber-maid, waiter, &c.; while the landlord was a man of about fifty, common in look, and with an expression of vulgar sensuality peculiarly repulsive. A low, small forehead, a large mouth, and a nose flattened by some accident, were marks of themselves sufficient to terrify the pacific. There is much in a landlord; and an inn rarely fails where there is a jolly, merry, stout host, of smiling aspect, to welcome the weary traveller.

For several months the inn had assumed even a more dismal and deserted aspect than usual. There was no provender to be had for horses, and scarcely food for man. The landlord looked wretched, the girl pale and half-starved. They seemed hardly in their senses, for all guests that came they treated gruffly; so that few stayed, especially as with the decreased accommodation the charges became exorbitant. The master stood the greater part of the time at his door smoking, while the girl sat by the fireside, her head resting on her knees. She was always thinking; an occupation which Peter Krubingen did not relish, for he would aften interrupt her savagely, and then, as if recollecting himself, change his tone, and speak gently.

On the evening of the departure of Leon from Ghent, a scene of this kind occurred. The girl was seated by the fire, musing; the man had been looking at her for some time, with a scowl of the most threatening character.

Poleska,' he said savagely, 'what are you sitting with your eyes fixed on the fire for?"

"I was thinking,' said the young girl, who was of Polish origin. Of whom??

6 Not of you.'

Of whom then?'

'I daresay you can guess."

'Poleska, you know very well what my intentions are.

Once

our affairs settled, I shall return to my own country, and take you to wife. You will be a proud and happy woman, Poleska, if you are wise and discreet. But stop this sobbing and musing, or it will be worse for you.

+

"What can you do worse than you have done? You found me a poor orphan of seven years old; you gave me a home and shelter, and made me your servant, to wait on you, on your guests, ill-fed, ill-clothed. When I became a young woman, you fancied I was pretty, well-favoured, and you offered to make me your wife: I refused for a good reason, and you seek to win me by ill-usage and brutality: but, Peter Krubingen, I will never be your wife!'

"

The man looked at her in a scowling way, and then turned his back, muttering something to himself not very flattering to the girl, whom, however, he did not seem to wish to exasperate. At