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submitted, but left his medicine untasted; and of Gerard solely, though, as a matter of fact, in Miss Lucretia remonstrated, and had terrible Constance's mind it slid between him and visions of a premature grave for her beautiful Strange, and was aimed at once at both, and neither. 'Is that all?' said Aunt Lucretia. 'You little goose!' She kissed her fair burden patron-like, almost protectingly. The epithet 'little' addressed by Miss Lucretia to Constance was droll. Constance, even whilst labouring under a sense of her own duplicity, smiled furtively. My dear,' said the old lady, young gentlemen have so many things to think of. And did you not tell me that his father had announced his desire to make arrangements for your future? I have been making inquiries, my dear, and Mr Chichester, who knows a great many City people, assures me that the affairs of Lumby and Lumby are colossal. That was his word, my dear, not mine. Colossal. Now, if the affairs of a House are justly to be described as colossal-and I can repose the most implicit confidence in Mr Chichester, who would not exaggerate for the world-it will necessarily be a matter of time to make the arrangement which Mr Lumby suggests; and Gerard is probably quite absorbed in business, and is waiting until he can lay everything before you.'

'My dear Constance,' the old lady said at length, being fairly frightened by the girl's languor and want of appetite, and the pallor which had taken the place of her late lovely bloom, I must insist-1 really must insist upon your taking the mixture.' She poured out a dose, and advanced with it, bearing the wineglass in one hand, and in the other, daintily held between finger and thumb, a lump of sugar. Constance, too languid to resist, accepted the medicine, but refused the sugar. She had almost lost all sense of taste in her two or three days of illness, and the nauseous bitter scarcely existed for her. Then, being in a mood so tender and sore that all the fibres of heart and mind seemed raw, she began to cry a little at her aunt's caresses. My dear,' said the old lady with sudden decision, 'there is something on your mind. You are fretting about something.' Constance peevishly repudiated this idea. Her temper, naturally even and coldly sweet, had within the last day or two grown sickly and uncertain. 'My dear,' repeated the old lady, with gentle but firm insistence, 'there is something on your mind. Did you expect him to follow you to town?'

'I don't know,' said Constance. 'I am not fretting. I am not quite well. That is all.'

'No, my dear,' said Miss Lucretia, with chirpy firmness; 'that is not all.' Miss Lucretia was one of those dear old ladies who are slow to receive ideas, but who having by any process absorbed them, hold on to them with marvellous firmness. You are fretting.'

'You are very unkind,' retorted Constance, who was made more miserable by the fact that she could not honourably confide in anybody, and so allowed her misery to recoil in anger. But she was so palpably unhappy, that Miss Lucretia would not be angry in turn. She only put her withered arms about the beautiful neck, and in spite of a feeble resistance, drew her niece's head to her old bosom and swayed her to and fro a little. I am ungrateful and wicked, dear aunt,' sobbed the girl, easily melted by this voiceless caressing patience. You are not unkind, are you, dear?' And she looked up with violet eyes full of penitence.

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This explanation was so satisfactory to Miss Lucretia, that she dwelt upon it at considerable length, the fact that Lumby and Lumby's affairs were colossal appearing to afford her the warmest gratification. Constance was too glad to be left alone to interrupt her, and she followed the tangled threads of her own thought whilst the old lady expounded the advantages of being attached to an establishment which was colossal, or, as she added savingly, 'had been so described by one accustomed to the contemplation of large affairs, and not prone to use the language of exaggeration.' So attractive did this theme prove, that Constance escaped all further questioning that night, and made such strenuous efforts to be cheerful, that they resulted in a real headache, which kept her in bed until evening next day, and brought the doctor again. Reginald, calling, encountered the doctor, and asked him what was the matter. The doctor responded in a roundabout way, as doctors sometimes will; but he said enough to make it clear that the case was one for which some suppressed excitement was most probably answerable.

Why should I be unkind to anybody who is in trouble?' asked Miss Lucretia, still clinging to her point, and seizing the chance of putting it forward again. I have suffered, and I can sympathise with suffering. Tell me what is the matter.' Miss Lucretia was very sentimental, as tender-hearted old maiden ladies mostly are, and she had a wonderful scent for a love-trouble. Now, 'Ask me no questions and I tell no lies,' is not a proverb of the lofty sort, but it yet holds a word of warning for those who care for wisdom. If you will insist on having the confidence of one who is unwilling to impart it, you ought not in charity to be too amazed if a half-confidence is imposed upon you, or even if you are set upon a wrong scent altogether.

'You had best come no more to Jotunheim, Mr Strange!' said young Jolly to himself as he walked away sorrowfully. 'You have done mischief enough already, Val-mischief enough already. Girls are a sad trouble! I shall be glad to see her safely married to Lumby.' Reginald felt a considerable sense of responsibility in this matter, comfortably mingled with a feeling of diplomatic triumph. He it was who had discovered the hitch in affairs and had banished Strange. He felt proud of his own discernment and of the spirit and judgment he had displayed. Constance will be getting married in a couple of months or so,' he told himself, and Strange will have the good sense to stay away for at least that time. And then Val's such a butterfly fellow! He feels all this very keenly, no doubt; but he'll forget all about it, and as likely as not bring back

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He might have written,' murmured Beauty in distress, suddenly grown double-faced. Miss a gold-coloured bride from the West Indies.' Lucretia applied this stricture to the conduct Comforted by these reflections, he walked on 1

briskly. The shops were lighted up, and the evening sky was clear. The air even in London had a prophetic sense of spring in it. Where do they come from, those wandering faint perfumed winds which sometimes, for a second merely, greet the sense of wayfarer in London streets, and how do they keep their perfume in their journey through the city's unnamed odours? Reginald was a lover of the town rather than the country, yet the countrified scent greeting his nostrils as it passed, sent him on his way well pleased. Suddenly, in the Regent Street crowd one face flashed out on his, and was gone again. He turned and pursued it, but failed to overtake it. Surely that was Gerard!' he said to himself as he passed and cast an uncertain glance before and behind him. But what a face the fellow wore ! He looked downright ghastly. I hope there's nothing the matter. All his people were well enough. The pace he was going too! Staring straight before him, and ploughing on like a madman.' A minute later he smiled, and shook his head with a knowing air. 'Love's a curious fever. He was going up to Chesterfield Street, and had heard that Constance was unwell. I'm getting quite knowing about the tender passion. Wonder when my turn's coming.-No; nothing in your line to-day, Cupid. Call again.' Beguiling time with many naïve reflections, he walked on, and near the top of the Haymarket found himself entangled with a small boy who made proffer of an evening paper.

'O'ny a 'a'p'ny,' said the small boy appealingly, shivering before him as he walked on. Terrible disaster at sea, sir. Orful failure in the City. O'ny a 'a'p'ny!' The words 'failure in the City' struck curiously upon his ear, and Gerard's face, seen ten minutes before in Regent Street, came back to him in ridiculous association. He bought a paper chiefly to dispel that absurd fancy, and unfolded it near a tobacconist's window. There he read in large letters, Great City Failure.' The words 'Lumby and Lumby' followed in some connection, but everything had suddenly grown misty, and he could not see. He stood with a chill sickness creeping over him until his sight cleared again, and then read on. "This afternoon, Messrs Lumby and Lumby, the wellknown merchants of Gresham Street, suspended payment. The liabilities of the firm are estimated at half a million.' The street seemed to whirl, and he could not think. He held the rod of the tobacconist's shop-blind for a minute, and then, with uncertain step, went on again. Nothing was clear to him, within or without. The lights in the shops were hazy, like his thoughts; but out of the fog which seemed to have fallen on the streets came the face of his friend as he had seen it but a while ago, white and haggard and desperate. He could read its meaning now.

SADDELL AND ITS LEGENDS.
BY CUTHBERT BEDE.

THERE are still some parts of our country that are beyond the reach of railroads, and are out of the beaten track, and which, therefore, are not much visited, except by those who go thither chiefly for the purposes of sport. One such

Oban, the 'Charing-Cross of the Highlands.' Throughout Argyllshire there is no railroad. MacCallum More's territory and the Land of Lorn are not invaded by parliamentary and excursion trains. The country of Ossian and of the children of the mist knows not the roaring and panting of the iron-horse as he drags his carriages past mountain and loch. It is true that hundreds of tourists annually cross the northern neck of Argyllshire by the Crinan Canal; but that is a voyage by water, and they only get a glimpse of a small portion of the wild scenery of this most picturesque county. To get a sight of its southern portion-especially of the long peninsula of wild Cantire,' as Sir Walter Scott calls it-the traveller must take the long steamboat voyage from Greenock down the Clyde, round by Arran, and through Kilbrannan Sound, to Campbelton; whence he must get to his destination, or shooting-quarters, as best he may.

Sailing down Kilbrannan Sound, with the rugged peaks of Arran on our left, and on our right the bold range of Beinn-an-tuirc-' the Wild-boar's Mountain,' and the scene of the death of Diarmid, the Fingalian Achilles-we come within eight miles of Davar Island and the entrance to Campbelton harbour. Here, on the Cantire shore, and close to the water, we see a massive quadrangular castle, backed up by woods and hills, and in excellent preservation. This is Saddell Castle. It stands near a river which flows through Glen Saddell; and in the hollow of the Glen, close by the river, and surrounded with trees, is the once-famous Monastery of Saddell, now a mere ruin.

Legends gather around Saddell, like the moss and lichens on the remaining stones of its Monastery; and these traditionary tales, or Sgeulachdan, are told in the native Gaelic, on many a winter's night, around the peat-fire in the black-roofed heather-thatched hut, while the men and women knit and listen to the stories with an absorbing interest and rapt attention that could scarcely be realised by the average Englishman who reads his Times and subscribes to Mudie's. It is with these legends that I would chiefly deal.

The very name of Saddell may be said to come down to us clothed with legendary lore. There is a tradition concerning the building of the Monastery. A certain person having murdered step-father, was constantly haunted by the ghost of the murdered man, and could gain no rest or peace of mind. He therefore travelled to Rome, in order to confess his sin to the Pope, who ordered him to return to Cantire, and there build a church between two hills and two waters; after which his troubled mind would be relieved. He made choice of Saddell, which fulfilled the conditions imposed upon him for the site; and there he built the famous Monastery. This tradition may perhaps have arisen from what is told of Donald, grandson of Somerled; how he went to Rome to obtain absolution for his sins, and on his return gave rich gifts to Saddell Monastery. Another tradition says that the founder sent to Rome for some consecrated dust, and made the building

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This founder was the mighty Somerled'- regained his throne. Mackay asked for the two who is mentioned in Scott's Lord of the Isles-farms of Ugadale and Arniele; and they separated Thane of Argyll, and Lord of Cantire and the at the spot now marked by a stone called Crois Isles. He was slain in fight in the year 1163, Mhic Caidh, or the Cross of Mackay. After the and was buried in the unfinished Monastery, battle of Bannockburn, Mackay went to Edinwhich vas completed by his son Reginald, who, burgh, where the king gave him the title-deeds of in addition to his other titles, assumed that of the two farms; and when Mackay declined the King. The Monastery was designed for the goblet of wine that he offered him, Bruce in his Cistercian or Grayfriar order of monks. turn said: 'You must drink it; for I am now the Norwegian expedition, in 1260, against king in my own house.' Alexander III., when Haco was at Gudey ('God's-isle'), now called Gigha, in the Atlantic, off the western shore of Cantire, it is told that an abbot of a monastery of Grayfriars waited upon him, and begged protection for their dwelling and church; which the king granted to him in writing; and not only so, but, when one of his own monks, Friar Simon, died in Gudey, they carried his body across the water to the peninsula of Cantire, and crossing its mountain-range, bore the corpse to the eastern shore, where the Grayfriars buried it in their church at Saddell, and spreading a fringed pall over his grave, dubbed him a saint.

There is also the grave of Archibald Campbell of Carradale, who was killed at the battle of Inverlochy, while engaged with the forces of Montrose. Here, too, lie Macdonalds and other distinguished men, whose graves cannot now be discerned from those humble mounds beneath which 'the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.'

The West Highland funerals were attended by a great concourse of people, and unseemly scenes not unfrequently occurred on these occasions, arising out of the jealousies and hot blood of hostile clans. I was told that early in the last century, when a funeral was being held in this graveyard, one of the proprietors of Cantire, pointing to the grave of the great Macdonald, exclaimed: There lies the bloody dog!' Upon this, the Macdonalds who were present drew their weapons, and would have slain the gentleman, had not his servant protected him and got him on his horse, when he galloped away for his life.

The plan of Saddell Monastery took the form of a cross, lying in an exact position towards the four cardinal points. Its length from east to west was one hundred and thirty-six by twenty-four feet; and of the transepts, from north to south, seventy-eight by twenty-four feet. Part of the gable of the transept, and the aperture for a window in that wall, remain; but the dressed stonework of the windows has all been taken away, with the exception of a single stone near the spring of the arch, which has a moulding of fourteenth-century work. The monumental memorials are numerous and interesting; for distinguished persons from all parts of the country had their sepulchres here, including some of the collateral branches of the Macdonald clan. The tomb that is pointed out as that of the mighty Somerled, is in the choir, and appears to have been originally placed within the arched recess, or founder's tomb, in the south wall of the choir, near to which it now lies; and this supposition is probably correct. If so, the sculptured effigy of this redoubtable Lord of Argyll and the Isles represents him as wearing a high-pointed, conical bascine, from which the camail, or tippet of mail, is dependent over the neck and shoulders. The body is clad, down to the knees, with the shirt or jupon, which is scored down with straight lines to represent the folds. The right hand is raised up to the shoulder; the left clasps the long twohanded sword. In the corner of the slab, above the right hand, was an inscription, now defaced and illegible.

Another tombstone, bearing the figure of a warrior, is said to be that of Mackay, to whom Robert Bruce assigned the lands of Ugadale and Arniele, in Cantire, for giving him shelter when he was a fugitive. Bruce had wandered to Mackay's farmhouse, where he was entertaining some friends, and at first declined the hospitality; but Mackay compelled him to accept it, saying: 'I am king in my own house.' The next morning, after breakfast, Mackay took Bruce to the top of the mountain of Beinn-an-tuirc, to show him the western coast, whither Bruce wished to go. Bruce then disclosed himself, and said he would give Mackay what he wished, when he had

On a bank on the other side of the river is the Holy Well, almost concealed by long grass and coronals of fern. The water flows into a small stone basin, on the front of which remains a sculptured cross, the only one belonging to the conventual buildings that has escaped destruction. It is placed in a scene of singular beauty, and possesses the customary Holy Well legend-that those who drink of its waters should wish a wish, and will be married to their hearts' desire before another twelvemonth has passed over their heads. But two peasant maidens whom we saw there, were too young for any such flights of fancy, and had merely come to the Holy Well for the prosaic duty-made poetical by place or circumstances of filling their pitchers with the clear spring water. As yet, they walked in maiden meditation, fancy free of any bridal of Saddell that might hereafter be their lot.

It is said of Reginald, who completed the building of Saddell Monastery, that, in conformity with a practice among the Scandinavian sea-kings, he did not enter under the roof of any house wherein a fire was kindled, for the space of three years; and he thus accustomed himself to hardships and privation. The rents of the Macdonalds of Saddell, as was then the universal custom in Scotland, were chiefly paid in kind—meat, meal, malt, cheese, poultry, &c.; so that, in the year 1542, the monetary rent-roll of Macdonald of Saddell, Lord of Cantire, and also Lord of Islay and Rheinds, barely amounted to one hundred and forty pounds sterling. But the Macdonalds were very generous, and would occasionally reward one who gave them a night's lodging with the grant of a farm; indeed, that of Coul, in Islay, was granted to a man who had given a flounder to a Macdonald who was much exhausted. These grants were models of brevity, as may be seen from two specimens: 'I, Donald, chief of the Macdonalds, give here in my castle to Mackay,

she heard mysterious moans, and the movement of many light feet and forms all around her. Terrified, but not disheartened, she made her way in the darkness to the old tomb, felt for the skull, seized it, and carried it away, pursued by the invisible forms to the church door, which she passed through and closed behind her, hearing, as she did so, a rush made against it. How she got back through the snow to Glen Barr, she scarcely knew; but she accomplished the task; and there she was with the skull in her hand, to claim her reward. Still, the old farmer would not believe her; and set out to Saddell with some of his men, expecting to find the skull in its usual place. But when they got to the old church and opened the door, there, within the building, were a number of deer, who had probably sought shelter from the violence of the winter-storm, and whose startled movements were what the brave girl had heard. And as there was no skull on the tomb, the old farmer was compelled to return home and give his consent to the girl's marriage to his son. They took back the skull to its former resting-place, and were married; and some of the deer were killed and cooked, and they had venison for the weddingfeast.

a right to Kilmahumay, from this day till tomorrow, and so on for ever.'-'I, Donald, sitting upon Dundonald, give you a right to your farm, from this day till to-morrow, and every day thereafter, so long as you have food for the great Macdonald of the Isles.' Dundonald was the castle near to Campbelton, on the western coast, where Macdonald went to receive his rents; and the cliff close to it is called 'The Hangman's Rock,' where, perhaps, short treatment was made of those who were behind-hand in their payments; for some of the Macdonalds of Saddell were very rough and ready in their ways-that one, for example, who used to watch from his battlements, and take 'pot-shots' at any passer-by, using a gun that he called 'the Cuckoo.' This chieftain, who was known as Righ Fiongal, went to Ireland, and, by force, brought back the wife of another man, who followed him; but who was imprisoned by Macdonald in Saddell, with the intent of starving him. First, he was shut up in a barn; but he sustained life by eating some grain. Then he was moved to another out-building, where a generous hen laid an egg for him daily. Then he was put in the dungeon of the castle, and died, after gnawing his arm and hand. Macdonald gave him a funeral, and told the widow what had happened; but she leaped from the battlements, and was buried with her husband. Then three Irish friends came over, and were hospitably received by him; but when he found them asleep in his barn side by side, with their necks convenient for his long sword, he cut off their three heads with one swishing blow. He then invited M'Lean and the chiefs of his clan to enjoy his hospitality at Saddell, and cement the peace that had just been made between the two clans. But he thrust them all into dungeons, and each morning, after breakfast, cut off the head of one of them. The king of Scotland heard of this, and interfered in time to save the necks of a few of the Macleans, by ordering Macdonald to come before him at Ceann Loch-as Campbelton was then called. He obeyed the order, and swore allegiance to the king; but before his monarch had sailed out of sight of land, Macdonald hoisted a flag of defiance.

Macdonald of Saddell was crowned King of the Isles in the chapel of St Columba, on a small island in Loch Finlagan, Islay, where also was a castle, and a harbour with piers and gates to secure the shipping. He stood to be crowned on a large stone seven feet square, and received the sword and white wand of power. Five hundred chosen men formed his body-guard, and out of these there were sixteen picked men to attend him. It is said that a man of great strength, named Macphail, was splitting an oaktree, when Macdonald approached with his sixteen attendants. Macphail appealed to them to lend him a helping hand; whereupon eight of them took hold of the split on the one side, and eight on the other. Then Macphail suddenly took out the wedges, and the two sides of the oak sprung together and imprisoned the thirty-two hands. Macphail, according to the legend, permitted Macdonald to go away; but he cut off the heads of the sixteen attendants with his axe.

One story is told in connection with Saddell Monastery, of the love and heroism of a young girl who was servant to a farmer in Barr Glen, which is on the other side of the mountain of Beinn-an-tuirc, and about seven miles from Saddell. This girl was loved by the farmer's son; but his father disapproved of their courtship; and with a base scheme to get rid of her, told her that he would give his consent to the wedding, if she, on that dark, tempestuous, snowy winter's night, would walk across the hills to Saddell and bring from the old monastery a skull that lay on the founder's tomb. She consented, and went out alone on her perilous journey; and in the morning, returned half dead with fatigue and excitement, But with the skull in her hands. The old farmer would not believe the tale that she told concerning the skull, or that she had brought it from the Monastery. She said that when she had

The chief portion of the old castle of Saddell is a square-built tower, measuring in width about seventeen yards by ten, with a height of about fifty feet. The walls are of great thickness, and are without buttresses; but the summit is embattled and machicolated, with projecting turrets-also machicolated-at the four corners, and a fifth nearly over the chief entrance on the western side. The lower part of the castle has two barrelvaulted rooms pierced exteriorly with narrow arrow-slits; and above these is the principal apartment, having at its north end an arched fireplace ten feet in width. Higher still, are two other floors of rooms, reached by a winding staircase, which is continued to the embattled parapet. The castle was inhabited by the Campbells until the latter part of the last century, when the House was built on the other side of the river, on a somewhat bleak spot, but com

at last got to the old church she found its door manding fina viowa of the shams of Cantina and

Sound of Islay, was another castle, that of Claig, where the Macdonalds kept their prisoners; and another small island was called the Island of Council, where the thirteen judges sat and decided the frequent disputes among Macdonald's subjects,

An angry threat used in Cantire was, 'Dog on you! or Dog and cat on you!' and it is said to have had its rise in the days when the Macdonalds used bloodhounds to hunt escaped prisoners. Wild-cats, according to the Rev. John Macfarlane of Saddell, might be met in the wooded glens at Saddell as late as the year 1843. I was told a story by an aged native of Cantire that bears upon this. 'In the year 1689,' he said, 'my great-grandfather, MacNiven, joined the Scottish Regiment at the age of eighteen, and was sent to Londonderry, which city was then lying under siege by King James II. The sufferings of the people inside the walls were terrible, and many of them perished from hunger. But although the old man my ancestor was upwards of eighty years old when he died, and had many tales to tell of that dreadful siege, and of his many adventures and fightings, yet he always said that he had never felt half so much terror in the thickest of the fiercest battle, as he had felt in combating with a wild-cat. It was on his return to Cantire from the wars, after King James had been defeated by the Prince of Orange at the Battle of the Boyne, and he had got as far on his way home as Alt-nabeiste "the Glen of the Wild Beast"-at Saddell, and had reached the stream, which in those days was not bridged over; but there were large stepping-stones placed in the river for the use of the people in crossing. Well, he had stepped upon the first stone, when a very large wild-cat leaped out of a thicket on the opposite bank, and stood upon a stone on the other side of the stream, fully prepared to dispute the passage. The soldier also prepared himself for the combat by rolling his plaid around his neck and taking his dagger in his hand. The cat watched his movements with glaring eyes; and as MacNiven could not safely retreat, he resolved to advance. This he did, cautiously stepping from one stone to another, in order to secure a firm foothold, if the cat should spring upon him; and he kept his dagger ready to strike. He had hoped to thrust the creature through at the first blow; but quick as he was, the cat was quicker, and sprang upon him so suddenly and with such force, that he lost his balance and fell into the stream, with the wild-cat fastened on his neck. It was well for MacNiven that he had taken the precaution to wrap his plaid there, or the creature's bite might have been fatal. It never loosened its hold as they toppled over into the stream; and as they rose to the surface, it made a dash with its sharp claws at the soldier's eyes. MacNiven received it upon his left arm, and immediately thrust his dagger into the wild-cat's body. The stream was rapid, and reached to his chest, and it was with much difficulty that he could stand firmly on the rocky channel. He tried to hold the cat under the water, but could not succeed; and although

last it was over, and ended in favour of the soldier. He brought its body home, and had its skin preserved. It was as large as a biggish dog; and I have often seen it, and heard my father tell the tale that has been handed down in our family, how MacNiven's direst enemy in battle had been a wild-cat.'

THE FISHERWOMAN OF HONFLEUR.

A TALE OF THE FRENCH COMMUNE.
IN FIVE CHAPTERS.-CHAP. II.

ANTOINE, having, as already mentioned, remained at home for some months after his marriage, at length sailed once more on the long fishingcruise to the North Sea, which usually occupied a period of six months.

At this period the terrible war between France and Prussia was raging furiously. Paris was already threatened with siege, and the Germans were everywhere victorious. But of all the communities in France, the fisher-folk least troubled themselves with political affairs. Not that they were unpatriotic, for they heartily wished success to the cause and arms of France; but the French fishermen enjoy immunity from the military cons onscription-to which all other classes of the people, save the clergy, are more or less subject-on consideration of their being bound to enroll themselves in the national navy whenever their services are required.

So long as Antoine remained at home, Lucien had held himself aloof from Madeleine, who believed that, now she was married, he would cease to annoy her. She did not, therefore, think it worth while to cause uneasiness to her husband by acquainting him with the young man's previous ill conduct towards her. But no sooner had Antoine gone to sea, than Lucien recommenced his insulting importunities. He endeavoured to gain her favour by means of costly presents; but his presents were scornfully rejected, and he was plainly assured that if he did not forthwith cease his annoyances, she would take such measures to put an end to them as would give him cause for regret for the remainder of his life.

Thus compelled to desist from his persecutions and to relinquish his base designs, Lucien became more determined than ever upon revenge; and though he could conceive of no scheme at present by means of which he could carry his craving for vengeance into effect, he resolved to wait and watch his opportunity. Everything comes to him who has the patience to wait,' he muttered to himself as he returned, raging with disappointment, to Paris.

But then came the siege, and for months he was imprisoned within the ramparts of the city, and Madeleine hoped and believed that she had rid herself of him for ever. At length the siege was raised. The Prussians marched in triumph into Paris, and the war came to an end. The Imperial power was overthrown; a Republic was proclaimed; and the vile mob and canaille of

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