and heartily
glad was he when the task was completed, and everything save the address
appended. It was now sealed, and by Ravitzky's advice deposited within
the linings of Frank's pelisse, till such time as a safe opportunity
might offer of forwarding it to Walstein.

The task occupied some hours; and when it was completed, so tired was
Frank by former exertion and excitement, that he lay down on the floor,
and with his head on the sick man's bed, fell fast asleep. Such had
been his eagerness to finish this lengthy document, that he had never
perceived that he was watched as he wrote, and that from the little
copse beside the window a man had keenly observed him for several hours
long.

Ravitzky, too, fell into a heavy slumber; and now, as both slept, a
noiseless foot crossed the floor, and a man in the dark dress of a
priest drew nigh the bedside. Waiting for some seconds as if to assure
himself of the soundness of their sleep, he bent down and examined their
features. Of the cadet he took little notice; but when his eyes fell
upon Frank's face, pale and exhausted as he lay, he almost started back
with astonishment, and for several minutes he seemed as if trying to
disabuse himself of an illusion. Even the uniform appeared to surprise
him, for he examined its details with the greatest care. As he stood
thus, with the pelisse in his hand, he seemed suddenly to remember
the letter he had seen placed within the lining; and then, as suddenly
drawing out his penknife, he made a small aperture In the seam, and
withdrew the paper. He was about to replace the pelisse upon the bed,
when, by a second thought, as it were, he tore off the envelope of the
letter, and reinserted it within the lining.

A single glance at it appeared to convey the whole tenor of its
contents, and his dark eyes ran over the words with eager haste; then,
turning away, he moved cautiously from the room. Once in the free air
again, he reopened the paper, his sallow features seeming to light up
with a kind of passionate lustre as he traced the lines. "It is not--it
cannot be without a meaning that we are thus forever meeting in life!"
cried he; "these are the secrets by which destiny works its purpose, and
we blindly call them accident! Even the savage knows better, and deems
him an enemy who crosses his path too frequently. Ay, and it will come
to this one day," muttered he, slowly; "he or I,----he or I." Repeating
this over and over, he slowly return