and able, from the Past, which we have governed, to become
the Prophets of our Future!"

At this moment Madeline uttered a faint shriek, and clung trembling to
Aram's arm. Amazed, and roused from his enthusiasm, he looked up, and on
seeing the cause of her alarm, seemed himself transfixed, as by a sudden
terror, to the earth.

But a few paces distant, standing amidst the long and rank fern that
grew on either side of their path, quite motionless, and looking on the
pair with a sarcastic smile, stood the ominous stranger, whom the second
chapter of our first volume introduced to the reader.

For one instant Aram seemed utterly appalled and overcome; his cheek
grew the colour of death; and Madeline felt his heart beat with a loud,
a fearful force beneath the breast to which she clung. But his was not
the nature any earthly dread could long abash. He whispered to Madeline
to come on; and slowly, and with his usual firm but gliding step,
continued his way.

"Good evening, Eugene Aram," said the stranger; and as he spoke, he
touched his hat slightly to Madeline.

"I thank you," replied the Student, in a calm voice; "do you want aught
with me?"

"Humph!--yes, if it so please you?"

"Pardon me, dear Madeline," said Aram softly, and disengaging himself
from her, "but for one moment."

He advanced to the stranger, and Madeline could not but note that, as
Aram accosted him, his brow fell, and his manner seemed violent and
agitated; but she could not hear the words of either; nor did the
conference last above a minute. The stranger bowed, and turning away,
soon vanished among the shrubs. Aram regained the side of his mistress.

"Who," cried she eagerly, "is that fearful man? What is his business?
What his name?"

"He is a man whom I knew well some fourteen years ago," replied Aram
coldly, and with ease; "I did not then lead quite so lonely a life,
and we were thrown much together. Since that time, he has been in
unfortunate circumstances--rejoined the army--he was in early life a
soldier, and had been disbanded--entered into business, and failed; in
short, he has partaken of those vicissitudes inseparable from the life
of one driven to seek the world. When he travelled this road some months
ago, he accidentally heard of my residence in the neighbourhood, and
naturally sought me. Poor as I am, I was of some assistance to him. His
route brings him hither again, and he again seeks me: I suppose too that
I must again aid