, as an honest man and a Christian, are excited against that
abominable Company, whose black plots nipped in their bud all those great
hopes, which promised so much for futurity. What remains now of all these
splendid projects? Seven tombs. For my grave also is dug in that
mausoleum, which Samuel has erected on the site of the house in the Rue
Neuve-Saint-Francois, and of which he remains the keeper--faithful to the
end!

"I had written thus far, my friend, when I received your letter. So,
after having forbidden you to see me, your bishop now orders that you
shall cease to correspond with me. Your touching, painful regrets have
deeply moved me, my friend. Often have we talked together of
ecclesiastical discipline, and of the absolute power of the bishops over,
us, the poor working clergy, left to their mercy without remedy. It is
painful, but it is the law of the church, my friend, and you have sworn
to observe it. Submit as I have submitted. Every engagement is binding
upon the man of honor! My poor, dear Joseph! would that you had the
compensations which remained to me, after the rupture of ties that I so
much value. But I know too well what you must feel--I cannot go on I find
it impossible to continue this letter, I might be bitter against those
whose orders we are bound to respect. Since it must be so, this letter
shall be my last. Farewell, my friend! farewell forever. My heart is
almost broken.

"GABRIEL DE RENNEPONT."

CHAPTER II.

THE REDEMPTION.

Day was about to dawn. A rosy light, almost imperceptible, began to
glimmer in the east; but the stars still shone, sparkling with radiance,
upon the azure of the zenith. The birds awoke beneath the fresh foliage
of the great woods; and, with isolated warblings, sang the prelude of
their morning-concert. A light mist rose from the high grass, bathed in
nocturnal dew, while the calm and limpid waters of a vast lake reflected
the whitening dawn in their deep, blue mirror. Everything promised one of
those warm and joyous days, that belong to the opening of summer.

Half-way up the slope of a hill, facing the east, a tuft of old, moss
grown willows, whose rugged bark disappeared beneath the climbing
branches of wild honeysuckle and harebells, formed a natural harbor; and
on their gnarled and enormous roots, covered with thick moss, were seated
a man and a woman, whose white hair, deep wrinkles, and bending figures,
announced extreme old age. And yet this woma