tem to
which it clings, may wither and die, but it cannot be attached to
another trunk, however skilful the hand of the gardener who would attach
it."

The youth took her hand, and, as she again turned to the window to hide
her increasing emotion, shook his head sadly and doubtfully; then,
returning to his stool, he took the gun-barrel between his knees with a
movement of impatience, and continued his occupation of polishing it,
although his eyes were constantly fixed askance upon the graceful form
of the girl as she leant upon the window sill.

Presently the old woman moved uneasily in her chair, and, placing her
hands firmly upon its arms, as if about to rise from her seat, she
exclaimed aloud--

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will avenge the blood of the
righteous!"

Both Jocelyne and Alayn turned; but, before the fair girl could hurry
to her grandmother's side, she had sunk down again into her chair,
murmuring--

"No, no! enough of blood! enough of vengeance! God pardon him, and turn
the hearts of those who counseled him to this deed."

"Give me my Bible, Jocelyne my girl," said again the old woman after a
pause. "It seems I have not read it for many a long hour. God forgive
me! But my poor head wanders strangely. Ah! is it you Alayn? Good-day to
you," she continued, as if she had then first become aware of the
presence of her grandson.

Jocelyne hastily gave her grandmother the volume which she had laid down
upon the table; and whispering in her cousin's ear, as she passed, "She
has spoken, she will be better now," sat down once more by her side.

A silence again pervaded that still room, when suddenly a noise of steps
resounded upon a wooden stair. They approached the door, upon which a
hurried knocking was now heard. Before Jocelyne, who, at the sound of
these steps, had clasped her hands before her, with an expression of
surprise and almost of alarm, had fully risen from her seat, the door
was flung open, and a man enveloped in a cloak, and with a jewelled hat
sunk low upon his brow, entered hastily.

He closed the door, and then gazed with a rapid glance around him.

Jocelyne had sprung up with a suppressed cry.

"Ah! I am not mistaken," said the man advancing, and removing his hat.
"Jocelyne! Dame Perrotte! I am a fugitive, and I seek a shelter at your
hands. I could not trust myself to those who call themselves my friends;
others who might have protected me, I know not where to find,