lisman
that would yet conjure away her sorrows; and it did! but alas! in a way
little anticipated by the constant girl! A blast from hell was at hand
to sweep away her young life, and with it all her earthly troubles.

She took up a guitar mechanically, as it were, and as her fingers
wandered over the strings, a bar or two of the strain, sad as the sigh
of a broken heart, suggested an old ditty she had loved formerly, when
her heart was full of sunshine and happiness, when her fancy used to
indulge in the luxury of melancholic musings, as every happy, sensitive,
and imaginative girl will do as a counterpoise to her high-wrought
feelings.

In a low voice, sweet and plaintive as the breathings of an Aeolian
harp, Caroline sang her Minne-song:--

"'A linnet sat upon a thorn
At evening chime.
Its sweet refrain fell like the rain
Of summer-time.
Of summer-time when roses bloomed,
And bright above
A rainbow spanned my fairy-land
Of hope and love!
Of hope and love! O linnet, cease
Thy mocking theme!
I ne'er picked up the golden cup
In all my dream!
In all my dream I missed the prize
Should have been mine;
And dreams won't die! though fain would I,
And make no sign!'"

The lamps burned brightly, shedding a cheerful light upon the landscapes
and figures woven into the tapestry behind which was concealed the black
door that was to admit La Corriveau.

It was oppressively still. Caroline listened with mouth and ears for
some sound of approaching footsteps until her heart beat like the swift
stroke of a hammer, as it sent the blood throbbing through her temples
with a rush that almost overpowered her.

She was alone, and lonely beyond expression. Down in these thick
foundations no sound penetrated to break the terrible monotony of the
silence around her, except the dull, solemn voice of the bell striking
the hour of midnight.

Caroline had passed a sleepless night after the visit of Mere Malheur,
sometimes tossing on her solitary couch, Sometimes starting up in
terror. She rose and threw herself despairingly upon her knees, calling
on Christ to pardon her, and on the Mother of Mercies to plead for her,
sinner that she was, whose hour of shame and punishment had come!

The mysterious letter brought by Mere Malheur, announcing that her place
of concealment was to be searched by the Governo