d curse thee!"

As he spoke, he lifted up one clenched hand towards heaven, laden with
imprecation. And why did not that power, whose vengeance he visibly
defied, launch a bolt against the impious?--Why not reader him, in that
very act, a monument of just and righteous retribution?--"_Shall not the
Judge of the whole earth do right?_" is a master-key that unlocks the
mysteries and ministrations of Divine Providence, however complicated
in their nature and obscure in their design.

As the hoary sinner withdrew his hand, suddenly the muscles of his face
relaxed; a ray of hope had irradiated his spirit--a gleam of delight
passed over his pale features. He grew calm, and with a firm step he
strode across the apartment. He approached the cabinet.

"Thou shalt not escape me now!"--As he said this, he threw open the
doors. Hildebrand had often searched this depository, but the place of
concealment pointed out by the stranger had hitherto escaped his notice.
He soon detected the stratagem--the lid flew back; but the papers of
which he was in search were gone!

The spirit of mischief was again foiled, but his evil genius did not
forsake him. He sat down, and, for purposes of the blackest malignity,
forged a series of evidences--a development of plans and proceedings
that would at once have branded Sir Henry as a coward and a traitor.
These letters he sealed up, and calling for the messenger, committed the
packet into his hands.

"You have Sir Henry's orders to lay these before the king?" said
Hildebrand.

"I have," replied the envoy.

"Then hasten to court, and so good speed. Stay--when you meet Sir Henry
Fairfax, offer him an old man's sympathy and condolence. Break the
matter to him tenderly--and when he returns--I say no more. Away, thy
mission hath need of despatch."

The soldier made a slight inclination of the head as he departed.

Hildebrand Wentworth sat down to reap the fruits of his villany--a
harvest of his own planting. The full fruition of it he now seemed ready
to enjoy; but days and weeks passed by, and still found him feverish and
anxious. The fate of the children--whether the work of destruction had
or had not been accomplished--was still to him a matter of uncertainty.
He had often sent in search of the ruffians, but they had not been seen
at their usual haunts. Guilt whispered that all was not complete.
Restless and oppressed by undefined and terrible apprehensions, he
resolved to end his doubts, an