“We do; but he is a traitor, and if you expect us to work for you in such life-taking business as we have lately been engaged in, you must let us have our way in this instance.”

“Very well; if you will be cautious and commit no others but yourselves I shall not oppose you.”

“We’ll take care on that point.”

“Remember to-morrow.”

“Never fear.  She shall be yours before the setting of the sun.”

Again the villains parted; but Duffel was not well pleased with the demand the ruffians had made of him, until a new thought struck him, and he said to himself: 

“That will do.  I will get all I want out of them; and then to save trouble and to be sure of my own secret, I will have them arraigned before the Order for killing a member, and they shall suffer the penalty, death.  I will then be free from fear.  Capital!  Everything is working to suit my purposes!”

Exulting wretch! would to heaven the vengeance of an angry God could overtake you, ere your schemes of fiendish crimes and dark murders are completed.  But, alas for the innocent, crime is yet in the ascendant!

* * * * *

In a pleasant grove, a part of the old forest yet standing near to the dwelling of the Mandevilles, sat Eveline, beneath the shade of a friendly tree, in a spot rendered sacred to her by endearing associations and holy memories, musing on the past with heart cheering pleasure, on the present with sadness, and the future with hope.  So absorbed had she become in her own meditations, time fled unheeded, and the world was forgotten—­forgotten all, save only two beings, the loved and absent Charles—­with whose well-being or misfortunes her own fate was strangely blended—­and herself; but of herself in the single light in which the mysterious ties of love united her to him.

How long she had thus remained absorbed in her own reflections she knew not, when her attention was drawn from her own thoughts to outward things by the approach of a very neatly dressed gentleman, who, addressing her in the most respectful manner, inquired: 

“Does Mr. Mandeville live in this vicinity?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, at the same time rising to her feet.  “That is his residence yonder, which you can just distinguish through the surrounding trees.”

“A beautiful place!—­May I be so bold as to inquire if you know whether I will find him at home to-day?”

“No, sir, he is not at home.”

“Perhaps I might still presume on your kindness, and inquire if he has not a daughter that is or has been afflicted, and if she is already convalescent, or is likely so to be soon.”

“His daughter has been very sick, but has recovered.”

“Would she—?  But perhaps you do not know her history?  Has she any friend now absent, from whom she would be pleased to hear, do you know?”

“What is the object of the question, sir?”