CHAPTER XVI.

As nothing was to be gained by prolonging his stay at the château, and no time was to be lost if he meant to take any steps for the discovery of Jeannette Isabelle, our hero, as soon as he had received this melancholy information, took once more his departure for Paris. The painful news which he had just received, fell upon him with the weight of a thunderbolt. Borne down already by the affliction of his father's death, and the loss of his brother, he had sustained himself up to the present moment, by the sole hope and prospect of meeting with our heroine. Now that he found himself bereaved of this resource, and, more than this, embarrassed by the additional difficulty of discovering the path which she had taken, or the place of her retreat, he was totally overcome by his wretchedness, and the young peer spurred his horses along the

road to relieve his agony of mind by the rapidity of the motion, and the physical operation of bodily exertion. There seemed to be little doubt, that the person in the carriage, who had carried off Jeannette Isabelle, could be no other than Lord Clanelly, and the thought of this well nigh infuriated our hero to madness. It was the thought of the terrible revenge, which he still burned to inflict on that individual for his accumulated wrongs, that still supported him through this severest trial of all. He would not stoop to tears-he was of too proud a nature to bend beneath the storm

"Rats die in holes and corners; dogs run mad;

Man hath a braver remedy for sorrow:

Revenge! the attribute of gods!"

and with this sentiment of Pierre impressed upon his heart, he proceeded on his way.

Oh! Love, so tender in thy beginnings, so terrible in thy results! can then such fierce defiance, and such blood-thirsty wishes, proceed from thy soft and gentle influence! Small, at first, and secret, like the gurgling fountain of some mighty stream, which steals quietly along, and winds its way among the matted grass, presently thou enlargest the scope of thy dominion, and hurriest on the

impetuosity of thy career, till nothing can stand before thy waves. Thy cataracts carry with them the solid rock over the stunning precipice-thy torrents whirl, and foam, and dash about, like a tempest. Thy course rolls on-and the ocean is before it—there is no end but death to thy dominion. Mighty god! Deity of noble natures! Oh! Love, how is thy worship profaned, how is thy name taken in vain, how is thy majesty blasphemed and thy glory disparaged by the frivolous offerings of little minds and narrow hearts upon thy altar! Many, indeed, are the votaries that do unto thee lipservice-many are the tribes that call upon thy name; but they to whom it is given to feel thy inmost mysteries are few. They who are privileged and chosen from the crowd to be thy high priests in thy temple are very small in number. Love is not a thing that passeth away and is soon forgotten. It abideth ever-it is eternal—it is almighty. It is a mockery and a burlesque-it is worse than profanity to hear the way in which people speak of love, who do not and cannot understand it. It is one, and simple, and undivided—it is the jealous god of a terrible and exacting religion. You must put your faith in him, and he will not desert you-you

must trust in him, and he will abide by you unto the end. Tender and gentle as the breath of the sweet south; when he is wronged and roused, he comes forth like a giant from his slumbers-like a giant refreshed with wine. The myrtle of Amathus -the Cytherean jasmine—the rose of Paphos-are twined around his brows, but he sleepeth not always in the lap of Cyprian luxury-he riseth up-he clotheth himself with strength-he putteth on his armour-and he laugheth in the face of his foes. Woe unto them that defy him. Verily they shall have their reward!

Lord Furstenroy, as we must henceforth call our hero, on arriving in Paris made every enquiry respecting Lord Clanelly which was likely to throw any light upon his movements. At his hôtel, at his club, at every possible or probable haunt of that nobleman, he instituted, in his own person, the most minute and particular investigation; but without result. He had left Paris a few days previously, immediately after the fatal duel, with post-horses, and he was expected every day to return; but, as yet, no certain information could be obtained with regard to his movements: even his late second, Mr. Fivebars, declared himself entirely ignorant on the subject.

Our hero, who had arrived again in Paris late in the night of the fourteenth, or rather early in the morning of the fifteenth, instant, passed a restless and miserable interval; and having prosecuted his search the ensuing day in the forenoon, till a late hour, without success, as he passed quickly down the Rue Vivienne, turned into Roussel's fencingrooms, partly from the hope of meeting some one there who might give him the information which he sought, and partly to relieve, by violent bodily exertion, that restlessness of mind, which is the most torturing misery to which human nature can be subjected. He was unwilling to expose himself publicly anywhere during the peculiarly delicate position in which he was placed by the recent event of his father's death; but his mind was in that excited condition, that he scarcely reflected on what he did. To obtain a moment's respite from the agony he endured, was the first wish present to his mind; and he entered the room, took down his foil from the stand, put on a mask, and without changing his dress, stood ready to face his antagonist-one of the pupils of the school-in a few seconds. It may be that on entering here, he even secretly wished in his heart for this opportunity of trying his skill in