CHAPTER XXXIV.

From the moment in which Miklas was carried to the grave, Mary felt a weakness in her limbs which rendered her incapable of walking without assistance. Electa, who, though glowing with bigotry and fanaticism, was still compassionate towards her, led the half-fainting girl up the staircase which conducted to the turretroom, for Margaret was lying upon the bed absorbed in grief, and unmindful of her beloved lady who so much needed her aid.

Electa, who had never until now visited the chamber of the persecuted Mary, could hardly suppress her astonishment at the sight which it presented. The hard couch was standing near a window, exposed to the biting wind which blew from over the sea; and every article of furniture which could contribute to her comfort was wanting. Electa laid her burden upon the miserable bed, and, taking off her veil, hung it before the window. She found a little water in an earthen pitcher, and sprinkling it upon Mary, succeeded in rousing her. At last the patient opened her eyes, and, looking at Electa's kind face, she said gently,

"You here? What has happened?" and she burst into tears, which seemed in some measure to give relief to her heavy heart. "What is the matter with you ?" said Electa: "shall I undress you, and help you to bed ?"

"consider what you are doing. attend upon me, and I do not Leave me; God will give me

"Dear Electa," answered Mary, They do not like that any one should wish to bring a reproach upon you. strength, unless His will purposes otherwise.”

Electa cast down her eyes: she felt ashamed of the situation or this poor creature, with whom she could not be angry, although she disapproved of her perversity of mind; and she felt that to render some assistance in her weakness was a kindness she ought to show her.

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"I doubt not," said she, gaining courage, "that our reverend superior will allow me to remain with you: I will go and ask her permission."

Mary felt too weak for opposition: but she was scarcely alone, before the fearful fever assailed her, and her brain was filled with frightful images. She lay groaning and powerless, and delirium seized her, without Electa or any one near to help her. The night was already far advanced, and the violence of the fever had abated, when a wild howl was heard near the door of the room. Even in her confusion of mind she recognised the horrible sound which so often disturbed the inhabitants of the castle, and which was caused by the crazy Lady Somerset. A cry of horror broke from Mary's lips when she saw the door open, and the lady enter, carrying a branched candlestick, with two wax tapers in it. Slowly she approached the sick girl, and holding the candle over the couch, fixed her staring eyes on the victim of her fury.

"I am come to take care of you myself," cried she, in a jeering tone; "for I have shut up Electa. Yes, you will soon recover, if you take some of my medicine!"

A frightful laugh followed these words; she set the candlestick upon the ground, and rubbed her hands in anguish.

"It was medicine !" said she, looking up suddenly, and staring beyond Mary, as if addressing some one else. I tell you, it was medicine that I sent to Overbury-not poison! not poison! No, no-not poison !"

She repeated these last words several times, and, looking upon the ground, seemed to have forgotten everything else; while she trembled so fearfully, that her limbs seemed to rattle: then suddenly changing her tone, she exclaimed, looking at Mary,

But you-you shall atone for it! Buckingham now fills the place of which they deprived my Somerset. Duke! duke! shall the boy Villiers be duke, like my husband, and am I not to avenge him? Have I not you safe?—you upon whom he builds so much? Never shall you see them again. The world calls me a poisonera murderer: I will deserve the name: I will deserve it, by means of you!"

Saying these words she flew to Mary, and grasped her throat in all the fury of madness. The unfortunate girl, overcome by fright, had not moved a limb during this fearful scene'; but now that she felt herself in the power of this terrible woman, her strength was roused, and she tore herself from her grasp. When Lady Somerset had overcome her first astonishment at meeting with opposition, her rage was redoubled, and she again seized Mary. This time she did not find much resistance, for the head of the invalid had become hot and heavy, and every object danced before her eyes: however, she made one effort to free herself; but her frame trembled, and, falling to the ground, together with her persecutor, she extinguished the candle which the latter held in her hand.

The darknes which suddenly reigned changed the scene: the lady appeared to forget Mary, now that she could no longer see her, and loosing her from her grasp, rose from the ground.

Where are you, Somerset ?" said she, gently: "speak, my husband: where shall I find thee? Why dost thou wander about alone during the night? Overbury did not die of poison! Thou, thou, at least, art innocent. I seek thee-thou must not die without absolution. Come into thy room-do not die on the staircase, before the church has forgiven thee. His corpse! his corpse ! !" cried she, suddenly, as her foot touched Mary, who was still lying on the floor; and she rushed out of the room, the door of which opened at that moment, admitting the light of a lamp. The furious woman rushed on, and did not stop until she had reached the landing-place at the bottom of the stairs.

Margaret now entered the little room. In the weariness which followed her grief, she had thought of the lady, and stole quietly along the passages to her who was now her only consolation. She found her pale as death; her clothes torn, and her forehead bleeding. Margaret feared that the frightful woman had strangled her, and her grief at this idea almost overpowered her senses; but she soon regained her self-possession; and knowing that there was no help near, she sought for means to save her friend. She laid her upon the bed, washed the blood from her forehead, and bound up a wound which she now perceived, and which had been caused

by the candlestick falling against her. At length she heard a sigh, and presently Mary opened her eyes; but Margaret's delight at finding that she still breathed was changed into anguish when she saw that the invalid either did not understand her questions, or else had not strength to open her lips. She saw also that her eyes stared wildly around her, and that she shuddered repeatedly; and fearing that she was seriously ill, she considered what could be done for her relief.

Additional aid was the first thing to be sought: but how to obtain this she knew not, as the other inhabitants were forbidden to show any attention to the unhappy Mary, and old Miklas, the only one who had dared to disobey Lady Somerset's commands, was gone for She feared that all her attempts would therefore be in vain; and having noticed that her charge appeared uneasy whenever she approached the door, she resolved to remain with her for the pre

ever.

sent.

Morning broke, and sent a cold, cheerless light into the room, before Margaret had decided what course to pursue; for no sooner had any plan arisen in her mind than she was obliged to reject it as impracticable. Meanwhile, the eyes of the invalid continued open, but they bore no expression except that of melancholy. shiverings increased, and Margaret had ceased to speak to her, for she saw that her vain efforts to answer only gave her pain. At last, in fearful anxiety, she knelt down by her pillow, and said in a gentle tone

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"You need not speak, dear lady. I will tell you what I will do, you cannot remain any longer thus: I will go into the castle and procure help. I will lock the door, so that no one may enter while I am away."

The expression of sorrow and fear on Mary's face increased; but Margaret hastened away without saying more, Her first care was to fasten the door; but this was difficult, for the bolt was inside. She considered a moment; and observing some loose stones and rubbish, she piled them up against the door, thus, if not preventing intrusion, at least offering an obstruction to the entrance of any visitor. She knew that Lady Somerset generally passed

the day in bed, after she had been wandering during the night; she therefore hoped to succeed; and hastening along the passages, she did not stop until, on entering her father's apartment, the black walls reminded her of her melancholy bereavement.

"God be gracious to me!" exclaimed she, recoiling when she saw the trestels upon which the coffin had rested until the previous evening. "Alas! my father," added she, falling on her knees, and clasping her hands, "guide my steps; lead me to find succour; for thou wilt bless all that I undertake for this unhappy lady."

She rose, strengthened by this short prayer; and, crossing the room, draw back a black curtain which hung before a closet. Just at this moment she heard the noise of dogs outside the castle gate: the great bell rang; she listened; the gate was opened, and the barking of the dogs led her to conclude that it was the ranger with his hounds. Her thoughts turned to the time when Lanci used to slip in with him, in order to whisper his tender words to her; and sighing as she recollected how distant he was from her, she proceeded to open the closet. She took out a small bag of herbs which her father had used in cases of sickness, and a thick silken coverlet, embroidered with a picture of Adam and Eve, which was a legacy from her mother, and which she thought would be warm and comfortable for her charge. She then went to the fireplace, and filled a small basket with turf, hiding among it a little saucepan in which to prepare the herbs; and was about to return to the turret, when her eye was attracted by the sight of the ranger in the court below. She looked at him with affection: he was her godfather; and, loving both Lanci and herself, had never obstructed them in their childish intercourse.

He stood with his face turned towards the window, and was busied in taking the game out of a basket, which was carried by a boy, who seemed bent double by its weight. Margaret stepped mechanically to the window, and placed her face close to the glass, wishing that he might see her, and come and offer her some consolation for the death of her father. The old man did see her; and the cook, who was standing by, nodded to her. He hastened his business, and, when the basket was emptied, threw the hide with