niece, they having been detained there for some months on account of the declining

health of the former.

The first glimpse which my poor father had of Adelaide de Frémont decided his fate. He could think of nothing but the lovely Adelaide. How often did he go to the well in the governor's enclosure, whence the prisoners had to draw the water for their use, in hopes of getting a look at the charming French girl!

Fortune favoured him more than once, and my father availed himself of those short opportunities to converse with her, and though far from vain, could not help perceiving that the young Adelaide preferred his attentions to those of his comrades. The more he saw of her the more he loved her, and, to his misery, the more he dwelt on her virtues, the more hopeless it seemed that she should ever become his.

Poor, friendless, and a prisoner, how could he hope, how could he wish that she should partake his miserable lot?

Still he could not refrain from taking every opportunity of seeing and conversing with her; and at last, when one day she was weeping bitterly at her aunt's hopeless state, and when in answer to some question from him he found that she had not another friend upon earth, he could contain no longer, but at once told her all his love and all his fears.

She could not conceal from him that she preferred him and his poverty to those gay and rich young officers who had paid her equal attention.

The time at length arrived when poor Adelaide was to lose the only relative she had upon earth. Her kind aunt, worn out by grief and a painful and hopeless disease, breathed her last in the arms of her affectionate and broken-hearted niece. She, poor young creature, had been solemnly consigned to the protecting care of monsieur the governor by his dying wife, and the gloomy republican promised what, at such a moment, he could not refuse.

He had, however, other cares and other oc

cupations which soon drove poor Adelaide from his mind, and he suffered her to remain where she was from habit, rather than kindness. Her only companion was a faithful old servant of her late aunt, who had served the latter, when, at the time of the frightful excesses at Paris, she was torn from her happy and noble home to be the wife of one of the very wretches who had assisted to plunder and perhaps murder those dearest to her.

With difficulty (and only on condition of becoming his wife) did Duclos, the governor, permit her to rescue and preserve her dead sister's child, the young Adelaide, whom she brought up amidst all her own sorrows with the greatest care, and the dear girl returned her affection with the dutiful love of a daughter.

Madame Duclos had been dead only three months, when, to the dismay of Adelaide, Monsieur introduced into the castle a second

wife. She was a handsome but profligate woman, and brought with her two children, about seven and eight years of age, who, it was said, were by a first husband.

The disconsolate Adelaide soon found that her new aunt was determined that she should only remain at the castle on condition of being made her complete slave. The new Madame Duclos was evidently a very vulgar person, and she exercised her lately acquired authority with unbounded sway. Even her gloomy and determined husband yielded every thing to her wishes; in fact, she ruled the whole fortress with a rod of iron.

Adelaide was installed into the unenviable office of gouvernante to Madame Duclos's vulgar, ignorant, and self-willed children; in addition to which she was expected to wait upon them and their mother all day long. Indeed, she was almost worn to death by the tyranny of this woman and her children.

For a few minutes in the evening she would steal down to the well, where my father waited impatiently to soothe and console her. How great was his agony when he saw her almost sinking under grief and fatigue. She never was allowed to stir beyond the little court, and her health was rapidly giving way under this

unnatural restraint and cruel treatment. What

was to be done? He often thought of persuading her to fly with him to England, though, when there, he well knew he had no home, no comforts to offer her. Still, thought he, she would have peace. We are both young, and I feel certain I could soon earn sufficient to enable us to live comfortably. He thought over this so often, that he began to hope that a plan which he had in his head might be put into execution.

It was this. A few months previously an Irish priest had been added to the prisoners. He was a merry, kind-hearted fellow, and my father determined to sound him as to whether he could be prevailed upon to unite him privately to the object of his affection, if the latter could be brought to consent. This the goodhumoured and thoughtless priest consented to do, provided that his name should never be mentioned as long as he remained in France. This was a great point gained, and my father now waited anxiously for several evenings by the well for my poor mother, but at length when