of fairy rings in bright succession, and by the last links of all in the sparkling spirit-chain our two hearts seemed united; for in that moment's dreaming I dreamed that it was Felix still beside me-still the hand of Felix that held mine. Then, when thrilled with a faint, strange joy, I looked up in my husband's face, I noticed with what deep devotional intensity of gaze Edmond was clasping my hand, and I understood, then, that Edmond was become one with Felix by his union with me, and that thus the schism of my heart was healed, and all was reconciled and hallowed."

Juliet's friend smiled at these dreamy fancies. And she too said "All is well, and all is reconciled."

Nor was there need, she said, of any fairy snakes from phantom rings, since now, in a new and earnestly accepted duty, the true links had been found, which also should, by faithful exercise of pure and wholesome feelings, be made fast.

So Theresa thought. And Juliet, she said, should not any more be brooding on this buried past, but must now exhort and encourage her own true heart to seize and sanctify the, sober verities of this daily human life, wherein it behooves that we should stand firm upon our feet, that we may not be overcome by the gust of accident.

At that moment the valet of Count Edmond entered the room.

CHAPTER IX.

THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

THE valet had not been able so completely to efface from his clothes and his countenance all traces of the recent struggle but what the two women were alarmed by his appearance the moment he entered.

They both rose before he could speak, and cried in a breath, “For heaven's sake! what has happened?" "He is quite calm, and he sleeps," the valet said. And, prudently suppressing all details of the scene he had just witnessed, he hurriedly explained that his master had been seized by a violent attack of nervous fever. He had already sent for the nearest physician; and he conjured the countess not to go near her husband till she was authorized to do so by the doctor, since, in the first stage of nervous fever, any emotion might prove fatal to the patient.

Juliet was with difficulty persuaded to obey this injunction. But she yielded at last to the earnest entreaties of Theresa.

It was well for her that she did so.

For behind the doors she was was forbidden to enter, Horror was in full possession of his own.

Here was the scene of the count's last battle and irretrievable defeat. The strife had been stupendous; the defeat was overwhelming. Inch by inch, with inflexible patient audacity, the man who there lay

corpse-like, crushed, utterly beaten on that hideous battle-field, had usurped his own liberties in conquering one by one the antagonisms of his own nature. He had left to the realms of his spirit no law but the despotism of an elaborate tyranny. He had succeeded, for he had reigned. On every part of his being he had imposed his power. His success was his failure. All at once, and all together, the banded forces he had long enslaved revolted and overwhelmed the usurper.

Napoleon had found his Waterloo.

The field of battle was strewn with wreck and ravage. Broken furniture, fractured limbs of costly chairs and tables, bruised morsels of gilded frames, shards of precious porcelain, shattered mirrors, horrible splinters of glass, shreds of ripped and tattered drapery, were heaped in dreary disorder all about the tumbled room, and over the soft carpet, in whose rich pile large earthy footmarks still bore witness to that scuffle of brute strength with brute strength.

In the midst of this miserable litter, his clothes torn, his eyes bright with dry unmeaning fire, his lips. smeared with spume and blood, bound hand and foot, upon his broken bed lay the most urbane and knightly noble that ever justified the primeval prerogatives of aristocracy.

And around him, breathless, pale, with blood-spots on their bruised cheeks, with their coarse lips cut and smeared, and their brawny knuckles red and raw, stood his conquerors-four burly, low-browed sons of the stable and the out-house.

Theresa had quickly interpreted the sidelong sup

plicating glance of the valet. As soon as she could safely leave Juliet, she found a pretext to quit the room and rejoin the servant, who was waiting in the antechamber to conduct her to the count's apartments. She felt herself responsible for all that was now to be done, and did not lose her presence of mind.

She ordered the servants to remove the broken furniture, and set the room in decent order. She had thick curtains placed over the windows. She instructed the valet to get the bed put together, and to cover the sick man, who remained bound and senseless.

While this was being done, she descended to the guest-chamber, and excused the absence of the count on the ground that his wife was slightly indisposed. This, as she had anticipated, induced the wedding party to break up and withdraw. When the house was empty, and the last coach-wheels ceased to grate the gravel at the gates, she returned to Juliet.

"Thy cares come early, my poor Juliet!" she said; "but sooner or later care must come, and we must do our best to bear it."

Without giving her time to reply or give way to alarm, she began to prepare her friend for the performance of the duties which might now be required of her.

Meanwhile the doctor arrived. He questioned the witnesses of Edmond's attack, had a long secret conversation with Theresa, examined the patient carefully, and declared that the count's strength was completely exhausted, and that for the moment no new outbreak of dementia was to be feared.

He declared that he would himself pass the first night by the side of his patient. He permitted no one to approach the count, who was still insensible.

Then he unbound the cords. Edmond's long dark locks fell fast beneath the scissors of the doctor's assistant, and compresses of ice were placed upon his burning brow.