The eagle sate on the dark grey stone;

They gazed on each other with friendly mien, Each of the twain was a knight, I ween.

WINDRUDA.

That is the song of mighty Hagenulph;

A thousand years, and find no boundary!
Lo! these audacious birds of prey, that wheel
With grim and ghastly shrieks around my head!
Hark to the growling of the wrathful bear,
And the wolf's hungry yell! My way is lost;

I see no happy end to this adventure.
Oh, for the shelter of a peasant's roof!

WINDRUDA (in the doorway.)

Who rides so tall beneath our woodland shades?

CHARLEMAGNE.

HAGENULPH (embracing her.)
What! Knowest thou not his kiss?
WINDRUDA (disengaging herself.)

No, truly no, this is not Hagenulph,
The knightly, and the courteous, and the gentle,
Who wooed Windruda in such noble fashion
From her sire's castle in the Weser-vale.
To Hagenulph his wife was all the world—
And now, he heeds his horse before his wife!
Oh! thine ennobling love hath made this forest
A palace in mine eyes,-myself a queen:
Robbed of that spell, I'm but a hapless woman,
Driven forth by foes into a wilderness.

HAGENULPH.

Not so; thou'rt still a queen of Nature's making, Royal and haughty.

WINDRUDA.

Go, serve thy darling Lightfoot with his food ; See if his couch be smoothed to suit his pleasure.

HAGENULPII.

What, angry with my horse? Rememberest thou,
When the Franks chased us with resistless force,
How, like a noble hart, he sought the woods,
And bare thee, covered with my shield, before me,
Softly, yet with the swiftness of the storm,
Nor paused till thou wert safe? Then didst thou stroke
His silver mane with thy caressing hands :-
Now, must he shiver in the autumn night?
Thou art a lofty dame, a prince's child;
'Twas ne'er the manner yet with noble princes
So to reward the loyalty of friends.

WINDRUDA (caressingly approaching him.)
Hero of mighty heart, thou speakest well.
Is the stall finished for thy trusty steed?

Ay, ay; 'twill do.

HAGENULPH.

WINDRUDA.

Nay, prithee, my beloved,
Go and complete his shelter for the night.
HAGENULPH (kissing her.)

My princely-hearted wife!

[Exit Hagenulph by the side at which he entered. Windruda, signing to him affectionately with her hand, re-enters the hut.

CHARLEMAGNE (enters on horseback from the forest.) Ye heavens how deep and dusky is the forest, As though therein a mounted knight might ride

WINDRUDA (coming forward) Thou art welcome.

Dismount and rest.

CHARLEMAGNE (dismounting, and approaching her.) Come I to Christian inen?

WINDRUDA.

No; to the bravest and most hospitable

Of heathen warriors. Rest thee in his castle!

CHARLEMAGNE.

A castle in these mountain woods?

WINDRUDA (pointing to the hut.) 'Tis there. The castle of great Hagenulph.

CHARLEMAGNE (smiling.) There, sayest thou? Oh, pardon! I mistook it for a hut.

WINDRUDA.

How? In the doorway stands a noble dame;
Within, a hero dwells. Are lime and marble,
Ivory and brass, the honour of a house?
The whole wide forest with its leafy halls
Is as a palace since my lord dwelt there.
CHARLEMAGNE (bowing.)
Forgive me, honoured lady! I have erred.
Your castle is no theme for mockery.

HAGENULPH (entering, carrying game on his shoulder.) Look on my trophies of to-day, sweet wife.

[He begins to hang up the game on the walls of the hut.

Nay, God forbid! But this I freely own,

I feel like one who wanders in a dream;
A noble hero and a lovely lady

In the wild forest! Courtesy and grace
Under a poor hut's mossy covering!

Why, one might deem it glamour's mocking work,
And look to see a momentary change--
The forest, to a baron's lofty towers,-
The dark cell, to a golden hall of pomp,-

The shrieking owls and bats, to maids and squires!
HAGENULPH (smiling.)

Nay, honoured guest, expect not such conclusion;
These weeds conceal no crafty necromancer.
Once, truly, once it was as thou hast said:
But now!-Those castle-halls

Lie desolate beside the Weser-stream,

And sailors sigh when they behold their ruins.

A boon, so ask'd, must never be withholden.
Upon the stream's edge lay my gallant brother,
Wounded and faint; his arm had rescued me,
And on the farther bank I stood in safety.
There came-even now before mine eyes I see
That dark and bloody shape !--there came a knight,
A Frankish warrior, pricking through the forest,
And at his heels a swarm of armed serfs.
Out-numbered thus, and faint, my wounded brother
Stretched feebly forth his naked sword, and said,
Comrade, I yield me thy true prisoner."

Then laughed the Frank,

Cried,

"Out with this base people, root and branch!" Then, scoffing thus, his squires and he did pierce

With their sharp spears that young and gallant heart!
In vain did I, (ah, wretched maiden !) call
For aid to men and gods!

The Frank but laughed more scornfully, and cried,
"Fair maid, I come to kiss thy tears away."
Then, rushing, came my Hagenulph, and swung
His trusty javelin; to the forest depths
The recreant craven fled.

HAGENULPH.

Reproach not me, My noble guest, that still the dastard lives. First was I bound to save my gentle love, And he meanwhile escaped me. Unavenged Beside the wood-stream sleeps my gallant brother.

CHARLEMAGNE.

Thus shall he sleep no more, so help me God! If in the Frankish host I find that villain, Into thy hands will I deliver him;

Thou, noble dame, shalt be thine own avenger.

WINDRUDA.

Sir, do as thou hast promised.

CHARLEMAGNE.

Doubt me not!

As thy true knight will I achieve this deed.
Ere I depart, thy words shall paint to me
The aspect of the knave, his steed, his arms,
That so my vengeance may take certain aim.
But first, kind friends, I pray you answer me,
What is the fire which kindles hearts so true
So to oppose the high and holy teaching
Of the eternal God, who, out of love
To sinful men, became a helpless child?

Who, faithful Shepherd, sought His wandering flocks,
Recalling, teaching, and exhorting them,

Till, out of love, He died a bitter death;
Then, Conqueror of wrath and sin, arose ;
And shall return in light to judge the world,
Receiving to eternal bliss the good,

Where, changeless, in a world of changeless brightness,
Their souls shall join the everlasting psalm!

HAGENULPH.

To speak the simple truth, not much I know,
Nor much have heard, of this thy Christian doctrine.
For once there came a shaveling to my castle,
In a priest's garb-right well I welcomed him;
But he began with his blaspheming words
To mock my father's gods, and thus I thought:
"The spirits of the mighty in Valhalla

Have favoured thee in love, and blest in war;
And when thou goest forth into their woods,

Thy strong heart swells with thankfulness within thee;

Shalt thou endure to hear them scorned? Away,

The priest's a sorry knave!" I took the priest,

And hurled him from my door. The blame was his,

Yet was my wrath a shade too vehement

He fell, and broke his neck! and feud and war

Broke forth upon our desolated land.

The words which thou hast spoken please me well,
And may be true, for I have early heard

A story from the ancient days of Odin,

Of a God's Son who died for love to man;
Of fire sent down to purify the earth;
And of eternal glory, after judgment.

HAGENULPH.

Most true, if they be weaponless or sick;
And true, perchance, if they be stainless women.

CHARLEMAGNE.

No, no, God asks an undivided heart;
Thou canst not be a Christian on conditions!
We must love all at once, and all together,
For all are children of one Father.

WINDRUDA.

Nay,

That burden were too heavy for our hearts.

CHARLEMAGNE.

'Tis like that wondrous mountain in the East;
At first the climber labours with slow steps,
But walks more lightly as he rises higher,
And at the summit treads as if on wings.

(To be continued.)

THE MARTYRED TEMPLAR.

Allered from the German of Spindler.

It was a wild rocky coast; the gale was tremendous, and the waves ran high, so that a young fisherman who had been struggling for some hours to effect a landing, had the utmost difficulty in at last running his little vessel on shore in a narrow sandy cove, the entrance to which was almost concealed by the high cliffs. Here he proposed to remain until the storm should subside, it being too far away from his home to think of returning there by land, in darkness, and over a difficult pathway. His only companion was a boy, who, though not grown up, had strength enough to assist in adjusting the sails, and sometimes in rowing. The remains of a ruined chapel, dedicated to St. John, were about a quarter of a mile distant, and hither the mariners wended their way to seek shelter for the night. Strange stories were circulated with regard to the sacred remains; for the inhabitants of the north of Europe were quite as superstitious, when the incidents of our story took place, some centuries ago, as their descendants are now; and it argued some courage on the part of the young fisherman to venture there at all. They had scarcely reached the old building, and stretched their weary limbs under the part of the chapel still protected by a roof, when the boy started, and whispered to his master, "Hark! do you not hear the sound of men's voices? And there! see a light through the grating that covers the vault."

"Hush!" said the fisherman, " 'creep softly to the grating, and try if you can discover anything without being seen."

The boy obeyed, and informed his master that a great assemblage of men were gathered together below, who seemed to be consulting in a strange language, which he could not understand. They were clad in white mantles, and each carried a drawn sword in his hand; but the indistinct light prevented him discovering more. The young fisherman turned pale at this intelligence, and exclaimed, "God preserve us! These must be the great lords from France, that have taken refuge in our country. Some people say they go to St. John's Chapel to pray, and others that it is for wicked purposes they assemble here! At any rate let us depart, for it is not safe to remain, lest they discover us, and think we are spies." So saying he took the boy by the hand, and dragged him away, but the noise of their footsteps, and the long shadows moving in the moonshine, betrayed them to one of the party, who was stationed outside as a sentinel. "Halt!" was cried in a loud voice; and an armed man in a white mantle advanced with threatening gestures towards them. The boy then threw himself on the ground; the fisherman, kneeling, begged for mercy, assuring his captor that his presence in the chapel was purely accidental.

"What weather, brother?" cried a second man in white, appearing at the door of the vault.

"It rains," said the first; and the questioner instantly disappeared. Had not terror obscured the faculties of the captives, they would have taken the strangers for madmen, as the storm had abated, and nothing could be clearer than the firmament at this moment; the stars were shining brightly, and not a single rain-drop was to be felt. A tall and stately man now stepped out of the vault, and began to question them. The fisherman related everything simply as it had happened, and the boy corroborated his narrative; so that it was easily seen that they were not spies, and that they had had no time to make any discoveries, while, from pure curiosity, looking down the vault. Upon this, the stately looking chief dismissed the lad, ordering him to return home immediately, and, if he valued his life, never to breathe a word of what he had seen and heard. The boy promised all that was required; and, being set free, darted away like a frightened deer, leaving his master in the hands of the strangers.

"You are a fisherman, are you not?" asked the chief. "Do you think that you could convey a man, without luggage or other encumbrance, to the coast of France; set him on shore in the neighbourhood of Calais; and after waiting till he had finished his business, however long that might detain him, convey him safely here again?"

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Why not?" exclaimed the fisherman, after a moment of consideration. 'My boat is an excellent one, or it would not have survived this gale. I have gone to France before, so I understand very well how to steer my way through the high seas. There is nothing to hinder me, provided you give me a suitable reward." "Do not be afraid," said the chief; "I shall take care you shall be handsomely recompensed. In the mean time go and get ready your little bark, for your passenger must embark without delay."

"I must go home first," said the fisherman, who had by this time lost his fear, "to provide food and other necessaries for the voyage."

"That you shall not," said the chief, with an oath. "Your passenger will provide everything; in the mean time you must be watched.”

With these words he re-entered the chapel; and the sentinel in the white mantle accompanied the astonished fisherman to the cove where his little vessel was lying. They had not long to wait; for a fine looking young man, in a dark dress, speedily followed them, and, after handing in a few necessaries, stepped lightly into the boat, and silently sat down on the plank laid across the middle for his accommodation. He took no notice of the sentinel, not even vouchsafing him an adieu; and, making signs to the fisherman to steer, leaned his head on the cross of his sword, and looked moodily at the waves, over which the vessel danced merrily, the storm by this time having completely subsided.

The stranger appeared to be dumb, for during the whole of the following day not a syllable escaped his lips; and when the fisherman that evening put into a little seaport, he handed him money in solemn silence, making signs to him to purchase more provisions. While he rested along the bottom of the boat, during the man's absence, he was careful to conceal his face in his cloak whenever any one approached. On the return of the fisherman he betook himself to slumber, and the poor fellow once more laid hold of the rudder, cursing the stupidity of his companion, who never offered to assist him, nor even cheered him by friendly conversation. Sleep at last unloosed the tongue of the strange passenger; his dreams appeared to be troubled; words escaped from his lips, and were audible to the astonished fisherman, even through the folds of his mantle, which he had drawn over his countenance.

"Will it then be accomplished?" he muttered. "Will the noble building be completed? Shall I mix the cement, and build up the pillars? Oh! master, master!

You might have spared your comrade this duty." Other mysterious words he continued to murmur, which were almost unintelligible.

"Oh, ho!" said the fisherman to himself; "the secret is out now! Well, how I have been mistaken! I thought my passenger had been something extra ordinary, and now I find he is only a common mason, or hewer of stones. And these French gentlemen have probably come to our parts in order to repair, and build again, those chapels and churches which have been ruined by pirates, or during the wars. A most pious undertaking, and one highly to be commended!" At this moment the eyes of the fisherman were arrested by the sword, which hung at the young man's side, and shaking his head, he continued, "Well, well! If I did not take the fellow for a noble knight! However, it does not matter; since a mason's gold is quite as good for my purpose as that of a man of quality."

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In the same manner passed away other twenty-four hours, the young man still preserving the strictest silence, till at last they arrived at Calais, when, for the first time, he addressed the fisherman. "So this is the coast of France!" he exclaimed, as he stood up in the little bark; and looking towards the shore, sighed heavily. The fisherman assented, and asked him where he wished to be landed. The youth seemed overpowered with strong emotion; his breast heaved; his face was flushed; and he took off his hat, and tore open his vest to cool himself, although the rain was falling in torrents. The fisherman, after waiting in vain for an answer, turned the boat's head towards a secluded landing place, at a short distance from the town; and running up close to the little quay, the stranger hastily leaped on shore. A small hut was near, but instead of taking shelter there from the inclemency of the weather, as the mariner advised, the young man told him to hold his tongue; and proceeded himself to inquire, at the cottager's, the road to the chapel of "Our Lady of Tempests." The inhabitants of the hut described the path to be long and difficult; the young man, however, had already taken his resolution. By the third day, at furthest," whispered he to the fisherman, "I shall return." Then, wrapping himself in his mantle, and using his sword as a pilgrim's staff to support his steps, he proceeded along the wet and slippery track which had been indicated. By and by he reached a cross erected at the side of the road; and throwing himself on his knees, embraced the cold stone, while tears filled his eyes. "Mother earth! holy ground, where I was born!" he stammered forth, sobbing; "with what changed feelings do I now behold thee! Would to God it had been spared me thus to return as an assassin to the land of my ancestors! Alas! I must again flee from thee, beloved country, as soon as my vow shall be accomplished! . . . Hail once more to the dear land of France; and, oh! dark night! shield me with thy dusky wings, that no one may follow on my track,-no one watch the deed I am about to do!" Having said these words, he rose, and walked manfully forward towards a distant field, from which a light glimmered faintly. The rain fell more and more heavily, and the way became more difficult; whilst the damp mantle of the traveller clogged his steps, impeding every motion with its weight. The storm raged without; but more tumultuous still were the feelings which contended within the bosom of the youth. By the time he reached the little church, whence the light had proceeded, his strength was nearly exhausted; and he was obliged to sit down to recover himself, while he tried to distinguish the objects around him. "Here is the church," he murmured, "of which the master spoke. There to the right I can discern the large white cross, still visible through the darkness. On the left I hear the gushing of a brook;-all is, in short, as was described. Courage, then! Advance! If not deceived by the mist, I think I can trace the outline of a building, which I must shortly reach.-There is the goal of my labours!"

He was not mistaken, and soon reached the building; it was in the form of a square, and surrounded by a field inclosed by a stone wall, a small gate forming the entrance. The young man sprung over it, and passing by numerous implements of agriculture piled against outhouses, reached the entrance of the building, and climbing up the ruinous steps, gave two loud and quick knocks on the door, which he followed after a second or two by a third, long and resounding. A dog within the house now began to bark. No one came, however, and the stranger was obliged to repeat the signal, which he did in exactly the same manner. At length a man's voice was heard, asking what was wanted.

"I am a poor and hungry pilgrim, who has lost his way," replied the youth. "Can you give me shelter?" After a short pause a light was seen through the window, steps approached, the bolt was withdrawn, and the door opened. The stranger had meanwhile laid his hand on the hilt of the dagger which he wore below his clothes; but his purpose faltered when he beheld the man who advanced to greet him. Benevolence and frankness were depicted on his countenance, as he welcomed the wet and weary wanderer. The hand of the youth sank powerless as he relinquished his dagger, and his tongue stammered as he inquired, if he were now in the presence of the proprietor Gilbert. The man replied in the affirmative.

Then I greet you in the name of God, and of St. John, whom we both acknowledge as our patron," said the youth, holding out his hand. "And I call upon you to greet me at my entrance under your roof." At this salutation, Gilbert staggered back astonished, while the mysterious grasp with which the unknown pressed his hand increased his fear and bewilderment.

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Why do you not respond to my greeting? Why not make the sign with your hand?" asked the stranger, boldly. "Brother Perrail, that is not right!"

Ashy pale, Gilbert supported himself against the wall. "Then you know?" he stammered; but soon recovering himself, he continued. "Let us see," said he, "if some rogue is not mocking me. Your pass word?" Notuma," replied the youth.

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"Give me the word!" continued Gilbert, in an anxious and threatening tone.

"Tell me the first letter. . . . I shall then give you the second," answered the stranger.

In this manner they made out the word. Gilbert had no longer any doubt. He clasped his hands together, and whispered, " Man, what wouldst thou in my house, that thou comest upon me like a thief in the night?" "I want bread, salt, fire, and shelter," replied the stranger.

"Dare I trust you?" inquired Gilbert, with some hesitation. "Are we not bound by an oath?" said the stranger. "Alas! the oath ! sighed Gilbert, whilst his head sunk upon his breast. "Calm yourself," rejoined the youth. "I am a runaway like yourself; therefore am I come to you."

Gilbert scrutinized him for some moments with attention, and then shook his head distrustfully. At last he closed the door, and led his singular guest into an apartment, in the corner of which stood a plain, but clean-looking couch. He then set bread and wine before him, and, stirring the fire, proceeded to dry his wet mantle.

"I wish you a sound and peaceful slumber," he then said to the youth, who in silence watched all his proceedings. "You are in perfect safety in my house. To-morrow we shall talk more."

"Gilbert!" cried a soft and pensive voice from an adjoining apartment. "Where are you? With whom are you talking?"

"I am coming," replied Gilbert, calmly, as he shook hands with his guest.

"Is that your wife, Brother Perrail?" asked the latter, in a significant whisper.

"Yes! my wife," replied the host, in a firm voice, after a moment's pause; and then withdrew, saying Good night to the stranger.

The youth long remained standing before the fire, watching the burning embers, and plunged in contem plation. Now and then he pressed his hand on his breast, as though he would thereby calm the tumultuous emotions within. "And shall I bring death into this peaceful house?" said he to himself. "This man, upon whose calm brow is legibly impressed benevolence and truth, utterly incompatible with the perjury of which he is accused, shall I blot him out from the land of the living, and make his wife, whose soft voice so touched my heart, a widow?.. Uncle cruel, cruel uncle! what a price hast thou set upon my admission into thy order!' He now paced in great agitation up and down the apartment. Shame on thee, Guy!" said he then to himself. "Dost thou shudder at the trial? Oh! wherefore did my arm tremble when I entered this abode? Wherefore did I not smite the perjured and accursed one to the earth, thundering in his ears, 'This is the last greeting of the grand-master and companions, perjured brother of the order?'-then all would have been done. Oh, incomprehensible destiny! why didst thou restrain my arm? Why dost thou compel me to pay hospitality with ingratitude. nay, with bloodshed? for the deed must be done. Oh, that some friendly spirit would warn the unhappy wretch to take flight! If he only would make use of this night's delay! happy then should I be; my obligation would be fulfilled, and with pure hands I should return to the brotherhood. May God, and the blessed Virgin, and the holy St. John, direct me what to do!" Then, committing himself to the Divine protection, the agitated youth, overpowered by fatigue, forgot his perplexities, and fell asleep.

Late the next morning, a sudden noise awakened him from a troubled dream. He fancied that he beheld his host standing beside his bed with a drawn sword in his hand, and that he uttered these words:

"Die thyself!-thou who camest to sound my funeral knell !"

Half asleep, and unable to distinguish imagination from reality, he started up with a loud cry, and grasped his sword. Then, for the first time, he became aware of the presence of a very beautiful woman, with an infant in her arms, who stood near his bed. He sank back confused, while the same sweet voice that he had heard the night before calmed his perplexity.

"Be not alarmed, dear sir," said the fair lady. "You must have had a frightful dream, since you are so agitated by the voice of a weak woman like myself, who now comes to bid you welcome. You have slept long; the sun is now high in the heavens; and I bring you your breakfast."

Heartily ashamed, Guy took a basin of rich soup from the white hands of his hostess, and inquired, hesitatingly, whilst he looked around," Where is Perrail?"

"I do not know whom you mean," replied the beautiful woman. "Of whom do you speak?"

In some confusion Guy struck his forehead, and then spoke more firmly: "Pardon me, I mistook! I meant to ask about your husband, Gilbert."

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"He has gone to the fish-pond to catch fish," replied Blanche, for that was the name of the fair lady. You know this is maigre-day, and my husband wishes to provide you a good dinner."

God be praised!" said Guy to himself, in the strong conviction that Perrail had guessed his errand, and was now saving himself by flight from the vengeance of the order. Joyfully he now raised his eyes towards his kind hostess, and sank them again, lost in admiration of her beauty. Her simple attire added nothing to her loveliness, but, on the contrary, borrowed charms from it; while, as she stood before the youth, with the innocent child in her arms, she seemed to him a living image of the Madonna. A rough dog, of enormous size, crouched

humbly at her feet, and jealously watched every motion of his mistress.

"The soup is most excellent," said Guy, as he laid down the empty basin. "May God reward the hospitality you have exercised towards a stranger! And now, pardon me for asking, has your husband explained to you the business which has led me here?"

"He

"I know nothing about it," replied Blanche. did not tell me whether he knew you before or not, and has not alluded in any way to the business which brings you here. It is more my duty to attend to ou guest, than to ask questions concerning him."

"But has not.... I mean Gilbert, explained.. in short, made you acquainted with the circumstances of his past life?" rejoined Guy.

"Oh, yes?" replied Blanche, with the simplicity of a child. "His occupation has always been known to every one. The life of a master mason is necessarily commonplace, and without adventure, unless during the time passed in travelling to learn the trade. Gilbert's life has been like the rest. He was born in the city of Arles, and journeyed about in his youth, till he became a master. Then he took a fancy to revisit France, the land of his birth, and passing through Calais, got acquainted with my father, to whom this farm belonged, part of the former possessions of the Templars, the ruins of whose hospital can be seen from this window. My father and Gilbert formed a strong friendship, and, after a while, the latter gave up his trade, and took to agriculture, when he married me. My father did not long enjoy the assistance of his honest son-in-law. He died, and was consoled on his deathbed by the thought, that he was leaving me to a kind protector. Believe me, kind sir, Gilbert is one of the best of men, and is respected throughout the whole country. But perhaps you knew him before, and I am tiring you with my talk."

"On the contrary," said Guy, "you interest me greatly. But what is keeping Gilbert? He is very long in returning; perhaps the pond is at a distance."

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"No," replied Blanche, "it is quite near. I begin to wonder also that he is so long."

"God

"God be praised!" whispered Guy's conscience; for all conspired to confirm his previous conjecture. be praised! He has escaped, and I am spared the commission of an act which would have filled me with remorse to the end of my days. My errand is accomplished, and, to avoid any unlucky mischance, I shall instantly return to where I left my little vessel." Then, wrapping himself in his mantle, and grasping his sword, he strode towards the hearth, where Blanche was busily preparing some food. Farewell, kind hostess!...." he hurriedly began, as though he feared to be detained; accept my warmest thanks for your hospitality. I must depart immediately. Farewell!"

Blanche raised her eyes in astonishment, unable to account for this sudden resolution. "Are you obliged to go?" she inquired. "How? What is this? I know not what you mean? Is it possible that I have offended you?"

On the contrary, you have gained my esteem and friendship," replied Guy, in great agitation; "and for that very reason I must depart."

"I do not comprehend you. My husband, Gilbert, will be very much grieved when he finds you gone at his return.'

"I wish to go before his return," continued Guy. "I wish to spare both him and myself a painful meeting. Unfortunate woman, do not detain me! The happiness of your life is departed, should I remain." Once more he pressed the hand of Blanche, and turned towards the door; but started back as though annihilated..... for on the threshold he met Gilbert.

(To be concluded in our next.)