scene not unlike the portraiture we have all seen of the last hours of Napoleon."

The obsequies of Daponte were impressive. His funeral took place at noon of the 20th of August, 1838. Allegri's Miserere was performed over his remains at the Cathedral; the pall-bearers were his countryman Maroncelli, the companion of Pellico's memorable imprisonment at Spielberg, his old friend Prof. Clement C. Moore, and two eminent citizens-the Hon. Gulian C. Verplanck and Dr. Macneven; on the coffin was a laurel-wreath, and before it, on

the way from the church to the Roman cemetery in Second avenue, whither it was borne, followed by a long train of mourners, led by the officiating priests, and the attendant physician,—was carried a banner, and on its black ground was this inscription: "Laurentius Daponte. Italia. Natus. Litterarum. Reipublicæ. et Musis. Dilectissimus. Patria. et Conciorum. Amantissimus. Christianæ. Fidei. Cultor. Adsiduus. In. Pace. et. Consolatione. Lustorum. XVII. Die Augusti., MDCCCXXXVIII. XC. Anno. Batis. Suæ Amplexu. Domini. As cendit.

I.

V.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BARON'S ANTECEDENTS.

It was hardly to be expected that a knowledge of the suspicious circumstances attending Mr. Dassel's flight should continue to be withheld from the family whose peace he had destroyed. Mr. Cameron heard of them within a few days, and at once had an interview with the members of the firm. He was as convinced as they of Dassel's guilt. They told him they had employed detectives-had even sent one abroad, for they felt that the career of so subtle and dangerous a villain ought to be arrested. Mr. Cameron could not but agree with them, and hoped that they might be successful. All his prayer now was to get his darling away from that man, to take her back home-for he no longer had confidence in her husband's kindness to the poor child. That she would be abandoned as soon as he grew weary of her, was the father's agonized belief. Her fortune, in the shape it was in, was completely in his power, and he would have no motive for remaining true to her.

The wretched truth was known also to Elizabeth, for the burden was too great for her father to bear alone; but Mrs. Cameron was spared, for the present, any knowledge of Dassel's rascality. Bitterly did Mr. Cameron reproach himself with having introduced an adventurer into his domestic circle-given him friendship, and, what was more, the friendship of his wife and daughters. Surely, he needed not to reproach himself, for the exile had appealed to his love of liberty and his love of humanity -had approached him as one who suffered for republican principles-and won his esteem as a gentleman of the finest manners and the rarest accomplishments. Louis Dassel, if an adventurer, was not of the common stamp. All that birth or education could do for a man had been done for him. He had

talents, which, put to a better use, would have given him a distinguished position in any country. His smile, his manner, won all hearts.

It was impossible for Mr. Cameron to convince himself of this man's wickedness; and, alas! it was equally impossible for him to disbelieve it. To Elizabeth the father confided his changing moods; she bore the weight of his cares, and a still heavier care of her own. The energy of her character asserted itself. She became the comforter of her mother, relieving her of household cares, affecting a cheerfulness she did not feel, and was to her father a solace greater than he could express. Suddenly she had become the stay of home.

How many, in the last few years, when the shadow of war hung over us, have waited for footsteps which never came? have watched the inexorable mails for the well-known handwriting, which was never again to gladden their eyes? Thus the little family started when a foot sounded on the walk, turning pale if the door-beli rung suddenly, waiting for the letters, which were so plentiful, but never one from her!

About the middle of December there arrived a second letter from Robbie.

"Robbie is partial to you," said her father, playfully, as he handed a sealea missive to Lissa, which had come in the envelope containing his own. "He has always something private for your car."

She made some reply, she could not have told what, and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she took the package and thrust it in her pocket. They were at the dinner-table, and she had no intention of reading that communication in the presence of others. Her mother was deep in the affectionate pages which Robbie had penned for her, her pale face lighted by a brighter smile than it had worn for days.

"Am I to go without my coffee?"

asked Mr. Cameron. He, too, had been cheered by hearing good tidings of his boy, and was less constrained and absent-minded than usual.

"Let me help you, dear father. It gives me such pleasure to see mamma enjoying her letter."

The coffee-urn was placed before Lissa: she measured the white crystal lumps and the golden cream in those exact quantities which he approved; and when she had given him his cup, chatted about a dozen pleasant trifles.

"But why don't you read Robbie's letter, Lissa? Poor boy! he will not write so gayly another time, when he hears what Milla has done,-he loved her so tenderly. I never saw a brother so thoughtful and considerate. Alas, we have none of us any thing to do, now that we no longer have our pet to wait upon!"

Thus every little gleam of sunshine would always glide into the cloud of that overshadowing trouble.

"I have more respect for Robbie's prejudices, now that his dislike for a certain person proves to have been so well-grounded," continued Mr. Cameron, in a lowered tone, to his daughter. "He had sharp eyes, for a boy, certainly," she said.

"Have you a letter, too?" asked the mother, when she had fondly scanned, the second and third time, every word her boy had written.

"Yes, mother; but I have not broken the seal yet. It is about some little affairs of our own, I know."

By some strange magnetism warned of its contents, not when any human eye was upon her would Elizabeth read that communication. After they had returned to the library, and her mother was busy with the pages of a new magazine, she slipped up to her own room, turned the key, lighted the gas, drew forth the envelope, and broke the seal, to read:

"DEAR LISSA: My suspicions were correct. Louis Dassel and Count Konigsberg are one and the same person. Before beginning my studies, I carried out

the plan which I spoke of to you. I took two weeks to investigating a matter which so nearly concerns our own happiness and honor. I went to Baden Baden. Of course, I was very discreet. No one knew that I had any object in asking questions, except to gratify a natural curiosity to hear about a person of whom every one likes to speak, and of whom a thousand stories, both dreadful and amusing, are told. There is a portrait of him to be seen in the house of a person of rank in that city. I contrived to see that portrait, as well as numerous cartes-de-visite, which the photographers have preserved, and of which they are very choice. Those cartes command an enormous price. They are, both portrait and photographs, the form and image' of Louis Dassel. Yet, they are the likeness of Karl Konigsberg, a real count, of excellent family and high position, who ran through with his fortune at the gamingtable, married a beautiful heiress of a rich merchant, attempted to murder his wife, was arrested, escaped, fled the country, and is now, no one knows where, nor whether dead or alive, except you and I.

"Lissa, my dear sister, that woman whom he attempted to murder, and who is his lawful wife, is still alive. She lives, in great retirement, at one of her father's country-seats. She is said to be in a decline, her heart having been broken by the treatment of her husband. Lissa, I am absolutely choked with rage when I think of it. If I were back in America, I am afraid I should shoot that man. As it is, I feel it my duty to denounce him to the authorities. But before taking this step, I think I will wait to hear again from you. Think of it-if it had not been that his attention was diverted to sweet, dear little Milla's humble legacy, you would, before this, have been married to himyou, a Cameron, and my sister, would have gone to the altar with this murderer and bigamist! Never mind my writing, for my hand trembles, I am so angry. I only hope and pray that poor Milla's affections can be untwined from

him, without fatal injury to her delicate frame and sensitive heart. I trust father will thrash him within an inch of his life.

Still, you ought not to give the alarm, so as to allow him to escape. It is our duty to check his career, and you must be prudent until you hear again from me.

"Lissa, I cannot tell what possessed me that night on the porch. Was it the spirit of prophecy? Was it a touch of clairvoyance? I do not wish to attribute it to remarkable sagacity on my part. But the moon shone full against Louis Dassel when he was telling that horrible story of Count Konigsberg. It seemed to illuminate him through and through,-to render him transparent; and I saw and felt and was convinced that the teller of the tale was the chief actor in it. I was fascinated by a certain expression in his eyes,-you could not see him from where you sat. He saw how I was looking into him, and attempted to turn away; but, as I said then, like the Ancient Mariner, he was obliged to go on with his frightful confessions. I could hardly restrain myself from then and there accusing him. I almost shouted it after him, as he ran to catch the train.

"I was never happy after that. Every thing was poisoned by my suspicions. I felt that I must tell you. You remember, I approached you once, and you were offended, and repulsed me. It was a dreadful thing to put into words. And I had no proofs of what I said.

"It was not until after Dassel began to show the cloven foot, by reaching it out after Milla's jewels, that I brought my long-planned resolve into action. I saw no way to prove my own convictions, and to force them upon others, except to come to this country, and gather up the facts. My pride in the name of Cameron, my love for my sisters, would not permit me to rest until I had satisfied myself. I displayed some energy, did I not, in getting here?

this country, I might stumble on the truth. He came very near having an other murder on his soul. He tripped my foot on the gangway, in hopes of sending me to Davy Jones' locker, by accident, and thus keeping me out of his native land, in whose behalf he is such a martyr! Did you suspect it, at the time? I thought, by your face, that perhaps you did. I only hope he has taken the alarm, and deserted our pleasant neighborhood, before my accusations arrive. Not that I wish him to escape justice; but I do wish him to let my little sister alone. Sweetest, dearest Milla! give her a thousand kisses from Robbie. How wilful the little witch can be upon occasion! But do you know, dear Lissa, I love her the better for it. You had better take father into our confidence. Perhaps he will have Count Konigsberg arrested at once.

แ They tell the most extravagant stories of his beauty, his talents, his recklessness at the gaming-table, his taste in dress, his skill as a horseman, what a favorite he was with the ladies, etc. He is a sort of hero, despite his crime-into which, they say, he was led by despair at impending poverty. But it looks to me like cool, deliberate deviltry. However, I am sick of him, heartily, and will say no more.

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Having finished up this unpleasant business, I intend, now, to apply myself to my studies with all my brains, and to remain here, father willing, the appointed time.

"As ever, your own

"ROBBIE."

The letter slid from Lissa's nerveless hands on to the carpet.

"Poor Milla! poor Milla!" she sighed.

And presently the weary, worn-out girl, who had bravely borne so much, slipped after the letter to the floor. She lay there some time, not unconscious, but stupefied and listless, wishing she never might have to arise and confront this new sorrow.

What was there left to pray for now? Only that Milla might die, and never

learn of her own false relation to the man she loved.

Mr. Cameron was disturbed by Elizabeth's long absence, connecting it with something in Robbie's letter. Misfortune had made him nervous and apprehensive. She was aroused from her half-swoon by his knock at her door, ánd voice asking for admission; and, rising, she admitted him.

on us, wasn't it?-doubly at our expense! He has probably gone to that city now, thinking to safely dispose of them after this length of time. Your daughter's jewels, say $40,000, Mrs. Grizzle's, $12,000, and what he obtained from us, would keep the gentleman in ready-money for some time! We think he remained secreted in our store, the night the robbery was committed, al

For answer she gave him the letter. She was frightened at the white-heat of anger which glowed through his face.

"I shall set out at once. I shall not rest until I find him, and get my child. When we meet, let him look out for himself! I will sell house and home to get the means for pursuing the search."

"But think of dear mother, father. We can keep this from her; we must keep it from her."

"It is of no use to talk," he said; "to-morrow I shall see what can be done. Yes, keep the main fact from her mother, if you can; but to-morrow I shall prepare myself to set out in search of my child."

The next day Mr. Cameron consulted again, as he had done several times before, with the firm of Borden & DeWitt, chiefly to learn if they had received any information of the fugitive.

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Nothing positive," said Mr. Borden; "but we have some reason to suppose that he has never left the country. No doubt he led your daughter to suppose they were going abroad, and allowed her to say so in her note, in order to mislead pursuit. In fact, we are almost certain that he is now hiding in St. Louis. An officer went on from here yesterday. It is now our theory that the journey he made last summer, to St. Louis, in the capacity of a detective, was really taken by him in order to convey away the goods stolen from our store. Doubtless his trunk contained the silks and laces after which he and the policeman who accompanied him were looking so sharply. Quite a joke

filled a carpet-bag or two with the goods, and placed the remainder in his desk, which he always kept under lock and key, and with which we did not think of meddling, afterward actually walking out in broad daylight with them, as if they were bundles of soiled linen. We do not think he had any accomplice, nor do we think he intended to kill the watchman, as he was not armed. He expected the fellow would drop into a sound sleep, during which he would effect the robbery, and then leave by the man-hole. But he was probably suddenly confronted by the unlucky watch, who, knowing him by sight, would of course betray him to his employers. To escape this, he murdered the man."

"Every body is disposed to put the best construction on his crimes," muttered Mr. Cameron, as he walked away from the store. They cannot shake off the glamor of his personal attractions."

That same night found him on the express-train which left New York for the West. He had kissed his weeping wife farewell, with the words,

"Cheer up, my dear, we ought to feel happier now that we think we have positive trace of our darling. I hope not to be away over a fortnight. I hope to be home, and my little girl with me, before then. Lissa, you must have the house bright for us when we come back."

How desolate they felt when he had gone! Yet there was the future to look to. In a few days he might be back with that dear child, whose

"Foot seems ever at the threshold,
Yet never passes o'er."