act of our prosperous life was sheltering and saving one of the noblest supporters of the royal cause.' Madame de Souland clasped her chil

dren to her bosom, while tears streamed from her eyes.

All at once a yell was raised amongst the bloodhounds, and the cry of "Burn the house! Serve it as we served Maulevrier last night— smoke the fox from his hiding-place!" was universal.

In an instant they rushed from the building, and lighting torches made of the broom growing round about it, set fire to it in various places, and having done so, withdrew in such order as to surround it so that no human being could escape from the blazing ruins before them.

The moment the flames curled round the walls, the wretched Madame de Souland rushed into the balcony over the door, her two daughters clinging senseless to her arms, screaming for help-for mercy.

"In the name of Heaven raise a ladder! not for me-not for mebut my poor children. Oh, save them!" and in an agony of despair she lifted up one of her beloved girls as if to excite the compassion of the incendiaries.

The agent of Carrier smiled.

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Captain," said he, "I should like to have a shot at those roy

alists."

"The man who fires, dies by my hand," said Marcel, in an agony of despair and disgust.

At that moment two shots were heard, and in an instant two of the three victims in the balcony, which had just taken fire, lay drenched in blood.

Marcel rushed to the Man of the People, who had done this deed, and crying out, "Miscreant! you have realized your dreadful intention-I fulfil mine." At which words, placing the barrel of his pistol close to the barbarian's head, he pulled the trigger, and the murderer was a corpse.

This was a desperate step-the coolness and firmness of Marcel, and the sight of the fallen monster, had their effect upon the soldiers-they gazed with astonishment, but murmured not.

"There were three," cried Marcel," two only have been butchered. Citizens, they are women-help me to save the third."

An affirmative shout of willingness was the answer. The balcony was scaled-Marcel leading the party who joined him-he rushed past the bleeding bodies of the poor innocents who had fallen, into the midst of the house; the rafters glistened in the fitful breeze, and the beams crackled under his feet-amidst the dense smoke which still filled the more remote parts of the building, he forced his way-a dreadful crime had been committed, and Marcel had sworn never to leave the burning ruins, unless the unhappy girl, now become an orphan, was the companion of his return. In vain he sought-he could find no trace of her; the flames were towering up; every moment added to the perils of his position. Still he flinched not, failed not, till at the very last instant of hope, at the end of a corridor, of which the flames had only just seized hold, he saw a female figure stretched upon the floor. At one bound, he reached the spot where she lay, she was senseless and cold as death, but she yet breathed: Marcel raised her up, and placing her in his arms, retraced his hurried steps.

along the burning floors till he again reached the balcony. His precious burden was happily unconscious of the work of horror going on. The flames were already devouring the blood-stained bodies of her mother and sister over which he had to tread.

The ladder by which he had ascended, was steadied by the men below, and Marcel brought the rescued Innocent safely to the ground. Then did his noble heart overflow-then did gratitude take place of intrepidity, and tears fell from his eyes.

"Let us, my friends," said he, to the soldiers, "complete this act of expiation which has been so well begun-let us protect this helpless girl who now has nowhere else to look for protection."

The appeal had its effect-the unfortunate creature was no longer an aristocrat a royalist; she was an orphan, whose mother and sister had been killed-a countrywoman, whom their captain had rescued from death-the sentiment expressed by Marcel, was unanimously adopted.

The generous-hearted victim to political phrensy, watched over his youthful charge with a fraternal solicitude, and suggested to his comrades the absolute necessity of removing her from the dreadful scene of her distress and bereavement before she recovered sufficiently to be aware of what had happened; expressing his opinion that the right course to pursue, would be to place her in security at the first farmhouse which they might reach-à proposition only rendered questionable by the fact, that the active operations of the revolutionists in advance had left scarcely a farm-house standing in their line of march. It is true that the houses of the ci-devant nobility and gentry had been specially marked for destruction by the levellers, and the axe and the firebrand had amply fulfilled their duty; but when the bettermost dwellings were gone, the mad fury of popular desperation, which no argument can check, or no reasoning control, fell upon the farms and cottages. At Marcel's suggestion, a sort of litter was constructed, upon which the poor sufferer was gently borne along; nor was it for a considerable time that she evinced any symptom of returning consciousness. The moment at length arrived-the moment which Marcel, who had never quitted the side of the litter, so anxiously expected, and so deeply dreaded.

In that moment a confused recollection of all the horrors to which she had been exposed, flashed into her mind; she raised herself on the litter-she gazed about her-she found herself the prisoner of the men by whom she was surrounded-she gave another wild look around, and hiding her face in her hands, one word only forced itself from her lips.

"Mother-mother!" cried she, in an agony of doubt and fear. "Young lady," said Marcel, "assure yourself that you are in perfect safety-compose yourself-be calm."

"But where?" cried the unhappy girl; "where is my motherwhere is my sister.-Oh! give them to me-bring them to me-why am I alone-whither are you taking me-why am I deserted-why unprotected ?"

"You are neither," said Marcel, in a soft and tender voice; "you have a protector near you who, from this day, will never desert you; who will be ever ready to sacrifice his life and his fortunes for youa friend whom misfortune has raised up to you. I am that friend -do not tremble-you have nothing to fear."

"But my mother! my sister!" repeated the distracted girl, scarcely conscious who it was to whom she was speaking.

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"Alas!" said Marcel, a heavy blow has fallen upon you-your mother and sister are no more-your peaceful home exists no longeryou have been preserved by almost a miracle. I swore to save you, and I have done it. I have need of all my firmness to keep these men in order for your own sake do not unnerve me by the sight of your sorrow -dry your tears-suppress your sighs-we have yet many difficulties to encounter that we conquer them, depends upon your own resolution." Mademoiselle de Souland was very young, but yet aware of the wisdom of the Captain's advice. She struggled hard to conceal the agonies of grief which she was suffering, but again burying her face in her hands, implicitly yielded herself to the council and conduct of the stranger, who appeared to be so deeply interested in her fate.

The first place at which they arrived, in which he could hope to find any thing like a suitable asylum for his fair charge, was Chatillon-surSevres, which had already been taken and retaken twice by the Vendeans, and the troops of the much-dreaded Westermann. Marcel looked forward anxiously to reaching this point, inasmuch as he had, some time before, been quartered in the house of a widow, one of its most respectable inhabitants.

He lost not a moment in confiding Mademoiselle de Souland to the care of this exemplary woman; and having told her all that had happened, succeeded in creating a warm feeling of sympathy in her heart for the young lady-not the less readily excited by the fact that the widow herself had suffered, sadly and deeply, during the civil war. Here the gallant Marcel left her-nor was it till time developed to the poor young lady all the dreadful circumstances connected with the death of her mother and sister, that she could duly appreciate the noble conduct of her preserver and protector. Time, also, soothed and softened the sorrows of her heart, and the grief with which she continued for some months weighed down and oppressed, was not unfrequently chequered with feelings of solicitude concerning her gallant and disinterested preserver.

Constantly engaged in the various campaigns in which "regenerated France" was perpetually engaged-ordered from one place to another -either to attack or defend-Marcel had no opportunity of seeing the orphan for many years; but she was never absent from his thoughtsthe scene of devastation was constantly before his eyes. He contrasted in his mind the death-like paleness of the unhappy girl, as he bore her, at the peril of his life, amidst the crackling ruins of her home, with the graceful gentleness of manner, and sweetness of expression, which distinguished her when she so short a time before, had joined her mother in welcoming him to their roof. In point of fact, throughout all the eventful scenes of his active life, even in the breach, or the battlefield, the thoughts nearest his heart, and dearest in his memory, were those of Mademoiselle de Souland.

Time wore on, and the fortunes of war again brought Marcel into the neighbourhood of Chatillon; but he was no longer a captain-he had risen to the rank of brigadier, the reward of many meritorious services. The moment he had made the necessary disposition of his troops, he hastened to the house of the widow-the asylum of his beloved.

In

that humble dwelling, in her simple mourning he found her, more lovely than even he had ever fancied her, ever in his brightest dreams. He approached her with mingled respect and tenderness, and tears filled her eyes as she extended her hand to welcome him.

"Ah!" said she, endeavouring to conceal her emotion, "how truly grateful I am for this visit! it was not until after we had parted that I was fully aware of the extent of my debt of gratitude to you for your noble conduct to me, and your endeavours to save those who are gone; believe me, the recollection is engraved on my heart, and never will be obliterated."

"Those events," said Marcel," are equally impressed upon my mind, and neither time nor space can efface them. In the dark hour of death and danger, I swore to be your protector-that oath is registered in Heaven! You see before you a brother, who desires only to know your wants and wishes, to supply the one and realize the other; all I ask is, that wherever fate or fortune may lead or drive me, your thoughts may be with me; confide to me your sorrows and your hopes, and if fate should deny me the happiness of sharing them, it will be the first object of my life to secure your comfort and tranquillity. The events of that one dreadful day have linked us to each other inseparably."

Tears fell from the bright eyes of Mademoiselle de Souland, and Marcel if he wept not, felt as deeply as she did. She pledged herself to take no step in life without consulting him, and to keep him always acquainted with her circumstances and proceedings. He was delighted with her ready compliance with his wishes, and in the midst of vows and promises of friendship and esteem, forced himself away from her; the impression being strong upon his mind that they should never meet again.

A few days afterwards, Colonel Marcel was ordered to join the army of Italy.

Time wore on, and neither the royalist lady nor the republican soldier forgot their vows. Whenever an opportunity offered, they corresponded with each other; those opportunities, however, grew more rare as the war advanced.

When tranquillity was re-established in La Vendée, the orphan daughter of the murdered Madame de Souland was put into possession of her patrimonial estate; the revolutionary government not having the power to order its sale, inasmuch as she, the representative of her family, had not emigrated. Her suit, however, had been zealously pressed by Marcel, who had become one of the most distinguished officers in the army of Italy, possessing in an eminent degree the favour and confidence of the First Consul, who readily gave his consent to the restitution, which not only placed the young lady at her ease as to worldly circumstances, but promised peace and tranquillity for the rest of her

life.

Marcel followed his chief from Italy to Egypt, from Egypt to France; he was honoured, dignified, and decorated, but this elevation did not in the slightest degree weaken or change his feelings with regard to Mademoiselle de Souland.

His efforts to restore her to her property, with all his acknowledged nobleness of heart and generosity of character, might perhaps have been

strengthened by a feeling of a tenderer nature than a mere sense of justice, and he might have looked forward at some future day to share the happiness he had secured for her. Certain it is, that the greatest delight he enjoyed during his long and hard-fought campaigns, was derived from the perusal of her letters, expressive as they were of purity of heart and ingenuousness of mind. Time and absence seemed to have increased and even changed the character of his affection for the amiable orphan, and he resolved the moment that circumstances permitted it, to avow his love for her, and solicit her hand.

That moment arrived sooner than he expected, and after a separation of eight years, he availed himself of a temporary cessation of hostilities, caused by a hollow treaty of peace entered into with the enemies of France, to hasten to the object of his devotion and esteem.

He reached her residence-all was calm and lovely-no vestige of the old house remained-a new and picturesque villa occupied its site-no sign was there of death, or blood, with which the scene had from the fatal day, too well remembered, been associated in his mind. The trees were covered with blossoms-the birds sang sweetly-the air was redolent of perfume-all seemed gay and happy.

The moment the name of "General" Marcel was announced, the mistress of the house flew rather than ran to greet and welcome him— she threw herself into his arms, and with an emotion to which sterner hearts than his are liable, he clasped her to his breast.

"I promised," said he, when he could speak, "I promised to return to you, and here. I am; fortune has smiled on me, fate has been propitious I have risen to the head of my profession--I am rich and prosperous-so am I changed;-but as for you,--I am the same as I was when we parted at Chatillon, or as I was in the hour which we must endeavour to forget."

"And truly worthy," said Mademoiselle de Souland, "are you of the honours you have acquired. Come-come-sit down in my house -the house which you have restored to me, and where your life was risked to preserve mine.

The General placed himself by her side, and gazed with delight upon those beautiful features, to which time had given a sweeter and tenderer expression, as he thought, than they even possessed at an earlier period of her life; he took her hand, pressed it to his lips, and drawing her closer to him, said,

"For eight years I have delighted myself with a bright vision of happiness. You alone can realize it-my future comfort depends on you, for those eight years I have loved you, dearly, devotedly."

"Oh, General! said Mademoiselle de Souland," do not deceive yourself-do not mistake the interest which the peculiarity of my circumstances may have awakened in your mind for any other sentiment." "Assure yourself," said Marcel," mine is Love-pure, honest, and sincere."

"Oh ! do not, do not, say it," sobbed the agitated girl; "let me love you as a sister, let me think of you as my kindest brother-as you have been and are my dearest friend-thanks to your interest and power I am rich; my family property is restored to me; but listen-hear me a cousin of mine to whom I was engaged to be married, in the time of