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The duke quitted the mansion, re-animated by the cheerfulness of morn, and pursued his journey. He could gain no intelligence of the fugitives. About noon he found himself in a beautiful romantic country; and having reached the summit of some wild cliffs, he rested, to view the picturesque imagery of the scene below. A shadowy sequestered dell appeared buried deep among the rocks, and in the bottom was seen a lake, whose clear bosom reflected the impending cliffs, and the beautiful luxuriance of the overhanging shades.,

“I don’t reckon it would be as bad as that,” answered Whitney. “When Uncle Sam once starts something, he is pretty likely to carry it through. But we’d have a rough time of it all right. If I could only find out who’s behind ’em—they are not capable of stirring it up amongst themselves—I’d be able to nip the trouble before it got started. If they do strike and we are delayed, the Water Users Association will start on the rampage again.”,

Several minutes elapsed, no person appeared, and he repeated the stroke. A step was presently heard within, the gate was unbarred, and a thin shivering figure presented itself. The duke solicited admission, but was refused, and reprimanded for disturbing the convent at the hour sacred to prayer. He then made known his rank, and bade the friar inform the Superior that he requested shelter from the night. The friar, suspicious of deceit, and apprehensive of robbers, refused with much firmness, and repeated that the convent was engaged in prayer; he had almost closed the gate, when the duke, whom hunger and fatigue made desperate, rushed by him, and passed into the court. It was his intention to present himself to the Superior, and he had not proceeded far when the sound of laughter, and of many voices in loud and mirthful jollity, attracted his steps. It led him through several passages to a door, through the crevices of which light appeared. He paused a moment, and heard within a wild uproar of merriment and song. He was struck with astonishment, and could scarcely credit his senses!,

“Why, John! Are you standing there in your night gown painting?”

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It lit, flashing a glare into his eyes so accustomed to the utter darkness. But his gesture had been so violent that the stick broke and the flaming head flew off and fell on the floor.,

Yet so ardently onwards they press,,

No. Lars was firm. Johnny must go to the library.,

Uncle Isaac lay in the big carved bedstead. My, oh, my! how pale he was! almost as pale as Jeremias the wood-cutter.