but the farther North we went the farther we were fleeing from it, until at last, when we reached the most northern point of our tour, the sun set for only one hour and a half. Consequently, the heat of the day never cooled down, and accumulated until it became almost unendurable at last. Truly for a most wise and beneficent purpose did God make light and create darkness. "Light is sweet, and it is a pleasant thing to the eyes to behold the sun." But darkness is also sweet; it is the nurse of nature's kind restorer, balmy sleep; and without the tender drawing round us of its curtains, the weary eyelid will not close, and the jaded nerves will not be soothed to refreshing rest. Not till the everlasting day break, and the shadows flee away, and the Lord himself shall be our light and our God our glory, can we do without the cloud in the sunshine, the shade of sorrow in the bright light of joy, and the curtain of night for the deepening of the sleep which God gives His beloved.

We had considerable difficulty in arousing the people from their slumbers, but at last we succeeded in obtaining the services of a blithesome lass, who speedily extemporised beds for us, and made us as comfortable as possible on such short notice. The beds in Norway, I may mention, are all procrustean; a kind of domestic guillotine invented for the purpose of amputating the superfluous length of Englishmen's legs. The Norwegians are a tall race, but I suppose they lie doubled up in bed like the letter V, the os coccygis touching the footboard, and the feet and head keeping loving company on the same pillow. Though not above the average height, my own unfortunate limbs were hanging exposed over the footboard; the down quilt lay in all its rotundity in my arms like a nightmare of some monster baby; and, while sleeping uneasily in this awkward posture, I dreamt that I had been metamorphosed somehow into a waterfall, and was flowing in white masses of foam, and with a considerable murmur, over very hard and slippery rocks. Next morning we felt the air a good

deal colder, for we were now at an elevation of upwards of 2,000 feet above the level of the sea. The scenery of the place was bare treeless upland, very sparingly cultivated. The road to Throndhjem passed in a series of ups and downs over monotonous brown hills to our right; while the highway to Molde lay far down in an equally featureless valley to our left. A few hillocks here and there broke the level surfaces, covered with grey boulders, and clothed instead of heather, which is somewhat rare in Norway, with crowberry and arbutus bushes. The lovely large blue-bells of the Menziesia, a kind of heath almost extinct in this country, peeped up everywhere among the familiar moorland vegetation; the andromeda displayed its rich crimson blossoms on every dry knoll; while the clayey banks were brightened and beautified exceedingly with multitudes of the fairy Scottish primrose, whose sulphury leaves and tiny purple flowers are the ornament of the Caithness cliffs, but proceed no farther south in this country. There was an air of inexpressible loneliness about the place; the stillness being broken only by the feeble bleat of a few sheep and goats-as diminutive, though full-grown, as lambs and kids.

and the tinkle of the bells suspended round the necks of the no less Lilliputian cattle. A few pigs ran about as thin as greyhounds, and the Alpine vegetation, as well as the small size of animal life, testified to the ungenial character of the climate. The coolness of the air was very pleasant to us, roasted as we had been so long in the confined valley; but it must be a very trying thing to live at this elevated station in winter. Storms must blow over its shelterless fields with unexampled fury, and the snow drift in huge masses around it. The short black December day will be like the frown of Odin, and every wild night lit up by the magical radiance of the Aurora Borealis will be a Walpurgis-Nacht. Woe to the traveller who is then obliged to cross the Dovrefjeld!

OR, THE

A FEW days later, when Berenger had sent out Philip, under the keeping of the secretaries, to see the Queen-mother represent Royalty in one of the grand processions of Rogation-tide, the gentle knock came to his door that always announced the arrival of his good surgeon.

"You look stronger, M. le Baron; have you yet left your room?"

"I have walked round the gallery above the hall," said Berenger. "I have not gone downstairs; that is for to-morrow."

"What would M. le Baron say if his chirurgeon took him not merely downstairs, but up one flight at the Louvre." "Ha!" cried Berenger; "to the King?"

"It is well-nigh the last chance, Monsieur; the Queen-mother and all her suite are occupied with services and sermons this week; and next week private access to the King will be far more difficult. I have waited as long as I could that you might gain strength to support the fatigue."

"Hope cancels fatigue," said Berenger, already at the other end of the room searching for his long-disused cloak, sword, gloves, hat, and mask. "Not the sword," said Paré, please you. M. le Baron must condescend to obtain entrance as my assistant -the plain black doublet-yes, that is admirable; but I did not know that

SO

Monsieur was so tall," he added, in some consternation, as, for the first time, he saw his patient standing up at his full height-unusual even in England, and more so in France. Indeed, Berenger had grown during his year of illness, and being, of course, extremely thin, looked all the taller, so as to be a very inconvenient subject to smuggle into the palace unobserved.

However, Ambroise had made up his mind to the risk, and merely assisted Berenger in assuming his few equipments, then gave him his arm to go down the stairs. Meeting Guibert on the way, Berenger left word with him that he was going out to take the air with Maître Paré; and on the man's offering to attend him, refused the proposal.

Paré's carriage waited in the court, and Berenger, seated in its depths, rolled unseen through the streets, till he found himself at the little postern of the Louvre, the very door whence he was to have led off his poor Eustacie. Here Ambroise made him take off his small black mask, in spite of all danger of his scars being remarked, since masks were not etiquette in the palace, and, putting into his arms a small brass-bound case of instruments, asked his pardon for preceding him, and alighted from the carriage.

This was Ambroise's usual entrance, and it was merely guarded by a Scottish archer, who probably observed nothing. They then mounted the stone stair, the same where Osbert had dragged down his insensible master; and as, at the summit, the window appeared where Berenger had waited those weary hours, and heard the first notes of the bell of St.-Germain-l'Auxerrois, his breath came in such hurried sobs, that Paré

would fain have given him time to recover himself, but he gasped, "Not here -not here;" and Paré, seeing that he could still move on, turned, not to the corridor leading to the King's old apartments, now too full of dreadful associations for poor Charles, but towards those of the young Queen. Avoiding the ante-room, where no doubt waited pages, ushers, and attendants, Paré presently knocked at a small door, so hidden in the wainscotting of the passage, that only a habitué could have found it without strict search. It was at once opened, and the withered, motherly face of an old woman with keen black eyes under a formal tight white cap, looked out.

"Eh? Maître Paré," she said, "you have brought the poor young gentleman? On my faith, he looks scarcely able to walk! Come in, sir, and rest a while in my chamber while Maître Ambroise goes on to announce you to the King. He is more at ease to-day, the poor child, and will relish some fresh talk."

Berenger knew this to be Philippine, the old Huguenot nurse, whom Charles IX. loved most fondly, and in whom he found his greatest comfort. He was very glad to sink into the seat she placed for him, the only one in her small, bare room, and recover breath there while Paré passed on to the King, and she talked as one delighted to have a hearer.

"Ah, yes, rest yourself-stay; I will give you a few spoonfuls of the cordial potage I have here for the King; it will comfort your heart. Ah! you have been cruelly mauled-but he would have saved you if he could."

"Yes, good mother, I know that; the King has been my very good lord."

"Ah! blessings on you, if you say so from your heart, Monsieur; you know me for one of our poor Reformed. And I tell you-I who saw him born, who nursed him from his birth-that, suffer as you may, you can never suffer as he does. Maître Ambroise may talk of his illness coming from blowing too much on his horn; I know better. But, ah! to be here at night would make a stone shed tears of blood. The Queen and I

know it; but we say nothing, we only pray."

The sight of a Huguenot was so great a treat to the old woman in her isolated life, that her tongue ran thus freely while Berenger sat, scarce daring to speak or breathe in the strange boding atmosphere of the palace, where the nurse and surgeon moved as tolerated, privileged persons, in virtue of the necessity of the one to the King-of the other, to all the world. After a brief interval Paré returned and beckoned to Berenger, who followed him across a large state-bedroom to a much smaller one, which he entered from under a heavy blue velvet curtain, and found himself in an atmosphere heavy with warmth and perfume, and strangely oppressed besides. On one side of the large fire sat the young Queen, faded, wan, and with all animation or energy departed, only gazing with a silent, wistful intentness at her husband. He was opposite to her in a pillowed chair, his feet on a stool, with a deadly white, padded, puffy cheek, and his great black eyes, always prominent, now with a glassy look, and strained wide as though always gazing after some horrible sight. "Madame la Comtesse" stood in her old, wooden automaton fashion behind the Queen; otherwise, no one was present save Paré, who, as he held up the curtain, stood back to let M. de Ribaumont advance. He stood still, however, merely bowing low, awaiting an invitation to come forward, and trying to repress the startled tear called up by the very shock of pity at the mournful aspect of the young King and Queen.

Elisabeth, absorbed in her husband, and indifferent to all besides, did not even turn her head as he entered; but Charles signed to him to approach, holding out a yellow, dropsical-looking hand; and as he dropped on one knee and kissed it fervently, the King said, "Here he is, Madame, the Baron de Ribaumont, the same whose little pleasure-boat was sucked down in our whirlpool."

All Elisabeth's memories seemed to

have been blotted out in that whirlpool, for she only bowed her head formally, and gave no look of recognition, though she, too, allowed Berenger to salute her listless, dejected hand. "One would hardly have known him again," continued the King, in a low husky voice; "but I hope, sir, I see you recovering."

Thanks, Sire, to Heaven's goodness, and to your goodness in sparing to me the services of Maître Paré."

"Ah! there is none like Paré for curing a wound outside," said Charles, then leant back silent; and Berenger, still kneeling, was considering whether he ought to proffer his petition, when the King continued, "How fares your friend Sidney, M. le Baron?"

"Right well, Sire. The Queen is about to confer on him the honour of knighthood."

"Not after this order," said Charles, as with his finger he traced the long scar on Berenger's face. "Our sister of England has different badges of merit from ours for her good subjects. Ha! what they of us in England, Baron?" "I have lain sick at home, Sire, and have neither seen nor heard," said Berenger.

say

"Ah! one day more at Montpipeau had served your turn," said the King; "but you are one who has floated up again. One-one at least whose blood is not on my head."

The Queen looked up uneasy and imploring, as Charles continued: "Would that more of you would come in this way! They have scored you deep, but know you what is gashed deeper still? Your King's heart! Ah! you will not come, as Coligny does, from his gibbet, with his two bleeding hands. My father was haunted to his dying day by the face of one Huguenot tailor. Why, I see a score, night by night! You are solid; let me feel you, man.'

"M. Paré," exclaimed the poor Queen, "take him away."

"No, Madame," said the King, holding tight in his hot grasp Berenger's hand, which was as pale as his own, long, thin, and wasted, but cold from

strong emotion ; take not away the only welcome sight I have seen for wellnigh two years." He coughed, and the handkerchief he put to his lips had blood on it; but he did not quit his hold of his visitor, and presently said in a feeble whisper, "Tell me, how did you escape ?"

Paré, over the King's head, signed to him to make his narrative take time; and indeed his speech was of necessity so slow, that, by the time he had related how Osbert had brought him safely to England, the King had recovered himself so as to say, "See what it is to have a faithful servant. Which of those they have left me would do as much for me? And now, being once away with your life, what brings you back to this realm of ours, after your last welcome ?" "I left my wife here, Sire."

"Ha! and the cousin would have married her-obtained permission to call himself Nid-de-Merle-but she slipped through his clumsy fingers; did she not? Did you know anything of her, Madame ?"

"No," said the Queen, looking up. "She wrote to me once from her convent; but I knew I could do nothing for her but bring her enemies' notice on her; so I made no answer."

Berenger could hardly conceal his start of indignation-less at the absolute omission, than at the weary indifference of the Queen's confession. Perhaps the King saw it, for he added, "So it is, Ribaumont; the kindest service we can do our friends is to let them alone; and, after all, it was not the worse for her. She did evade her enemies?"

"Yes, Sire," said Berenger, commanding and steadying his voice with great difficulty, "she escaped in time to give birth to our child in the ruined loft of an old grange of the Templars, under the care of a Huguenot farmer, and a pastor who had known my father. Then she took refuge in La Sablerie, and wrote to my mother, deeming me dead. I was just well enough to go in quest of her. I came-ah! Sire, I found only charred ruins. Your Majesty knows how Huguenot bourgs are dealt with."

"And she-—?”

Berenger answered but by a look. "Why did you come to tell me this?" said the King, passionately. "Do you not know that they have killed me already? I thought you came because there was still some one I could aid."

"There is, there is, Sire," said Berenger, for once interrupting Royalty. "None save you can give me my child. It is almost certain that a good priest saved it; but it is in a convent, and only with a royal order can one of my religion either obtain it, or even have my questions answered."

"Nor with one in Paris," said the King drily; "but in the country the good mothers may still honour their King's hand. Here, Ambroise, take pen and ink, and write the order. Το whom?"

"To the Mother Prioress of the Ursulines at Luçon, so please your Majesty," said Berenger, "to let me have possession of my daughter."

"Eh is it only a little girl?" "Yes, Sire; but my heart yearns for her all the more," said Berenger, with glistening eyes.

"You are right," said the poor King. "Mine, too, is a little girl; and I bless God daily that she is no son-to be the most wretched thing in France. Let her come in, Madame. She is little

older than my friend's daughter. would show her to him."

I

The Queen signed to Madame la Comtesse to fetch the child, and Berenger added, "Sire, you could do a further benefit to my poor little one. One more signature of yours would attest that ratification of my marriage which took place in your Majesty's presence.".

"Ah! I remember," said Charles. "You may have any name of mine that can help you to oust that villain, Narcisse; only wait to use it-spare me any more storms. It will serve your turn as well when I am beyond them, and you will make your claim good. What," seeing Berenger's interrogative look, "do you not know that by the marriage-contract the lands of each were settled on the survivor?"

"No, Sire; I have never seen the marriage-contract."

"Your kinsman knew it well,” said Charles.

Just then, Madame la Comtesse returned, leading the little Princess by the long ribbons at her waist; Charles bent forward, calling, "Here, ma petite, come here. Here is one who loves thy father. Look well at him, that thou mayest know him."

The little Madame Elisabeth so far understood, that, with a certain lofty condescension, she extended her hand for the stranger to kiss, and thus drew from the King the first smile that Berenger had seen. She was more than half a year older than the Bérangère on whom his hopes were set, and whom he trusted to find not such a pale, feeble, tottering little creature as this poor young daughter of France, whose round black eyes gazed wonderingly at his scar; but she was very precocious, and even already too much of a royal lady to indulge in any awkward personal observation.

By the time she had been rewarded for her good behaviour by one of the dried plums in her father's comfit-box, the order had been written by Paré, and Berenger had prepared the certificate for the King's signature, according to the form given him by his grandfather.

"Your writing shakes nearly as much as mine," said the poor King, as he wrote his name to this latter. "Now, Madame, you had better sign it also; and tell this gentleman where to find Father Meinhard in Austria. He was

a little too true for us, do you seewould not give thanks for shedding innocent blood. Ah!"--and with a gasp of mournful longing, the King sank back, while Elisabeth, at his bidding, added her name to the certificate, and murmured the name of a convent in Vienna, where her late confessor could be found.

"I cannot thank your Majesty enough," said Berenger. "My child's rights are now secure in England at least, and this "-as he held the