the doctor. Unlike what most women would
have done, I think, under similar
circumstances, she would talk both to the priest and
myself of her lover; often expressing surprise
that she had not heard from him, but always
firmly holding to the belief that he still loved
her, and that he would not be happy as long
as they were separated.

Time passed on in this way for a year and
a half, without  any news of him; still
she clung to her immovable conviction that
she would see him again.

The weather had been sultry, without
rain; and every one was looking forward
to some passing thunder-storm to mitigate
the overpowering heat. At last, one of
the most terrible storms that had passed
over the valley for some time burst
forth. The rain came down in torrents; the
narrow mountain paths were washed away;
the gaves were swollen to nearly twice
their ordinary volume, and much cattle and
several granges were swept away. The thunder
leapt down the rocks, waking the echoes
with a frightful noise, and to this was added a
terrific gale, which long left traces of its fury.

In the midst of this hurricane, a
traveller arrived in the village in which
Julie's mother dwelt. Their cottage, as you
have seen, is the first, as you enter the
village. The traveller, without hesitation,
walked in drenched to the skin; but, before a
good fire, soon dried his clothes and regained
his cheerfulness. Julie and her mother
happened to have gone to see a sick neighbour
that day, and were not in the house when
he entered. Before the fire the child was
tumbling and playing about; it soon left its
own sports to make friends with him. It was
quickly seated on his knee, and began caressing
him. It bore a strong resemblance to
him; and he seemed no less struck by it
himself, than Julie's brother and sister were.
The storm gave place to one ot those
drizzling showers of these mountains, which seem
endless. Julie's brother proposed to the
traveller to stay the night, offering to show
him a short cut over the mountains to the
Baths, in the morning. The proposition was
gladly accepted, and he amused himself by
playing with the child, who seemed to have
taken a strange liking to him.

Towards evening Julie returned without
her mother; who had stopped to tend her
suffering friend during the night. Her first
look was for her child, who was still on the
stranger's knee. She stepped forward to take
it from him, when, by the blaze of the fire,
she at once recognised its father. A slight
scream, which she instantly repressed,
startled him; he turned and exclaimed,
"Julie! " He did not restrain himself from
clasping her in his arms; but there was a warning
in her face, and he made no other sign.

Her brother had heard the scream, and
seen the emotion which she ineffectually
endeavoured to suppress. He had heard her
name in  the stranger's mouth; and now the
extraordinary likeness between the stranger
and the child was explained to him.

To Julie he had always been the kindest
of brothers; when she fell, she had heard no
reproaches from him; to her child he had
uniformly been affectionate and good. He
pretended not to have noticed the meeting
between his sister and the stranger. But
Julie, who knew her brother to be
quick-sighted, watched him steadily, without
letting him perceive it, during the
evening. She saw the sparkle of some
gratified wish in his eye, the flush on his
cheek, his close-set teeth, and his clenched
hands; and she knew that his Basque blood
was up— that he had penetrated her secret,
and was determined on revenge. After they
had all retired for the night, she stole up to
Charles's room, and implored him to dress
immediately, and pursue his route to Pau,
or any place but that where he had told her
brother he was going. He at once arose, and
was let out by Julie without noise; after
having embraced and entreated her to follow
him with her child to Pau. To this she
assented. She pointed out the road, and
then gave herself up to violent grief.

The hope of speedy vengeance had rendered
her brother sleepless; he heard her rouse
the stranger; he at once got up, and watched,
and, shortly after, saw the man who had
ruined his sister leave the house. He sprang
into a tree which grew close to his window,
and let himself down. The rain had ceased
and was succeeded by a fine bright night.
The rays of the moon penetrated into the
gorge, in spite of the height of the mountains.

Charles walked on quickly, and it was some
time before his pursuer came up to him. The
Basque hailed him in French, and Charles,who
did not recognise him in the distance, stopped.

"You have forgotten something," said
Julie's brother, as Charles now perceived him
to be; "you have forgotten something, in your
flight, sir."

"You mistake, my friend," said Charles,
"I have forgotten nothing."

"Yes, you have forgotten the poor girl
whom you seduced; you have forgotten that
her honour is my honour, and her vengeance
my vengeance," said the infuriated young man,
drawing his knife. Without saying another
word, he made a violent thrust at the object of
his hatred. The Englishman, whatever his
defects might be, did not want courage.
With a blow of his stick, he struck the knife,
which went flying over the precipices
bordering the road, out of his assailant's hand.
With a loud shout, the Basque rushed to close
quarters; but was met by a heavy blow of
the fist between his eyes, which sent him
staggering against the rocks; it was only
for a moment; regardless of a second blow,
he succeeded in closing with his adversary,
and, by the suddenness of his attack, brought
him to the ground. In natural strength they