As he said this, he sat down and yielded his hand to the caresses of the monster, who, rolling on his back at his master's feet, lavished all sorts of endearments upon him, like a spaniel displaying his pretty tricks before the sofa of his mistress.

  Stranger yet was the intelligent attention with which he seemed to follow his master's words. The singular monosyllables with which the latter interspersed them seemed particularly intelligible to his understanding; and he showed his comprehension by rearing his head suddenly, or by a vague rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

  “Men say that I shun them," resumed the little man; " but it is they that shun me; they do through fear what I should do through hate. Still, you know, Friend, that I am always glad to come across a man when I am hungry or thirsty."

  All at once he saw a red glow start into life in the depths of the gallery, growing brighter by degrees and faintly tinting the damp old walls.

  “Here comes one now. Talk of the Devil and you see his horns. Hullo, Friend!" he added, turning to the bear;" hullo! get up!"

  The animal instantly rose.

  "Come, I must reward your obedience by gratifying your appetite."

  With these words, the man stooped toward the object lying on the ground.

  The cracking of bones broken by a hatchet was heard; but no sigh or groan was now blended with it.

  “It seems," muttered the small man, " that there are but two of us left alive in Arbar hall. There, good Friend, finish the feast which you began.''

  He flung toward the aforementioned outer door what he had detached from the object stretched at his feet. The bear threw himself upon his prey so rapidly that the swiftest eye could not have been sure that the fragment was indeed a human arm, clad in a bit of green stuff of the same shade as the uniform worn by the Munkholm musketeers.

  “Some one is coming," said the little man, keeping his eye on the light, which was steadily advancing. " Comrade Friend, leave me alone for a moment. Ho there! Away with you!"

  The obedient beast rushed to the door, backed down the steps outside, and disappeared, bearing off his disgusting booty with a satisfied howl.

  At the same instant a tall man appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, whose sinuous depths still reflected a dim light. He was wrapped in a long brown cloak, and carried a dark-lantern, which he turned full on the small man's face.

  The latter, still seated on his stone with folded arms, exclaimed: " Ill befall you, you who come hither guided by an idea, and not by instinct!"

  But the stranger, making no reply, seemed studying him carefully.

  “Look at me," he continued, raising his head;" an hour hence you may have no voice left with which to boast that you have seen me."

  The new-comer, moving his light up and down the little man's person, seemed even more surprised than frightened.

  “Well, what astonishes you so much?" rejoined the little man, with a laugh like the breaking of bones." I have legs and arms like your own; only my limbs will not like yours serve to feed wildcats and crows!"

  The stranger at length replied, in a low but confident voice, as if he only feared being heard from without: " Hear me; I come, not as an enemy, but as a friend."

  The other interrupted," Then why did you not strip off your human form?"

  “It is my purpose to do you a service, if you be he whom I seek."

  “You mean, to ask a service. Man, you waste your breath. I can do no service to any save those who are weary of life."

  “By your words," replied the stranger," I am sure that you are the man I want; but your stature Hans of Iceland is a giant. You cannot be he."

  “You are the first who ever doubted it to my face."

  "What! can it be? " And the stranger approached the little man. " But I always heard that Hans of Iceland was of colossal height."

  “Add my renown to my height, and you will see that I am taller than Mount Hecla."

  “Indeed! Tell me, I pray, are you really Hans, a native of Klipstadur in Iceland?"

  “It is not in words that I should answer that question." said the little man, rising; and the look which he cast at the rash stranger made him start back several paces.

  “Confine yourself, I beg, to answering it by that glance," he replied in a voice of entreaty, casting a look toward the exit, which showed his regret that he had ever entered; " I came here in your interests alone."

  Upon entering the hall, the new-corner, having but a glimpse of the person whom he accosted, had retained his self-possession; but when the master of Arbar rose, with his tigerish visage, his thick-set limbs, his bloody shoulders, but half concealed by a skin still green, his huge hands armed with claws, and his fiery eyes, the bold stranger shuddered, like an ignorant traveller who thinks he is handling an eel and feels the sting of a viper.

  “My interests? " repeated the monster." Have you come to tell me of some spring which I may poison, some village I may burn, or some Munkholm musketeer I may slaughter?"

  “Perhaps. Listen: The miners of Norway are in a state of revolt. You know what disaster follows in the train of revolt."

  “Yes,- murder, rape, sacrilege, fire, and pillage."

  “All these I offer you."

  The little man laughed.

  “I should not wait for you to offer them."

  The brutal sneer accompanying these words made the stranger again shudder. He went on, however:

  “In the name of the miners, I offer you the command of the insurrection."

  The small man was silent for an instant. All at once his dark countenance assumed an expression of infernal malice.

  “Does the offer really come from them?" said he.

  This question seemed to embarrass the new-comer; but as he was sure that he was unknown to his terrible interlocutor, he readily recovered himself.

  “Why have the miners rebelled?"

  “To throw off the burden of the royal protectorate."

  “Only for that?" replied the other in the same mocking tone.

  “They also wish to free the prisoner of Munkholm."

  “Is this the sole purpose of the movement?" repeated the small man in a voice which confused the stranger.

  “I know of no other," he stammered.

  “Oh, you know of no other!"

  These words were pronounced in the same sarcastic tone. The stranger, to hide the embarrassment which they caused him, hastily drew from beneath his cloak a heavy purse which he flung at the monster's feet.

  “Here is your pay as commander-in-chief."

  The small man spurned the purse with his foot.

  “I will not have it. Do you imagine that if I wanted your gold or your blood I should wait for your permission to gratify my desire?"

  The stranger made a gesture of surprise, almost of terror.

  “It is a present from the royal miners."

  “I will not have it, I tell you. Gold is useless to me. Men will sell their soul, but they do not sell their life. That must be taken by force."

  "Then I may tell the miners that the terrible Hans of Iceland accepts their leadership, but not their gold?"

  “I do not accept it."

  These words, uttered in curt tones, seemed to strike the pretended envoy from the rebellious miners very unpleasantly.

  “What? " he asked.

  “No!" repeated the other.

  "You refuse to take part in an expedition which presents so many advantages?"

  “I am quite able to pillage farms, lay waste villages, and massacre peasants or soldiers, single-handed."

  “But consider that by accepting the offer of the miners you are assured of a free pardon."

  “Does this offer also come from the miners?" asked the other, with a laugh.

  "I will not disguise from you the fact," replied the stranger, with an air of mystery, "that it comes from an important personage who is deeply interested in the insurrection."

  “And is this important personage so sure that he will himself escape hanging?"

  “If you knew who he is, you would not shake your head so significantly."

  “Indeed! Well, who is he?"

  “I may not tell you."

  The small man stepped forward and clapped the stranger on the shoulder, still with the same sardonic sneer.

  “Shall I tell you?"

  The man wrapped in the cloak gave a start; it was a start of both fright and wounded pride. He was prepared for neither the monster's abrupt proposal, nor for his savage familiarity.

  “I am only laughing at you," added the brigand. " You little guess that I know all. This important personage is the Lord High Chancellor of Norway and Denmark; and you yourself are the Lord High Chancellor of Norway and Denmark."

  It was indeed he. On reaching Arbar ruin, toward which we left him journeying with Musdœmon, he had been unwilling to intrust to any one else the task of securing the brigand, by whom he was far from supposing himself known and expected. Never, even after years had elapsed, did Count d'Ahlefeld, with all his power and all his diplomacy, discover how Hans of Iceland acquired his information. Was it through Musdœmon's treachery? True, it was Musdœmon who suggested to the noble count that it would be well to see the brigand in person; but what profit could he derive from his perfidy? Had the bandit captured upon some one of his numerous victims, papers relating to the chancellor's schemes? But Frederic d'Ahlefeld was, with the sole exception of Musdœmon, the only living being acquainted with his father's plans, and frivolous as he was, he was not quite so senseless as to expose such a secret. Moreover, he was in garrison at Munkholm, at least so the chancellor supposed. Those who read the close of this scene, without being any better able to solve the problem than was Count d'Ahlefeld, will see how much truth there was in this latter hypothesis.

  One of Count d'Ahlefeld's most marked characteristics was his great presence of mind. When he heard himself so abruptly named, he could not repress an exclamation of surprise; but in the twinkling of an eye, his pale, proud features lost their expression of fear and astonishment, and recovered their usual calm composure.

  "Well, yes," said he, "I will be frank with you; I am indeed the chancellor. But I hope you will be equally frank with me."

  A burst of laughter interrupted him.

  “Have I waited to be urged to tell you my name, or to tell you your own?"

  “Tell me with the same sincerity how you found me out?"

  “Have you never heard that Hans of Iceland can see through mountains?"

  The count tried to insist.

  “Consider me as a friend."

  “Your hand, Count d'Ahlefeld," said the little man, with brutal familiarity. Then he stared the minister in the face, exclaiming: " Could our two souls escape from our bodies at this moment, I fancy that Satan would hesitate to decide which of the two belonged to the monster."

  The haughty noble bit his lip; but between his fear of the robber and his desire to secure him as his tool, he managed to disguise his resentment.

  “Do not imperil your own interests; accept the command of the rebellion, and trust to my gratitude."

  “Chancellor of Norway, you count on the success of your schemes, like an old woman who dreams of the gown which she will spin from stolen hemp, while the cat's claws tangle her spindle."

  “Reflect once more, before you reject my offers."

  “Once more, I, the brigand, say to you, Lord Chancellor of both kingdoms, No!"

  “I expected a different answer, after the eminent service which you have already rendered me."

  “What service? " asked the robber.

  “Was it not you who murdered Captain Dispolsen?" replied the chancellor.

  "That may be, Count d'Ahlefeld; I do not know him. Who is he?"

  “What! did not the iron casket which he had in charge fall to your share?"

  This question seemed to sharpen the robber's memory.

  “Stay!" said he; "I do remember that man and his iron casket. It was on Urchtal Sands."

  “At least," rejoined the chancellor, " if you could restore that casket to me, my gratitude would be unbounded. Tell me what has become of that casket, for I am sure it is in your possession."

  The noble minister laid such stress upon this request that the brigand was struck by it.

  “So, then, that iron casket is of the utmost importance to your Grace, my Lord Chancellor?"

  “Yes."

  “What shall my reward be if I tell you where it is?"

  “Anything that you may desire, my dear Hans."

  “Well, I will not tell you."

  “Pooh! you are joking! Think what a service you can do me."

  "That is exactly what I am thinking."

  “I will insure you a vast fortune; I will ask your pardon from the king."

  "You had better beg your own from me," said the bandit. " Look you, Lord Chancellor of Norway and Denmark, the tiger does not devour the hyena. I will permit you to leave my presence with your life, because you are a scoundrel, and every instant that you live, every thought of your heart, causes fresh misery for mankind and fresh crime for yourself. But return not, or I may teach you that my hatred spares no one, not even a villain. As for your captain, do not flatter yourself that it was on your account I slaughtered him; it was his uniform which doomed him, as it did this other wretch, whom I did not murder to gratify you either, I assure you."

  With these words, he seized the noble count by the arm and dragged him toward the body lying in the shadow. As he finished his protestations, the light from the lantern fell upon this object. It was a mutilated corpse, and was indeed dressed in the uniform of an officer of the Munkholm Musketeers. The chancellor approached it with a sense of horror. All at once his eye rested on the pallid, blood-stained face of the dead. The livid, half-parted lips, the bristling hair, the discolored cheeks, and lustreless eyes could not disguise that countenance from him. He uttered a fearful shriek:" My God! Frederic! My son.'"

  Doubt not that hearts seemingly the most hardened still conceal in their innermost recesses some trace of affection unknown even to themselves, apparently hidden by vice and passion, like a mysterious witness and a future avenger. It may be said to exist, that it may some day make crime acquainted with grief. It silently bides its time. The wicked man bears it in his bosom and is unconscious of it, because no ordinary affection is sufficient to pierce the thick crust of selfishness and iniquity which covers it; but let one of the rare and genuine sorrows of life appear unawares, and it plunges a sharp-edged sword into the dark regions of that soul and probes its lowest depths. Then the unknown sentiment of love is revealed to the wretched criminal, all the more violent for its long repression, all the more painful from his lack of sensibility, because the sting of misfortune was forced to stab the heart more deeply in order to reach it. Nature wakes and casts aside her chains; she delivers the miscreant to unwonted despair, to unheard-of torments; he feels, compressed into a single instant, all the sufferings which he has defied for years. The most various pangs rend him simultaneously. His heart, burdened by dull amazement, revolts to find itself a prey to convulsive agony. He seems to experience the pains of hell while still in this life, and something beyond despair is made clear to him.

  Count d'Ahlefeld loved his son without knowing it. We say his son, because, being unaware of his wife's guilt, as such he regarded Frederic, the direct heir to his name. Supposing him still at Munkholm, he was far from prepared to meet him in Arbar tower, and to find him dead! But there he lay, bruised and bleeding; it was he, impossible to doubt it. His emotions may be imagined when a realizing sense of his love for his son unexpectedly pierced his soul, together with the assurance that he was lost to him forever. All the sensations so inadequately described in these pages burst upon his heart at once like so many claps of thunder. Stunned, as it were, by surprise, terror, and despair, he cast himself upon the ground, and wrung his hands, repeating in woful accents:" My son! my son!"

  The brigand laughed. It was horrible to hear such laughter mingled with the groans of a father looking upon the dead body of his son.

  “By my ancestor Ingulf! you may call, Count d'Ahlefeld, but you cannot wake him."

  All at once his cruel face darkened, and he said in a melancholy voice:" Weep for your son, if you will; I avenge mine."

  The sound of footsteps hurrying along the gallery interrupted the words upon his lips; and as he turned in surprise, four tall men, with drawn swords, rushed into the room; a fifth, short and stout, followed, bearing a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. He was wrapped in a brown cloak, like that worn by the chancellor.

  “My lord," he exclaimed, " we heard your voice, and hastened to your assistance."

  The reader has doubtless recognized Musdœmon and the four armed retainers who formed the count's escort.

  As the torchlight filled the room with its ruddy glow, the five new-comers paused in horror-stricken dismay; and it was indeed an awful sight. On the one hand, the bloody remains of the wolf, the disfigured body of the young officer; on the other, the father, with his wild eyes and frantic shrieks; and beside him the fearful monster, turning on his assailants a hideous front, indicative of dauntless surprise.

  At the sight of this unlooked for reinforcement the idea of vengeance took possession of the count, and roused him from his despair.

  “Death to that brigand!" he cried, drawing his sword; " he has murdered my son! Kill him! kill him.'"

  “Has he murdered Mr. Frederic?" said Musdœmon: and the torch in his hand did not reveal the slightest change in his countenance.

  “Kill him! kill him!" repeated the frantic count.

  And the whole six rushed upon the robber. He, surprised by this sudden attack, retreated toward the opening which overhung the precipice, with a fierce roar, expressive rather of rage than fear.

  Six swords were directed against him, and his eyes flamed forth greater fury, while his features wore a more menacing expression than those of any of his aggressors. He had grasped his stone axe, and, forced by the number of his assailants to confine himself to defensive action, whirled it round and round in his hand so rapidly that the circle described, covered him like a shield. A myriad sparks flashed from the point of his assailants' swords as they clashed against the edge of the hatchet; but not a single blade touched him. And yet, exhausted by his recent battle with the wolf, he lost ground imperceptibly, and soon found himself driven close against the door opening upon the abyss.