the library-bell. It echoed through the house. Walter, in the far-off Tapestry Chamber, heard it in amaze; Hilda stopped suddenly on the lowest step of the north staircase; Mrs. Maxwell turned pale. No such peal had rung within those walls since that dreadful morning when the lady of Bradenshope found her eldest-born lifeless upon his bed!

"What bell is it ?" asked Hilda.

"It's the library-bell, Miss Capel," replied the housekeeper, "and it's Sir Paul that rings it. Something must have happened; he never rings like that—enough to wake the dead!-I wonder my lady don't come flying!"

It so happened that Agnes and Emily were at that precise moment playing a crashing duet finale_on_the grand pianoforte in the drawing-room, and so drowned the loud reverberations of the bell; but Christina, who had strolled into the conservatory, had heard it, and lost no time in rushing to the scene of action. Full well she knew that the bell was rung in the library, where her father was, and at once she remembered Hilda's disclosures, and anticipated some disaster. Walter, too, ran quickly down, and asked with some trepidation, "Maxwell, was not that the library-bell?

Being answered in the affirmative, he forgot all about the key which Mrs. Maxwell was bringing, and flew towards the library, Hilda at his side, Thomas at a respectful distance, and Mrs. Maxwell shrinking back, in sudden terror of she knew not what. But Miss Braden was before them, and so was Mr. Gregg. The door was already opened, and Christina was standing by her father, who lay back in his chair, not exactly fainting, but frozen, as it seemed, with blank horror and surprise. At a little distance, calmly seated in a chair, some letters and documentary-looking papers in her hands, her jewels sparkling in the lamplight, and her brilliant scarf lying at her feet, was-the Zingara! the Corsican, the queen of the gipsies, or whatever you may please to call her.

"'Tis a strange story that you tell,
And yet it flavours of the truth."

HILDA and Christina at once comprehended the situation— the Corsican was disclosing to Sir Paul the extraordinary story at which she had rather more than hinted on two previous occasions. Walter looked amazed, nor did he at first connect his father's strange visitor with the Zingara who had figured in Hilda's little adventure some months previously; also, it must be remembered that he had never been informed of her predictions, or assertions, as regarded his own position as heir of Bradenshope. He felt pretty well convinced, however, that he saw before him the mysterious tenant of the haunted rooms. Here was the laundry-maid's "ghostess!" Here was the substantial spectre, who had supped-perhaps dined—on cold boiled pork, and solaced herself with wine-and-water, and made her weird toilet before the antique mirror in the Tapestry Chamber !

Sir Paul, in the presence of his son, rapidly resumed his composure, and calmly addressed his visitor.

"It is well that my son and his future wife and my eldest daughter should hear what you have to say, nor need my faithful servants withdraw. What you tell me is either a terrible fact or it is-a lie! You cannot expect me to receive such tidings as welcome news."

"What is it all about, father?" asked Walter. has this woman to do with us, and who is she?"

"What

"I am Giuditta della Rocca," replied the woman, speaking for herself, "and I am a Sampiero. Your brother Paul, the eldest-born of his father here, married my youngest daughter Giacinta nearly five years ago, as I am prepared to prove in your own English courts of law."

66

My brother Paul never gave us the least hint of his being a married man," was all that Walter could say.

The entire conviction with which the woman spoke strongly impressed him; at the same time, he felt it scarcely possible that a lawful form of marriage could ever have passed between poor, misguided Paul and this unknown Giacinta.

"Perhaps not," answered Giuditta; "he would scarcely do that, when he wickedly repented of his marriage-when he hid from his wife his true name and lineage, and pretended to be a poor travelling artist, living entirely on the products of brush and canvas."

"There was no pretence in that," said Sir Paul, gravely; "my son had angered me past endurance, and when he vowed that he would leave his home and trouble me no more, I let him go, thinking it well that he should learn the stern lesson of self-denial and self-dependence. It was well, I thought, that he should know what his powers really were; that he should go free of the flatteries of those who courted and applauded, not the man, Paul Braden, but the heir of Bradenshope. A sojourn in the Valley of Humiliation would do him good, would show him, more forcibly than any words of mine, his true place in the world. He vowed that he would never more ask me to fill his purse; he boasted that he would win gold, and plenty of it, for himself. Like many another spoiled youth, he believed himself to be a marvellous genius. He kept his word-he did not come to me for money; while he remained in Italy he earned his own living as an artist-a poor travelling artist, as you observe. There was no deceit in that-he was simply what he represented himself to be."

"He was the heir of Bradenshope for all that, signor; and his son- -my Giacinta's child-stands now in his place. I know all about your English law; for the sake of my daughter and her little Paolo, I gave myself to understand it; you cannot make or unmake your heirs at will; they are like the great singers and orators of all nations -they are born, they are not made."

"In some cases it is thus. It is so in the present instance; if the boy Paolo be really the child of my dead son Paul, and born in lawful wedlock, he must be my heir, however greatly to my regret. But before I admit

his claims, I must be fully satisfied that a perfectly valid marriage took place between Mr. Braden and your daughter, and you must also prove that this infant whom you bring forward is actually the issue of such marriage.' "For what do you take me, signor ? "cried Giuditta, indignantly; "do you suppose I would palm upon you a little impostor-what you would call a supposititious child? I am a Sampiero! And a Sampiero, let me tell you, never lies-no! not even when he is sworn to the vendetta! Behold the proofs !

She held forth the papers, and Walter and Hilda read them over Sir Paul's shoulders. There were three letters from Paul Braden to Giacinta della Rocca, commencing "sposa mia," ending with the usual "marito vostro," and signed "Giovanni Paolo." The handwriting was indubitably Paul's, and one of the letters bore the familiar Braden crest; he had evidently chosen to be known by his Christian name only during his Italian wanderings. There was also a certificate, or copy of certificate, of marriage, which, however, Sir Paul could not read; Walter and Hilda puzzled over it; but Christina, who was a really good Italian scholar, deciphered it easily. It set forth in a rather quaint fashion that on a certain day, and at a certain place, John Paul, of Bradenshope, England, had espoused, according to the ritual and the usage of the Church of Rome, Giacinta della Rocca, youngest daughter of the late Pietro della Rocca and Giuditta Sampiero, his wife, of Sta. Lucia di Tallano. The marriage had taken place at an obscure Italian village in the Apennines; the name of the officiating priest, Father Cristoforo, of Rimesso, was appended, together with those of several witnesses. The document was curiously worded, and not particularly well spelt; it might be either false or genuine.

"Read it aloud from the beginning, signorina mia," insisted the woman; and when Christina had done as she requested, she_exclaimed, triumphantly, "Now you comprehend that I make no vain boast. The marriage took place, as the certificate sets forth, and Father Cristoforo and two of the witnesses are still alive, and will give their testimony. Is it not enough?"

"No," said Sir Paul, gravely. "It seems to me that there are certain flaws in this paper which would prevent the marriage from standing in this country. The bridegroom is married only by his Christian name, and he was not a Roman Catholic, therefore no Roman Catholic rite would be legally binding on him, unless, indeed, the ceremony were repeated according to the ritual of his own Church. You see, it is simply John Paul, not John Paul Braden, who took legally or illegally Giacinta della Rocca to wife."

"The Signor Paolo was a Catholic,” replied Giuditta. "He went to mass-sometimes; he was not devout; but his religion, so far as it went, was the same as Giacinta's."

"My son never professed himself of any other communion than that of the Church of England, in which he was baptized and educated. He was not devout—I grieve to say it; but nominally, at least, he was a Protestant."

"He went to mass," persisted Giuditta, sullenly; “I will swear it! The good priest would never have profaned the holy rites of the Church by administering to a heretic the sacrament of matrimony. He was a good Catholic; I will swear it!"

"Did he pray to the Virgin and to the saints?”

"Yes; for he knelt with his wife at the shrine of our Blessed Lady, and he made an offering of wax-tapers to San Paolo immediately after the marriage."

"At the instance of his reputed wife, I should imagine," said Christina. "I knew my brother Paul so well that I feel assured he never on his own account performed an act of superstition. The views which he held, both before and after his Italian wanderings, were as far removed as possible from invocations of saints and votive offerings. Of religion, I am compelled to say, he had but little, and his theology was what we call in England 'broad,' or, rather, advanced.' That, however, you will scarcely comprehend; you will but perceive the force of what I say when I tell you that my brother believed in no Church; that he laughed not only at the legends of Rome, but at the faith of the Church of England. You tell me that he bowed the knee at the Virgin's shrine, and that I can imagine possible, for he would do it to humour the pre