you meet me in the garden by and bye, I wish to speak with you." "Directly after dinner, madam, I will wait upon your ladyship; I will look about a little, I think no one will come here in the open day." Matilda retired, with trembling limbs and a beating heart, to her own apartment; here she ruminated on what had happened to her friend so recently gained, and so irrecoverably lost—"Alas! poor lady, (said she) who knows what evils she may have to encounter with; a stranger as I am to her story, I have no clue to guide me who may have carried her off, or by whom the cruel action was committed; doubtless it must have been her cries that alarmed Jaqueline—What will become of me? How are all my flattering prospects vanished?" With these bitter reflections she passed the hours till dinner time came; she then went down, but with a countenance so altered, that Bertha started back and cried out, "O, for a certain young madam has seen something and been frightened!" Albert looked with anxious curiosity, "Be not uneasy, my good friends, (said she;) I assure you neither ghosts nor noises have terrified me, but I am not very well; after dinner perhaps I may be better." "Heaven send it," (cried Bertha.) Albert joined in the wish; and Matilda, affected by their kindness, went into the parlour, where her dinner was served up, not in state or profusion indeed, but good wild fowls, eggs, salads, and fruit. She waited impatiently until she thought Joseph had nearly dined, and then walked towards the garden: in a little time Joseph joined her, and walking before, conducted her to a distant part of it, where a small arbour in a shrubbery appeared almost choaked with weeds; he led her into it, she sat down—"Now. Joseph, for heaven's sake, tell me every thing about the dear lady." "That I cannot do, (replied Joseph, shaking his head) my oath will not permit me; but underneath this stone (said he, stamping his foot) is an underground passage, one end of which goes to that
