on sank into the long-drawn respiration of repose. Poor fellow! even
in his dreams his thoughts were of strife and danger.

CHAPTER XXX. A WARNING.

The day was breaking when I was up and stirring, resolving to visit the
pickets before De Beauvais awoke; for even still the tone of ridicule he
assumed was strong before me. I passed stealthily through the room where
he was still sleeping; the faint light streamed through the half-closed
shutters, and fell upon a face so pale, so haggard, and so worn, that I
started back in horror. How altered was he, indeed, from what I had seen
him first! The cheek once ruddy with the flush of youth was now pinched
and drawn in; the very lips were bloodless, as if not illness alone, but
long fasting from food, had pressed upon him. His hair, too, which used
to fall upon his shoulders and on his neck in rich and perfumed locks,
silky and delicate as a girl's, was now tangled and matted, and hung
across his face and temples wild and straggling. Even to his hands his
changed condition was apparent, for they were torn and bleeding; while
in the attitude of sleep, you could trace the heavy unconscious slumber
of one utterly worn out and exhausted. His dress was of the coarse stuff
the peasants wear in their blouses; and even that seemed old and worn.
What strange career had brought him down to this I could not think; for
poor as all seemed about him, his well-stocked purse showed that his
costume was worn rather for disguise than necessity.

Such was my first thought; my second, more painful still, recurred to
her he loved, by whom he was perhaps beloved in turn. Oh! if anything
can add to the bitter smart of jealousy, it is the dreadful conviction
that she for whom our heart's best blood would flow to insure one
hour of happiness, has placed her whole life's fortune on the veriest
chance,--bestowing her love on one whose life gives no guarantee for the
future,--no hope, no pledge, that the world's wildest schemes of
daring and ambition are not dearer to his eyes than all her charms and
affections. How does our own deep devotion come up before us contrasted
with this! and how, in the consciousness of higher motives and more
ennobling thoughts, do we still feel inferior to him who, if poor in all
besides, is rich in her love!

Such envious feelings filled my heart as I looked on him; and with slow,
sad step I moved on, when by accident I came against a chair, and threw
it down. The nois