ve slept
many hours, for when I awoke I was in darkness--the candle had burnt
out. I groped for the basket, and examined the contents with my hands,
and found a tinder-box. I struck a light, and then feeling hungry and
weak, refreshed myself with the eatables it contained, which were
excellent, as well as the wine. I had replaced the remainder, when the
key again turned in the door, and Melchior made his appearance.

"How do you feel, Japhet, to-day?"

"To-day!" replied I; "day and night are the same to me."

"That is your own fault," replied he. "Have you considered what I
proposed to you yesterday?"

"Yes," replied I; "and I will agree to this. Let Sir Henry give me my
liberty, come over to England, prove his relationship to Fleta, and I
will give her up. What can he ask for more?"

"He will hardly consent to that," replied Melchior; "for, once in
England, you will take a warrant out against him."

"No; on my honour I will not, Melchior."

"He will not trust to that."

"Then he must judge of others by himself," replied I.

"Have you no other terms to propose?" replied Melchior.

"None."

"Then I will carry your message, and give you his answer to-morrow."

Melchior then brought in another basket, and took away the former, and
did not make his appearance till the next day. I now had recovered my
strength, and determined to take some decided measures, but how to act I
knew not. I reflected all night, and the next morning (that is,
according to my supposition) I attacked the basket. Whether it was that
ennui or weakness occasioned it, I cannot tell, but either way, I drank
too much wine, and was ready for any daring deed, when Melchior again
opened the door.

"Sir Henry will not accept of your terms. I thought not," said
Melchior: "I am sorry--very sorry."

"Melchior," replied I, starting up, "let us have no more of this
duplicity. I am not quite so ignorant as you suppose. I know who Fleta
is, and who you are."

"Indeed," replied Melchior; "perhaps you will explain?"

"I will. You, Melchior, are Sir Henry de Clare; you succeeded to your
estates by the death of your elder brother, from a fall when hunting."

Melchior appeared astonished.

"Indeed!" replied he; "pray go on. You have made a gentleman of me."

"No; rather a scoundrel."

"As you please; now will you make a lady of Fleta?"

"Yes, I will. She is your niece." Melchior started back. "Your agent,
McDermott, who was sent