ulations, and gained
them at the same time for himself by announcing his speedy union with
Mademoiselle Diana de Laurebourg.

Five days later the newly married pair took possession of their mansion
at Champdoce. Hampered with a wife whom he had never affected to love,
and whose tearful face was a constant reproach to him, and with a
father who was an utter imbecile, the thoughts of suicide more than once
crossed Norbert's brain. One day a servant informed Norbert that his
father refused to get up. A doctor was sent for, and he declared that
the Duke was in a highly critical condition. A violent reaction
had taken place, and all day the invalid was in a state of intense
excitement. The power of speech, which he had almost entirely lost,
seemed to have returned to him in a miraculous manner; at length,
however, he became delirious, and Norbert dismissed the servants who had
been watching by his father's bed, lest in the incoherent ravings of the
invalid, the words "Parricide" or "Poison" should break forth. At eleven
o'clock he grew calmer, and slept a little, when all at once he started
up in bed, exclaiming: "Come here, Norbert," and Jean, who had remained
by his old master's side, ran up to the bed and was much startled at the
sight. The Duke had entirely recovered his former appearance. His eyes
flashed, and his lips trembled, as they always did when he was greatly
excited.

"Pardon, father; pardon," cried Norbert, falling upon his knees.

The Duke softly stretched out his hand. "I was mad with family pride,"
said he; "and God punished me. My son, I forgive you."

Norbert's sobs broke the stillness of the chamber.

"My son, I renounce my ideas," continued the Duke. "I do not desire you
to wed Mademoiselle de Puymandour if you feel that you cannot love her."

"Father," answered Norbert, "I have obeyed your wishes, and she is now
my wife."

A gleam of terrible anguish passed over the Duke's countenance; he
raised his hands as though to shield his eyes from some grizzly spectre,
and in tones of heartrending agony exclaimed: "Too late! Too late!"

He fell back in terrible convulsions, and in a moment was dead. If, as
has been often asserted, the veil of the hereafter is torn asunder, then
the Duke de Champdoce had a glimpse into a terrible future.

CHAPTER XII.

"RASH WORD, RASH DEED."

After her repulse by Norbert, Diana, with the cold chill of death in her
heart, made her way back to the Chateau of the