onor rests upon you!"

"Father," said Esperance, rising and lifting his right hand toward
heaven, "I solemnly swear to you that whatever wrong may have been done,
whatever crime may have been committed, I am entirely guiltless and that
there is not the slightest stain of dishonor upon me!"

"I believe you, my son," said M. Dantes, in a tone of conviction, "and
this unequivocal assurance from your own lips removes the weight of a
mountain from me. Now, tell me, is the Viscount Massetti as blameless in
this affair as you are?"

"The so-called Viscount Massetti is a black-hearted villain!" cried
Esperance, excitedly. "He is guilty of a foul and revolting crime, a
crime that should condemn him to a life of penal servitude!"

"But may you not be mistaken, may you not be the victim of some
delusion?" asked M. Dantes, anxiously.

"I am neither mistaken, father, nor the victim of a delusion," replied
Esperance, positively. "The charges that I make against that miserable
apology for a man I can fully substantiate should the proper opportunity
ever be offered me!"

"Zuleika informed me that, while you were speaking with her upon this
mysterious subject, the name of Luigi Vampa escaped your lips. Does that
notorious brigand posses a knowledge of this unfortunate matter?"

Esperance became violently agitated and instantly answered:

"That is a question my oath forbids me to reply to!"

"So be it," said M. Dantes; "but I have written him and he will reply
for you!"

"You have written to Vampa!" exclaimed the young man, with a
terror-stricken look. "Then all is lost!"

M. Dantes smiled, and, rising, placed his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Esperance," said he, calmly, "if neither crime nor dishonor attaches to
you in this affair, as you have sworn, you have nothing whatever to
fear, and, besides, Vampa's disclosures may relieve you of some portion
of your heavy burden."

"Oh! God!" groaned the young man, "if Vampa speaks how shall I be able
to prove my innocence!"

"My son," said M. Dantes, impressively, "God, whose name you have
invoked, will not desert you in your hour of need!"

Bowing his head in his hands and trembling like an aspen leaf, Esperance
quitted the library with a convulsive sob, as if the last ray of hope
had been withdrawn from his life and all was darkness and despair.

M. Dantes threw himself in his chair and for an instant was plunged in
absorbing thought; then he arose and putting on his hat a