THE MONK. 87 



to taste the bitter draught of misery, she was yet to know the 

 pangs of anguish. Even this guileless, gentle being, was not be- 

 yond the reach of the fell demon, who hovers over the destinies of 

 man, ever ready to cast his envenomed dart, to strike where the 

 least expected, and to leave the rankling poison in the wound, to 

 blacken and destroy. 



" The spot Colonel Hamilton had chosen for his residence was si- 

 tuated near the small and beautiful domain of M. de Rosenberg, a 

 Swiss patriot, who had lost much of his property in the disturbances 

 incident to the French Revolution ; but he still possessed this pa- 

 trimonial estate, on which he resided, if not in affluence, at least in 

 contentment. Between him and the English colonel a close inti- 

 macy grew up. Neither of them were disposed to enter into gene- 

 ral society, but they found in each other's company a similarity of 

 taste and habits, which rendered their intercourse mutually agree- 

 able. M. de Rosenberg had a son a few years older than Mary ; 

 as children they were inseparable, both in their hours of play and 

 their times of study. He was always her little protector, and she 

 looked to him as her friend and brother. In the course of time, he 

 went to one of the German universities to finish his education ; on 

 his return after several years, he found Mary changed from 

 the pretty engaging child he had left, to a beautiful fascinating 

 girl, just budding into womanhood. They were now, as before, 

 constant companions. Often would they wander amid the mazes of 

 copse and vineyard which adorn the banks of the lake. Often, on- 

 a soft summer's evening, would they gaze across the expansive 

 waters, and watch the small boats with their white sails gliding 

 silently and tranquilly across its glassy bosom. At other times, 

 they would climb the surrounding hills, rising as an amphitheatre ; 

 and, from some lofty terrace, gaze on the more magnificent features 

 of nature, as displayed in the distant Alps, with .their snow-clad 

 peaks, and in the towering summit of Mont Blanc, soaring high 

 above the rest in its lone majesty. All their pursuits, all their 

 thoughts, bore the same impress and tended to the same end. They 

 had but one object — ^but one heart. No wonder, then, that he loved, 

 and that she returned his affection with as deep and as fervent a pas- 

 sion as ever glowed in the breast of woman. They knew no deceit. 

 Nor did they attempt to conceal their attachment. Their love was 

 approved. Their fathers beheld with delight the increasing fondness 

 of their children, and looked on their union as the accomplishment 

 of each one's happiness. Time rolled on, and the period was fast 



