you refuse, in your turn, to surrender that goodly red purse, which I will bestow in charity."

Suiting the action to the word, he fired, and was somewhat surprised, knowing that he had only carried off Oates's ragged feather, to see him fall to the ground, as if shot dead. After pacifying his restive horse, which began rearing and nearly threw little Mervyn, Claude turned to the fallen highwayman, and giving him an energetic kick, called upon him to rise. The wretch, however, had the beetle's instinct, and feigned to be either dead or insensible.

For a moment, Claude hesitated as to the propriety of effectually disabling him from further wickedness; but a natural aversion to violence, and even loathing of the treacherous villain, determined him to spare his life. Convinced, however, that he had no rightful claim to the property in his possession, Claude ransacked his pockets with great diligence. He found some gold and jewels of considerable value in his breast, and the red purse; there was also a long knife, and a knotted handkerchief, stained with blood, which Claude had no doubt had recently done yeoman's service. He also found a leaf torn out of an old London Gazette in which he read an exact description of the captain's person,

and a reward of twenty guineas offered for his apprehension, on a charge of swindling some trades

men.

Claude very kindly left him this certificate of respectability, and mused for some moments, as to what he should do with his captive. He finally determined on tying him hands and feet, and leaving him to the compassion of any good Samaritan, who might be tempted, by the reward, to take him into custody-a plan which was no sooner thought of than adopted-infinitely to little Mervyn's

amusement.

The captain only groaned once as Claude kicked him over. Then having broken the flints of Oates's pistols, thrown them into a ditch, and let his Rosinante loose to feed on the rank grass, Claude remounted, and galloped off at a good speed.

The sunset was rapidly fading into a bright silvery night, when Claude entered the ancient Flemish city. The toils of the day were over, and a gay population filled the streets. It was the glittering era of the grand monarque, and besides, it was evidently a fête-day in Saint Omer. There were bonfires in the streets, the shrines were decorated with flowers and lamps; short petticoats and gawdy

caps appeared on lightsome forms at every turn; blue and red stockings were the only wear. The peasant girls' wooden clogs were painted all sorts of pretty colours, and their smart garters hung roguishly down to their ankles. Dancing was going on in every open space, and Claude heard no sounds but those of music and laughter.

Inquiring of one of the merrymakers the way to the Jesuits' College, he was readily directed, and shortly found himself in front of the antique and massive edifice the forge of the Romish church's chief thunderbolts in that day.

CHAPTER IX.

THE JESUITS.

and

THE Jesuits seemed to share the public hilarity of the day, for their convent gates were open, the good brothers were engaged in distributing wine, cakes, and curdled milk to all who chose to partake— not to mention sprigs of holy rosemary, good against charms, storms, and the headach, they having been blessed by the sovereign pontiff himself.

Duval inquired of a girl, who was arranging her hair after the dance, for the Reverend General de Oliva, who he had heard was on a visitation to the college. The girl pointed to a chestnut tree of extraordinary luxuriance, just before the college gates,

whose foliage, tinged with the scarlet-brown hues of autumn, formed a sort of hanging tent almost to the ground. Beneath this was a bench of twisted branches, and a rustic table spread with fruit and wine, at which sat an old but still vigorous man, in the Jesuit garb, and several gentlemen of the province-probably of high rank, from the richness of their dress.

The general himself wore a purple cross woven in his habit, and a rosary of golden beads. His features, though somewhat harsh and saturnine by nature, were subdued almost to beauty, by a mild and noble expression of genius and goodness. There were times, indeed, when an indescribable something in the eye, a peculiar tone of the voice, or an unguarded gesture, showed that it was not apathy, but subdued passions, which gave him that gracious serenity. At this moment, however, the padre seemed absorbed in enjoyment of the merry scene before him, smiling and bestowing his blessing on the happy peasants as they crowded to offer him nosegays of sweet flowers and reverential homage.Among these sprightly masses Claude Duval made his way very deftly, elbowing the men, and handing the girls aside.