"Rouse up, Jane! Do not again refuse to see me, it is a matter of the greatest importance, and I must speak with you!" With these words, Mr. Atkins knocked violently at the door of Jane's chamber, and compelled an entrance. The bolt was shoved back, and the door opened. A light also burned here. Jane was fully dressed, and a glance at the bed showed that it had not yet been disturbed. She evidently had not thought of sleeping. She advanced to meet him with mournful questioning in her face; her eyes were weak and inflamed from inward excitement, but they bore no traces of tears. Jane did not know that weeping which so often is the woman's only and supremest consolation; she had forgotten it in her childhood. That sobbing into which she had once broke out at the death-bed of her father, when for the moment her strength had utterly given way, had come over her, wild and passionate, like a convulsion, but tearless. Her rigid, iron nature knew not even the outward signs of weakness; she bore all sorrow as she had seen her father bear it; like a man. Atkins allowed her no time to utter the question that trembled on her lips. "It is about a danger," he said hastily. "I thought to delay it, to avert it, but it proves greater than I had believed. My power is at an end; you must now interpose." "What danger?" asked Jane, apprehensive and breathless. "Of what do you speak?" "Of Alison and Lieutenant Fernow. They have come in conflict; Henry has challenged the Professor, who denies him satisfaction until the end of the war. Henry meditates revenge--they must not meet a second time." Jane was horrified at this tidings, but she soon recovered her self-possession. "You are right," she said with intensest bitterness. "They must not meet a second time; a fight between them and for my sake, would be worse than murder. Henry is in error; only one single word is needed to undeceive him; to-morrow I was going to speak that word; now there is not a moment to lose. Summon him here immediately!" Atkins shook his head. "But Henry is nowhere to be found, I have already searched the whole castle for him in vain." "And Walter? For God's sake where is Walter?" Atkins elevated his eyebrows. "Lieutenant Fernow has gone to the mountains," he said gravely, "On some secret service, and alone, Henry knows that. If he follows--Jane, I need not tell you what calamity I fear." For a moment Jane stood there rigid as a statue; then by a powerful effort, she roused herself from her stupor, and regained the whole decision of her character. "I know Henry! He must not go until I have spoken with him; we must have him back at any price. I believe"--she placed her hand on her forehead, despite the bewildering anguish, striving to collect her thoughts,--"I believe there is only a single pass leading from here to the mountains. Did they not tell us so this morning?"