Her Grace turned pale, and seemed nigh fainting. As soon as she could recover from her surprise and trepidation, she said: "All, my dear, is not well, I fear; I will go up and question Adelaide." Here, as the duchess had gone out of one door, the Reverend chaplain, Doctor M'Kenzie, entered at another. The chaplain wished his Grace good morrow, and spoke of the weather, expatiating upon the beauties of Nature. "'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb Ascending, fires th' horizon.---- The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck." The duke looked--but he saw not, he spoke not, he heard not. No!--the serenity of the season was not in accordance with the sorrow of his heart. At once the chaplain saw it all, for the duke was deadly pale; but the cause of this despondence he did not know, nor did he dare to inquire. But while he was about to ask the duke if he was unwell, the door opened, and the duchess re-entered; and bursting into a flood of tears, she flung herself into a chair. In so doing, a dagger fell from her apron on the ground. She fainted, and it was some time before she came to herself. When she did, she then said: "It is all involved in darkness and mystery; I cannot unravel the clue. Adelaide cannot--will not tell. She has sworn on the dagger's point never to reveal it until placed upon her death-bed. She has sworn upon this." Here the chaplain took up the dagger; it was incrusted with blood. He examined the handle; it was of silver, and upon it was engraved FUIMUS. It likewise fell from his hand, and trundled on the ground. Here he fearfully and involuntarily repeated, and in a sepulchral tone, "FUIMUS NON SUMUS!" The duke sternly said: "In the name of heaven, I charge you, Reverend Sir, that you will forthwith explain what all this may mean? Although the days of superstition still exist, yet nevertheless I must protest against supernatural agency." Doctor M'Kenzie said: "Permit me to ask one question of the duchess, and then I will, as far at least as I can, throw some light on this dark mystery. May I be permitted to ask your Grace, if Sir David Bruce will return?" "Never--oh, never! Reverend Sir," was the reply; "I just have heard so from my daughter." "Then," said the chaplain, "I am at liberty to explain, without any violation of promise. I have no doubt that your Graces both recollect the narrative of my voyage from Scotland, from the port of Ayr, and of my having been shipwrecked on the coast of Austrian Flanders." The duke and duchess nodded assent. "You may also recollect the mysterious passenger who appeared so deeply overpowered by grief--Colonel Davidson." They both remembered.