And mother to bed has gone, too;
And these were the very last words that she said;
'I hate those Freemasons, I do!'"





Chapter XIV.
The Freemason's Home.




Late on a dark night in the commencement of November, wind and rain
blowing with violence from the mountains, and the streets of Geneva
abandoned, we find our young heroines sitting in a comfortable room.
They are lounging on easy-chairs before a warm fire; the eldest is
reading, and the youngest, although dressed in the pretty uniform
of a naval cadet, is working at embroidery with colored wools.

Alvira and Aloysia, at the command of their father, have still preserved
their disguise, at first irksome to their habits and delicacy of
maidenhood; but necessity and fear toned down their objection, and
they gradually accustomed themselves to the change. In girlish
simplicity they were pleased with the novelty of their position. They
knew each other as Charles and Henry, and by these names we must now
call them.

The old clock of the church on the hill sent the mournful tones of the