"( How, thou unreverend knave," cried the abbot, "knowest thou of whom thou speakest?" "I know them well," said the outlaw;

they were the bishop thy guest- the deceased brother of the Lord of Courtenayeand Count Raymond of Toulouse, then a persecutor, but now a fautor of these same heretics; and this I say, that three more ruthless lords never banded together to work their will if it might be, or to wreak vengeance if it might not. But all is over now it was a sad and fearful deed wild tales are told still that she is alive-Holy Mary sain me. from such encounter!-and that the Lord of Courtenaye less dreads the power of the heretics, than the prophecy uttered in her madness, that the fiery arrow should one day level the usurped towers of Courtenaye with the dust."

As he spoke, the abbot dozed, vino gravatus, but waked now and then with a startled exclamation, that showed him not unconscious of the subject.

"Wake, lord abbot," cried the outlaw,

"and pledge me to the success of my next petition."

"Thy next petition?" said the abbot, rousing himself," what wouldst thou have? Art thou not already excommunicated?-absolved, I would say. Petition me no more. I will not be petitioned - I swear I will hear no petitions - my head will no longer bear them. And now that I have thought better of thy petition (and will by no means listen to or grant it), let me hear it, and brieflyFie, where the devil is this foolish bottle ?" · "Even in thy hand, sir abbot.-As for my petition," continued the dauntless visitor, "I must needs accompany you on your purposed visit to the castle of Courtenaye; for there I know you will bear the crusaders company, your train."

and thither I must follow in

At these words the abbot threw himself back in his chair, in an agony of consternation unfeigned. "Save me-sain me- uphold me, he cried; but as not a saint came to aid, and his companion gave no help, or testified even the least sympathy, the abbot contrived to

recover within a reasonable space; but with his faculties, his passions and his voice returned also. "What, art thou there still, thou petrum scandali, thou catharma, or all else vile that I may call thee?" he cried ;"thou, an excommunicated outlaw, thou ride with godly churchmen and valiant crusaders? -thou what goad but that of the fiend spurs thee on to such pursuit?-Speak, what motive canst thou urge, external, internal, or infernal ?"

"Only," said the outlaw, coolly and daringly repeating the words of the bishop of Toulouse, "to behold the fair beauty of the Lady Isabelle, and to visit that enskied goddessNay, never cross or sain your breast, lord abbot of your train I will be, in your van I will ride. I will disguise me so that she who bore me would not know- Alas!" (he groaned)" may she never know me !—I shall be your guide," he added, recovering himself, "through this wild country, and lead you through paths you wot not of to the castle of Courtenaye; this wolf-skin, with other guise

ments I have, would bear me unknown through mine own band.-By Heaven, he sleeps!rouse thee, lord abbot!"

"Where is the bottle?" said his host, scarcely waking.

"In thine hand, I told thee, and still unemptied; where be thine eyes, lord abbot?" "Well nigh blinded with tears for the enormities of a sinful age," quoth the abbot with a maudlin whimper, attempting, however, to lift the bottle.

At that moment a sound was heard that made the abbot relinquish his hold, and the bold outlaw start from his seat: it was that of the tremendous war-horn, well known in those days, whose blast seemed to shake the massive building from spire to foundation. It was instantly followed by loud knocks on the outer gate, evidently struck by a lance-head, or some stouter implement, wielded by no weak hand.

"Curse of Heaven!" cried the abbot, sinking on the floor, "the Albigeois are on us, and we are utterly spoiled; and"-lifting the cup he had dropped" and behold, the precious

liquor spilled! - Fie on the water-drinking knaves, they never deem how thirsty our prayers for their soul-safety may render churchmen."

"Fie on thee, sir abbot," said the more manly outlaw; "is this a time".

"The wisest of men hath said there is a time for all things," quoth the abbot; "and for me, I hold this a fitting time for retreat; lo, I will ensconce me behind the tapestry of this chair — and, dost thou hear?— should the heretics force their

way, remember I am a mitred abbot, and my life may be loss incomputable; whereas thou, being an ostensible sinner, and most notorious layman"

"As thou puttest it," said the outlaw, "my life is a lighter loss to the church than thine own."

"It is no time for controversy," cried the abbot" the heretics come; make good the pass, I charge thee, with thy life."

Another blast of the horn was wound; the outlaw stood in consternation; and the barefooted porter, stumbling after the revels of the