At that moment a wild and horrid cry, the fierce yell of masculine agony, in its most horrid extremity, made Verac relax his grasp. "The work of hell is going on below," he cried, in the horror of sudden conviction: then, with an illapse of gallant feeling, which was indeed natural to him, "Could brand or lance aid them, I would hack them to splinters on the dungeon walls, wherein they. have enclosed themselves; but no mortal help may avail them now." "An I had my grandmother's spells," muttered Semonville, "I would no more heed fiends well-enclosed in a vault, (where I might deal with them roundly, provided they never passed their bounds,) than I would a community of the heretics, whom I would indeed give their choice of death by flame or sword, or as they might wish-for I always seek to be courteous in such matters but in truth I will confess to thee, that mine hair stands almost upright. And I have no weapons," he added, half drawing his dagger, "for such enemy as they are dealing with now." And he was hastening from the hall. "It were pity and shame to leave them in such strait," said Verac; his natural courage struggling with his superstitious feelings. Another horrid and indescribable sound bursting on his ears, made him catch Semonville's arms for support. "It were worse," said Semonville, pushing him out, "to have this huge hall crumble over our heads; mine, I know, could never sustain the weight, however thicker skulls might fare. If this gear hold in the Castle of Courtenaye, I would sooner couch in my grandmother's closet, which all know to be haunted, than in the chamber of the Lady Isabelle. If one must needs be haunted, it were better by the ghosts of one's own family than by those of strangers. What, the devil, dalliest thou for?" "I doubt I have left a certain favour behind me," said Verac, lingering; "it was a knot, couleur-de-rose, which I always bore on the sleeve of my purple tunic, since a fair hand Tarry an thou wilt," said Semonville, hurrying away himself; "perchance, if thou delayest, no fair hand, but a fiery fang, will fasten on thee another kind of favour." "The saints forbid!" cried Verac, darting through the passage. Amen, Amen!" quoth Semonville, who was first in the flight. "Rapidly as they sought and gained their apartments, the fearful sounds they had heard seemed to pursue them. They pausedlistened the sounds ceased on a sudden they plunged into their beds, and drawing their silken quilts high above their heads, muttered their night-spells earnestly under the quivering coverlet. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. LONDON: PRINTED BY J. MOYES, GREVILLE STREET. A ROMANCE. BY THE AUTHOR OF " BERTRAM," A TRAGEDY: "WOMAN; OR, POUR ET CONTRE," &c. Sir, betake thee to thy faith, For seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. SHAKSPEARE'S All's Well that Ends Well. IN FOUR VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, ANd co. 90, CHEAPSIDE, and 8, pall-MALL; AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH, |