the highest in authority; "I don't think he will though. Come, my lad," he continued, turning towards and addressing the Damoyseau, “turn out,-presto, begone; make a march on't, and see it be a quick un, or we'll dispatch thee speedier than thou camest. Marry, indeed— want to visit our Lady! Ha, ha,-Ifackins! like enough truly our Lord should ha' taken all this pains to get a wench, and then we let her be runned away wi' by such a sorry chap as thee. Look at thy jerkin, man! why there's na an inch on't is'nt in holes, nor na a thread that is'nt rotten as old Jacintha's teeth. See the Lady Emmeline! ha, ha, ha! na i'faith! wert better than thy master, shouldst not. My Lord won't let any visit her when he's here, much less when's away. Thinkst, too, that having come so far from home with the Lord of Mauberque, she'll go back with thee? Noa, noa,-tramp it along wi' thyself-Begone!"

During the time that these salutations were being made, so utterly was the Damoyseau astonished, confounded, and bewildered in mind, idea, and understanding, so completely was his

head disturbed, and his heart anguished, at all he met with, saw, and heard, as also with the imaginings to which these things give rise, that he felt himself altogether deprived of the power of speech, and remained mutely listening without making even an attempt to break in upon the insolence of those who spoke.-At last when the man had finished addressing him, he partly recovered his presence of mind.

"Dog-caitiff-cut-throat! - thou damned Ribaud-hell-hound-thou liest in thy very throat-to dare to say the Lady Emily is other then a pure and spotless maid!" were the first words which broke from him, as laying his hand upon an axe, and tearing it from the belt by which it was suspended, he aimed a blow at him who had spoken last, and attempted to advance.

The one for whose benefit the blow was intended retreated back, and it fell harmlessly on the iron railing. In a moment, each held a faulchion in his hand, and Gaultier would soon have paid the penalty of his rashness— particularly too as in the confusion of attempting to strike, whilst advancing up the stairs, his foot

had hitched against the stone, and brought him on his knee-had not the one who first addressed him, either from pity for his situation or from dreading the consequences of such an outrage, whispered to his comrade:

"Hist, Bigand, thou dost ill to bespeak the lad, in this thy rude and rough-tongued guise-his speech and mien do make better report methinks of his condition, than his torn and dirty doublet. -We know not, even, who he is, nor if he be the one Jacintha took him for.-Beseech him gently, man-may hap he'll go."

"Well, well,” replied the other, in a gruff whisper to his comrade, "if he'll go quietly, 'tis well, and there's an end on't. But old Jacintha there says, he won't stir till he has seen the wench, and that's 'gainst my orders."

"Let me see an I can't bring him to reason," answered the first.

66

"Master!" he said, now addressing the Damoyseau, we have orders to suffer no stranger to visit Lady Emmeline. Howbeit, you

say, you have some business with her; an't be

so, 'twill be no difficult matter to see her in

public;-away from this house our charge ends, -and if the Seigneur de Mauberque please to let you talk with her 'tis well. At one o'clock of noon, to-morrow, the Lady Emmeline will be at the jousts without the ramparts, and there you may see her. Now we beg of you to leave this place, for we may not let you pass."

Grief-horror-rage-and disdain, every violent, and every evil passion, filled Gaultier's heart, and turned it sick. He felt as if he could have yielded up the ghost, and would have sank upon the earth, but for having caught hold of the railing for support. When the man had done speaking, he gave him a slight and gloomy glance, in token of acknowledgment of a courtesy greater than had been paid him by his comrade; and then retreating heavily back a step or two, for the fall had much injured his knee, he turned round, and went his way.

CHAPTER XVII.

Now, then, is my poor hero at a pretty pass, indeed!—a fine mess, truly, has he made of it! After having so long refused to fight in defence of his father's-and, indeed, it may be said, of his own property-after having enraged his parent beyond all bounds, by freeing his bitterest foe from prison,—after having been put into one himself, as a reward for his pains,—after having spent a whole month in racing up and down the country in search of this Emily, and, above all, after having thought and said the very many fine things concerning her which have been related, —after all this, and just as he thought himself upon the very point of reaping the well-earned harvest of his labour, to catch her tripping at the