reater than ever _now_, Isabel,' said Lady Conway.
'You will never lose it again!'

Isabel did not gainsay her.

The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked sagacious at his
patient's preparation for the journey before him.

Louis gravely looked into his face as he took leave of him, and said,
'You are wrong.'

The Captain raised his eyebrows incredulously. As they left the city,
the bells of all the churches were tolling for the martyred Archbishop.
And not for him alone was there mourning and lamentation through the
city: death and agony were everywhere; in some of the streets, each
house was a hospital, and many a groan and cry of mortal pain was
uttered through that fair summer-day. Louis, in a low voice, reminded
Isabel that, on this same day, the English primate was consecrating the
abbey newly restored for a missionary college; and his eyes glistened
as he dwelt with thanksgiving upon the contrast, and thought of the
'peace within our walls, and plenteousness within our palaces.'

He lay back in his corner of the carriage, too much tired to talk;
though, by-and-by, he began to smile over his own musings, or to make
some lazily ludicrous remark to amuse Virginia. His aunt caressed her
wounded hero, and promoted his intercourse with Isabel, to his
exquisite amusement, in his passive, debonnaire condition, especially
as Isabel was perfectly insensible to all these manuoevres.

There she sat, gazing out of window, musing first on the meeting with
the live Sir Roland, secondly on the amends to be made in the 'Chapel
in the valley.' The Cloten of the piece must not even be a Vidame
nothing distantly connected with a V; even though this prototype was
comporting himself much more like the nonchalant, fantastic Viscount,
than like her resolute, high-minded Knight at the Porte St. Denis.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES.

The page slew the boar,
The peer had the gloire.
Quentin Durward.

Great uneasiness was excited at Dynevor Terrace by the tidings of the
insurrection at Paris. After extracting all possible alarm from her
third-hand newspaper, Mrs. Frost put on her bonnet to set off on a
quest for a sight of the last day's Times. James had offered to go,
but she was too restless to remain at home; and when he had
demonstrated that the rumour must be exaggerated, and that there was no
need for alarm, he let her depart, and as soon as she was out of sight,
caught u