on to
hasten in quest of the lady. 'You, who have not mounted a horse, nor
walked across the pleasance yet!'

'My limbs should serve me to rescue her, or they are worth nothing to
me.'

Lord Walwyn would have argued that he need not regret his incapacity
to move, since it was no doubt already too late, but Berenger burst
forth--'She will resist; she will resist to the utmost, even if she
deems me dead. Tortures will not shake her when she knows I live. I must
prepare.' And he started to his feet.

'Grandson,' said Lord Walwyn, laying a hand on his arm, 'listen to me.
You are in not state to judge for yourself. I therefore command you to
desist from this mad purpose.'

He spoke gravely, but Berenger was disobedient for the first time. 'My
Lord,' he said, 'you are but my grandfather. She is my wife. My duty is
to her.'

He had plucked his sleeve away and was gone, before Lord Walwyn had been
able to reason with him that there was no wife in the case, a conclusion
at which the old statesman would not have arrived had he known of the
ceremony at Montpipeau, and all that had there passed; but not only
did Berenger deem himself bound to respect the King's secret, but
conversation was so difficult to him that he had told very little of his
adventures, and less to Lord Walwyn than any one else. In effect,
his grandfather considered this resolution of going to France as mere
frenzy, and so it almost was, not only on the score of health
and danger, but because as a ward, he was still so entirely under
subjection, that his journey could have been hindered by absolutely
forcible detention; and to this Lord Walwyn intended to resort, unless
the poor youth either came to a more rational mind, or became absolutely
unable to travel.

The last--as he had apprehended--came to pass only too surely. The very
attempt to argue and to defend Eustacie was too much for the injured
head; and long before night Berenger full believed himself on
the journey, acted over its incidents, and struggled wildly with
difficulties, all the time lying on his bed, with the old servants
holding him down, and Cecily listening tearfully to his ravings.

For weeks longer he was to lie there in greater danger than ever. He
only seemed soothed into quiet when Cecily chanted those old Latin hymns
of her Benedictine rule, and then--when he could speak at all--he showed
himself to be in imagination praying in Eustacie's convent chapel, sure
to speak to her w