they would leave us in peace! What was it this time?'

'A messenger through young Selinville. Strange, to trust her secrets to
that lad. But hush, here he is again, much sooner than I thought. What,
sir, have you been with your lady again?'

'Yes, sir,' the young said, with a trembling voice, and Berenger saw that
his eyes were red with weeping; 'she bids me tell you that she yields.
She will save you eve while you have and despite her! There is only one
thing---'

'And what is that?'

'You must encumber yourself with the poor Aime. You must let me serve
you instead of her. Listen, sir, it cannot be otherwise.' Then with a
brisker, more eager voice, he continued: 'Monsieur knows that the family
burial-place is Bellaise? Well, to-morrow, at ten o'clock, all the
household, all the neighbourhood, will come and sprinkle holy water on
the bier. The first requiem will be sung, and then will all repair to
the convent. There will be the funeral mass, the banquet, the dole.
Every creature in the castle--nay, in all the neighbourhood for twenty
miles round--will be at the convent, for the Abbess has given out that
the alms are to be double, and the bread of wheat. Not a soul will
remain here, save the two gendarmes on guard at that door, and the poor
Aime, whom no one will miss, even if any person could be distinguished
in their black cloaks. Madame la Comtesse has given him this key, which
opens a door on the upper floor of the keep, unknown to the guards, who,
for that matter, shall have a good tankard of spiced wine to console
and occupy them. Then is the way clear to the castle court, which is not
over looked by their window, the horses are in the stables, and we are
off,--that is if M. le Baron will save a poor youth from the wrath of M.
de Nid-de-Merle.'

'You are and honest fellow!' cried Philip, shaking him vehemently by the
hand. 'You shall go with us to England, and we will make a brave man of
you.'

'We shall owe you our lives,' said Berenger, warmly, 'and be ever bound
to you. Tell your lady that THIS is magnanimity; that now I truly thank
her as our preserver, and shall bless her all the days of the life she
gives us. But my servants?'

'Guibert is a traitor,' said Aime; 'he has been so ever since you
were at Paris. Breathe no word to him; but he, as a Catholic, shall be
invited to the funeral. Your stout Englishman should by all means be
with us.'

'My Norman also,' added Berenger,--'my dear foster-brother