ge... and the hope
Of pardon and salvation rose
As now she understood
Thy lying prophecy of truth.--SOUTHEY

'M. de Ribaumont,' said Henry of Navarre, as he stood before the fire
after supper at Parthenay, 'I have been thinking what commission I could
give you proportioned to your rank and influence.'

'Thanks to your Grace, that inquiry is soon answered. I am a beggar
here. Even my paternal estate in Normandy is in the hands of my cousin.'

'You have wrongs,' said Henry, 'and wrongs are sometimes better than
possessions in a party like ours.'

Berenger seized the opening to explain his position, and mention that
his only present desire was for permission, in the first place, to send
a letter to England by the messenger whom the King was dispatching
to Elisabeth, in tolerable security of her secret countenance; and,
secondly, to ride to Nissard to examine into the story he had previously
heeded so little, of the old man and his daughter rescued from the waves
the day before La Sablerie was taken.

'If Pluto relented, my dear Orpheus, surely Navarre may,' said Henry
good-humouredly; 'only may the priest not be more adamantine than Minos.
Where lies Nissard? On the Sable d'Olonne? Then you may go thither with
safety while we lie here, and I shall wait for my sister, or for news of
her.'

So Berenger arranged for an early start on the morrow; and young
Selinville listened with a frown, and strange look in his dark eyes.
'You go not to England?' he said.

'Not yet?' said Berenger

'This was not what my Lady expected,' he muttered; but though Berenger
silenced him by a stern look, he took the first opportunity of asking
Philip if it would not be far wiser for his brother to place himself in
safety in England.

'Wiser, but less honest,' said Philip.

'He who has lost all here, who has incurred his grandfather's anger,'
pursued Aime, 'were he not wiser to make his peace with his friends in
England?'

'His friends in England would not like him the better for deserting his
poor wife's cause,' said Philip. 'I advise you to hold your tongue, and
not meddle or make.'

Aime subsided, and Philip detected something like tears. He had still
much of rude English boyhood about him, and he laughed roughly. 'A fine
fellow, to weep at a word! Hie thee back to feed my Lady's lap-dog, 'tis
all thou art fit for.'

'There spoke English gratitude,' said Aime, with a toss of the head and
flash of th