cked in the deep vaults of Bracquemont, by my great
grandfather the Rhinegrave Godfrey," said the Countess Isabelle.

"Who won the hand of her great grandmother," interjected the Lady
Hameline, interrupting her niece, "by proving himself the best son of
chivalry, at the great tournament of Strasbourg--ten knights were slain
in the lists. But those days are now over, and no one now thinks of
encountering peril for the sake of honour, or to relieve distressed
beauty."

To this speech, which was made in the tone in which a modern beauty,
whose charms are rather on the wane, may be heard to condemn the
rudeness of the present age, Quentin took upon him to reply that there
was no lack of that chivalry which the Lady Hameline seemed to consider
as extinct, and that, were it eclipsed everywhere else, it would still
glow in the bosoms of the Scottish gentlemen.

"Hear him!" said the Lady Hameline, "he would have us believe that in
his cold and bleak country still lives the noble fire which has decayed
in France and Germany! The poor youth is like a Swiss mountaineer, mad
with partiality to his native land--he will next tell us of the vines
and olives of Scotland."

"No, madam," said Durward, "of the wine and the oil of our mountains
I can say little more than that our swords can compel these rich
productions as tribute from our wealthier neighbours. But for the
unblemished faith and unfaded honour of Scotland, I must now put to the
proof how far you can repose trust in them, however mean the individual
who can offer nothing more as a pledge of your safety."

"You speak mysteriously--you know of some pressing and present danger,"
said the Lady Hameline.

"I have read it in his eye for this hour past!" exclaimed the Lady
Isabelle, clasping her hands. "Sacred Virgin, what will become of us?"

"Nothing, I hope, but what you would desire," answered Durward. "And now
I am compelled to ask--gentle ladies, can you trust me?"

"Trust you?" answered the Countess Hameline. "Certainly. But why the
question? Or how far do you ask our confidence?"

"I, on my part," said the Countess Isabelle, "trust you implicitly, and
without condition. If you can deceive us, Quentin, I will no more look
for truth, save in Heaven!"

"Gentle lady," replied Durward, highly gratified, "you do me but
justice. My object is to alter our route, by proceeding directly by
the left bank of the Maes to Liege, instead of crossing at Namur. This
differs from