fatal night,
not knowing the meaning of his conduct, had accounted him a raging
madman, whoever had appreciated his motives, had ranked him nothing
beneath a hero of romance.

Approaching Schonwaldt on the same side from which he had left it, the
youth met several fugitives making for the wood, who naturally avoided
him as an enemy, because he came in an opposite direction from that
which they had adopted. When he came nearer, he could hear, and partly
see, men dropping from the garden wall into the castle fosse, and others
who seemed precipitated from the battlements by the assailants. His
courage was not staggered, even for an instant. There was not time to
look for the boat, even had it been practicable to use it, and it was
in vain to approach the postern of the garden, which was crowded with
fugitives, who ever and anon, as they were thrust through it by the
pressure behind, fell into the moat which they had no means of crossing.

Avoiding that point, Quentin threw himself into the moat, near what was
called the little gate of the castle, and where there was a drawbridge,
which was still elevated. He avoided with difficulty the fatal grasp of
more than one sinking wretch, and, swimming to the drawbridge, caught
hold of one of the chains which was hanging down, and, by a great
exertion of strength and activity, swayed himself out of the water, and
attained the platform from which the bridge was suspended. As with hands
and knees he struggled to make good his footing, a lanzknecht, with his
bloody sword in his hand, made towards him, and raised his weapon for a
blow which must have been fatal.

"How now, fellow," said Quentin, in a tone of authority. "Is that the
way in which you assist a comrade?--Give me your hand."

The soldier in silence, and not without hesitation, reached him his arm,
and helped him upon the platform, when, without allowing him time for
reflection, the Scot continued in the same tone of command, "To the
western tower, if you would be rich--the Priest's treasury is in the
western tower."

The words were echoed on every hand: "To the western tower--the treasure
is in the western tower!" And the stragglers who were within, hearing of
the cry, took, like a herd of raging wolves, the direction opposite to
that which Quentin, come life, come death, was determined to pursue.

Bearing himself as if he were one, not of the conquered, but of the
victors, he made a way into the garden, and pushed a