.--But that is
nothing to the purpose.--Well, say you be a countess, I will protect you
nevertheless."

"You are bound to protect her, were she a duchess," said Peter, "having
once passed your word."

"Right, Peter, very right," said the Syndic "it is our old Low Dutch
fashion, ein wort, ein man [a man of his word], and now let us to this
gear. We must take leave of this William de la Marck, and yet I know
not, my mind misgives me when I think of him, and were it a ceremony
which could be waived, I have no stomach to go through it."

"Were you not better, since you have a force together, to make for the
gate and force the guard?" said Quentin.

But with united voice, Pavillon and his adviser exclaimed against the
propriety of such an attack upon their ally's soldiers, with some hints
concerning its rashness, which satisfied Quentin that it was not a risk
to be hazarded with such associates.

They resolved, therefore, to repair boldly to the great hall of the
castle, where, as they understood, the Wild Boar of Ardennes held his
feast, and demand free egress for the Syndic of Liege and his company,
a request too reasonable, as it seemed, to be denied. Still the good
burgomaster groaned when he looked on his companions, and exclaimed to
his faithful Peter, "See what it is to have too bold and too tender a
heart! Alas! Peterkin, how much have courage and humanity cost me! and
how much may I yet have to pay for my virtues, before Heaven makes us
free of this damned Castle of Schonwaldt!"

As they crossed the courts, still strewed with the dying and dead,
Quentin, while he supported Isabelle through the scene of horrors,
whispered to her courage and comfort, and reminded her that her safety
depended entirely on her firmness and presence of mind.

"Not on mine--not on mine," she said, "but on yours--on yours only. Oh,
if I but escape this fearful night, never shall I forget him who saved
me! One favour more only, let me implore at your hand, and I conjure you
to grant it, by your mother's fame and your father's honour!"

"What is it you can ask that I could refuse?" said Quentin, in a
whisper.

"Plunge your dagger in my heart," said she, "rather than leave me
captive in the hands of these monsters."

Quentin's only answer was a pressure of the young Countess's hand, which
seemed as if, but for terror, it would have returned the caress.
And, leaning on her youthful protector, she entered the fearful hall,
preceded