"towards the nearest town on the frontiers of
Brabant."

"You have then settled the end and object of your journey," said
Quentin, approaching his horse to that of Isabelle, and speaking French,
which their guide did not understand.

"Surely," replied the young lady, "for, situated as I now am, it must be
of no small detriment to me if I were to prolong a journey in my present
circumstances, even though the termination should be a rigorous prison."

"A prison," said Quentin.

"Yes, my friend, a prison, but I will take care that you shall not share
it."

"Do not talk--do not think of me," said Quentin. "Saw I you but safe, my
own concerns are little worth minding."

"Do not speak so loud," said the Lady Isabelle, "you will surprise our
guide--you see he has already rode on before us,"--for, in truth, the
good natured Fleming, doing as he desired to be done by, had removed
from them the constraint of a third person, upon Quentin's first motion
towards the lady.

"Yes," she continued, when she noticed they were free from observation,
"to you, my friend, my protector--why should I be ashamed to call you
what Heaven has made you to me?--to you it is my duty to say that my
resolution is taken to return to my native country, and to throw myself
on the mercy of the Duke of Burgundy. It was mistaken, though well meant
advice, which induced me ever to withdraw from his protection, and place
myself under that of the crafty and false Louis of France."

"And you resolve to become the bride, then, of the Count of Campobasso,
the unworthy favourite of Charles?"

Thus spoke Quentin, with a voice in which internal agony struggled
with his desire to assume an indifferent tone, like that of the poor
condemned criminal, when, affecting a firmness which he is far from
feeling, he asks if the death warrant be arrived.

"No, Durward, no," said the Lady Isabelle, sitting up erect in her
saddle, "to that hated condition all Burgundy's power shall not sink
a daughter of the House of Croye. Burgundy may seize on my lands and
fiefs, he may imprison my person in a convent, but that is the worst I
have to expect, and worse than that I will endure ere I give my hand to
Campobasso."

"The worst?" said Quentin, "and what worse can there be than plunder and
imprisonment?--Oh, think, while you have God's free air around you,
and one by your side who will hazard life to conduct you to England,
to Germany, even to Scotland, in all of which yo