d to recollections to which
the young Countess was a stranger, and which the rapid succession of
perilous and stirring events had, as matters of nearer concern, in fact
banished from his memory.

"Ay--my aunt--the Countess Hameline of Croye--know you aught of her?"
said the Countess Isabelle. "I trust she is now under the protection of
the Burgundian banner. You are silent. Know you aught of her?"

The last question, urged in a tone of the most anxious inquiry, obliged
Quentin to give some account of what he knew of the Countess's fate.
He mentioned that he had been summoned to attend her in a flight from
Liege, which he had no doubt the Lady Isabelle would be partaker in--he
mentioned the discovery that had been made after they had gained the
forest--and finally, he told his own return to the castle, and the
circumstances in which he found it. But he said nothing of the views
with which it was plain the Lady Hameline had left the Castle of
Schonwaldt, and as little about the floating report of her having fallen
into the hands of William de la Marck. Delicacy prevented his even
hinting at the one, and regard for the feelings of his companion at a
moment when strength and exertion were most demanded of her, prevented
him from alluding to the latter, which had, besides, only reached him as
a mere rumour.

This tale, though abridged of those important particulars, made a strong
impression on the Countess Isabelle, who, after riding some time in
silence, said at last, with a tone of cold displeasure, "And so you
abandoned my unfortunate relative in a wild forest, at the mercy of a
vile Bohemian and a traitorous waiting woman?--Poor kinswoman, thou wert
wont to praise this youth's good faith!"

"Had I not done so, madam." said Quentin, not unreasonably offended at
the turn thus given to his gallantry, "what had been the fate of one
to whose service I was far more devotedly bound? Had I not left the
Countess Hameline of Croye to the charge of those whom she had herself
selected as counsellors and advisers, the Countess Isabelle had been ere
now the bride of William de la Marck, the Wild Boar of Ardennes."

"You are right," said the Countess Isabelle, in her usual manner, "and
I, who have the advantage of your unhesitating devotion, have done you
foul and ungrateful wrong. But oh, my unhappy kinswoman! and the wretch
Marthon, who enjoyed so much of her confidence, and deserved it so
little--it was she that introduced to m