with their tongues. What, man! the life of a King,
and many thousands besides, is not to be weighed with the chance of two
young things whilly whawing in ilk other's ears for a minute."

So saying, he dragged off Crevecoeur, who followed very reluctantly, and
cast many angry glances at the young Archer as he left the room.

In a moment after, the Countess Isabelle entered on the other side of
the grate, and no sooner saw Quentin alone in the parlour, than she
stopped short, and cast her eyes on the ground for the space of half a
minute. "Yet why should I be ungrateful," she said, "because others are
unjustly suspicious?--My friend--my preserver, I may almost say, so much
have I been beset by treachery, my only faithful and constant friend!"

As she spoke thus, she extended her hand to him through the grate,
nay, suffered him to retain it until he had covered it with kisses,
not unmingled with tears. She only said, "Durward, were we ever to meet
again, I would not permit this folly."

If it be considered that Quentin had guided her through so many
perils--that he had been, in truth, her only faithful and zealous
protector, perhaps my fair readers, even if countesses and heiresses
should be of the number, will pardon the derogation.

But the Countess extricated her hand at length, and stepping a pace back
from the grate, asked Durward, in a very embarrassed tone, what boon he
had to ask of her?--"For that you have a request to make, I have learned
from the old Scottish Lord, who came here but now with my cousin of
Crevecoeur. Let it be but reasonable," she said, "but such as poor
Isabelle can grant with duty and honour uninfringed, and you cannot
tax my slender powers too highly. But, oh! do not speak hastily--do not
say," she added, looking around with timidity, "aught that might, if
overheard, do prejudice to us both!"

"Fear not, noble lady," said Quentin sorrowfully; "it is not here that I
can forget the distance which fate has placed between us, or expose you
to the censures of your proud kindred, as the object of the most devoted
love to one, poorer and less powerful--not perhaps less noble--than
themselves. Let that pass like a dream of the night to all but one
bosom, where, dream as it is, it will fill up the room of all existing
realities."

"Hush! hush!" said Isabelle "for your own sake--for mine--be silent on
such a theme. Tell me rather what it is you have to ask of me."

"Forgiveness to one," replied