a
Marechale was to them as the laws of the Medes and Persians,
irresistible and unchangeable; and with heavy hearts they dismounted
the portrait, and assisted in enfolding and encasing it, with much the
same feeling that might have been shown in paying the last honours to
a rightful branch of the beloved line.

But, in the wall which the picture had covered, I found a small
recess, closed by an iron door, and evidently unknown to the Swiss and
his old wife. I might have hesitated about extending my enquiry
further, but Time, the great discoverer of all things, saved my
conscience: with a slight pressure against the lock it gave way; the
door flew open, and dropped off the hinges, a mass of rust and decay.
Within was a casket of a larger size than that generally used for
jewels; but my curiosity durst not go beyond the superscription, which
was a consignment of the casket, in the name of the Marechale, to her
banker in London. Whatever might be the contents, it was clear that,
like the picture, it had been left behind in the hurry of flight, and
that to transmit it to England was fairly within my commission. Before
our busy work was done, day was glancing in through the coloured panes
of the fine old chamber. I hurried off the Swiss, with my precious
possessions, to the next town, in one of the baggage carts, with a
trooper in front to prevent his search by hands still more hazardous
than those of a custom-house officer; and then, mounting my horse, and
bidding a brief farewell to the brave and noble fellows who were
already mustering for the march, and envying me with all their souls,
I set off at full speed to rejoin the army.

With all my speed, the action had begun for some hours before I came
in sight of the field. With what pangs of heart I heard the roar of
the cannon, for league on league, while I was threading my bewildered
way, and spurring my tired horse through the miry paths of a country
alternately marsh and forest; with what pantings I looked from every
successive height, to see even to what quarter the smoke of the firing
might direct me; with what eager vexation I questioned every hurrying
peasant, who either shook his moody head and refused to answer, or who
answered with the fright of one who expected to have his head swept
off his shoulders by some of my fierce-looking troop, I shall not now
venture to tell; but it was as genuine a torture as could be felt by
man. At length, exhausted by mortal fati