ast dimensions, such as are sometimes found in the old monasteries
below the ordinary chapel of the order. Seated at a table near the fire
was a young man whose face, as it was at this moment lit up by a
blazing fire, proclaimed him at once for the stranger whose services to
Miss Walladmor and mysterious interview with her he had witnessed with
so much interest. Round about him stood groups of armed men; but of
these he took little notice. Bertram remarked that all of them treated
him with an air of respect, and addressed him by the title of Captain:
to which on his part he replied with an air of good natured familiarity
that seemed to disown the station of authority which they were disposed
to confer upon him. Anxious to hear and see a little more before he
ventured into such a company, he endeavoured to shift his position for
one more convenient to his purpose; but in this attempt he nearly,
precipitated himself through the window. He recovered his footing
however by suddenly catching at a mountain ash; but, in so doing, he
dislodged a quantity of earth and stones which fell rattling down
amongst the party below.

"Rats! rats!" instantaneously exclaimed the whole body: "shall we fire,
Captain?"

"Stop a moment," said Nicholas; and mounting up a ladder, which stood
near the window, he held up a lighted bough of Scotch fir to the place
of Bertram's concealment.

"God bless my soul," exclaimed he, "its my young friend in search of
the picturesque: I protest I never looked for is coming through the
window. Here, bear a hand, and help him in."

The ladder was now applied and steadied; with some little difficulty in
extricating himself from the rubbish and thorns which beset him,
Bertram descended: and was not sorry to find himself, though amongst
such society, suddenly translated from the severe cold of the air and a
situation of considerable peril to the luxury of rest and a warm fire.

FOOTNOTE TO "CHAPTER X.":

[Footnote 1: A picturesque expression borrowed from a celebrated
English author in one of his letters from Paris, published in the
Morning Chronicle.]

CHAPTER XI.

O what an easie thing is to descry
The gentle blood, however it be wrapt
In sade misfortunes foule deformity
And wretched sorrowes which have often hapt!
For,--howsoever it may grow mis-shapt
Like this wyld man being undisciplyned
That to all virtue it may se