had business with
the Visconti. One bright morning in June, our boy was stolen; verily
that June was like a December to us!"

"Stolen!--how?--by whom?"

"The first question is answered easily,--the boy was with his nurse in
the courtyard, the idle wench left him for but a minute or two--so she
avers--fetch him some childish toy; when she returned he was gone; not a
trace left, save his pretty cap with the plume in it! Poor Adeline, many
a time have I found her kissing that relic till it was wet with tears!"

"A strange fortune, in truth. But what interest could--"

"I will tell you," interrupted Montreal, "the only conjecture I could
form;--Adeline's mother, on learning we had a son, sent to Adeline a
letter, that well nigh broke her heart, reproaching her for her love
to me, and so forth, as if that had made her the vilest of the sex.
She bade her take compassion on her child, and not bring him up to a
robber's life,--so was she pleased to style the bold career of Walter de
Montreal. She offered to rear the child in her own dull halls, and fit
him, no doubt, for a shaven pate and a monk's cowl. She chafed much that
a mother would not part with her treasure! She alone, partly in revenge,
partly in silly compassion for Adeline's child, partly, it may be, from
some pious fanaticism, could, it so seemed to me, have robbed us of our
boy. On inquiry, I learned from the nurse--who, but that she was of the
same sex as Adeline, should have tasted my dagger,--that in their walks,
a woman of advanced years, but seemingly of humble rank, (that might
be disguise!) had often stopped, and caressed and admired the child. I
repaired at once to France, sought the old Castle of De Courval;--it had
passed to the next heir, and the old widow was go on, none knew whither,
but, it was conjectured, to take the veil in some remote convent."

"And you never saw her since?"

"Yes, at Rome," answered Montreal, turning pale; "when last there I
chanced suddenly upon her; and then at length I learned my boy's fate,
and the truth of my own surmise; she confessed to the theft--and my
child was dead! I have not dared to tell Adeline of this; it seems to me
as if it would be like plucking the shaft from the wounded side--and she
would die at once, bereft of the uncertainty that rankles within her.
She has still a hope--it comforts her; though my heart bleeds when I
think on its vanity. Let this pass, my Colonna."

And Montreal started to his feet