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 CHAPTER VII.

In a large circular room, with a massive column in the midst, from

which sprang the groins of the numerous arches which formed the
vault, sat the stout soldier Herbert, with his two companions,
Algernon Grey and the fair Agnes. The chamber itself,
notwithstanding its unusual form, was comfortable and highly
decorated. The floor, somewhat unusual in those times, and in that
country, was of wood; the stone column in the centre was
surrounded by a richly-carved oak seat, furnished with cushions of
crimson velvet; and the heavy mass of the pillar, which rose above,
was broken and relieved by four groups of armour gathered into the
shape of trophies. Seats and bookcases, and those articles of
furniture which are now called etagères, all likewise of oak,
ornamented with velvet and fringes of a crimson colour, occupied the
spaces between the windows; and on the one side, midway from the
pillar to the wall, was a table covered with clean white linen,
supporting various baskets of rich and early fruit, with wine and
bread, but no other viands.

On the other side was also a table, on which were cast negligently
some books, a pair of gauntlets, two or three daggers from different
lands, and a number of objects, valuable either for their rarity or for
the beauty of their workmanship. A fine picture stood on the ground,
leaning against a chair, at one point; an antique marble vase, richly
sculptured, was seen at another; a lance appeared resting on the
shoulder of a statue; and the mask of a satyr, from some Roman
building, was placed in the gaping vizor of a helmet which stood at
the foot of a bookcase. The whole was lighted by crescets hung
against the column, which shed a soft and pleasant lustre through
the wide room.
 The host and his guests were seated at the table where the fruit
was spread, and they seemed to be enjoying highly their simple and
innocent meal. Herbert himself was gayer in manner than he had
been in the morning; Agnes gave way to the flow of her young
bright fancies with as little restraint, or even--less, perhaps, than
when she had been with Algernon Grey alone; and the young
Englishman feeling that, for that evening at least, it was useless to
struggle against the fate that had brought them together, yielded his
spirit to the pleasure of the moment, and resolved to enjoy the cup
which he had not sought to taste.

It must not indeed be supposed that the conversation was all of a

bright or cheerful character; for it went on, in its natural course,
from subject to subject, resembling in its aspect a rich autumn day,
where glowing sunshine and sombre masses of cloud alternately
sweep over the prospect, giving a varied interest to the scene.

The conversation of Herbert himself was not in general of a very

cheerful tone; it was occasionally pungent, shrewd, and keen in the
remarks, but that of a man who, having mingled much with the
world--partaken of its pleasures, shared in its strife, and known its
sorrows--had withdrawn for several years from any very active
participation in the pursuits of other men, still watching eagerly as a
spectator the scenes in which he had once been an actor.

The connexion between him and Agnes had somewhat puzzled

Algernon Grey at his first entrance. Their evident familiarity, their
affection one for the other, had perhaps pained him for an instant--it
was but for an instant; for, though she gave the old soldier both her
hands, and kissed with her glowing lips his weather-beaten cheek, it
was all done so frankly, so candidly, that the young Englishman felt
there must be something to warrant it--that there was nothing to be
concealed. He then asked himself more than once, what the
relationship could be? but it was not till he had been there nearly an
hour, that the fair girl, in addressing Herbert, called him "My dear
uncle."
 Algernon Grey asked himself why he should have felt pained at
her familiarity with any man, whether her near relative or not?--but
it was a question which he could not or would not answer, and he
hurried away from it to other things. "I knew not," he said, "that this
fair lady was your kinswoman, Colonel Herbert, though we spoke of
her at good Dr. Alting's this morning."

"You gave me no reason to know that it was of her you spoke,"

answered Herbert, with a smile.

"Yes, methinks I did," said the other gaily: "I told you I had been
at the court revel last night, and had passed the hours with a lady
whom I described right well."

"Oh, let me hear, dear uncle! let me hear!" exclaimed Agnes; "I
should so much like to hear a stranger's description of myself,--you
must tell me all he said."

"That is because you are vain, my child," answered the old

soldier; "you would not like to hear it, if you thought he had blamed
you:--Nay, I will not tell you a word."

"Then I will divine for myself," cried Agnes; "and you shall see
whether I am vain or not. He said he had met a wild romantic girl,
not very courtly in her manners, who had talked to him all night on
themes which might have suited a painter or a chaplain better than
a court lady; that she danced better than she talked,--dressed better
than she danced,--and had a sovereign objection to love-speeches."

Algernon Grey smiled, and Herbert replied, tapping her cheek

with his fingers, but looking round to their young companion: "You
see, sir, in what these women's vanity consists--dancing and
dressing! But you are wrong, Agnes, altogether. He said not a word
of your dress,--he took no notice of your dancing,--he did not object
to your prattle,--and he told me nothing of his having made you
love-speeches."
 "Neither did he," cried Agnes, with her cheek glowing at the
conclusion which her relation had drawn; "we heard many a one
passing around us, but he made none. That was the reason I liked
his conversation, and I told him so."

"You tell too readily what is in your heart, my child," said Herbert;
"and yet, good faith, I would not have it otherwise. But of one thing
you may be sure, that the man I would ask here was too much a
gentleman to say ought of a lady which was not pleasing to my ear.
What he said came to this: that you were a good girl, and unlike
most others he had met. Was it not so, Master Grey?"

"Somewhat differently expressed and coloured," answered

Algernon Grey; "but, at all events, the substance was no worse;"
and, willing to change the theme, he went on to say, "That good Dr.
Alting seems a zealous and enthusiastic man. It is strange that in the
commerce with the world of a long life he has not lost more of the
fire which generally burns brightly only in youth."

"He has seen little of life," answered Herbert, "knows little of the
world, or he would not entertain such high hopes from such doubtful
prognostications."

"Then you think his expectations regarding the result of this

election will be disappointed?" asked the young Englishman.

Herbert mused gravely, and then replied: "I know not what
portion of his expectations you allude to, or whether you mean all. If
the latter, I say some of them will certainly be verified: Frederick will
be elected, of that I entertain no doubt. These stern Bohemians will
never choose a drunkard and a knave, and with that exception there
is no other competitor of name. Then, again, that there will be the
grand--perhaps the only opportunity that ever will be seen of
rendering the pure Protestant faith predominant in Germany,--nay,
more, of breaking the Austrian chain from the neck of the captive
empire. I do not at all deny, that the opportunity will be there, but
will there be men to seize it? That is what I doubt. Will there be men
who, having stretched forth the hand to take the golden occasion,
will not, when they have clutched it, suffer it to slip from their grasp?
That is the great question; for to fail is worse than not to undertake.
The head on which the crown of Bohemia now falls should be one
full of those rare energies which lose no chance, and which
command success; there should be experience or genius, and, above
all, indomitable firmness of character and activity of mind. He should
be a man of one grand purpose,--cautious as resolute, watchful as
enterprising, leading not led, obstinate in preference to wavering,--
with the whole powers of heart and mind bent to the attainment of a
single object;--with neither eyes, nor ears, nor thoughts for aught
but that. The path is upon a glacier, with a precipice below: one slip
is destruction. Now, good as he is,--brave, intelligent, noble, sincere,
devoted,--is the Elector endowed with powers that will bear him up
through dangers and difficulties such as the world has seldom
seen?"

"Often, where princes themselves would fail," answered Algernon

Grey, "wise counsellors and great generals render them successful."

"He must be a wise prince, to choose wise counsellors," said

Herbert. "Have we any here?--Besides, if you would calculate the
results of the strife about to spring up, look at the materials of the
two parties. This is, in truth, a struggle betwixt the Protestants and
Papists of Germany. Now, there is something in the very nature of
the two religions which gives disunion to the one, consolidation to
the other. The Papists are all agreed on every essential point; they
are all tutored in the same school, look to the same objects, have in
the most important matters the same interests. The least attack
upon their religion is a rallying cry for them all; their wills bend to its
dictates, their banners unfurl at its call, their swords spring forth in
its defence. They are one nation, one tribe, by a stronger tie than
common country or common origin. They are one in religion and the
religion is one. But what is the case with the Protestants? Split into
sects, divided into parties, recognising no authority but their own
individual judgments, they hate each other, with a hatred perhaps
stronger than that which they feel towards the Romanists; or are
cold to each other, which is worse. There is no bond between them
but the worst of bonds--a common enmity to another faith. No, no,
the whole tendencies of one party are to division, the whole
tendencies of the other to union, and union is strength."

"Nay, my dear uncle," cried Agnes, "to hear your arguments, one
would think you a Papist."

"Hold your wild tongue, you unreasoning child," answered

Herbert, good-humouredly; "my arguments go to quite a contrary
end. Were there not innate truth unimpeachable in the doctrines of
the Protestants, there would not be one sect of them left by this
time, so potent are the means arrayed against them, so feeble are
the earthly bonds that hold them together. Were it not for the power
of truth upon their side, the first blast of wind would blow them from
the earth; but great is truth, and it will prevail, however weak be the
hands that support it, however strong the arms raised to crush it."

"Yours is a gloomy view, nevertheless," rejoined Algernon Grey;

"but we must still trust to the vigour of truth for the support of a just
cause. Many will doubtless fall away in the hour of need. Of that I
am aware; but if they carry with them only their own weakness and
the divisions of the party, their absence will but give strength."

"Well, let us talk of it no more," answered Herbert, "the book of

fate has so many pages unopened that who can tell what may be
written on the next? That casque which you see there, crowning the
arms on this side of the pillar, was worn by the good and great
Coligni. Did he think when he last carried it, that the day of St.
Bartholomew, then so nigh, would see his massacre and that of his
companions? Did he think that the king, who then leaned upon his
shoulder, promising to act by his counsel in all things, would
command his assassination? or that the gallant young prince, whom
he appreciated in most things so justly, would abandon the faith for
which they had both shed their blood, and be murdered by one of
the base instruments of the religion he adopted? He must be a
madman or inspired who ventures to prophesy even the deeds or
events of to-morrow."

"And this, then, was the casque of Coligni?" said Algernon Grey,
rising and approaching the pillar; "one of the greatest men,
undoubtedly, that ever lived, whose spirit seemed to revel in
misfortunes, and whose genius appeared, even to his enemies, but
the more bright for defeat."

"Ay, fortune was only constant against him," answered Herbert,

following with Agnes, "he went on with still increasing renown and
disaster, till his glory and his reverses were closed by his
assassination."

"The body perished," said Agnes in a sweet low tone, "and with it
all that was perishable. The immortal remained, the fame that
calumny could never sully, to this earth; the spirit that triumphed
over every reverse, to heaven, from whence it came."

Herbert laid his hand upon her shoulder, gazing at her with a well-
pleased smile. "You may well speak proudly of him, my child," he
said, "for your noble kinsman has left a name which the world
cannot match. There are some strange things here," he continued
abruptly, turning to Algernon Grey. "Do you see this ancient cuirass
shaped almost like a globe?"

"Ay, and that ghastly hole in the left breast," cried Agnes, "what a
tale that tells! Without a word one reads there that by the wound
then given when the lance pierced through the strong iron, a gallant
spirit was sent from earth on the long dark journey. What tears were
then shed! How the bride or the young widow wept in inconsolable
grief! How brethren or parents mourned! What ties were broken,
what long cherished hopes all blasted, what bright schemes and glad
purposes then all passed away like a dream!"
 Algernon Grey fixed his eyes upon her, while she spoke with a
look of sad and solemn earnestness. It was intense and thoughtful,
yet full of admiration, and lasted till she ceased; but Agnes saw it
not, for her eyes were raised to her uncle's face, and her whole spirit
was in the words she uttered.

"It is the pleasant part of life, I fear," he said at length, "which

thus passes like a dream. The painful things remain--ay, and grow
too. With the bright days pass the bright thoughts; with the light
season flies the light heart. Man has but one summer; if it be
clouded, let him not look for sunshine. Winter will surely come."

"Ay, on this earth," answered Herbert, "there is another climate

hereafter, where winter is not. Still you are in some sense wrong.
Each season has its sunny hours for those who seek them. Youth
looks forward to age with apprehension, age to the state beyond.
Neither know rightly what is in store. All they are sure of is, that
there are deprivations coming of things which they fancy treasures;
but still each step of life shows that the most prized jewels of the
former were but tinsel and false stones. What will the last stage
show of all the rest? That cuirass was young Talbot's, slain in the
wars in France; that gap let in his death-wound. A noble spirit
passed away to a nobler world; a kind young heart mourned, and
went to join him. These are brief tales, soon told. Why should we
think more of man's life and death than of the opening and the
fading of a flower? His immortality itself makes his life the less worth
thought, but as he uses it."

"These gauntlets, too," said Algernon Grey, "they seem less

ancient than the cuirass, but yet are not of our own times."

"They are those of a king," answered Herbert; "one whom men

esteem great; but like most of the world's great men, with many
littlenesses--Francis the First of France."
 "All that was great in him," replied Algernon Grey, "belonged to
the spirit of a former time. He had a touch of the old chivalrous
honour, and compared with others of his day, with our own Harry,
and even with his more famous rival, the Emperor Charles, he stands
out bright as knight and gentleman, if not as monarch."

"Compare him not with Harry," said Herbert, "that king was a
brutal tyrant. He might have been better, indeed, had not men
stupidly abolished polygamy, for I dare say he would have been
contented to let his wives live, if the laws of society had not made
them a burden to him; and so, like most men, he committed great
crimes with a pretext, to escape from smaller faults less easily
excused." He spoke laughingly, and then added, "But still he was a
base, bloody tyrant, an ungrateful friend, an ungenerous master. No,
no, Francis was too good to be likened to him. No, compare him with
the man whose sword hangs yonder--with Bayard, and then how
small the king becomes, how great the simple gentleman!"

"He was noble, indeed!" exclaimed Agnes; "and it is a consolation,

too, to see that men admire him more for his gentler than his
sterner qualities. Would that they took his lesson more to heart; for
of the great men, as they are called, of this world, how few are
there whose renown does not rise on deeds of blood and rapine,
how few whose monument is not raised on violations of all justice
and equity; the marble their fellow-creatures' corpses, and the
mortar ruin, devastation, wrong, watered with blood and tears."

Algernon Grey gazed upon her again with the same sad and
thoughtful look; and Herbert replied, "Too true, my child; but yet"--
and he smiled somewhat sarcastically--"I have rarely known the lady
who did not love these sanguinary gentlemen more than the humble
man of peace. It is you, and such as you, who spur us on to war."

"War must be, I fear," answered Agnes; "and Heaven forbid that
any gentleman should be a coward, trembling for so light a thing as
life; but if, when driven unwillingly to strife, men would, like that
great hero you have mentioned, soften the rugged trade by the
virtues of the Christian and the knight, protect, defend, support,
rather than oppress, injure, and trample down, the warrior would be
worthy of all love, and great men would become great indeed. As it
is, one turns with horror from the blood-stained page of history,
where grasping ambition rides in the tinsel chariot of a false renown,
over the crunching bones of whole generations slain. The world's
greatness is not for me; and, all woman as I am, dear uncle, I would
rather be a nun, mewed in a cloister, than the wife of one of these
great men."

She spoke with a fire and energy which Algernon Grey had never
seen in her before; but some of her words seemed to affect Herbert
more than might have been expected. He walked suddenly back to
the table, and seated himself, leaning his head upon his hand, with a
sad and gloomy look. Agnes paused a moment, and then drew
gently near, laid her hand upon his, kissed his furrowed brow, and
murmured, "Forgive me! I did not mean to pain you; I thought not
of what I said."

"It is nothing, it is nothing," answered Herbert; "it will pass, dear

child;" and almost as he spoke, a servant, dressed in a different
livery from that of the court, entered, saying: "The Dowager
Electress, madam, has sent to tell you she is ready when you like to
come."

"I will be with her directly," answered the fair girl; and turning to
Herbert again, she added in a sad tone: "I have given pain enough
here, for one night at least.--Farewell, countryman," she continued
frankly, holding out her soft white hand to Algernon Grey, "I do not
know whether we shall ever meet again; but, methinks, you will
remember this night, so unlike any you have probably ever passed."

Her words were free and unembarrassed; but Algernon Grey had
deeper feelings in his heart, and he merely replied, "I will," at the
same time, however, he bent his head and pressed his lips upon the
hand she gave him. It was a common act of courtesy in those days,
marking nothing but a feeling of friendship or respect; and Agnes,
receiving it as such, drew the light veil, which had fallen upon her
shoulders, over her head, and left the room.

For a single instant Herbert remained seated in the same

desponding attitude. Then rousing himself, he turned to his guest,
saying: "Come, taste the wine again. It is but sour stuff this Rhenish
wine at the best, but this is as good as any."

"It is better than any that I have ever tasted here," answered
Algernon; "and I do not dislike these wines. One does not feel as if
one were drinking molten fire, as with the heady grape of Burgundy,
after which the blood seems to go tingling in fever to the fingers'
ends. One more glass, then, to the health of the fair lady who has
left us."

"Yes, she is fair," answered Herbert, thoughtfully, after drinking

his wine,--"Beautiful as her mother, and as good--more gay, but not
less thoughtful.--Now, my young friend," he continued, "there is one
thing puzzles me in you. That you should think the child lovely does
not surprise me, for she is so: I know it, and am accustomed to hear
others say so; but she sets so little store by her beauty, that it gives
me no pain. There is a difference between admiration and love. It is
evident enough that the blind god has nought to do in the case
between you and her; but yet you have more than once gazed at
her long, and with a sad and serious countenance, as if there were
deep thoughts regarding her silently busy at your heart. If you mind
not telling them, I would fain hear what those thoughts were."

"I caught myself so gazing," said Algernon, with a smile, "not long
before she left the room. It was when she spoke of the horrors and
evils of war; and that theme connected itself in my mind with what
had passed before. I asked myself, if these bright scenes are
destined to be visited by strife and pillage and desolation, what will
be the fate of that young fair being, and many others like her.
Hardships and rude alarms and the daily peril of life is what men are
habituated to from boyhood; but what can woman do at such a
season? She can but sit still and weep, awaiting her destiny,
whatever it may be. The clang of the trumpet, or the roll of the
drum, gives her no inspiring occupation to while away the hours of
suspense; and, the rude captor's prey in a town taken by assault,
death, and worse than death, may be her portion.--Such were the
thoughts which moved me on this last occasion. If I stared at her so
rudely at any other time, I have forgotten the cause."

"It will be long, I trust," answered Herbert, "very long, before the
storm rolls hither, even at the worst; and till it comes, here she is
safe enough. But yet, methinks, good friend, your thoughts take a
gloomy turn, and somewhat strange for the youth of the present
day. With nine men out of ten in every court of Europe--France,
England, Germany--we should have nought but gallant speeches,
courtly discourses of small hands and beautiful feet, and eyebrows
marvellously turned, or lectures upon bravery, what colours suit with
what complexions, what ribands and what laces best harmonize,
what dress becomes the gay and young, the tall, the short--with an
intermixture of sighs and smiles, and some slight touch of roses and
other flowers, to give an Arcadian glow to the whole. But here you
have been as grave as a judge over a long cause which makes his
dinner wait; speaking with all calm solemnity, as if you had never
been taught to laugh.--Why so sad, my friend? Time enough for
sadness, when real sorrow comes."

Algernon Grey's brow became graver than before; not that he

looked hurt, or pained, but there was a sort of stern and serious
earnestness upon his face, as he replied with brief, slow, pointed
words: "Most men have some sad secret in their bosom."

"So young!" said Herbert, musing. "Nay, I think not most men;
though some few may."
 "Have not you, yourself?" asked Algernon Grey, fixing his eyes
upon him steadfastly, "and none can say what will be the hour for
the poisoning of all life's streams;" and he paused and fell into
thought.

"I knew not that the lady was your niece," he continued after a
time; "nor certainly did I expect to meet her here. I seek not
dangerous companionships; and, methinks, her society might well be
so to any one whose heart is not a stone. However, she is too free
and happy, too tranquil in her thoughts and her soul, to be easily
won; and I do trust, when she is won, that she may meet a person
well worthy of her."

"Oh, she will do well enough," answered Herbert. "Women always

choose ill; but, perhaps, she may not choose at all; and I believe the
gross amount of happiness would be on that side, from all I know of
men.--We are strange beings, Master Grey--boys unto the last, we
covet eagerly each glittering toy we see; and then misuse it, when
we have it safe."

These last words gave a different turn to the conversation; and it

wandered wide, and lasted long. Before it came to an end, the
trumpets of the Elector's party were heard in the courtyard; and
Herbert smiled somewhat cynically, but made no observation.
Shortly after, the castle clock struck ten; and Algernon Grey took his
leave and returned towards his inn on foot, pondering upon the
character of the man he had just left, and striving, as we all do
when we meet with one unlike the generality of our acquaintance, to
plunge beneath the surface and discover the hidden things of mind
and heart. These reveries were not so profound, however, as to
prevent him from remarking that thick clouds were driving over the
sky, while the stars shone out and disappeared at intervals, as the
grey vapoury veil was cast over them, or withdrawn. The wind, too,
had risen high; and the night was very different from that which had
preceded. When he, at length, reached the inn, some drops of rain
were falling; and his heart felt sadder, certainly, rather than lighter,
from the visit he had paid.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was a night of storms and tempests. As is not unusual in hilly

districts, thunder, as well as rain, was brought up by the gusty wind.
The house, though in the midst of the town, seemed to rock with
the violence of the blast. The pannelling cracked; the arras waved
over the door; the rain poured down in incessant torrents; and when
Algernon Grey looked forth from his window, as he did more than
once during the long night, he beheld the livid lightning flaming
along the streets, reflected as by a mirror from the wet and shining
pavement of the causeway. Quick upon the flash came the pealing
thunder, as if one of the granite mountains had been riven by the
bolt of heaven, and rolled in crashing fragments into the valley
below.

It was late ere he retired to rest; and for more than one hour he
continued pacing up and down his chamber in deep thought,
reproaching himself for weakness in having given himself up to
fascinations, which he now found might soon become too strong for
all his resolution to resist. It is a painful moment when a firm and
determined mind first discovers in itself that weakness which is in all
human nature, when it has to accuse itself of having yielded, even in
a degree, to temptations which it had resolved to oppose; when it
learns to doubt its own stability and vigour, and is forced, from
experience of the past, to attach a condition, dependent upon its
own strength or feebleness, to every resolution for the future. It is a
painful moment, a moment of apprehension and dread, of doubt and
sorrow; and Algernon Grey, more than once, said to himself, "No, I
will not go thither again--whether William stays here or not, I will go
forward."

He was weary, however, and when he did retire to rest, sleep

soon visited his eyelids; but the form which had troubled his waking
thoughts, visited him with more calming and pleasing influence in his
dreams. Agnes wandered with him, Heaven knows where; no longer
bringing with her hesitation and doubt as to his own course; but
smiling with all her youthful grace unclouded, and spreading
sunshine around her, even to the very depths of his own heart. As so
rarely happens, he remembered his dream, too, when he awoke;
and it seemed as if imagination was but an agent of Fate, to bind
him in those bonds against which he struggled fruitlessly.

It was late ere he unclosed his eyes. The sun was far up in the
sky, but still not showing his face unto the earth; for the storm had
sunk away into dull heavy rain; and the pattering torrents, which fell
from the gutters into the streets, told how heavy was the
descending deluge. Large undefined wreaths of white vapour were
wound round the brows of the hills; and the eye could not penetrate
either up or down the valley beyond a few hundred yards from the
spot where the observer stood.

William Lovet was in an ill humour; for he had engaged himself to

ride again with the court that morning, if the day were fine. But still
his spleen took a merry form; and though his jests were somewhat
more bitter than usual, he jested still. Often did he look at the sky,
and still the same grave blank presented itself till the hour of noon.
Then the expanse grew mottled with slight feathery flakes; the
flakes separated themselves wider and wider from each other, drew
into distinct masses and left the blue sky visible here and there. The
sun shone out over the valley and the plain; but the clouds upon the
higher hills looked only the more black and menacing. However,
about half-past twelve o'clock, a page came down to the inn with a
billet for Master William Lovet, sealed, perfumed, and tied with floss
silk of a rose colour, after the most approved mode of tender epistles
of a period somewhat antecedent. William Lovet took it eagerly; but
yet he could not make up his mind to open it without some slight
touches of his own sarcastic humour. He hung the silk upon his little
finger, held the note up to Algernon Grey with a gay smile, and then
carried it to his nose and to his lips, exclaiming: "Perfumed with
sighs, and flavoured with kisses! Verily, verily, Algernon, you are like
an anchorite at a feast, with delicate dishes and fine wines before
you, and yet you will not taste--But I must read the dear contents.
Witness all ye gods, that I have sworn no constancy. Of all the silly
nations in the world, the Lotophagi were the most foolish; for after
baring once tasted their favourite food, they could relish no other.
Now my unperverted palate can feast on every sweet thing that is
offered it."

While he had been uttering the last words, he had cut the silk and
opened the letter; and, having read it through, he turned to his
friend, saying, "The expedition is put off till after dinner; but at two
we set forth. Do you come, Algernon?"

"Not I," answered Algernon Grey; "I have no invitation."

"That will be soon procured," replied Lovet; "but faith, I will not
press you. For the future, you shall follow your own course; for I see
it is all in vain to hope for anything like the fire of youth in you. I did
think, indeed, when I saw you and that lovely Agnes Herbert
together, some spark might be elicited; especially when my fair
friend told me that she is as cold as you are: for you see, Algernon"-
-and he laid his finger on his breast, with a laughing look--"by
striking flint and steel, two hard, cold things together, men make a
fire--but now I give you up. Continue to live on in sanctified
decorum, and bring back a virgin heart to England with you. Were
you in witty Venice, the ladies of the place would present you with a
coral and bells."
 "And I would give them in return a veil and a pair of gloves,"
answered Algernon Grey.

"Oh, they wear masks," cried Lovet.

"I know they do," said his companion, "and I am not fond of
masks."

"Well, well, I must have dinner quick, and ride up to the castle,"
was the reply. "Every one to his own course, and happiness of his
own kind to each."

The dinner was obtained. William Lovet equipped himself in his

bravery; and Algernon Grey remained at the inn, pondering over the
rencontre that was before him. To few men, even of the most gallant
and determined, are the hours preceding a meeting of this kind the
most pleasant in life. And, though perhaps no man ever lived who
had a smaller sense of personal danger than Algernon Grey, yet they
were peculiarly painful and disagreeable to him. Bred, like almost
every man of noble family at that time, to arms, he had been in his
boyhood inured to peril and accustomed to look death in the face;
but still, educated with very strict notions in regard to religion, he
could not free his mind from a belief, that to slay a fellow-creature in
such an encounter was a crime. The habits of the day, the general
custom of society, had their effect upon him, as upon all others; but
still a conscientious repugnance lingered in his mind and produced
that gloom which no feeling of apprehension could create. There
was no alleviating circumstance either--there was nothing to excite
or to carry him forward. He had no personal quarrel with his
adversary; he had neither animosity nor anger to stimulate him;
and, as I have said, the intervening hours were very dull and painful.
He wrote some letters and memoranda, however; more to occupy
the time than for any other reason. He ordered his horse to be
ready, and the page to accompany him. He examined his sword-
blade, and tried it on the ground; and at length, when the sun was
approaching the horizon on its decline, he mounted and rode slowly
out, with a calm, grave air, telling his servants to have supper
prepared against his return. Not the slightest suspicion was
entertained of his purpose; and the page rode gaily after, looking
round at every thing they passed, and wondering whither his master
was bound.

When they had approached the river, however, it presented a very

different scene from that which had been seen from its banks for
several weeks before. The green Neckar, so clear and glassy, was
now a turbid torrent, red, swollen, and impetuous. The waters had
risen in the course of the day and night several feet, and were
dashing against the piers of the bridge and the walls of the curious
old castellated houses, which then bordered the river, in impotent
fury. Many of the rocks, which in ordinary weather raise their heads
high above the stream, were now either entirely covered, or washed
over from time to time by the waves, which a strong south-west
wind occasioned in its struggle with the angry current of the stream.
As the horse of Algernon Grey set his foot upon the bridge, a heavy
rumbling sound from the east and north, low but distinct, and
pealing long among the hills, told that the dark clouds, which were
still seen hanging there, were pouring forth their mingled lightning
and rain into the valleys of the Odenwald. But the moment that
Algernon Grey had passed the slope of the bridge, he saw before
him that which engrossed his whole attention. The Baron of
Oberntraut was waiting for him under the archway of the opposite
bridge-house, although the time appointed had hardly arrived; and,
quickening his pace, the young Englishman rode on and joined him.
Their salutations were perfectly courteous; and Oberntraut
remarked, in a calm indifferent tone, "We are both a little before our
time, I think; but the river is still rising, and this road by the bank
has sometimes enough water on it to wet our horses' pasterns. With
your good leave, I will show you the way. The stream has not yet
come up, I see."

Thus saying, he turned to the right at the foot of the bridge,

ascending the river; but it may be necessary to say that, at the time
I speak of, the right bank of the Neckar presented a very different
aspect from that which it now displays. No houses were to be seen
between Neunheim on the one hand, and the old religious
foundation of Neuburg, now called the Stift, on the other. The road
was not elevated as it is now; but ran low, within a few feet of the
ordinary level of the stream. The woods upon the Heiligberg, or Holy
Mountain, and the other hills towards Neckarsteinach came
sweeping down to within a few feet of the road; and, here and
there, a path, large or small, according to the necessities of the
case, led away up to the north, wherever a village was situated in
any of the dells, or a small piece of level ground, terraced upon the
face of the mountain, had afforded the peasants an opportunity of
planting the apple or plum tree. The vine was not seen, unless it
were a small patch in the neighbourhood of Neunheim, or of the
Stift Neuburg.

Along the low horse-road, which served as a towing-path for the

boats, the Baron of Oberntraut led the young English gentleman, at
a slow and quiet pace, till they were within about a third of a mile of
the latter place. There the hills receded a little, leaving some more
level ground, still apparently thickly wooded; and, at a spot, where
stood a boatman's hut, with two or three rude barks, moored to the
shore, the entrance of a by-way was seen, which narrowed within
view, till the space was not larger than would admit the passage of a
single horse. At the entrance of this path the Baron drew in his rein,
saying to his companion: "We will leave the horses and pages here,
if you please, and proceed for a couple of hundred yards on foot."

Algernon Grey consented, of course; and orders were given to the

two youths to lead the horses after their masters, as far as they
could up the path--which, indeed, could not be done for more than
three or four yards--and then to wait there.

"If you will excuse me," continued Oberntraut, "I will precede
you."
 Algernon Grey merely bowed his head, without reply, till the other
had gone on forty or fifty yards, when he said: "The sun is going
rapidly down, if not gone already behind the hills; and I think if we
do not hurry our pace, we shall not have light."

"Oh, it is the wood makes it so dark here," answered his

companion, in a gay and somewhat self-sufficient tone; "we shall
have more light in an instant; and the twilight lasts long here."

Thus saying he walked forward; and in less than two minutes led
the way out upon a small green meadow, of not more than a quarter
of an acre in extent, the second crop of grass from which had been
lately carried away, leaving the turf smooth and short.

"This place seems made for the purpose," said Algernon Grey,
drily.

"It is often used for such," answered Oberntraut, advancing into

the midst, and throwing off his cloak.

Algernon Grey followed his example, drew his sword, and laid the
belt and sheath with the cloak.

"Our weapons are of the usual length, I suppose," said

Oberntraut, speaking through his teeth; for there was more
bitterness in his heart than he wished to appear.

"I really do not know," answered Algernon Grey; "but you had
better measure them;" and he laid his by the side of his adversary's.
There was a considerable difference, however; the English blade was
not so long as the German by at least two inches; and when the
Baron observed it, his cheek flushed and his brow contracted; but
his heart was noble and just, though somewhat impetuous and
fierce; and, after a moment's pause, he said: "I cannot fight you
with this disparity; we must put it off till another day. It is my fault,
too; I should have sent you the measure of my weapon, or asked
the length of yours."
 "It matters not," answered the young Englishman; "your sword is
a little longer than mine; but my arm is somewhat longer than
yours; thus the difference is made up; and nothing of this kind
should ever be put off for slight punctilios. Besides, my stay in this
country must be short; and I may not have another opportunity of
gratifying you. With thanks, then, for your courtesy, I say we must
go forward as the matter is."

"Well, well," answered Oberntraut; "if such is your opinion, I am

ready."

"We had better move the cloaks out of the way," answered
Algernon Grey; "I see the light will not fail us."

"Oh, no fear of that," said the Baron; "these things do not take
long."

The young Englishman smiled; and, the field having been cleared,
advanced, with ceremonious courtesy, and saluted his adversary.
Oberntraut returned the compliment; and their swords then crossed.

The great school for the use of that weapon with which both
gentlemen were now armed, was, in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, the low, fallen land of Italy, where Algernon Grey had
passed several years. In point of strength, the two adversaries were
very equally matched; for, though the young Englishman was
somewhat taller and more supple, yet Oberntraut was several years
older, and had acquired that firmness and vigour of muscle, which is
obtained long enough before any portion of activity is lost. The latter
was also very skilful in the use of his arms; but here Algernon Grey,
from the schools in which he had studied, was undoubtedly superior.
He was also superior in perfect coolness. There was no angry
passion in his breast, no haste, no impetuosity. He came there to
defend himself, to oppose an adversary, but neither eager nor
fearful. He felt as if he were in a hall of arms with baited weapons,
merely trying his skill. He was anxious to disarm his opponent, not to
hurt him; and in the first three passes Oberntraut was taught that he
was pitted against a complete master of the rapier. At first this
discovery served to make him more cautious; and he used all his
skill; but it was all in vain. He could not approach his adversary's
breast; wherever his point turned, the blade of Algernon Grey met it;
and more than once the Baron felt that he had laid himself open to
the riposte, but that, from some cause, his adversary had not seized
the opportunity. Repeated disappointments, however, rendered him
irritable and incautious. He watched, indeed, his opponent's defence,
thinking to learn what he called the trick, and overcome it by
another sort of attack; but, whenever he changed his mode,
Algernon met it with a different parry; and the clashing sword
passed innocuous by his shoulder or his hip.

The light began to wane perceptibly, and as cool and perhaps

cooler than when he began, the young Englishman recollected his
adversary's words, and thought, "These things take longer than you
imagined, my good friend, with a man who knows what he is about."

A slight smile curled his lip, at the same time; and thinking that
he was mocking him, Oberntraut renewed the attack with tenfold
fury. Algernon Grey gave a momentary glance to the sky; the rose
had died away from above; heavy clouds were driving over in
detached masses; a drop of rain fell upon his hand; and he saw that,
in two or three minutes, the air would become quite dark.

"I must wound him," said he to himself, "or in this dull twilight I
shall get hurt; he is too keen to be disarmed; I must wound him, but
slightly."

At the same moment Oberntraut made a furious pass; the young

Englishman parried the lunge, but, though his adversary's breast
was left unguarded, his heart smote him, and he would not return it,
lest he should touch some vital part. The Baron pressed him close
with pass after pass; and step by step the young Englishman
retreated. Then suddenly changing his mode, Algernon assumed the
attack, drove his adversary before him in good guard, and then, in
the Italian manner, took a bound back and stood in defence.
Oberntraut, following the method, of which he had some knowledge,
sprang forward and lunged. Algernon parried and returned; but at
the same moment the Baron's foot slipped on the wet grass, the
sword's point caught him on the right breast close to the collar-
bone, and passed out behind the shoulder. He staggered up, raised
his weapon, let it fall, and sank slowly on the ground.

However cool and self-possessed a man may be--though he may

think himself fully justified in what he has done, though he may
have been acting in self-defence, though the act may have been
inevitable--yet no one can inflict a real and serious injury upon
another without feeling a certain degree of regret, if not remorse,
unless his heart be as hard as adamant. It is at such moments that
the strange link of consanguinity which binds the whole human race
together is first known to us; it is then that we feel we are brothers,
and that we have raised a hand against a brother's life.

The moment that the deed was done--and it was evidently more
than he had intended to do--Algernon Grey felt a pang shoot
through his heart, and he said internally: "Would that he had not
driven me to it, would that he had not provoked it!" but, casting
down his sword at once, he knelt by Oberntraut's side, and, raising
his head and shoulders on his knee, exclaimed in kindly and eager
tones: "I hope you are not much hurt!"

"A little faint," said Oberntraut, slowly; "not much--I shall be

better presently, and able to go on."

"Nonsense, nonsense!" exclaimed Algernon Grey, vehemently, "to

go on in combat against a man with whom you have no quarrel, who
has never injured, insulted, or offended you, who was friendly
disposed towards you? My good friend, I will draw the sword against
you no more; I have had enough of it."
 "Methinks, so have I," said Oberntraut, faintly, with a light smile
passing over his face. "You are a master of the science;--that pass
was splendid."

"It was the turf!" cried Algernon Grey; "had you not slipped, I
should have hardly touched you."

Oberntraut pressed his hand, saying, "If you could stop the
bleeding--it is soaking through all my doublet;--you had better call
the page."

"I will try to staunch the blood first," answered Algernon Grey;
"no time is to be lost--five minutes more and we shall not see the
wound;" and, opening the vest and shirt of his opponent, which
were now both drenched in blood, he tore his handkerchief in two,
making each half into a sort of compress, as he had often before
seen the surgeons do, when hurried on the field of battle. He fixed
one on the wound before, the other on the aperture behind the
shoulder, and with the Baron's scarf and his own, bound them tightly
down, stopping the flow of blood, at least in a degree. Then, after
gazing at him for a moment or two, he said, "I will leave you only
during an instant, and send the page for a litter or something to
bear you to the town."

"No, no," answered his former adversary; "send up to the Stift

Neuburg, they will take me in and tend me well. Then a surgeon can
be brought;--but remember, whatever happens, this is not your
fault; it was my own seeking--my own doing,--no one is to be
blamed but myself. Methinks the bleeding has stopped."

Algernon Grey hurried away, found the path without difficulty, and
ran down towards the road; but the moment his own page saw him
coming, he threw the reins of the horses to the other and sprang to
meet his master, exclaiming, "Away, my lord, away, or you will not
be able to pass. The river is rising rapidly; the water is already upon
the road."
 "Mind not me," exclaimed Algernon Grey, "but hasten with all
speed up to the building there upon the left. Fly, boy, fly! and give
notice that there is a gentleman lying wounded in the wood. Beg the
people to send down bearers instantly to carry him up thither."

The boy gazed at him with a look of surprise and consternation,

and seemed about to ask some question, when Algernon Grey
exclaimed, "Away! inquire nothing; his life depends upon your
speed."

The page instantly darted off to execute the commission, when

suddenly a sound was heard as of the feet of many horses coming at
a rapid pace round the wood and the rocks beyond. The boy paused
and drew back for an instant; and a part of the splendid train of the
Elector and his Princess swept along, with their horses' hoofs
splashing in the water, which was now two or three inches deep on
that part of the road. The boy then ran on, and Algernon Grey
advanced a step or two to catch some stragglers of the party and
bid them send a surgeon quickly from the town; but, ere he reached
the broad road, two or three cavaliers dashed past like lightning,
without noticing him; and the next instant a shrill piercing shriek
broke upon his ear.

CHAPTER IX.

The court of the Elector, Frederic the Fifth, was, as I have in some
degree shown, one of the gayest as well as one of the most splendid
in Europe. Nay, the merriment and revelry that reigned therein,
puzzled the stern Calvinistic ministers not a little, how to excuse a
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