Nantes as was consistent with justice, at once ordered that Greaves should not leave the Castle again till the man was declared out of danger.-" If," he said, "he dies, you shall answer for it as if you had never seen my service." And then he reproved him in such stern and scornful terms for his foolish conduct, that the young man left the presence in a fury of wounded vanity, and was ready for any tempter.

And the tempter was not wanting on his part. Events had assisted more than could have been expected; and Hastie acted his role with so much tact, and magnified matters so considerably, that Greaves thought any reconciliation, or further service to De Montfort, after such language had been held to him, would compromise his honour; and he agreed to throw open the Castle gates on the first sounds of attack.

"I played high for the young man," Hastie said, "and I have won him. I have promised Geraldine to him, and a high reward, and place in Lord Charles's household. You know," he added, "he can fall quite accidentally in the melée, so that there was no risk." "Nay!" exclaimed Sir Hervé. "No more bloodshed than can be helped."

Hastie smiled, as though he congratulated himself on being able to take instructions without the use of

words: and after telling this part of his business, he went on with reports on other matters, with which I need not burden these pages at any length.

Suffice to say, that all was ready. The most determined of the citizens were to be posted near both town and castle gates, ready to surprise the townguard at the first, and to break into the latter at a concerted signal. Signals and watchwords were all understood. Captains, scouts,-all the greater and lesser appointments of such a force, consisting as it did, for the most part, of what we should call militiamen-were made. Every obstacle seemed to be smoothed down. The train was laid. All that was now wanted was the application of the torch.

After a considerable time had been spent in conversation on these and such other matters, Hastie retired. The afternoon had begun to close in,-it wanted but a short time now of the crisis. But Sir Hervé de Léon did not think of this, as he sat, once more, alone.

"So," he said, "then we shall not need this boy! Better to have had him and his men than this Greaves; but if we once get entrance to the Castle, it will not matter. With an overwhelming force we can beat down all resistance. Her son!"

He rose, and once again began his hasty pacing up and down.

"Her son!" he said, in a half whisper, placing his hand on his dagger, and looking cautiously round. "What, if I were to finish with him! What, if he -if he slept for ever. It might"

He started:for the drapery over one of the doors was moved.

"Who's there?" he exclaimed, fiercely.

There was no answer. But the stern man's fierceness changed almost to trembling, when, after an instant's hesitation, Alice de Léon entered the chamber.

CHAP. II.

ANXIETY.

Love various minds does variously inspire,

He stirs in gentle natures gentle fire.

Tyrannic Love. Dryden.

ALICE had suffered much. Loving, as she did, the manly and generous character which she believed Geoffrey's to be, it pained her beyond measure to think that he had been tampered with, in her name. I have allowed the audience to see him in his true character, which was of course very different to the above. But she did not know that it was so. Who, of us all, knows the real character of him or her whom we love?-Alas! we too often wake from our dream-life to a sad reality, and find that we have loved the creation of our own wishes, and hopes, and fancies; that the halo around the loved one has been placed there by ourselves. Well:-if Love, founded on knowledge, cannot obtain on earth, it will in Heaven,

where all is pure, and where, too, we shall know and be known.

She had suffered much, I say. But she knew of no means by which to obtain relief. With a consciousness that her pure affection had been used for a dishonourable end, it was impossible for her to see Geoffrey. He, of course, believed that all had been done by her concurrence; and under that belief would he not spurn her from him in horror?-She did not know, therefore, that, if she had tried to see him, she would have been prevented. Nor did she care to seek another interview with her uncle. His honour, she felt, was not hers.

But she was not one who would allow personal matters to interfere with duty, and she went, therefore, though with a heavy heart, on her accustomed errands of charity. No stilted charity, hers. She visited the sick and poor, in their need, in the spirit which ordained a blessing on that work.

So the day passed. The night, so troubled to Geoffrey, was troubled to her, too :—and though poor old Grace, wondering much what was the matter with her mistress, did all in her power to soothe and cheer her, she scarcely closed her eyes till morning. Then, however, she fell asleep, and the sun was high in the heaven before she woke,-unre