beings-thirsty for distinction-flushed with success. Alarmed by the noise, some of De Montfort's friends ran to arms, and followed. But opposition would have been madness. No earthly arm could have stemmed that tide, or checked that sea of men. The torches flashed their smoky light high in the air ;it streamed down, flickering, on their faces; and they went shouting onwards as demons seem to go through a fantastic dream.

Just as they reached the Castle, the great alarum bell began to ring, adding its hideous clamour to their shouts. But succour, even if the townsmen had rallied in any number, would have come too late. The gates were already secured. Greaves had opened the wicket, and immediately afterwards fell under Lovell's sword;-but the men at arms who sprang in were too numerous for resistance, though Geoffrey's trusty guard fought well; and the gates were thrown open to the besiegers and their allies.

The Earl of Montfort was taken, in his couch. He was hurried out into the courtyard. There, in front of the ranks of soldiers and citizens, stood Sir Hervé de Léon, waiting to receive his sword. Resistance had long since ceased; the soldiers had made a stout defence, under the gallant young gentlemen of the body guard; but all in vain. Lord Charles of Blois

was master of Nantes, and the Earl of Montfort had no option but to submit.

He bore himself well under his reverse of fortune. Sir Hervé de Léon's eyes shone with exultation, as he stepped forward to receive his weapon. But he exhibited no emotion. It seemed as though he forgot that the Knight had ever been his friend.

A troop of horses stood in the courtyard. De Léon intimated that he must mount, and ride at once with him to the French camp. He responded with the dignified courtesy which was due to the representative of the Lord Charles of Blois. His bearing throughout the whole scene was lofty and composed.

66

Spare bloodshed, gentlemen, as you love God!" he said to those around him, as he mounted; then waving to Sir Hervé, he intimated that he was ready

to go.

In a few minutes the train set onwards. De Léon rode by his rein; a strong guard went before and after; they passed down the crowded streets, through the gates, and barriers, and so to the French camp, where Sir Hervé delivered him to Blois.

During the confusion caused by their departure, as Lovell stood bound, in the midst of the remnant of the Castle guard—a young man, who had apparently accompanied the French, stepped up to him, and cut

the thongs which bound him, and whispered something in his ear, and put a sword into his hand.

In a few minutes, both were out of the press, and

hurrying down the streets.

CHAP. IV.

LOVE IS BLIND.

Queen Catherine. Alas, sir!

In what have I offended you? What cause

Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure?

Henry VIII.

Claudio. Out on thy seeming; I will write against it.
Much Ado about Nothing.

MISERY, I said, was watching as well as Guilt. That wretched afternoon, and evening, and night, dragged wearily to Geoffrey, as he lay bound on the bed. Only once he had seen a face. His guard brought some food; not prison fare, for there were the same delicacies which he had been used to receive, since he began to recover; wine too, and fruits, and cakes. But he refused to eat. Vexation and anger spoil the appetite.

The man offered to unbind his arms, so that he might eat with comfort, provided he would promise not to attempt escape. But Geoffrey ordered him,

surlily, to begone, and not to trouble him. He had not been into the room since. He had left the old familiar lamp on the table, and it had burnt patiently through the long evening. But its light had now begun to fade, for it was nearly midnight.

Geoffrey had had a hard trial to face. But he had not wrestled with it, and of course he had not conquered it. Trials are sent to train men; but the combatant derives no benefit if he grows angry with the blows which he receives while he is fighting. Training cannot go on without blows.

This discovery that his love for Alice had been encouraged for Sir Hervé de Léon's own ends, had severely wounded his vanity, and self-esteem, and self-love. And he was the more hurt as he reflected that Alice had assisted to deceive him. He did not for a moment doubt that Sir Hervé had told him the truth on this point. Love raises and ennobles every nature;-but it could not raise his above a natural height. He did love-as much as he could love any one but himself. The love, however, which never doubts, was quite beyond him. He considered that his worth had lured Alice further than she had intended to go. He thought it very likely that she did now love him; but this did not alter her guiltiness! We know how false his suppositions were. Had he, even assum