restrained her. At last this fear was overcome by the new anxiety, that the noble lady would fade and die; and I myself said to her, " Lead her out, happen what will. Our severe master is at least five hundred miles off, and will not return before late in the autumn. I will accompany you myself."

Indescribable was the joy of Adelaide when she, for the first time, passed the dark gate, and the compressed walls. She bounded like a young doe down the hill; we could not follow her; she laughed at us and ran on. I yet remember how her hair was wafted by the morning breeze, how the fairest rose colour returned to her beautiful cheeks, and how her eyes shone like two bright stars. She awaited us on the bridge, and called to us in musical tones : "To you I owe my life that was fading away!" All that she saw appeared so new, so beautiful, to her.

"I should like to go down to the water," said she; "I should like to see it flow and gush; that would complete this day's happiness."

"You cannot do it, noble lady," answered I; bank is too steep."

"the

"Yes, but I will attain it, dear Peter;" and away she flew, penetrated through the underwood, and stood in an instant on one of the great stones that project out of the water. She inclined herself, washed her feet, her snow white hands, and her smiling face, and returned with the same swiftness to her concerned nurse,

VOL. II.

F

who warned her, in vain, to be more prudent. We wandered yet a little while in the circumjacent woods; and after two hours retired to the castle.

These walks were now daily repeated. Adelaide's health and spirits returned; indeed they augmented, and never had she looked so well. We enjoyed her happiness, as nothing happened to make us more circumspect; Lord Amaury being more and more entangled in distant wars. At last, I allowed my wife to walk out alone with the lady. They always selected retired and shady places; and never met but one person, a well formed miller's servant, who returned to Adelaide a glove which she had lost, humbly and silently presenting it to her, and never showing himself more, although Adelaide often directed her course to the mill. This did not seem intentional to Margaret, as the young lady never after mentioned the miller. Adaleide often went to the river, descended into the bed of the Orbe from stone to stone, where my wife could not follow her, and at last penetrated into the rocky vault. She found there, as she told my wife, in one of the grottos excavated by the water, an agreeable bathing place, where she could refresh herself unseen. Bathing now became her dearest pleasure, and seemed conducive to her health. Margaret waited on the bank of the river, or on the bridge, occupied with her needle, until her mistress returned.

Once, however, my two wanderers remained out longer than usual; and when at last they appeared, Margaret

seemed thoughtful and disturbed. I inquired the reason, and after much hesitation she said, with a deep sigh, “All is not right, and we shall certainly suffer for it. ADELAIDE IS MARRIED!"

"MARRIED!" exclaimed I, as if thunderstruck. I could not, for some time recover from my astonishment, for I imagined my wife had lost her senses. When I was again master of mine, I learned from her what had happened.

She had for some time remarked that the noble lady laboured under a continual change of spirits. To exceeding mirth followed a deep melancholy, and the most jocose laughter was succeeded by streams of tears. She had for some time also remained longer than usual under the bridge, and often expressed a wish there to spend her whole life. As my wife was sitting alone on the bridge she saw a harper pass, who used to salute her in a friendly manner, but never stop. She rejoiced that he never met her with the young lady, although Adelaide had once seen him at a distance and said to her, "Dear nurse, I should like to hear yonder harper; I have not heard a single note since my severe lord and father had one driven away, who sang under the walls to the music of the harp; I wish this one would come to the castle. Dear mother, I know you • would let him in, and treat him well." "Not for all the world," answered Margaret; "it would cost mine

and my husband's life if your father should ever hear of it."

Well, well," answered the noble lady, "let us drop the subject; it was only a childish wish."

"This morning," continued Margeret, "she evinced a different desire, which appeared to me more reasonable. In passing the chapel down by the bridge, she said,

The

I will go in and pray God that he may return me my father, and never let him know how good you have been to me.' To this I made no opposition. Adelaide kneeled before the altar, and I beside her. Immediately a priest in his pontifical robes, with two choristers, and three knights in bright armour, entered the chapel. youngest of the knights I immediately recognized as the harper, and I thought there existed a remarkable likeness between him and the miller. At this I rose, and was going to lead Adelaide away. She withstood me, but the young knight took her hand, led her to the altar, and presented her to the priest as his bride. • Bless our union, venerable minister of God,' said he, here are the golden rings; there stands my father, and there stands the knight representing the father of my bride. Both give their consent, and are present as witnesses of our marriage.' I would have spoken, but the lady pressed my mouth with a kiss.

"The knight laid this heavy purse in my hand, and. whispered, be silent, good Margaret! every thing will

be right; for it is the will of God that we be united.' What could I do! I stood as if petrified. Upon this the priest blessed the two rings, interchanged them, and performed the marriage ceremony. The young knight then embraced his spouse, and led her to me: • Accompany her,' said he, ' and provide for her in the same manner as hitherto, until I come to conduct her home; but now you will no more refuse a night's quarter to the harper.' I could not answer. Adelaide shed sweet tears: she had scarcely sufficient strength to tear herself from the embraces of her husband. At last she took my hand; Come, dear nurse, I will tell thee all. You see my husband is not like my father.' "

“And did she tell you all?" said I, in breathless anxiety. "Where did she meet him? who is he? to whom does he belong?"

"She has told me all; her husband is-the Lord Manfred of Lucens."

"Of Lucens!" exclaimed I; "the son of a sworn enemy of our lord and master! I have often heard him swear, that he would not rest till he extirpated the whole race. We are lost! Undone! But for God's sake where, how, and when did she become acquainted with him?"

"Manfred was the young harper who sang last year under our walls, and whom Lord Amaury drove away. He saw lady Adelaide on the ledge of the window,