Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.

by G. P. R. James

We must now return to Walter de la Tremblade, who closed the door of the room where he had left his niece, and paused one moment to think. "It must be risked," he said: "the boy owes me much--He will not dare to doubt me;" and, without farther consideration, he again descended the stairs. At the bottom he heard a step, and saw a light glimmering through the door at the far end of the hall. "It is that base villain!" he thought as he concealed himself behind one of the square masses of masonry that supported the roof above. "He goes upon his dark errand, like the silent withering frost of autumn, blighting all the flowers it falls upon. Ah, monster!" he muttered between his teeth, as he saw the Marquis pass not ten steps from him: and well was it for Chazeul, well for himself, that there was no dagger under that priest's robe.

Covered with a dressing-gown of embroidered silk, and bearing a lamp in his hand, with a stealthy step and an eye looking eagerly forward, as if agitated with the very scheme in which he was taking part, Chazeul crossed the hall and approached the staircase. There was a slight rustle of the priest's gown, and the other paused suddenly and listened. All was still again; and he murmured, "It was the wind!" The next instant the clock struck one, and with a smile the Marquis mounted the stairs.

The moment he was gone, Walter de la Tremblade came forth again, and with a quick step went on, through the stone hall, across the court, and entered the chapel. There, with haste and agitation, he lighted a lamp that stood in the sacristy, returned, shading the flame with his hand, and, traversing the hall in another direction, passed through a low arch and along a narrow passage, which led him to the foot of a small staircase. Then taking two steps at a time, he mounted rapidly to the highest story of the château, where two or three rooms were seen on either hand. Through the key-hole of one streamed a light, and voices were heard talking.

"Ay, there wait her witnesses," murmured the priest; and, proceeding he turned into a passage on the left, and listened at a door. All was still; and, setting down the lamp, he raised the latch and entered. It was a low ill-furnished room, where slept the page, and one of the servants of the Marchioness of Chazeul, in beds not large enough to hold more than a single person. At the first pallet the priest stopped; and shading his eyes with his hand, as if to concentrate the little light that found its way in at the door, which he had left open, he gazed upon the countenance of the sleeping man. Then, going on, he touched the page gently with his hand. The boy slept soundly, however, and the priest had to stir him once more before he woke. Then whispering "Hush!" he added, "Get up, Philip. There is business for you to do."

"Ah! what is it, father?" said the boy, rubbing his eyes, still heavy with sleep: "is anything the matter?"

"Do not speak so loud," replied father Walter; "there is no need to wake any one else. The Marchioness has chosen you to ride for something that both she and I may have occasion to see; and you must mount and away to Chazeul immediately, so as to be back before nine to-morrow, when the burial of the old Commander de Liancourt is to take place. Are you awake enough to understand me?"

"Oh, yes, yes," answered the page yawning, "I understand quite well. I wish she had chosen another hour. At home, we can never count upon half a night's sleep: she is as restless as the wind; and it is to be the same thing here, it seems. But what am I to bring?"

"A certain precious book of Hours," replied the priest, "which has been long in the family of La Tremblade. You will find it in the room which my niece, Mademoiselle de la Tremblade, used to occupy." He paused upon the words, to show the boy that he was aware of Helen's absence from the Château of Chazeul, and then continued, "You will know the book, if you should find others there, by its being covered with crimson velvet, with silver clasps and studs. Bring it at once to me; and let no one else see it."

"But will that old tiger of a gouvernante let me have it?" asked the page: "she will not let one of us set foot in any room beyond the hall."

"Then make her fetch it," said the priest. "Tell her your mistress wants it; and let her refuse if she dare. Now, be quick. Cast on your things, and join me in the chapel. I will order a horse to be saddled in the mean time. But, make no noise. It is needless to wake any one; and the Marchioness would have your going secret."