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(University of Virginia)

Mary of Burgundy.

By
G. P. R. James

London
George Routledge and Sons Limited.
MDCCCCIII.

The Introduction is written by Laurie Magnus, M.A.; the Title-page is designed by Ivor I. J. Symes.

INTRODUCTION.

George Payne Rainsford James, Historiographer Royal to King William IV., was born in London in the first year of the nineteenth century, and died at Venice in 1860. His comparatively short life was exceptionally full and active. He was historian, politician and traveller, the reputed author of upwards of a hundred novels, the compiler and editor of nearly half as many volumes of letters, memoirs, and biographies, a poet and a pamphleteer, and, during the last ten years of his life, British Consul successively in Massachusetts, Norfolk (Virginia), and Venice. He was on terms of friendship with most of the eminent men of his day. Scott, on whose style he founded his own, encouraged him to persevere in his career as a novelist; Washington Irving admired him, and Walter Savage Landor composed an epitaph to his memory. He achieved the distinction of being twice burlesqued, by Thackeray, and two columns are devoted to an account of him in the new "Dictionary of National Biography." Each generation follows its own gods, and G. P. R. James was, perhaps, too prolific an author to maintain the popularity which made him "in some ways the most successful novelist of his time." But his work bears selection and revival. It possesses the qualities of seriousness and interest; his best historical novels are faithful in setting and free in movement. His narrative is clear, his history conscientious, and his plots are well-conceived. English learning and literature are enriched by the work of this writer, who made vivid every epoch in the world's history by the charm of his romance.

The great passage in this book is so magnificently dramatic that James feels it due to his conscience as an historian to apologise for its excellence in a footnote. "It may be necessary," he writes at the foot of page 234, "to inform those who are not deeply read in the chronicles of France that this fact is minutely accurate." We are glad of the reminder, for without it the reader might have thought that here was something fictitious, or at least exaggerated and 'worked-up,' so intense and true is the tragic setting of the scene. But if Mary of Burgundy's bearing at the execution of the Lord of Imbercourt, and her grand historical utterance, recorded on page 305, "You have banished my best friends, and slain my wisest counsellors, and now what can I do to deliver you?" if these public appearances of the heiress of Charles the Bold, and the love which she cherished for the husband who was chosen for her on political grounds, justify James in raising her to the title-role in this romance, it must be conceded that the real hero is Albert Maurice, citizen of Ghent, a noble mediæval prototype of the citoyens of the French Revolution, Whatever defects in character-study have been ascribed to James, no one can deny that in Albert Maurice his skill was equal to its material. The figure of the young President is firmly and consistently drawn, and the conception touches considerable heights of human daring and aspiration. Albert Maurice at the time of his fall was many years younger than Wolsey, but he could say as genuinely as the Cardinal, "I charge thee, fling away ambition!" In his story we realize to the full the tragic import of that warning. His splendid dream of patriotism was fulfilled by blunders and crimes, committed per se or per alios, for which he felt the responsibility, and at the end the people of Ghent discovered the ancient truth, that worse than the tyranny of tyrants is the tyranny of tyrannicides. But by that time Maurice was dead; the victim of self-delusion would not survive his disappointment; in the sudden knowledge that his goal was unattainable, he became aware that his steps to it had been unjust. This romance of the fifteenth century--Mary of Burgundy was married in 1477--is in what Matthew Arnold called the "grand style," and it is therefore singularly free from faults of diction and false notes of any kind. It has a certain attractive naturalness from beginning to end, and it is one of the best, as it is one of the earliest, of the series of novels in which James went for his plots to the French Chroniclers of the Middle Ages.

MARY OF BURGUNDY:

OR,

THE REVOLT OF GHENT.

CHAPTER I.

It was on the evening of a beautiful day in the beginning of September, 1456--one of those fair autumn days that wean us, as it were, from the passing summer, with the light as bright, and the sky as full of rays, as in the richest hours of June; and with nothing but a scarce perceptible shade of yellow in the woods to tell that it is not the proudest time of the year's prime. It was in the evening, as I have said; but nothing yet betokened darkness. The sun had glided a considerable way on his descent down the bright arch of the western sky, yet without one ray being shadowed, or any lustre lost. He had reached that degree of declination alone, at which his beams, pouring from a spot a little above the horizon, produced, as they streamed over forest and hill, grand masses of light and shade, with every here and there a point of dazzling brightness, where the clear evening rays were reflected from stream or lake.

It was in the heart of a deep forest, too, whose immemorial trees, worn away by time, or felled by the axe, left in various places wide open spaces of broken ground and turf, brushwood and dingle,--and amidst whose deep recesses a thousand spots rich in woodland beauty lay hidden from the eye of man. Those were not, indeed, times when taste and cultivation had taught the human race to appreciate fully all the charms and magnificence wherewith nature's hand has robed the globe which we inhabit; and the only beings that then trod the deeper glades of the forest were the woodman, the hunter, or those less fortunate persons who--as we see them represented by the wild pencil of Salvator Rosa--might greatly increase the picturesque effect of the scenes they frequented; but, probably, did not particularly feel it themselves. But there is, nevertheless, in the heart of man, a native sense of beauty, a latent sympathy, a harmony with all that is lovely on the earth, which makes him unconsciously seek out spots of peculiar sweetness, not only for his daily dwelling, but also for both his temporary resting place, and for the mansion of his long repose, whether the age or the country be rude or not.

Look at the common cemetery of a village, and you will generally find that it is pitched in the most picturesque spot to be found in the neighbourhood. If left to his free will, the peasant will almost always--without well knowing why--build his cottage where he may have something fair or bright before his eyes; and the very herd, while watching his cattle or his sheep, climbs up the face of the crag, to sit and gaze over the fair expanse of Nature's face.

It was in the heart of a deep forest, then, at the distance of nearly twenty miles from Louvain, that a boy, of about twelve years of age, was seen sleeping by the side of a small stream; which, dashing over a high rock hard by, gathered its bright waters in a deep basin at the foot, and then rushed, clear and rapidly, through the green turf beyond. The old trees of the wood were scattered abroad from the stream, as if to let the little waterfall sparkle at its will in the sunshine. One young ash tree, alone, self-sown by the side of the river, waved over the boy's head, and cast a dancing veil of chequered light and shade upon features as fair as eye ever looked upon.

At about a hundred yards from the spot where he was lying, a sandy road wound through the savannah, and plunged into the deeper parts of the wood. On the other side, however, the ground being of a more open nature, the path might be seen winding up the steep ascent of a high hill, with the banks, which occasionally flanked it to the east, surmounted by long lines of tall overhanging trees.

A rude bridge of stone, whose ruinous condition spoke plainly how rarely the traveller's foot trod the path through the forest, spanned over the stream at a little distance. And the evening light, as it poured in from the west, caught bright upon the countenance of the sleeping boy, upon the dancing cascade above his head, upon many a flashing turn in the river, and, after gilding the ivy that mantled the old bridge, passed on to lose itself gradually in the gloom of the deep masses of forest-ground beyond.

The dress of the sleeper accorded well with the scene in which he was found; it consisted of a full coat, of forest-green, gathered round his waist by a broad belt, together with the long tight hose common at the period. In his belt was a dagger and knife; and on his head he had no covering, except the glossy curls of his dark brown hair. Though the material of his garments was of the finest cloth which the looms of Ypres could produce, yet marks of toil, and even of strife, were apparent in the dusty and torn state of his habiliments.

He lay, however, in that calm, deep, placid sleep, only known to youth, toil, and innocence. His breath was so light, and his slumber was so calm, that he might have seemed dead, but for the rosy hue of health that overspread his cheeks. No sound appeared at first to have any effect upon his ear, though, while he lay beside the stream, a wild, timid stag came rustling through the brushwood to drink of its waters, and suddenly seeing a human thing amidst the solitude of the forest, bounded quick away through the long glades of the wood. After that, the leaves waved over him, and the wind played with the curls of his hair for nearly half an hour, without any living creature approaching to disturb his repose. At the end of that time, some moving objects made their appearance at the most distant point of the road that was visible, where it sunk over the hill. At first, all that could be seen was a dark body moving forward down the descent, enveloped in a cloud of dust; but, gradually, it separated into distinct parts, and assumed the form of a party of armed horsemen. Their number might be ten or twelve; and, by the slowness of their motions, it seemed that they had already travelled far. More than once, as they descended the slope, they paused, and appeared to gaze over the country, as if either contemplating its beauty, or doubtful of the road they ought to take. These pauses, however, always ended in their resuming their way towards the spot which we have described. When they at length reached it, they again drew the rein; and it became evident, that uncertainty, with regard to their onward course, had been the cause of their several halts upon the hill.

"By my faith, Sir Thibalt of Neufchatel," said one of the horsemen, who rode a little in advance of the others, "for Marshal of Burgundy, you know but little of your lord's dominions. By the Holy Virgin! methinks that you are much better acquainted with every high-road and by-path of my poor appanage of Dauphiny. At least, so the worthy burghers of Vienne were wont to assert, when we would fain have squeezed the double crowns out of their purses. It was then their invariable reply, that the Marshal of Burgundy had been upon them with his lances, and drained them as dry as hay: coming no one knew how, and going no one knew where."

The man who spoke was yet not only in his prime, but in the early part of that period of life which is called middle age. There was no peculiar beauty in his countenance, nor in his person; there was nothing, apparently, either to strike or to please. Yet it was impossible to stand before him, and not to feel one's self--without very well knowing why--in the presence of an extraordinary man. There was in his deportment to be traced the evident habit of command. He spoke, as if knowing his words were to be obeyed. But that was not all; from underneath the overhanging penthouse of his thick eyebrows shone forth two keen grey eyes, which had in them a prying, inquisitive cunning, which seemed anxiously exerted to discover at once the thoughts of those they gazed upon, before any veil, of the many which man uses, could be drawn over motives or feelings, to conceal them from that searching glance.

Those given to physiognomy might have gathered, from his high and projecting, but narrow forehead, the indications of a keen and observing mind, with but little imagination, superstition without fancy, and talent without wit. The thin, compressed lips, the naturally firm-set posture of the teeth, the curling line from the nostril to the corner of the mouth, might have been construed to imply a heart naturally cruel, which derived not less pleasure from inflicting wounds by bitter words than from producing mere corporeal pain. His dress, at this time of his life, was splendid to excess; and the horse on which he rode showed the high blood that poured through its veins, by a degree of fire and energy far superior to that exhibited by the chargers of his companions, though the journey it had performed was the same which had so wearied them.

As he spoke the words before detailed, he looked back to a gentleman, who rode a step or two behind him on his right hand; and on his countenance appeared, what he intended to be, a smile of frank, good-humoured raillery. The natural expression of his features mingled with it nevertheless, and gave it an air of sarcasm, which made the bitter, perhaps, preponderate over the sweet.

The person to whom he addressed himself, however, listened with respectful good humour. "In truth, my lord," he replied, "so little have I dwelt in this part of the duke's dominions that I know my way less than many a footboy. I once was acquainted with every rood of ground between Brussels and Tirlemont; but, God be thanked, my memory is short, and I have forgotten it all, as readily as I hope you, sir, may forget certain marches in Dauphiny, made when Louis the Dauphin was an enemy to Burgundy, instead of an honoured guest."

"They are forgotten, Lord Marshal, they are forgotten," replied the Dauphin, afterwards famous as Louis XI.--"and can never more be remembered but to show me how much more pleasant it is to have the lord of Neufchatel for a friend rather than an enemy. But, in Heaven's name," he added, changing the subject quickly, "before we go farther, let us seek some one to show us the way, or let us halt our horses here, and wait for the fat citizens of Ghent, whom we left on the other side of the river."

His companion shook his head with a doubtful smile, as he replied, "It would be difficult, I trow, to find any guide here, unless Saint Hubert, or some other of the good saints, were to send us a white stag with a collar of gold round his neck, to lead us safely home, as the old legends tell us they used to do of yore."

"The saints have heard your prayer, my lord," cried one of the party who had strayed a little to the left, but not so far as to be out of hearing of the conversation which was passing between the other two; "the saints have heard your prayer; and here is the white stag, in the form of a fair boy in a green jerkin."

As he spoke, he pointed forward with his hand towards the little cascade, where the boy, who had been sleeping by its side, had now started up, awakened by the sound of voices, and of horses' feet, and was gazing on the travellers, with anxious eyes, and with his hand resting on his dagger.

"Why, how now, boy!" cried the Dauphin, spurring up towards the stream. "Thinkest thou that we are Jews, or cut-throats, or wild men of the woods, that thou clutchest thy knife so fearfully? Say, canst thou tell how far we are from Tirlemont?"

The boy eyed the party for several moments ere he replied. "How should I know whether you be cut-throats or not?" he said, at length; "I have seen cut-throats in as fine clothes. How far is it from Tirlemont? As far as it is from Liege or Namur."

"Then, by my troth, Sir Marshal," said the Dauphin, turning to his companion, "our horses will never carry us thither this night. What is to be done?"

"What is the nearest town or village, boy?" demanded the Marshal of Burgundy. "If we be at equal distances from Namur and Liege and Tirlemont, we cannot be far from Hannut."

"Hannut is the nearest place," answered the boy; "but it is two hours' ride for a tired horse."

"We will try it, however," said the Marshal; and then added, turning to the Dauphin, "the lord of the castle of Hannut, sir, though first cousin of the bad Duke of Gueldres, is a noble gentleman as ever lived; and I can promise you a fair reception. Though once a famous soldier, he has long cast by the lance and casque; and, buried deep in studies--which churchmen say are hardly over holy--he passes his whole time in solitude, except when some ancient friend breaks in upon his reveries. Such a liberty I may well take. Now, boy, tell us our road, and there is a silver piece for thy pains."

The boy stooped not to raise the money which the Marshal threw towards him, but replied eagerly, "If any one will take me on the croup behind him, I will show you easily the way. Nay, I beseech you, noble lords, take me with you; for I am wearied and alone, and I must lie in the forest all night if you refuse me."

"But dost thou know the way well, my fair boy?" demanded the Dauphin, approaching nearer, and stooping over his saddle-bow to speak to the boy with an air of increasing kindness. "Thou art so young, methinks thou scarce canst know all the turnings of a wood like this. Come, let us hear if thy knowledge is equal to the task of guiding us?"

"That it is," answered the boy at once. "The road is as easy to find as a heron's nest in a bare tree. One has nothing to do but to follow on that road over the bridge, take the two first turnings to the right, and then the next to the left, and at the end of a league more the castle is in sight."

"Ay," said the Dauphin, "is it so easy as that? Then, by my faith, I think we can find it ourselves. Come, Sir Marshall, come!" And, so saying, he struck his spurs into his horse's sides, and cantered over the bridge.

The Marshal of Burgundy looked back with a lingering glance of compassion at the poor boy thus unfeelingly treated by his companion. But, as the Prince dashed forward and waved his hand for him to follow, he rode on also, though not without a muttered comment on the conduct of the other, which might not have given great pleasure had it been vented aloud. The whole train followed; and, left alone, the boy stood silent, gazing on them as they departed, with a flushed cheek and a curling lip. "Out upon the traitors!" he exclaimed, at length. "All men are knaves; yet it is but little honour to their knavery, to cheat a boy like me."

The train wound onward into the wood, and the last horseman was soon hidden from his eyes; but the merry sound of laughing voices, borne by the wind to his ear for some moments after they were out of sight, spoke painfully how little interest they took in his feelings or situation.

He listened till all was still, and then, seating himself on the bank of the stream, gazed vacantly on the bubbling waters as they rushed hurriedly by him; while the current of his own thoughts held as rapid and disturbed a course. As memory after memory of many a painful scene and sorrow--such as infancy has seldom known--came up before his sight, his eyes filled, the tears rolled rapidly over his cheeks, and, casting himself prostrate on the ground, he hid his face amongst the long grass, and sobbed as if his heart would break.

He had not lain there long, however, when a heavy hand, laid firmly on his shoulder, caused him once more to start up; and, though the figure which stood by him when he did so, was not one whose aspect was very prepossessing, yet it would be difficult to describe the sudden lightning of joy that sparkled in his eyes through the tears with which they still overflowed.

The person who had roused him from the prostrate despair in which he had cast himself down, was a middle-sized, broad-made man, with long sinewy arms, and a chest like that of a mountain-bull. He might be nearly forty years of age; and his face, which had once been fair, a fact which was vouched alone by his light brown hair, and clear blue eye, had now reached a hue nearly approaching to the colour of mahogany, by constant exposure to the summer's sun and the winter's cold. There was in it, withal, an expression of daring hardihood, softened and, as it were, purified by a frank, free, good-humoured smile, which was not without a touch of droll humour. His garb at once bespoke him one of those vagrant sons of Mars, with whom war, in some shape, was a never-failing trade; a class of which we must speak more hereafter, and which the abuses of the feudal system, the constant feuds of chieftain with chieftain, and the long and desolating warfare between France and England, had at that time rendered but too common in every part of Europe. He was not, indeed, clothed from head to heel in cold iron, as was customary with the knight or man-at-arms when ready for the field; but there was quite a sufficient portion of old steel about his person, in the form of arms both offensive and defensive, to show that hard blows were the principal merchandise in which he traded.

He laid his large hairy hand, as I have said, firmly and familiarly on the boy's shoulder; and the expression of the young wanderer's countenance, when he started up, and beheld the person who stood near him, at once showed, not only that they were old acquaintances, but that their meeting was both unexpected and joyful.

"Matthew Gournay!" exclaimed the boy, "good Matthew Gournay, is it you, indeed? Oh, why did you not come before? With your fifty good lances, we might yet have held the castle out, till we were joined by the troops from Utrecht; but now all is lost, the castle taken, and my father----"

"I know it all, Master Hugh," interrupted the soldier; "I know it all better than the paternoster. Bad news flies faster than a swallow; so I know it all, and a good deal more than you yourself know. You ask, why I did not come too. By our Lady! for the simplest reason in the world--because I could not. I was lying like an old rat in a trap, with four stone walls all round about me, in the good city of Liege. Duke Philip heard of the haste I was making to give you help, and cogged with the old bishop--may his skull be broken!--to send out a couple of hundred reiters to intercept us on our march. What would you have? We fought like devils, but we were taken at a disadvantage, by a superior force. All my gallant fellows were killed or dispersed; and at last, finding my back against a rock, with six spears at my breast, and not loving the look of such a kind of toasting-fork, I agreed to take lodging in the town prison of Liege."

"But how got you out, then!" demanded the boy; "did they free you for good-will?"

"Not they," replied Matthew Gournay: "they gave me cold water and hard bread, and vowed every day to stick my head upon the gate of the town, as a terror to all marauders, as they said. But the fools showed themselves rank burghers, by leaving me my arms; and I soon found means to get the iron bars out of the windows, ventured a leap of thirty feet, swam the ditch, climbed the wall, and here I am in the forest of Hannut. But not alone, Master Hugh. I have got a part of my old comrades together already, and hope soon to have a better band than ever. The old seneschal, too, from the castle, is with us, and from him we heard all the bad news. But, though he talked of murder and putting to death, and flaying alive, and vowed that everybody in the castle had been killed but himself, I got an inkling from the old charcoal-burner's wife, at the hut in the wood, of how you had escaped, and whither you had gone. So, thinking, as you were on foot and alone, that you might want help and a horse, I tracked you like a deer to this place: for your father was always a good friend to me in the time of need; and I will stand by you, Master Hugh, while I have a hand for my sword, or a sword for my hand."

"Hark!" cried the boy, almost as the other spoke; "there's a bugle on the hill! It must be the duke's butchers following me."

"A bugle!" cried the soldier; "a cow's-horn blown by a sow-driver, you mean. None of the duke's bugles ever blew a blast like that, something between the groaning of a blacksmith's bellows and the grunting of a hog. But there they are," he continued, "sure enough, lances and all, as I live. We must to cover, Hugh, we must to cover! Quick--thy hand, boy--they are coming down, straggling like fallow deer!"

So saying, Matthew Gournay sprang up the high bank, in falling over which the little stream formed the cascade we have noticed; and, as he climbed the rock himself, he assisted, or rather dragged up after him, his young companion, whose hand he held locked in his own, with a grasp which no slight weight could have unbent.

For a moment, they paused on the top of the crag, to take another look at the approaching party, and then plunged into the long shrubs and tangled brushwood that clothed the sides of the winding glen, down which the stream wandered previous to its fall.

CHAPTER II.

The party, whose approach had interrupted the conversation of Matthew Gournay and his young companion, were not long before they reached the little open spot in the forest, from which they had scared the other two; and, as it was at that point that their road first fell in with the stream, they paused for a moment, to water their horses ere they proceeded. Their appearance and demeanour corresponded well with the peculiar sound of the horn which they had blown upon the hill; for though the instrument which announced their approach was martial in itself, yet the sounds which they produced from it were anything but military; and though swords and lances, casques and breastplates, were to be seen in profusion amongst them, there was scarcely one of the party who had not a certain burgher rotundity of figure, or negligence of gait, far more in harmony with furred gowns and caps à la mortier than with war-steeds and glittering arms.

The first, who paused beside the stream, had nearly been thrown over his horse's head, by the animal suddenly bending his neck to drink; and it was long before the rider could sufficiently compose himself again in the saddle, to proceed with some tale which he had been telling to one of his companions, who urged him to make an end of his story, with an eagerness which seemed to show that the matter was one of great interest to him at least.

"Well-a-day, Master Nicholas, well-a-day!" cried the discomposed horseman, "let me but settle myself on my stool--saddle, I mean. God forgive me! but this cursed beast has pulled the bridle out of my hands. So ho! Bernard, so ho!--there, there, surely thou couldst drink without bending thy head so low."

While he thus spoke, by a slow and cautious movement--not unlike that with which a child approaches a sparrow, to perform the difficult task of throwing salt upon its tail--he regained a grasp of the bridle-rein which the horse had twitched out of his hand, and then went on with his story, interrupting it, however, every now and then, to address sundry admonitions to his horse, somewhat in the following style:--

"Well, where was I, worthy Master Nicholas? I was saying--so ho! beast! The devil's in thee, thou wilt have me into the river. I was saying that, after the castle was taken, and every soul put to the sword, even the poor boy, Hugh,--for which last, I hear, the duke is very much grieved,--be quiet, Bernard, hold up thy head!--Count Adolphus himself fled away by a postern-door, and is now a prisoner in--"

"Nay, but, Master Martin, you said they were all put to death," interrupted one of his companions.

"Remember what the doctors say," replied the other; "namely, that there is no general rule without its exception. They were all killed but those that ran away, which were only Count Adolphus and his horse, who got away together, the one upon the other. Fool that he was to trust himself upon a horse's back! It was his ruin, alack! it was his ruin."

"How so?" demanded Master Nicholas; "did the horse throw him and break his pate? Methought you said, but now, that he was alive and a prisoner."

"And I said truly, too," answered the other. "Nevertheless, his mounting that horse was the cause of his ruin; for though he got off quietly enough, yet, at the bridge below Namur--where, if he had had no horse, he would have passed free--he was obliged to stop to pay pontage[^[1]] for his beast. A priest, who was talking with the toll-man, knew him; and he was taken on the spot, and cast into prison."

"Methinks it was more the priest's fault than the horse's, then," replied Master Nicholas; "but whoever it was that betrayed him, bad was the turn they did to the city of Ghent; for, what with his aid, and that of the good folks of Gueldres, and the worthy burghers of Utrecht, we might have held the proud duke at bay, and wrung our rights from him drop by drop, like water from a sponge."

"God knows, God knows!" replied Martin Fruse, the burgher of Ghent, to whom this was addressed; "God knows! it is a fine thing to have one's rights, surely; but, somehow, I thought we were very comfortable and happy in the good old city, before there was any quarrel about rights at all. Well I know, we have never been happy since; and I have been forced to ride on horseback by the week together; for which sin, my flesh and skin do daily penance, as the chirurgeons of Namur could vouch if they would. Nevertheless, one must be patriotic, and all that, so I would not grumble, if this beast would but give over drinking, which I think he will not do before he or I drop down dead. Here, horse-boy, come and pluck his nose out of the pool; for I cannot move him more than I could the town-house."

The worthy burgher was soon relieved from his embarrassments; and his horse being once more put upon the road, he led the way onward, followed by the rest of the party, with their servants and attendants. The place of leader was evidently conceded to good Martin Fruse; but this distinction was probably assigned to him, more on account of his wealth and integrity, than from the possession of fine wit, great sense, energetic activity, or any other requisite for a popular leader. He was, in truth, a worthy, honest man, somewhat easily persuaded, especially where his general vanity, and, more particularly, his own opinion of his powers as a politician, were brought into play: but his mind was neither very vigorous nor acute; though sometimes an innate sense of rectitude, and a hatred of injustice, would lend energy to his actions, and eloquence to his words.

Amongst those who followed him, however, were two or three spirits of a higher order; who, without his purity of motives, or kindly disposition, possessed far greater talents, activity, and vigour. Nevertheless, turbulent by disposition and by habit, few of the burghers of Ghent, at that time, possessed any very grand and general views, whether directed to the assertion of the liberties and rights of their country, or to the gratification of personal ambition. They contented themselves with occasional tumults, or with temporary alliances with the other states and cities in the low countries, few of which rested long without being in open rebellion against their governors.

One of the party, however, which accompanied good Martin Fruse must not pass unmentioned; for, at that time acting no prominent part, he exerted considerable influence, in after days, on the fortunes of his country. He was, at the period I speak of, a bold, brave, high-spirited boy; by no means unlike the one we have seen sleeping by the cascade, though perhaps two or three years older. He was strong and well proportioned for his age, and rode a wild young jennet, which though full of fire, he managed with perfect ease. There was something, indeed, in the manner in which he excited the horse into fury, gave it the rein, and let it dash free past all his companions, as if it had become perfectly ungovernable; and then, without difficulty, reined it up with a smile of triumph, which gave no bad picture of a mind conscious of powers of command, ambitious of their exercise, and fearless of the result. How this character of mind became afterwards modified by circumstances, will be shown more fully in the following pages.

In the meanwhile, we must proceed with the train of burghers as they rode on through the wood; concerting various plans amongst themselves, for concealing from the Duke of Burgundy the extent of their intrigues with Adolphus of Gueldres and the revolted citizens of Utrecht, for excusing themselves on those points which had reached his knowledge, and for assuaging his anger by presents and submission. The first thing to be done, before presenting themselves at his court, was, of course, to strip themselves of the warlike habiliments in which they had flaunted, while entertaining hopes of a successful revolt. For this purpose, they proposed to avoid the high road either to Brussels or Louvain; and as most of them were well acquainted with the country through which they had to pass, they turned to the left, after having proceeded about a mile farther on their way, and put spurs to their horses, in order to get out of the forest before nightfall, which was now fast approaching.

The way was difficult, however, and full of large ruts and stones, in some places overgrown with briers, in some places interrupted by deep ravines. Here, it would go down so steep a descent, that slowness of progression was absolutely necessary to the safety of their necks; there, it would climb so deep a hill, that whip and spur were applied to increase the speed of their beasts in vain.

As they thus journeyed on, making but little way, the bright rosy hue which tinged the clouds above their heads showed that the sun was sinking beneath the horizon's edge: the red, after growing deeper and deeper for some time, began to fade away into the grey; each moment the light became fainter and more faint; and, at length, while they had yet at least three miles of forest ground to traverse, night fell completely over the earth.

The darkness, however, was not so deep as in any degree to prevent them from finding their way onward, or from distinguishing the objects round about them, although it lent a mysterious sort of grandeur to the deep masses and long dim glades of the forest, made the rocks look like towers and castles, and converted many a tree, to the eyes of the more timid, into the form of an armed man.

After having gone on in this state for about half an hour--just a sufficient time, indeed, to work up every sort of apprehension to the utmost, yet not long enough to familiarize the travellers with the darkness, and when every one was calling to mind all the thousand stories--which were, in those days, alas! too true ones--of robbers, and murderers, and free plunderers--the whole party plunged down into a deep dell, the aspect of which was not at all calculated to assuage their terrors, whether reasonable or foolish. Not, indeed, that it was more gloomy than the road through which they had been lately travelling; rather, on the contrary. Whatever degree of light yet remained in the heavens found its way more readily into that valley, where the trees were less high, and at greater intervals from each other, than into the narrow road which had led them thither, the high banks of which were lined all the way along with tall and overhanging beeches. The sort of dingle, however, which they now entered, was clothed with low but thick shrubs; and no means of egress whatever appeared, except by climbing some of the steep ascents which surrounded it on every side.

There was a small piece of level ground at the bottom, of about a hundred yards in diameter; and the moment they had reached the flat, the word "Halt!" pronounced in a loud and imperative voice, caused every one suddenly to draw his bridle rein with somewhat timid obedience, though no one distinguished who was the speaker.

The matter was not left long in doubt. A dark figure glided from the brushwood across their path; half a dozen more followed; and the glistening of the faint light upon various pieces of polished iron, showed that there was no lack of arms to compel obedience to the peremptory order they had received to halt.

As the persons who obstructed the way, however, seemed but few in number, one of the more bellicose of the burghers called upon his companions to resist. His magnanimity was suddenly diminished by a long arm stretched from the bushes beside him, which applied the stroke of a quarter-staff with full force to his shoulders; and though a cuirass, by which his person was defended, protected him from any serious injury, yet he was thrown forward upon his horse's neck, with a sound very much resembling that produced by the falling of an empty kettle from the hands of a slovenly cook. All were now of opinion, that, whatever might have been the result of resistance to the more open foes before them, it was useless to contend with such invisible enemies also, especially as those that were visible were gradually increasing in numbers; and worthy Martin Fruse led the way to a valorous surrender, by begging the gentlemen of the forest "to spare them for God's sake."

"Down from your horses, every one of you!" cried the rough voice which had commanded them to halt, "and we shall soon see what stuff you are made of."

The citizens hastened to obey; and, in the terror which now reigned completely amongst them, strange were the attitudes which they assumed, and strange was the tumbling off, on either side of their beasts, as they hurried to show prompt submission to the imperious command they had received. In the confusion and disarray thus produced, only one person of all their party seemed to retain full command of his senses; and he was no other than the boy we have before described, who, now taking advantage of a vacancy he saw in the ranks of their opponents, dashed forward for a gap in the wood, and had nearly effected his escape. He was too late, however, by a single moment: his bridle was caught by a strong arm, before he could force his way through; and his light jennet, thrown suddenly upon its haunches, slipped on the green turf, and rolled with her young master on the ground.

"By my faith," said the man who had thus circumvented him, "thou art a bold young springal; but thou must back with me, my boy;" and so saying, he raised him, not unkindly, from the earth, and led him to the place where his companions stood.

The burghers and their attendants--in all, about ten in number--were now divested of their arms, offensive and defensive, by the nameless kind of gentry into whose hands they had fallen. This unpleasant ceremony, however, was performed without harshness; and, though, no resistance of any kind was offered, their captors abstained, with very miraculous forbearance, from examining the contents of their pouches, and from searching for any other metal than cold iron. When all this was completed, and the good citizens of Ghent, reduced to their hose and jerkins, stood passive, in silent expectation of what was to come next--not at all unlike a flock of sheep that a shepherd's dog has driven into a corner of a field,--the same hoarse-voiced gentleman, who had hitherto acted as the leader of their assailants, addressed them in a bantering tone:--"Now, my masters, tell me truly," he cried, "whether do ye covet to go with your hands and feet at liberty, or to have your wrists tied with cords till the blood starts out from underneath your nails, and your ankles garnished in the same fashion?"

The answer of the citizens may well be conceived; and the other went on in the same jeering manner:--"Well, then, swear to me by all you hold holy and dear--but stay! First tell me who and what you are, that I may frame the oath discreetly; for each man in this world holds holy and dear that which his neighbour holds foolish and cheap."

"We are poor unhappy burghers of Ghent," replied Martin Fruse, who, though at first he had been terrified to a very undignified degree, now began to recover a certain portion of composure,--"we are poor unhappy burghers of Ghent, who have been induced by vain hopes of some small profit to ourselves and our good city, to get upon horseback. Alack! and a well-a-day! that ever honest, sober-minded men should be persuaded to trust their legs across such galloping, uncertain, treacherous beasts."

"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted the man who had addressed him; "as I live by sword and dagger, it is good Martin Fruse coming from Namur. Well, Martin, the oath I shall put to thee is this--that by all thy hopes of golden florins, by all thy reverence for silks and furs and cloths of extra fineness, by thy gratitude to the shuttle and the loom, and by thy respect and love for a fine fleece of English wool, thou wilt not attempt to escape from my hands, till I fix thy ransom and give thee leave to go."

Martin Fruse very readily took the oath prescribed, grateful in his heart for any mitigation of his fears, though trembling somewhat at the name of ransom, which augured ill for the glittering heaps which he had left at home. His comrades all followed his example, on an oath of the same kind being exacted from each; but when it was addressed to the youth who accompanied them, a different scene was acted. He replied boldly, "Of cloths and furs I know nothing, but that they cover me, and I will not take such a warehouse vow for the best man that ever drew a sword."

"How now, how now, Sir Princox!" cried Martin Fruse; "art thou not my nephew, Albert Maurice? Take the oath this gentleman offers thee, sirrah, and be well content that he does not strike off thy young foolish head."

"I will swear by my honour, uncle," replied the boy, "but I will never swear by cloth and florins, for such a vow would bind me but little."

"Well, well, thy honour will do," said the leader of their captors; "though, by my faith, I think we must keep thee with us, and make a soldier of thee; for doubtless thou art unworthy of the high honour of becoming a burgher of Ghent."

The sneering tone in which this was spoken expressed not ill the general feeling of contempt with which the soldiers of that day looked upon any of the milder occupations of life. Whatever kindness they showed towards the citizen--which was at times considerable--proceeded solely from sensations approaching compassion, or from considerations of self-interest. They looked upon the burgher, indeed, as a sort of inferior animal, whose helplessness gave it some claim upon their generosity; and such was probably the feeling that prompted the mild and indulgent manner in which the body of roving adventurers who had captured the Gandois travellers, marshalled their prisoners in rank, and led them away from the high road--where, though improbable, such a thing as an interruption might accidentally have taken place--to the deeper parts of the forest, in which silence and solitude seemed to reign supreme.

This part of the arrangement, however, was not at all to the taste of good Martin Fruse; and though he certainly did not venture any opposition, yet, while led along, together with his companions, by fifteen or sixteen armed and lawless men, it was with fear and trembling that he rolled his eyes around upon the dark and dreary masses of wood, down the long profound glades, in which nothing was to be distinguished, and over the wild and broken rocks, which every now and then burst through their covering of trees and shrubs, and towering up into the sky, caught upon their brows the first rays of the rising moon, invisible to those who wandered through the forest at their foot.

The scene was altogether a great deal too sublime and picturesque for his taste; and he could not help thinking, as he walked unwillingly along, how admirably fitted was the place, into which he was led, for committing murder, without fear of discovery. Then would he picture to his own mind, his body left exposed beneath the greenwood trees, to be preyed on by the ravens, and beaten by the wintry showers; and his heart would melt with tender compassion for himself, when he thought, how all his good gossips of Ghent would, in years to come, tell the lamentable story of worthy Martin Fruse, and how he was murdered in the forest of Hannut, to the wondering ears of a chance guest, over a blazing fire, in the midst of the cold winter.

He had nearly wept at the pitiful images he had called up of his own fate, in his own mind; but, before he reached that point, a distant neighing met his ear. The horses on which he and his companions had ridden, and which were led after them by their captors, caught the sound also, and answered in the same sort; and in a few minutes more, a bright light began to gleam through the wood, which proved, on their farther advance, to proceed from a watch-fire, by the side of which a bird of the same feather with those who had captured them, was lying asleep. He started up, however, on their approach; and by the congratulations which passed mutually between him and his comrades, it became evident to Martin Fruse, that a party of citizens of Ghent was a rich prize in the eyes of the freemen of the forest. It is true that he would rather have had his worth appreciated in a different manner; but the sight of the fire cheered his heart, and a sumpter horse, which the good burghers had brought with them, being led forward and relieved of its burden, the various stores of provision with which it was loaded were spread out upon the grass, and called up more genial ideas in the mind of the citizen than those which had hitherto accompanied him on his way through the forest. The pleasures of this new subject of contemplation, indeed, were for a few minutes disturbed, by apprehension lest the captors should proceed to divide the spoil of the panniers, without assigning any part to the original proprietors. But this source of uneasiness was soon removed; and, on being made to sit down by the fire, and invited frankly and freely to partake of all the good things once his own, the heart of Martin Fruse expanded with joy, the character of robber acquired a dignity and elevation in his eyes which it had never before possessed; and deriving from fat cold capon and excellent wine both present satisfaction and anticipations of future good treatment, he gave himself up to joy, and began to gaze round upon the faces of his new comrades with every inclination to be pleased.

CHAPTER III.

Leaving the worthy burgher and his companions in the forest, we must change the scene for a while, and bring the reader into the interior of one of the feudal mansions of the period. The room into which we intend to introduce him was small in size; and, being placed in a high, square tower, attached to the castle of Hannut, it took the exact form of the building, except inasmuch as a portion was taken off the western side, for the purpose of admitting a staircase, on which, indeed, no great space was thrown away. The furniture of the room was small in quantity, and consisted of a few large chairs of dark black oak, (whose upright backs of almost gigantic height were carved in a thousand quaint devices) together with two or three settles or stools, without any backs at all, a silver lamp, hanging by a thick brass chain from the centre of a roof, formed into the shape of a tent by the meeting of a number of grooved arches, and a small black cabinet, or closet, one of the doors of which stood open, displaying within, in splendid bindings of crimson velvet, what might in that day have been considered a most precious library, comprising about forty tomes of manuscript.

Besides being decorated by these articles of furniture, the room was adorned with fine hangings of old tapestry; but the principal object in the whole chamber was a table and reading-desk of some dark coloured wood, on which were displayed, wide open, the broad vellum leaves of a richly illuminated book. The table, and its burden, were placed exactly beneath the silver lamp already mentioned, which threw a strong but flickering light upon the pages of the work; and a chair which stood near seemed to show that somebody had recently been reading.

The person who had been so employed, however, had by this time ceased; and having risen from his seat, was standing beside an open casement, pierced through the thick walls at such a height from the floor, as just to enable him to lean his arm upon the sill of the window, and gaze out upon the scene beyond.

Through this open casement, at the time I speak of, the bright stars of a clear autumn night might be seen twinkling like diamonds in the unclouded sky; the sweet, warm westerly wind, breathing of peace and harvest from the plains beyond, sighed over the tops of the tall forest trees, and poured into the window just raised above them; and some faint streaks of light to the west told that day had not long departed. The person who gazed over the wide expanse commanded by the tower, was a tall, strong man, of perhaps a little more than forty years of age, with a forehead somewhat bald, and hair which had once been black, but which was now mingled thickly with grey; while his beard, which was short and neatly trimmed, had become almost white. His complexion was of a pale, clear brown, without a tinge of red in any part except his lips; and, as he gazed out upon the sky, there was a still calm spread over every feature, which, together with the bloodless hue of his skin, would have made his countenance look like that of the dead, had not the light of his large deep brown eye told of a bright and living soul within. We must take leave to look for a moment into his bosom as he stood in his lonely study, gazing forth upon the sky.

"And are those clear orbs," he thought, as with his glance fixed upon the heavens he saw star after star shine forth, "and are those bright orbs really the mystic prophets of our future fate? Is yon the book on which the Almighty hand has written in characters of light the foreseen history of the world he has created? It may be so: nay, probably it is; and yet how little do we know of this earth that we inhabit, and of yon deep blue vault that circles us around. The peasant, when he hears of my lonely studies, endues my mind, in his rude fancy, with power over the invisible world, and all the troops of spirits that possibly throng the very air we breathe; and kings and princes themselves send to seek knowledge and advice from my lips, while I could answer to peasant and to king, that all my powers do not suffice to lay the spirit of past happiness from rising before my eyes, and all my knowledge does not reach to find that sovereign elixir--consolation for the fate of man. All that I have learned teaches me but to know that I have learned nothing; to feel that science, and philosophy, and wisdom are in vain; and that, hidden mysteriously within the bosom of this mortal clay, is some fine essence, some distinct being, which, while it participates in the pleasures and affections of the earthly thing in which it lies concealed, thirsts for knowledge beyond the knowledge of this world, and yearns for joys more pure, and loves more unperishable than the loves and joys of this earth can ever be. Oh! thou dear spirit, that in the years past I have seen look forth upon me from the eyes of her new gone; surely, if ever the immortal being came back to visit the earth on which it once moved, thou wouldst not have left me so long to solitude. No, no," he added aloud, "it is all a dream!

"And yet," he thought, after a pause, "the powers with which the vulgar mind invests me are not all in vain: they give me at least corporeal peace; repose from all the turbulent follies; the wild whirling nothings, which men call pleasure, or business, or policy; more empty, more unimportant, in relation to the grand universe, than the dancing of the myriad motes in the sunshine of a summer's day. They give me peace--repose. I am no longer called upon, with an ash staff, or bar of sharpened iron, to smite the breast of my fellow-men, in some mad prince's quarrel. I am no longer called upon to take counsel with a crowd of grey-beard fools, in order to steal a few roods of dull heavy soil from the dominions of some neighbouring king. No, no; the very superstitious dread in which they hold me gives me peace; ay, and even power; that phantom folly of which they are all so fond; and be it far from me to undeceive them."

Thus thought the Lord of Hannut; and, like most men, in some degree he cheated himself in regard to his own motives. Doubtless, the predominating feelings of his heart were such as he believed them to be. But, besides those motives on which he suffered his mind to rest, there mingled with the causes of his conduct small portions of the more ordinary desires and passions which minds of a very elevated tone are anxious to conceal even from themselves. Learned beyond any one, perhaps, of his age and country, the Lord of Hannut was not a little proud of his knowledge; but when we remember the darkness of the times in which he lived, we shall not wonder that such learning tended but little to enlighten his mind upon the deep and mysterious subjects, which the height of human knowledge has but discovered to be beyond its ken. Judicial astrology, in that day, was held as a science, of the accuracy of which, ignorance alone could be permitted to doubt; and the belief that a superhuman agency was not only continually but visibly at work in the general affairs of this world, was both a point of faith with the vulgar, and a point admitted by many of the most scientific. Magic and necromancy were looked upon as sciences. In vain Friar Bacon had written an elaborate treatise to prove their nullity: he himself was cited as an instance of their existence; and many of the most learned were only deterred from following them openly, by the fear of those consequences which rendered their private pursuit more interesting from the degree of danger that accompanied it.

Although magic, properly so called, formed no part of his studies, the reputation of dabbling in that imaginary science was not disagreeable to the Lord of Hannut; nor was it alone the desire of obtaining peace and repose, which rendered the awe not unpleasing, wherewith both the peasantry of the neighbourhood, and his fellow nobles throughout the land regarded him; but, mingling imperceptibly with the current of other feelings, gratified vanity had its share also. Nor, indeed, though he affected to despise the world and the world's power, did the influence that he exercised upon that world displease him. Perhaps, too, that influence might be the more gratifying, because it was of an uncommon kind; and though, doubtless, true philosophy, and a just estimate of the emptiness of this earth's pleasures and desires, might have a considerable share in the distant solitude which he maintained, the pride of superior knowledge had its portion, too, of the contempt with which he looked upon the generality of beings like himself. Much true benevolence of heart and susceptibility of feeling, with a considerable degree of imaginative enthusiasm, were, in fact, the principal features of his character; yet his reasoning powers also were strong and clear, and very superior to those of most men in the age in which he lived; but as we sometimes see, these various qualities of his mind and heart rather contended against than balanced each other.

In his early youth, the enthusiasm and the susceptibility had ruled almost alone. The din of arms, the tumult of conflicting hosts, the pomp and pageant of the listed field, all had charms for him. The natural strength of his frame, and the skill and dexterity given by early education, had made many of the best knights in Europe go down before his lance, and had obtained for him that degree of glory and applause which in those days was sure to follow and encourage feats of arms, and which might have kept him for life one of the rude but gallant champions of the day. But then came love--love of that deep, powerful, engrossing nature, which a heart such as his was alone capable of feeling. The cup of happiness was given to his lip but for a moment; he was suffered to drink, one deep, short draught; and, when he had tasted all its sweetness, it was dashed from his hand, never to be filled again. From that moment his life had passed in solitude, and his days and nights had been occupied by study: nor had he above once, for more than twelve years, passed the limits of that forest, over which his eyes were now cast.

As he leaned upon the window-sill, and gazed out upon the sky, pondering over the strange mystery of man's being, and the lot which fate had cast him, the last faint lingering rays of twilight were withdrawn from the air, and night fell upon one half of the world; but it was one of those bright, clear, splendid nights, which often come in the beginning of autumn, as if the heavens loved to look, with all their thousand eyes, upon the rich harvest and the glowing fruit. After he had gazed for some time, the eastern edge of the heavens began to grow lighter, and the clear yellow moon, waxing near her full, rose up, and poured a tide of golden light over the immense extent of green leaves and waving boughs spread out beneath his eyes. All was still, and solemn, and silent, and full of calm splendour, and tranquil brightness. There there was not a sound, there was not a motion, except the slow gliding of the beautiful planet up the arch of heaven, and the whispering of the light wind, as it breathed through the boughs of the trees.

Suddenly, however, a dull, faint noise was heard at some distance; which went on increasing slowly, till the sound of horses' feet could be distinguished, broken occasionally by the tones of a human voice, speaking a few words of order or inquiry. The Lord of Hannut listened, and when the horsemen came nearer, he gathered, from an occasional sentence, spoken as they wound round the foot of the tower in which he was standing, that the party were directing their course to the gates of his own dwelling. His brow became slightly clouded; and though hospitality was a duty at that time never neglected, yet so rarely was he visited by strangers, and so little did he court society, that he paused somewhat anxiously to think of how he might best receive them. To throw the gates of a castle open to all comers, was not, indeed, at all safe in those days; and though the Lord of Hannut was, at that time, at feud with no one, and though his personal character, the strength of his castle, and the number of his retainers, secured him against the free companions and plunderers of the times, it was not, of course, without pause and examination, that any large body of men were to be admitted within the walls at such an hour of the night. He remained, however, musing somewhat abstractedly, till the horsemen, whom he had heard below, had wound along the road, which, following the various sinuosities of the walls and defences of the castle, skirted the brow of the hill on which it stood, and was only interrupted by the gate of the barbacan on the northern side of the building.

Before it the travellers paused; and the sound of a horn winded long and clearly, gave notice to denizens of the castle that admittance was demanded by some one without. Still the master of the mansion remained in thought, leaving to the prudence and discretion of his seneschal the task of receiving and answering the travellers; and the sound of a falling drawbridge, with the creaking of its beams, and the clanging and clash of its rusty chains, followed by the clatter of horses' feet in the court-yard, soon announced that a considerable number of cavaliers had obtained admission. Many voices speaking were next heard, and then, after a pause of comparative silence, a slow step echoed up the long hollow staircase, which led to the chamber we have already described. At that sound the Lord of Hannut withdrew from the window, and seating himself before the book in which he had been lately reading, fixed his eyes upon the door. There might be a slight touch of stage effect in it--but no matter--what is there on this earth without its quackery?

Scarcely had he done so, when some one knocked without, and, on being desired to come in, presented, at the half-opened door, the weather-beaten face of an old soldier, who acted the part of seneschal, bearing a look of apprehension, which sat ill upon features that seemed originally destined to express anything but fear.

"Come in, Roger, come in!" cried the Lord of Hannut. "Art thou fool enough, too, to think that I deal with evil spirits?"

"God forbid, my lord!" replied the man. "But ill should I like to see a spirit of any kind, good or evil; and, therefore, I always like to have the room clear before I intrude."

"Well, what would you now?" demanded his lord, with somewhat of impatience in his manner. "Wherefore do you disturb me?"

"So please you, sir," replied the seneschal, "a noble traveller just alighted in the court below, with a small but gallant train, consisting of----"

"On with thy tale, good Roger!" interrupted his master. "What of the traveller? Leave his train to speak for themselves hereafter."

"So please you, my lord," continued the other, "he bade me tell you that an old tried friend, Thibalt of Neufchatel, craved your hospitality for a single night."

"Thibalt of Neufchatel!" exclaimed the other, his face brightening for a moment with a transitory expression of pleasure, and then turning deadly pale, as the magic of memory, by the spell of that single name, called up the scenes of the painful past with which that name was connected. "Thibalt of Neufchatel! an old tried friend, indeed! though sad was the day of our last meeting. Where is he? Lead the way!"

Thus saying, the Lord of Hannut, without waiting for the guidance of his seneschal, proceeded, with a rapid step, towards the great hall of the castle, concluding, as was really the case, that into that place of general reception the travellers had been shown on their arrival. It was an immense gloomy apartment, paved with stone, occupying the whole interior space at the bottom of the chief tower. At one end was the great door, which opened at once into the court; and at the other was a high pointed window, not unlike that of a cathedral. Arms, of every kind then in use, decorated the walls in profusion. On the right side, as you entered from the court, was the wide open hearth, with stools and benches round about; and so wide and cool was the chamber, that at the time I speak of--though a night in the early part of September--an immense pile of blazing logs sparkled and hissed in the midst, casting a red and flickering glare around, which, catching on many a lance, and shield, and suit of armour on the opposite wall, lost itself in the gloom at either end of the hall, and in the deep hollow of the vault above.

A cresset--hung by a chain from the centre of the roof--added a degree of light, which, however, was confined to the part of the hall in the immediate vicinity of the lamp; and, within its influence, disencumbering themselves of some of the habiliments of the road, were seated the party of travellers just arrived, at the moment that the Lord of Hannut entered. He came in by a small door behind one of the massy pillars which supported the vault, and advanced at once towards his guests. The sound of his footstep caused them all to rise, but the Marshal of Burgundy immediately advanced before the rest to meet his friend. When within a few steps of each other, both stopped, and looked with a countenance of doubt and surprise on the face of the other. Each had forgotten that many years had passed since they last met, and each had pictured to himself the image of his friend as he had before seen him, in the pride of youth and health; but, when the reality was presented to them, both paused in astonishment to gaze upon the effects of Time's tremendous power, which they mutually presented to each other. Nor was their surprise at first unmingled with some degree of doubt as to the identity of the person before them with the friend from whom they had so long been separated.

"Good God!" exclaimed the Lord of Hannut, "Thibault of Neufchatel!"

"Even so, Maurice of Hannut!" replied the Marshal. "Good faith, old friend, I scarcely should have known thee. But more of this hereafter," he added, hastily. "See, here is a mighty prince, the Lord Louis of Valois, who demands thy care and hospitality for this night, as under my safe conduct, he journeys to visit his noble cousin, our sovereign, the Duke of Burgundy."

The Lord of Hannut bowed low at this intimation of the high quality of one of his guests, and proceeded to welcome the son of the reigning monarch of France, with that grave and stately dignity which the early habits of the court and camp had given to his demeanour. The forms and ceremonies of that day, which would be found dull enough even to practise at present, would appear still duller in writing than they would be in act; and, therefore, passing over all the points of etiquette which were observed in the reception and entertainment of the Dauphin, the supper that was laid before him, and the spiced wines that were offered him at his bedside, we will continue for a moment in the great hall, which, after he retired to rest, remained occupied by the few attendants who had accompanied himself and the Marshal of Burgundy thither, and by the usual servants and officers of the Lord of Hannut.

The presence of their superiors had restrained for a time all free communication amongst these worthy personages; but, between the squire of the body to the Marshal of Burgundy, and the seneschal of the Lord of Hannut, had passed many a glance of recognition, and a friendly, though silent, pinch of the arm during supper; and no sooner was Louis of Valois safely housed in his chamber, and his companion, the Lord of Neufchatel, closeted with the master of the mansion, than a conversation commenced between two of the followers, a part of which must be here put down as illustrative of those past events, which, in some degree, however slight, affect the course of this true history.

"What, Roger de Lorens!" cried the squire of the Marshal, "still hanging to the skirts of thy old lord? Do I find thee here at the end of twelve long years?"

"And where could I be better, Regnault of Gand?" replied the other. "But thou thyself, old friend, art thou not at the same skirts too as when last I saw thee? How is it, that after such long service thou art not yet a knight?"

"Why, in good faith, then," replied the squire, "it is that I am too poor to do honour to knighthood, and too wise to covet a state that I have not the means to hold. I have made money in the wars on an occasion too, like my neighbours; but, alack, friend Roger, no sooner does the right hand put the money in, than the left hand filches it out again. And is it, then, really twelve long years since we met? Lord, Lord! it looks but yesterday, when I think of those times; and yet when I count up all the things I have done since, and make old Memory notch them down on her tally, it seems like the score of a hundred years more than twelve. I remember the last day we ever saw each other; do you?"

"Do you think I could ever forget it?" said the other. "Was it not that day when the pleasure-house of Lindenmar was burned to the ground, and our good lord's infant was consumed in the flames?"

"I remember it well," replied the other, musing over the circumstances of the past; "and I remember that my lord and Adolph of Gueldres, and all the rest of the nobles that were marching to join the duke, saw the flames from the road; and all came willingly to help your gallant young lord. He was gallant and young then. But Adolph of Gueldres cried to let them all burn, so that the lands of Hannut might come to him. He said it laughing, indeed; but it was a bitter jest at such a minute."

"My lord heard of that soon enough," answered the seneschal, "and he never forgave it."

"Oh, but we heeded him not," exclaimed the other: "we all gave what aid we could. Mind you not, how my lord rushed in and brought out your lady in his arms, and how she wept for her child? It was but a fortnight old, they say!"

"No more, no more!" answered the other: "and I will tell you what, she never ceased to weep till death dried up her tears: poor thing! But, hark thee, Regnault," he added, taking the other by the arm, and drawing him a few paces aside, not only out of earshot of the rest of the persons who tenanted the hall, but also out of the broad glare of the lamp, as if what he was about to say were not matter for the open light:--"but, hark thee, Regnault de Gand! they do say that the spirits of that lady and her child visit our lord each night in his chamber at a certain hour."

"Didst thou ever see them, good Roger?" demanded his companion, with a smile of self-satisfied incredulity. "Didst thou ever set eyes upon them, thyself?"

"God forbid!" ejaculated the seneschal, fervently; "God forbid! I would not see them for all the gold of Egypt."

"Well, then, good Roger, fear not," replied Regnault de Gand, "thou shalt never see them! I have heard a mighty deal of spirits, and ghosts, and apparitions, and devils; but though I have served in the countries where they are most plenty, I never could meet with one in the whole course of my life; and between us two, good Roger, I believe in none of them; except, indeed, all that the church believes, and the fourteen thousand virgin martyrs."

"Why that is believing enough in all conscience," replied Roger de Lorens; "but if you believe in no such things, I will put you to sleep in the small room at the stairs' foot, just beneath my lord's private chamber."

Whither this proposal was relished much or little by the worthy squire, he had made too open a profession of his incredulity to shrink from the test; and he was fain to take up his abode for the night in a low-roofed, but not inconvenient chamber, at the foot of the staircase in the square tower. He looked somewhat pale as his old companion bade him good-night; but he looked a vast deal paler the next day when they wished each other good-morning. Not one word, however, did he say, either of objection at first, or of comment at last; and no one ever exactly knew how he sped during the night he passed in that chamber, though, when some months after he married a buxom dame of Ghent, a report got about amongst the gossips, that though he had not actually encountered a spirit, he had heard many strange noises, and seen many a strange beam of light wandering about the apartment, coming he knew not whence, and disappearing he knew not whither.

He himself told nothing openly; and when the fair dame whom he had taken to his bosom, and who was supposed to be deeply learned in all the secrets thereof, was spoken to on the subject, she, too, affected a tone of mystery, only assuring the ingenious gossip, who tried to ferret out the details, with a solemn shake of the head, "that those might disbelieve the apparition of spirits who liked. As for her husband, Regnault, he had good cause to know better; though he had once been a scoffer, like all the rest of your swaggering, gallant, dare-devil men-at-arms."

Having now violated, in some degree, the venerable art of chronology, and, in favour of the worthy squire, run somewhat forward before the events of my tale, I must beg the reader to pause on his advance for a single instant; and, while the Dauphin, the Marshal, and their respective trains, sleep sound in the massy walls of the castle of Hannut, to return with me to the party we lately left assembled round a fire in the heart of the forest.

CHAPTER IV.

From the middle of the fourteenth to the middle of the fifteenth centuries, and even, perhaps, to a much later period, there existed, spread over the whole continent--equally in France, in Flanders, in Italy, and in Germany--a particular class of men, whose livelihood was obtained by the sword, and by the sword alone. In time of hostility, they were soldiers; in time of peace, they were plunderers; and long habituated to reap alone the iron harvest of war, they never dreamed of turning the sword into the reaping-hook; a sort of proceeding which they would have considered the basest degradation of an instrument which they held in as high a degree of veneration, as that in which it was regarded by the ancient Scythians.

In the interior of France, indeed, such a thing as peace was sometimes to be found; but Germany, and its frontiers towards France, presented such a number of great vassals, and independent princes, each of whom had the right of waging war against his neighbour--a right which they took care should not fall into desuetude--that the mercenary soldiers, who at that time infested the world, were rarely, for any long period, under the necessity of cultivating the arts of peace, even in their own peculiar manner, in the heart of the green forest.

During the earlier part of the great struggle between France and England, these men had assembled in bodies of thousands and tens of thousands; and, during the existence of any of the temporary suspensions of hostilities, which took place from time to time, they seized upon some town or castle, lived at free quarters in the country, and laid prince and peasant, city and village alike, under contribution. Gradually, however, these great bodies became scattered; kings found it more imperatively necessary to overcome such internal foes, than to oppose an external enemy. The nobles also leagued together to destroy any of the great bands that remained; but the smaller ones--tolerated at first as a minor evil, consequent upon the system of warfare of the day--were always in the end encouraged, protected, and rewarded, when hostilities between any two powers rendered their services needful to each; and were not very severely treated, when circumstances compelled them to exercise their military talents on their own account. Scarcely a great lord through Germany, or Burgundy, or Flanders, had not a band of this kind, more or less formidable, according to his wealth and power, either in his pay, or under his protection. The character of the adventurer, indeed, of each particular troop, greatly depended upon the disposition and manners of the lord to whom they were for the time attached; but, on the whole, they were a very much libelled people; and though in actual warfare they were certainly worse than the ordinary feudal soldier of the day, in time of peace they were infinitely better than the class of common robber, that succeeded upon their extinction. There were times, indeed, when, under the guidance of some fierce and ruthless leader, they committed acts which disgraced the history of human nature; but upon ordinary occasions, though they carried into the camp a strong touch of the plundering propensities of the freebooters, yet, when war was over, they bore with them, to the cavern or the wood, many of the frank and gallant qualities of the chivalrous soldier.

It was in the hands of a body of such men, though of a somewhat better quality than usual, that we last left Martin Fruse, the worthy burgher of Ghent, beginning to recover from the apprehensions which he had at first entertained, and to enjoy himself in proportion to the rapid transition he had undergone, from a feeling of terror to a sense of security. The balance of human sensation is so nicely suspended, that scarcely is a weight removed from the heart, ere up flies the beam, as far above as it was below; and long does it vibrate before it attains the equipoise. Such, I believe, are the feelings of every bosom: though some, ashamed of the sudden transition, have power enough to master its expression, and clothe themselves with external calmness, while their hearts are really as much agitated as those of other men. Not so, however, with good Martin Fruse: though, occasionally, in affairs of policy, he thought himself called upon to make a bungling attempt to give an air of diplomatic secrecy and caution to his language and manner; and though, when prompted by others, he could speak an equivocal speech, and fancy himself a skilful negotiator upon the faith of a doubtful sentence, yet, in general, the emotions of his heart would bubble up to the surface unrestrained. On the present occasion, as cold capon and rich ham, strong Rhenish and fruity Moselle, gave pledges of the most satisfactory kind for his future safety, his joy sparkled forth with somewhat childish glee; and his good friends, the robbers, in the midst of the green forest, supplied, in his affections, the place of many a boon companion of the rich town of Ghent.

The stores of the sumpter-horse were soon nearly consumed; but it was remarked by the worthy burgher, that a portion which, by nice computation, he judged might satisfy the appetite of two hungry citizens, together with a couple of large flasks of the best wine, were set apart with reverential care, as if for some person who was not present, but who was held by his companions in a high degree of respect. After governing his curiosity for some time, that most unrestrainable of all human passions got the better of him; and by some sidelong questions he endeavoured to ascertain for whom this reservation was made.

"Oh no! no, no!" replied the personage who had hitherto acted as the leader of the freebooters, "we must not touch that; it is put by for our captain, who will be here presently, and will tell us," he added, with a malicious grin, as he played upon the apprehensions of the good citizen--"and will tell us what we are to do with thee and thine, good Master Martin Fruse. Thou art not the first syndic of the weavers, I trow, who has dangled from a beam; and one could not choose a more airy place to hang in, on a summer's day."

Though Martin Fruse perceived that there was a touch of jest at the bottom of his companion's speech, yet the very thought of dangling from a beam--a fate which the Duke of Burgundy was fully as likely to inflict upon a rebellious subject, as the most ferocious freebooter upon a wandering traveller--caused a peculiar chilly sensation to pucker up his whole skin; but, as his danger from the robbers was the more pressing and immediate of the two, he applied himself strenuously to demonstrate, that it was both unjust and unreasonable to hang a man either to beam or bough, after having abetted him in making himself very comfortable in the world in which God had placed him. There was something in the arguments he deduced from capon and hock, together with the terror that he evidently felt, and a degree of childish simplicity of manner, which made the freebooters roar with laughter; and they were just indulging in one of these merry peals, when a sudden rustle on the bank over their head gave notice that some one was approaching.

"Hold by the roots, boy!" cried a rough voice above. "Here! Set your foot there. Now jump: as far as you can. That's right! Cleared it, by St. George! Now, slip down. So here we are."

As he spoke the last words, Matthew Gournay, followed by young Hugh of Gueldres, stood within one pace of the spot where the freebooters had been regaling. Two or three of the latter had started up to welcome him, holding high one of the torches, to light his descent; and as he came forward, his eye ran over the evidences of their supper, and the party who had partaken of it, with some degree of surprise.

"How now, my merry men?" he cried, laughing. "Ye have had some sport, it would seem; but, by our Lady! I hope ye have left me a share, and something for this poor lad, who is dying of hunger."

"Plenty, plenty for both," replied many of the voices; "that is to say, enough for one meal at least; the next we must find elsewhere."

"But here are some Gandois traders," added one of the party, "waiting your awful decree, and trembling in every limb lest they should be hanged upon the next tree."

"God forbid!" replied Matthew Gournay. "We will put them to light ransoms, for rich citizens. Who is the first? Stand up, good man. What! Martin Fruse!" he exclaimed, starting back, as the light fell upon the face of the burgher. "My old friend, Martin Fruse, in whose house I lodged when I came to teach the men of Ghent how to get up a tumult! Little did I think I should so soon have thee under contribution."

"Nay, nay, good Master Gournay," replied the burgher, "right glad am I to see thee. In truth, I thought I had fallen into worse hands than thine. I know well enough," he added, with a somewhat doubtful expression of countenance, notwithstanding the confidence which his words implied--"I know well enough that thou hast no heart to take a ransom from thine old companion."

"Faith but thou art wrong, Martin," replied Matthew Gournay, laying his heavy hand upon the citizen's shoulder. "Thine own ransom shall be light, and that of thy comrades also, for thy sake; but something we must have, if it be but to keep up good customs. A trifle, a mere trifle: a benevolence, as our good kings call it in England, when they take it into their heads to put the clergy to ransom."

"Nay, but," said Martin Fruse, whose confidence and courage were fully restored by the sight of his friend's face; "nay, but consider that I was taken while journeying for the sole purpose of conferring with thee and Adolph of Gueldres concerning the general rising we purposed."

"Well, well, we will speak further hereafter," answered Matthew Gournay. "That job is all over for the present; and as, doubtless, the duke has heard of our doings, it may go hard with your purses, and with my neck, if he catch us, which please God he shall not do. But we must think of some way of getting you all back to Ghent in safety. Now, Halbert of the hillside," he added, addressing one of his old band, who was probably an Englishman like himself, "hie thee to the midway oak. Thou wilt there find the old seneschal. Tell him all is safe! Bid him tarry there till to-morrow, collecting all our friends that come thither; and, in the meantime, to send me the leathern bottles from the hollow tree. These flimsy flasks furnish scarce a draught for a boy; and, good faith, I will be merry to-night, whatever befall to-morrow. Up the bank, up the bank," he continued; "'tis but a quarter of a mile that way."

While the messenger was gone in search of the fresh supply of wine which the leathern bottles implied, Matthew Gournay, and the young companion, whom he had brought with him, despatched the provisions which had been saved by the very miraculous abstinence of the freebooters; and at the same time the two flasks of Rhenish disappeared with a celerity truly astonishing. Four capacious bottles, holding about a gallon each, were soon after added to the supply, and all present were called upon to partake.

A scene of merriment and joy then succeeded, which would be impossible to describe; such, indeed, as perhaps no men ever indulged in whose lives were not held by so uncertain a tenure, whose moments of security were not counterbalanced by so many hours of danger, and whose pleasures were not bought by so many labours and pains, that it became their only policy to quaff the bowl of joy to the very dregs, while it was yet at their lips, lest, at the first pause, circumstance, that unkind step-dame, should snatch it angrily from their hands for ever. The final explosion of their merriment was called forth by good Martin Fruse, who, after showing many signs and symptoms of weary drowsiness, declared that he should like to go to bed, and asked, with much simplicity, where he was to sleep.

"Sleep!" exclaimed Matthew Gourney, "sleep! Why where the fiend would you sleep?"

"I mean, where's your house, good Master Matthew Gournay?" rejoined Martin Fruse, with open eyes, from which all expression was banished by surprise at finding his question a matter of laughter, he knew not why. "It's all very well to sup in the wood in a fine summer night; but it's growing late and cold, and I do think we had better a great deal get us to our warm beds."

The only answer which he received to this speech, from the robbers, was a new peal of laughter; but, at the same moment, his nephew plucked him by the sleeve, exclaiming, "Hist, uncle! ye only make the knaves grin; you may sleep where you are, or not sleep at all for this night. Have you not heard how these men covet no covering but the green boughs of the forest?"

"Thou art somewhat malapert, young sir," said Matthew Gournay, fixing upon him a glance into which various parts of the boy's speech, not very respectful to the freebooters, had called up a degree of fierceness that was not the general expression of his countenance; "thou art somewhat malapert; and, if thy uncle follow my advice, he will make thy shoulders now and then taste of the cloth-yard measure, else thou wilt mar his fortune some fine day. The boy says true, however, good Martin; here sleepest thou this night, if thou sleepest at all; so get thee under yonder bank, with that broad oak tree above thy head, to guard thee from the westerly wind, and thank Heaven thou hast so fair a canopy. There, wrap thy cloak about thee; ask God's blessing, and sleep sound. To-morrow I will wake thee early, to talk of what may best be done to speed thee on thy way in safety; for many of the duke's bands are about; and without we can get thee some good escort, thou art like to be in the same plight as the ass, who, running away from a dog, fell in with a lion."

Although Martin Fruse believed himself to be as wise as any man that ever lived, except King Solomon, he had a peculiar dislike, or rather, it may be called, a nervous antipathy, to the very name of an ass; but, when it was introduced, as on the present occasion, in the form of a simile, to exemplify his own situation, his feelings were wounded in a deep degree. In silent indignation, therefore, for he knew not what to reply, he arose, and proceeded to the spot pointed out, where, having made himself as comfortable as circumstances permitted him to do, he lay down, and, notwithstanding a firm determination not to close an eye, he was soon pouring forth a body of nasal music, which seemed intended to shame the nightingales for their silence in the autumn season.

The rest of the travellers took up with such couches as they could find; and the robbers, too, one by one, wrapped their cloaks about them, and resigned themselves to sleep. The two last who remained awake were Matthew Gournay and young Hugh of Gueldres, whose slumber by the cascade in the morning had sufficiently removed the weariness of his limbs, to leave his mind free to rest upon the sorrows of the past and the dangers of the present.

With him the leader of the freebooters held a long, and, to them, an interesting conversation; in the course of which the boy narrated all the events which had lately occurred to him: the storming of his father's castle by the troops of Burgundy; the perils he had undergone; the difficulties of his escape; his desolation and despair when he found himself a wanderer and an outcast; his long and weary journey; his adventure with the Dauphin, whom he described as a French traveller; and the manner in which that base and artful prince had deceived him. He told it all with so much simple pathos, that he called up something very like a tear in the adventurer's clear blue eye; and Matthew Gournay, laying his broad hand affectionately on his head, exclaimed "Never mind, my young lord, never mind; you are not without friends, and never shall be, so long as Matthew Gournay lives; for I swear by the blessed Virgin, and all the saints to boot, that my sword shall fight your quarrels, and my lance shall be at your command, till I see you a righted man. But, as you say that the Lord of Hannut is your cousin in the first degree, thither we must go for help and counsel. I know him well, too; for my good band helped to keep his castle for him, when the black riders were about last year: and what with the troops of spirits that folks say he can command, and the company of the good fellows that I shall soon gather together again, we shall be able to do something for you, no doubt. By the way," he added, seeming suddenly to bethink himself of some fact that had before escaped his attention, "these travellers, you say, are gone to Hannut too, and under their escort these Gandois weavers may pass unsuspected on their way homeward."

"What if they refuse to take them?" said Hugh of Gueldres.

"By the Lord, they shall eat more cold iron than they can well stomach," replied the adventurer: "but I must sleep, my young lord, I must sleep, if I would rise fresh to-morrow! Lend us thy hand to shift off this plastron." So saying, he disencumbered himself of his breastplate, and the other pieces of defensive armour which might have rendered his sleep uncomfortable; and, laying them down by his steel cap or basinet, which he had previously taken off, he wrapped the end of his mantle round his head, stretched himself on the ground, grasped the hilt of his dagger tight with his right hand; and, in that attitude, fell into as sound a sleep as if he had never tasted crime or heard of danger. The boy soon followed his example, and all was silence.

About an hour before daylight the following morning, Martin Fruse was awakened by some one shaking him by the shoulder. He roused himself with many a yawn, rose up, stretched his round limbs, which were sadly stiffened by a night's lodging upon the cold ground and, gazing round, perceived, by the mingled light of the expiring fire and one or two pine-wood torches stuck in the ground, that the party of adventurers had been considerably increased during his sleep; and that they were now all busily employed in saddling horses and preparing for a march, except, indeed, Matthew Gournay himself, whose grasp it was that had awakened him. He was now informed, in a few brief words, without any precise explanation, that a means had suggested itself for sending him and his companions forward towards Ghent, with less danger than that to which they would be exposed in travelling alone. For this courtesy, and for the permission to return at all, Matthew Gournay exacted, under the name of ransom, a sum so much smaller than the fears of the worthy burgher had anticipated, that he only affected to haggle for a florin or two less, in order to keep up the custom of bargaining, so necessary to him in his mercantile capacity. A hint, however, from Matthew Gournay, that, if he said another word, the sum demanded should be tripled, soon set the matter at rest; and in a few minutes the whole party were on horseback, and on their way to the castle of Hannut.

On their arrival at the gate of the barbacan, they were instantly challenged by a sentry, who at that early hour stood watching the first grey streaks of the dawn. After various inquiries and messages to and from the interior of the castle, they were led round to a small postern, and, being made to dismount, were led, one after another, by torchlight, up one of those narrow, almost interminable staircases, still to be found in every old building whose erection can be traced to the feudal period.

CHAPTER V.

It was after dinner on the following morning--which meal, be it remarked, took place in those days about ten o'clock--that the Dauphin and the Marshal of Burgundy rose to bid adieu to their noble host, and offered him, in courteous terms, their thanks for the hospitable entertainment he had shown them.

"I have, my lord, a favour to ask in return," said the Lord of Hannut, "which will leave me your debtor. The case is simply this: some worthy merchants of Ghent, travelling on mercantile affairs, as I am told, arrived here this morning; and, being fearful of encountering some of the robbers, who have given to this forest not the best repute, they are now waiting in the inner court, anxious to join themselves to your train, and accompany you as far as Cortenbergh, where they will leave you, and take the short-cut to Ghent."

"Willingly, willingly," replied the Dauphin; "by my faith, if there be robbers in the wood, the more men we are, the better."

The Marshal of Burgundy looked somewhat grave. "I have heard rumours, my lord," he said, "that the men of Ghent, who, in my young day, when I frequented this part of the country, were as turbulent a race of base mechanics as ever drove a shuttle or worked a loom, have not forgotten their old habits, and from day to day give my lord the duke some fresh anxiety."

"Nay, nay," replied the Lord of Hannut; "these men are rich burghers, returning peacefully to their own city from some profitable excursion."

"Oh, let us have them, by all means!" exclaimed Louis, who possibly might have his own views, even at that time, in cultivating a good understanding with the people of Ghent. At least, we know that he never ceased to keep up some correspondence with the burghers of the manufacturing towns of Flanders, from the time of his exile among them, to the last hour of his life. "Oh! let us have them by all means. Think of the robbers, my Lord Marshal! By my faith! I have too few florins in my purse to lose any willingly!"

The Marshal of Burgundy signified his assent by a low inclination of the head; though it was evident, from his whole manner, that he was not at all pleased with the new companions thus joined to his band; and would at once have rejected the proposal, had good manners towards his host, or respect towards the Dauphin, permitted him to make any further opposition.

"So necessary do I think caution against the freebooters, my lords," said the master of the mansion, as he conducted them towards the court-yard, where their horses stood saddled, "that I have ordered ten spears of my own to accompany you to the verge of the forest. They will join you at the little town of Hannut, about a quarter of a league distant; and will remain with you as long as you may think it necessary."

Louis expressed his gratitude in courtly terms; and the Lord of Neufchatel thanked his old friend more frankly; but said, he should like to see the boldest freebooter that ever was born, stand before the Marshal of Burgundy, though he had but four lances and four horseboys in his train. The party were by this time in the court-yard; and Louis greeted the burghers, whom he found waiting, with a familiar cordiality, well calculated to win their hearts, without diminishing his own dignity. The Marshal of Burgundy, on the contrary, spoke not; but looked on them with a grim and somewhat contemptuous smile; muttering between his teeth, with all the haughtiness of a feudal noble of that day, "The rascallion communes! they are dressed as proudly as lords of the first degree!"

Notwithstanding his offensive pride, yet untamed by years, the Lord of Neufchatel was far from treating the burghers with any real unkindness; and, after the whole party had mounted, and left the castle of Hannut, he gratified himself every now and then by a sneer, it is true; but, whenever any occasion presented itself for contributing to their comfort, or rendering them a substantial service, the natural courtesy of a chivalrous heart got the better of the prejudices of education. At an after period, indeed, he went still further, and greatly changed his demeanour towards the people of the towns; but at present, his pride offended more than his services pleased; and when, after a quiet and uninterrupted journey, the two parties separated at Cortenbergh, though the Marshal left them as a set of men on whom he should never waste another thought, they remembered him long as one of those haughty tyrants whose insults and oppression often goaded the people into tumults, though the time was not yet come for a successful struggle for emancipation.

From Cortenbergh, the Dauphin and his companions rode on towards Brussels, sending forward a messenger to inform the Duke of Burgundy of their approach; but, before they reached the gates of the town, they received information that the prince whom they sought was even then in the field against the people of Utrecht. Nevertheless, as a safe asylum in Brussels was all that Louis demanded, he rode on upon his way; and, being admitted at once within the walls of the town, proceeded towards the palace. His coming had been notified to the Duchess Isabelle: and on arriving at the barriers which at that time separated the dwelling of every prince or great noble from the common streets of the town, he found that princess, together with the young and beautiful Countess of Charolois--the wife of him afterwards famous as Charles the Bold--waiting to do honour to the heir of the French throne. No sooner did he perceive them, than, springing from his horse, he advanced with courtly grace, and gallantly saluted the cheek of every one of the fair bevy who had descended to welcome him; and then, offering his arm to the Duchess, wished to lead her into the palace. But this method of proceeding was not at all permitted by the mistress of the most ceremonious court, at that time, in Europe; and a series of formal courtesies began and endured for a mortal half hour, such as would have slain any queen in modern Europe. At length, the resistance of the Duchess was vanquished by the Dauphin taking her by the hand, and thus leading her forward, as he exclaimed, "Nay, nay, lady, you are overceremonious towards one who is now the poorest gentleman of all the realm of France, and knows not where to find a refuge, except with you and my fair uncle of Burgundy."

We might now pursue Louis XI. through all his cunning intrigues at the court of Burgundy; for, though then a young man, with the ardent blood of youth mingling strangely, in his veins, with the cold serpent-like sanies of policy, yet his nature was the same artful nature then that it appeared in after-years: and treachery and artifice were as familiar to his mind while combined with the passions and follies of early life, as they were when connected with the superstitions and weaknesses of his age.

At present, however, it is neither with Louis nor with the Duke of Burgundy, nor with his warlike son, that we have principally to do, but rather with the young Countess of Charolois, then in that interesting situation when the hopes of a husband and a nation are fixed upon a coming event, which, with danger to the mother, is to give an heir to the throne and to the love of both sovereign and people.

The subjects of Burgundy watched anxiously, till at length, in the month of February, on St. Valentine's eve, was born Mary of Burgundy--the only child that ever blessed the bed of Charles the Bold. The baptism was appointed to take place as soon as possible: and the Dauphin was invited to hold at the font the infant princess, much of whose after-being his ambition was destined to render miserable. Now, however, all was joy and festivity; and magnificent presents, and splendid preparations, evinced how much the Flemish citizens shared, or would have seemed to share, in the happiness of their duke and his family. Even the people of Utrecht, so lately in rebellion, vied with Bruges and Brussels, Ghent and Ypres, in offering rich testimonies of their gladness; and Brussels itself was one scene of gorgeous splendour during the whole day of the christening. The centre of the great street, from the palace to the church of Cobergh, was enclosed within railings breast-high; and towards night, four hundred of the citizens, holding lighted torches of pure wax in their hands, were stationed along the line. A hundred servants of the house of Burgundy, furnished also with torches, lined the aisles of the church, and a hundred more were soon seen issuing from the palace gates, followed by as splendid a cortege as the world ever beheld. The Duchess of Burgundy herself, supported by the Dauphin, carried her son's child to the font; and all the nobles of that brilliant court followed on foot to the church.

It is not necessary here to describe the pompous ceremonies of that day, as they are written at full in the very elaborate account given by Eleonore of Poitiers. Suffice it to say, such joy and profusion never before reigned in Brussels. The streets of the city flowed with wine, and blazed with bonfires. Every rich citizen gathered round his glowing hearth all the friends and relations of his house. Comfits and spiced hippocras fumed in every dwelling; and the christening of Mary of Burgundy became an epoch of rejoicing in the memory of men.

One event of that night, however, must be noticed. The fate of the city of Ghent, whose project of revolt had, in spite of all precautions, become known to the Duke Philip, had been left in the hands of the Count of Charolois, that prince's son; and a deputation from what were then called the three members of Ghent--that is to say,[^[2]] from the burghers and nobles, from the united trades, and from the incorporation of weavers--were even then in Brussels, for the purpose of imploring mercy and forgiveness. The young Count, whose hasty and passionate nature was prone to be irritated by anything that hurried or excited him, had been in such a state of fretful impatience during the preparations for the baptism of his child, that his wiser counsellors, who wished much that he should deal clemently with the Gandois, had concealed their arrival, in hopes of a more favourable moment presenting itself.

They were not, indeed, deceived in this expectation; and, after the ceremony was over, and all the splendour he could have wished had been displayed, without cloud or spot, on the christening of his child, the heart of the Count seemed to expand, and he gave himself up entirely to the joy of the occasion. His friends and attendants determined to seize the moment while this favourable mood continued. After the infant had been carried back from the church and presented to its mother, and after the cup and sweetmeats had been handed with formal ceremony to each of the guests, the Lord of Ravestein called the Prince's attention to a petition he held from his father's humble vassals, the citizens of Ghent; and seeing that he received the paper with a smile, he added the information that the deputies were even then waiting anxiously without, in what was termed the chambre de parement. The Count's brow instantly became clouded; but, without answering, he beckoned Ravestein, and several others, to follow him out of the Countess's chamber, in which this conversation had taken place, and at once entered the apartment in which the burghers were assembled. There was something in the stern haste of his stride, as he advanced into the room, which boded little good to the supplicants; and his brow gave anything but a favourable presage.

The deputation consisted of about twenty persons, chosen from all ranks; and amongst them were two or three who had followed to the presence of the prince, from motives of curiosity, and a desire, for once, to see the splendours of a royal court, though the reception of the whole party was not likely to be very gratifying. Amongst the principal personages of the deputation appeared our good friend Martin Fruse, who had brought with him his nephew, Albert Maurice; and most of the other persons whom we have seen with him in the forest of Hannut bore him company also on the present occasion. Though the burghers of Ghent were sufficiently accustomed to harangue each other, either in the town-house or the market-place, and had a good conceit of their own powers of oratory, yet fear, which, of all the affections of the human mind, is the greatest promoter of humility, had so completely lessened their confidence in their own gift of eloquence, that, instead of intrusting the supplications they were about to make to one of their own body, they had hired a professional advocate, from a different town, to plead their cause before their offended prince.

"Range out, Messires, range out!" were the first ungracious words of the Count of Charolois; "range out, and let me see the lovely faces of the men who would fain have excited our father's subjects to revolt."

By his orders, the deputies from Ghent were arranged in a semicircle before him; and, according to etiquette, the whole party dropped upon one knee; though some went farther, and bent both to the ground. In the meantime, their advocate pronounced a long, florid, and frothy harangue, after the manner of that day, and calling David, Solomon, and many others, both sacred and profane, to his aid, as examples of clemency, besought the Count to show mercy to the repentant citizens of Ghent.

The heir of Burgundy appeared to give little attention to the studied and unnatural oration of the advocate, but continued rolling his eyes over the countenances of the supplicants, with a bent brow, and a smile, which--as a smile always proceeds from some pleasurable emotion--could only arise from the gratification of pride and revenge, at the state of abasement to which he saw the revolted Gandois reduced.

When the orator had concluded, the Count replied:--"Men of Ghent, I have heard that in all time ye have been turbulent, discontented, factious, like a snarling cur that snaps at the hand that feeds it, but crouches beneath the lash: think not that you shall escape without due punishment; for know, that it is as much the duty of a prince to punish the criminal, as to protect the innocent."

He paused, and no one ventured to reply, except the boy Albert Maurice, who, grasping the hilt of the small dagger, which persons of almost all ages or ranks then wore, muttered, in a tone not quite inaudible, the words "Insolent tyrant."

Whether these words caught the ear of any one else or not, they were, at all events, loud enough to reach that of the Count of Charolois; and, taking one stride forward, he struck the youth a blow, with the palm of his open hand, which laid him almost senseless on the ground.

A momentary confusion now ensued; the nobles and attendants interposed, to prevent any farther act of unprincely violence; the boy was hurried away out of the room; several of the deputies made their escape, fearing the immediate consequences of the prince's fury; and the Count of Ravestein endeavoured to persuade his cousin, Charles of Burgundy, to quit the apartment, terrified lest he should proceed to measures which would throw the Gandois into open rebellion.

He was mistaken, however; the rage of the Count had evaporated in the blow he had struck; and, somewhat ashamed of the act of passion he had committed, he endeavoured to make it seem, both to himself and to those around him, not the effect of hasty wrath--which it really was--but the deliberate punishment of an insolent boy.

To Ravestein's remonstrances and entreaties for him to leave the apartment, he replied by a loud laugh, demanding, "Thinkest thou I could be moved to serious anger by a malapert lad like that? He spoke like a spoiled boy, and I have given him the chastisement suited to a spoiled boy; with these men of Ghent, I shall deal as towards men."

He was about to proceed, and was resuming the stern air with which he had formerly addressed the deputies, when the Dauphin, stepping forward, spoke to him in a low tone, as if to prevent his intercession from being apparent, though his gesture and manner were quite sufficient to show the burghers that he was pleading in their behalf. The Count of Charolois had not yet learned all the intricate duplicity of Louis's character, and took it for granted that, while he interceded for the people of Ghent, he did really--as he affected to do--desire that they should be ignorant of his generous efforts in their favour.

"Well, be it so, my princely cousin," he replied, smoothing his ruffled brow; "the godfather of my child shall not be refused his first request to me, upon the very day of her baptism; but, by my faith! the honour of this good act shall rest where it is due--with you, not with me. Know, men of Ghent, that you have a better advocate here, than this man of many words, whom you have brought to plead your cause. My noble cousin, Louis of France, condescends to intercede for you, and ye shall be pardoned upon the payment of a moderate fine. But, remember! offend not again; for, by the Lord that lives! if ye do, I will hang ten of each of your estates over the gates of the city. What have ye there?" he added, suddenly, pointing to some large objects, wrapped in violet-coloured linen, and carried by two or three stout attendants, who had followed the men of Ghent to the prince's presence; "what have ye there?"

"A humble offering, my lord the Count," replied Martin Fruse, rising from his knees, and walking towards the object which had attracted the attention of the Count of Charolois; "a humble offering from the city of Ghent to our noble Count, upon the birth of his fair daughter; though that foolish advocate forgot to mention all about it in his speech."

"Well for ye that he did so!" exclaimed the Count; "for had he attempted to bribe me to forget justice, I doubt much whether one of the deputies of Ghent would have quitted these palace walls alive."

"But only look at them, my lord the Count," said Martin Fruse, whose all-engrossing admiration of the rich presents they had brought made him insensible to the stern tone in which the prince had been speaking. "Only look at them; they are so beautiful;" and so saying, he removed the linen which covered them, and exposed to view three large and richly chased vases of massive silver. Certainly their effect upon all present very well justified the commendations which he had bestowed upon their beauty, and his censure of the advocate for not mentioning them before.

Both Charles of Burgundy and the Dauphin took an involuntary step forward, to look at them more nearly. But the eyes of Louis, who was fonder of the examination of the human heart, than of the finest piece of workmanship ever produced by the hands of man, were soon turned to the face of his cousin; and, as he marked the evident admiration which was therein expressed, he said, with a frank laugh, which covered well the sneer that was lurking in his speech--"By my faith! fair cousin, I think the advocate was in the wrong."

"Good troth, but I think so too," replied the Count, joining in the laugh. "Well, my friends," he continued, addressing the deputies in a very different tone from that which he had formerly used; "get you gone, and be cautious for the future how ye listen to the delusive words of vain and ambitious men: the master of our household will see that ye are well entertained with white bread, good wine, and all the dainties of a christening; and as for the boy I struck," he added, taking a gold brooch or fermail from the bosom of his own vest, and putting it into the hands of Martin Fruse, "give him that to heal the blow. There, set down the vases on that table. We thank you for them; and by our faith! we will show them to our lady there within."

With many a lowly reverence the men of Ghent withdrew, very well satisfied to have obtained pardon on easy terms. Young Albert Maurice was found below, fully recovered from the blow he had received; but it was in no degree effaced from his memory. His uncle immediately presented him with the rich brooch which the Count had sent, never doubting but the boy would be delighted with the present; but, the moment he received it, he dashed it down upon the ground, and setting his foot upon it, trampled it to atoms.

What he muttered at the same time was unheard by any one but his uncle. The effect upon him, however, was such as to turn him deadly pale; and after having tasted of the Count's wine, that he might not be suspected of disaffection, he hurried his nephew away to the house of a friendly citizen of Brussels, miserable, to all appearance, till he had got the boy beyond the walls of the palace.

CHAPTER VI.

We have now concluded one period of our tale, and must beg the reader to leap boldly over nearly twenty years. In regard to the events which intervened, of some we shall here give a slight sketch before proceeding; some we shall leave to unravel themselves in the course of the after history.

Take any body of men, as many in number as the characters which we have introduced already, and it will be seldom found that, at the end of so great a lapse of time, the whole are still upon the busy stage of life; nevertheless, such was the case in the present instance. Time, the great enemy of man, and of all man's works, had not leagued himself with death against any of those whom I have particularly noticed. In other respects, however, he had not failed to do his accustomed work. The youth had grown up into the man; the man of middle age was bowed beneath the load of years; and the infant in the cradle had reached the blossoming days of womanhood.

Of her, then, whose birth and baptism we have just commemorated, we shall speak in the first place, before proceeding to notice the change which had occurred in the other characters which we have brought upon the scene. Her infancy passed in the midst of prosperity and happiness, while the territories which she was destined to inherit flourished under the dominion of her grandfather--that wise and virtuous prince, who redeemed the errors of his early years by the generous patriotism of his latter days, and both merited and obtained, from neighbouring princes and his native subjects, the noble appellation of Philip the Good; and while under the eye of her own gentle mother, her education proceeded in calm tranquillity, and her home reposed in peace.

Scarcely had she attained the age of ten years, however, ere, left alone under the guidance of a severe and imperious father, she found that, according to the common fate of those in the highest stations, her lot was to be anything but happy. Gentle, kind, obedient, she endeavoured, by making her inclinations the slaves of her father's will, to obtain, at least, peace, by yielding to duty. Her hopes and expectations were, nevertheless, in vain. The continual perils to which Charles the Bold exposed himself, of course, kept his family in constant alarm and agitation; and the frequent and capricious changes of his policy, without obtaining for himself or his country any real advantage, only served to wring his daughter's heart.

After the death of his second wife, Isabel de Bourbon, the desire of a male heir induced him speedily to marry again; and the hatred which he had, by that time, conceived for Louis XI. made him choose for his bride, Margaret of York, the sister of the King of England. His hopes of a son were disappointed; but upon his daughter, Mary of Burgundy, his marriage conferred an inestimable benefit. Margaret of York fully replaced in kindness and affection the mother she had lost; and habituated early herself to cares, to sorrows, and to dangers, she instilled into the mind of her step-daughter that patient fortitude which she had acquired in so bitter a school; and taught her, in all circumstances, both to bear up against despair, and to endure without complaint.

As years rolled on, the hand of the undoubted heiress of all Burgundy and Flanders became, of course, an object of ambition to many of the princes of Europe; and from the time that Mary reached the age of fifteen, to obtain possession of her person, was a matter of open negotiation and subtle intrigue to all the neighbouring sovereigns. The brother of the King of France, the Duke of Calabria, the Prince of Tarentum, and the Duke of Savoy, became successively the suitors for her hand; and her father, to each and all, held out hopes and expectations, which he either never intended to fulfil, or found cause to disappoint. The most selfish of sovereigns, and, perhaps, of men, the feelings of his child were never consulted throughout the whole transactions which followed. He looked upon her simply as an object of policy, a human seal, which, at his will, was to be affixed to the charter of conveyance, destined to give to some neighbouring prince the succession to his vast dominions.

Luckily, however, it so happened, that Mary had made up her mind to her fate, and so guarded her own heart and feelings, that in her eyes all men seemed indifferent till the sanction of her father warranted the gift of her affections. Thus she beheld treaties commenced and broken, her hand promised and refused, without either pain or pleasure, till, at length, a suitor appeared, who, with all those advantages which could satisfy the political ambition of her father, possessed all those qualities of mind and person calculated to gain her heart. Brave, chivalrous, and accomplished, graceful and well-formed in person, and handsome in features, Maximilian, son of the Emperor Frederick, displayed, at the same time, all that native kindness of heart, which, giving a gentle courtesy to the whole demeanour, is far more winning than the most splendid acquirements; and such qualities might have been quite sufficient to gain the heart of the heiress of Burgundy. Other things, indeed, were required by her father; but besides these personal qualities, he was the son of the richest monarch in Europe, the heir of the duchy of Austria, and would be, undoubtedly, successor to the imperial throne itself. Every object seemed attained by such an alliance; and when, after appearing two years successively at the court of Burgundy, Maximilian demanded the hand of the beautiful heiress of the land, Mary, for the first time, heard with joy that it was promised to the new aspirant.

Long negotiations succeeded; and it was agreed that the duchy of Burgundy, freed from its homage to the crown of France, should be erected into an independent kingdom.

A grand meeting of the Imperial and Burgundian courts was appointed at Treves, for the conclusion of the marriage; and Charles the Bold, with his daughter, accompanied by a train of unrivalled splendour, set out for the place of rendezvous. Mary's heart beat high as she entered the ancient city; and now, taught to look upon Maximilian as her future husband, she yielded her whole heart to the influence of her first affection. But the greedy ambition of her father was destined to overthrow, for a time, all those airy fabrics of happiness, of which her hopes, and her imagination, had been the architects. Charles insisted that the title of king should be granted to him previous to his daughter's marriage; while the Emperor, who had watched his capricious changes on other occasions, with a jealous and somewhat indignant eye, refused to confer the title he sought, till the hand of the heiress of Burgundy was irrevocably bestowed upon his son. Charles argued, and railed, and threatened in vain; and at length the Emperor, wearied with his pertinacity, and offended by his intemperate violence, suddenly broke up his court, and left him, mad with rage and disappointment, to carry back his daughter to Brussels, with her heart bleeding in secret from the cruel wounds it had received.

Other negotiations succeeded with other princes; and though Mary heard, with apprehension and terror, of each new proposal, the capricious uncertainty of her father's disposition saved her from the still bitterer pangs of yielding her hand to another, while her heart was really given to Maximilian.

In the meantime, disputes and wars took place; the projects of her marriage languished, or were abandoned; and while her father hastened to the last fatal field, where his military renown was extinguished in his blood, she remained with her gentle stepmother in Ghent, to weep the perils to which her parent's mad ambition exposed him, and to tremble at the sight of every packet that reached her from the Burgundian camp.

Such were the changes and events which had affected the fate of Mary of Burgundy, since we depicted her as an infant, born shortly after the arrival of the Dauphin at the court of Brussels. Over the Dauphin himself, greater alterations still had come in the course of passing years. From an exiled prince, he had become the king of a mighty nation; and time had stolen away all the graces of youth, and all those better feelings, and nobler emotions, which, in the freshness of early life, are more or less imparted to every human being, whatever may be the portion of selfish cunning added to neutralize them. However beneficial might be his policy to the country over which he ruled, however much his acts might advance the progress of society in Europe, and lead forward the world to a state of more general freedom and civilization, his objects were mean and personal, and individual ambition of the lowest kind was the motive for all his cunning schemes and artful policy. An immortal pen has, in our own day, portrayed his character with unequalled skill; and of Louis XI., at this period of his life, nothing farther can be said, than that he was the Louis XI. of Sir Walter Scott.

Of those who accompanied him on his journey, Thibalt of Neufchatel, Marshal of Burgundy, still remained; a weather-beaten warrior, and still, in a certain sense, a haughty noble. Though age, with its infirmities, had somewhat broken his strength, and had also softened his heart, he was ready at all times, nevertheless, to spring into the saddle at the trumpet's call: but so much, indeed, had he learned to look upon the inferior ranks with a milder eye, that he had become rather popular than otherwise; and amongst the peasants and burghers was generally known, at this time, by the name of good Count Thibalt. The taint of pride still remained; but its operation was directed in a different manner; and young nobles, and new soldiers, who were not always inclined to pay as much respect to the old officer's opinion as he thought his due, now monopolized the scorn which he had formerly bestowed upon the citizens; while the degree of popularity he had lately acquired among the lower classes, and the deference with which they invariably treated him, contrasting strongly with the self-sufficient arrogance of some of his youthful compeers, soothed his pride, gratified his vanity, and made him, day by day, more bending and complacent to those whom he had formerly despised.

On good Martin Fruse, the passing of twenty years had brought, if not a green, at least a fat old age. He was not unwieldy, however; was rosy, and well respected amongst his fellow citizens for his wealth, for his wisdom, and for his many memories of the mighty past; and, in short, good Martin Fruse was, in person and appearance, a man who had gone happily through many changes, increasing in riches, honour, and comfort, with very few cares to prey upon his mind, and scarcely an ailment through life to shatter his body. As he had proceeded, however, experience had done its work: and while he had become wiser, and had really obtained a greater insight into affairs of policy, he had grown less vain, and willingly restrained his personal efforts to composing the municipal squabbles of his native city, and directing the efforts of his townsmen for the extension of their commerce and the improvement of their manufactures.

His nephew, Albert Maurice, had been differently changed by the wand of the enchanter Time. His mind, indeed, was one of those firm, fixed, and steadfast essences, on which the passing of years make but little alteration, except by expanding their capabilities by the exercise of their powers. From a boy, it is true, he had grown into a powerful and handsome man; and, though in partnership with his uncle, he held the peaceful station of a rich merchant of Ghent, yet he was skilled in all military exercises; and, when the communes of Flanders had been called to the field, on pressing occasions, amongst the various struggles of that eventful period, he had shown knowledge, courage, and address, which had excited the wonder, and perhaps the jealousy, of many of those noble warriors who looked upon the trade of war as peculiarly their own. Whenever he returned home again, however, from the camp, he sunk at once into the citizen; seemed to forget or to despise his military skill; and, though gay and splendid amongst his own class, far from courting popularity, he appeared to conceal purposely the deep thoughts and striking qualities of his mind. Once or twice, indeed, he had been heard to burst into an eloquent and indignant rebuke to some of the nobles, on the occasion of the haughty vexations which they continually exercised upon the lower classes; but he seemed to regret his words as soon as spoken; and--as if he knew that, at some time, a fearful and deadly contest must arise between himself and the oppressors of his class, and strove anxiously, and with a feeling of awe, to delay it as long as possible--he avoided all matter of quarrel with the nobility of Ghent, or with the officers of the Duke of Burgundy. He seemed desirous of closing his eyes to subjects of offence; and, when he heard of a brawl in any neighbouring part of the town, or when the other young citizens called upon him to take a lead in their frequent tumults, he would either quit the place for the time, or shut himself sternly in his own dwelling, in order to avoid any participation in the dangerous occurrences that were taking place.

On one of these occasions, when the city of Ghent, though not in open revolt, was keeping up an angry discussion with the high officers of the duke, Albert Maurice, then in his twenty-fourth year, obtained his uncle's consent to travel into Italy, for the purpose of superintending some transactions which their house was carrying on with the merchant lords of Venice. In that sweet climate, the nurse of arts and too often of crimes, he acquired an elegance of taste, and a grace of manner, unknown to the burghers of his native place. He came home, skilled in many arts with which they were unacquainted; and, had his spirit been less powerful, his talents less commanding, it is not improbable that his fellow citizens might have contemned or laughed at acquirements which they had not learned to appreciate, and might have scorned the travelled coxcomb who brought home strange modes and fashions to his native land. But Albert Maurice made a show of none; and it was only upon long solicitation, or on some moment of joyous festivity, that he would sing the sweet songs of a softer people, and accompany himself with instruments unknown in his own country.

His personal beauty, and the fascinating grace of his manners, made him seem a creature of a different race, and his superiority in every quality, both of mind and body, to those around him, might have been a blessing, had he not felt it himself; but he did feel it, and of course was discontented; and who can doubt that anything which makes man discontented with his state, without giving him the certainty of a better, is a curse? All eyes turned upon him with satisfaction; and many a soft, kind heart would willingly have given itself to him; but his thoughts were of another kind, and he could see none to love amongst the many by whom he was admired. The fair girls of Ghent--and many a fair girl was then, and is now, within its walls--thought him cold and proud, and blamed him for what was his misfortune, not his fault. His heart was one on which love might have taken as firm a hold as on that of any man that ever burned or died for woman since the world began: but he sought for his equal--I do not mean in rank, for that he never heeded--but in mind; and he found none such within the number of all he knew.

Shut out by circumstance from the higher ranks of society, the finer feelings, the better aspirations of his soul, were matter for a thousand disgusts; and though a native sense of what is noble in itself, and just to others, made him laboriously conceal the very superiority which he felt, as well as its consequences, yet the conversation, the manners, the thoughts, of those around him, even those with whom he was most intimately allied, were constant sources of hidden pain and annoyance. He lived amongst the people of Ghent, and he strove to live with them; and so far did he succeed, that though his talents and his occasional reserve made his townsfolk look upon him with no small reverence, the urbanity of his manners, when brought into casual contact with the other citizens, gained him a far greater degree of popularity than any general familiarity could have won.

The union of pride and ambition--and he had both qualities in his bosom--usually leads the man, whose mind is so constituted, to seek to rise into the class above him: but both his pride and his ambition were too potent for that. He was proud of the very difference between his station and himself; he had a deep and settled love, too, of his country, and even of his class; and while his ambition was of a quality which would have snatched at empire, had there been a hope of success, the hatred and contempt in which he held the nobles were far too great for him to covet aught but the power to trample them down amongst those ranks whom they now oppressed.

Such had some of the characters, whom we have attempted to depict at an earlier period of life, become, under the passing of twenty years. Time, in short, had done his wonted work on all: had expanded the bud and blossom into the green leaf and the flower, and had changed the flower and the shoot into the ready fruit and the ripened ear. But there are others yet to be spoken of, and to them we will now return.

CHAPTER VII.

The withering power of Time--which, in brief space, can make such havoc on man, and all man's works, that friend shall scarce know friend, and grass shall have swallowed up the highways--is impotent against the ever renewing vigour of Nature; and in the forest of Hannut, the twenty years which had passed, seemed scarcely to show the difference of a day. Green oaks were withered, it is true; the lightning had scathed the pine and rent the beech; the woodman's axe had been busy here and there; but, in constant succession, the children of the wood had grown up to take the place of those which had fallen; and the most discerning eye could scarce have traced a single change in all the forest scene around.

Days seemed to have altered, however, and manners to have changed in the forest of Hannut; for, instead of very equivocal looking soldiers, and travellers who wandered on with fear and trembling, there was now to be seen, near the very same cascade by the side of which we opened this book, a gay, light party, whose thoughts appeared all of joy, and to whom terror seemed perfectly a stranger. That party consisted of three principal personages, with their attendants; and, mounted on splendid horses, whose high spirit, though bowed to the most complete obedience to man's will, was in no degree diminished, they rode gaily across the bridge, and paused by the side of the stream.

The first whom we shall notice--a powerful young cavalier, who might be in the thirtieth year of his age, who might be less, sun-burnt, but naturally fair, strong in all his limbs, but easy and graceful in his movements--sprang to the ground as they approached the waterfall; and laying his hand on the gilded bridle of a white jennet, that cantered on by his side, he assisted the person who rode it to dismount.

She was a fair, beautiful girl, of about eighteen or nineteen years of age, round whose broad white forehead fell clusters of glossy light brown hair; her eyebrows and her eyelashes, however, were dark; and through the long deep fringe of the latter looked forth a pair of blue and laughing eyes, which beamed with the same merry happiness that curled the arch of her sweet lips.

Two of the attendants who followed, hurried forward to hold the bridle and the stirrup of the third person of the party, who dismounted more slowly, as became the gravity of his years. Time, indeed, had not broken, and had hardly bent him; but evidences of the ironhanded conqueror's progress were to be traced in the snowy hair and beard, which had once been of the deepest black; and in the long furrows strongly marked across the once smooth brow. In other respects the Lord of Hannut was but little changed. The same dark, grave cast of countenance remained; the same spare, but vigorous form; though, indeed, without appearing to stoop, his height seemed somewhat diminished since last we brought him before the reader's eyes. A gleam of affectionate pleasure lighted up his countenance, as he marked the graceful gallantry with which his young companion aided the fair girl who accompanied them to dismount; and when, after having rendered his service to the lady, the cavalier turned to offer him his arm also, with a sort of half apology for not having done so before, he replied, smiling--"Thou art better employed dear boy; think'st thou I have so far forgotten my chivalry as to grudge the attention thou bestow'st upon a lady? Here, spread out here," he continued, turning to the attendants and pointing to the green short turf which carpeted the bank of the stream just below the waterfall; "we could not find a better place for our meal than this."

By the birds which they carried on their wrists, it was evident that the whole party had been flying their hawks, the favourite amusement, at that time, of the higher classes throughout Flanders. They now, however, seated themselves to a sort of sylvan dinner which was spread upon the turf by the attendants, who--with that mixture of familiarity and respect which were perfectly compatible with each other, and usual in those days, and in such sports--sat down with persons of higher rank, at once to partake of their fare, and assist them at their meal.

The conversation was gay and lively, especially between the two younger persons whom we have noticed. They were evidently in habits of intimacy; and on the cavalier's part there appeared that tender but cheerful attention to his fair companion, which argued feelings of a somewhat warmer nature than kindred affection, yet without any of that apprehension which love, if the return be doubtful, is sure to display. Her manner was of a different kind; it was not less affectionate, it was not less gentle, but it was of that light and playful character, under which very deep and powerful attachment sometimes endeavours to conceal itself: the timidity which hides itself in boldness, the consciousness of feeling deeply, which sometimes leads to the assumption of feeling little. It was understood, however, and appreciated by her lover, who, possibly, had taken some more serious moment, when the light and active guardian of the casket slept, to pry into the secret of the heart within.

Love, however, it would appear, is insatiable of assurances; and, probably, it was on some fresh demand for a new, or greater acknowledgment, that the lady replied to a half-whispered speech: "Certainly, dear Hugh! Can you doubt it? I will try, with all my mind, to love you; for, as we are to be married, whether we love each other or not, it is but good policy to strive to do so if it be possible." And as she spoke, she fixed her eyes upon her companion's face, with a look of malicious inquiry, as if to see what effect the lukewarmness of her speech would produce upon a heart she knew to be sufficiently susceptible.

He only laughed, however, and replied, "Sing me a song, then, dear Alice, to cheer these green woods, and make me think you love me better than you do."

"Not I, indeed," replied the young lady. "In the first place, I would not cheat you for the world; and in the next place, neither song nor pastourelle, nor sirvente, nor virelai, will I ever sing, till I am asked in song myself. Sing, sing, Hugh! You have been at the bright court of France, and are, I know, a master of the gaie science. Sing the light lay you sang yester evening; or some other, if you know one. It matters not which."

"Be it so, if you will sing afterwards," replied the young cavalier; and without farther question than an inquiring glance towards the Lord of Hannut, he sang, in a full, rich, melodious voice, one of the common songs of the day, which was not altogether inapplicable to her speech. The words, though in a different language, were somewhat to the following effect:--

SONG.
Sing in the days of the spring-time, beloved;
In those days of sweetness, oh, sing to me!
When all things by one glad spirit are moved,
From the sky-lark to the bee.
Sing in the days, too, of summer-time, dearest;
In those days of fire, oh, sing to me then!
When suns are the brightest, and skies are clearest,
Sing, sing in the woods again.
Sing to me still in the autumn's deep glory;
In the golden fall-time, oh, be not mute!
Some sweet, wand'ring ditty from ancient story,
That well with the time may suit.
Sing to me still in the dark hours of sadness,
When winter across the sky is driven;
But sing not the wild tones of mirth and gladness,
Then sing of peace and heaven.

"A pretty song enough, for a man to sing," observed the young lady, as her lover concluded; "but, as I do not choose to be dictated to by anybody, I shall even sing you such a song as suits me myself, whether in season or out of season. What say you, dearest uncle?" she added, turning to the Lord of Hannut; and laying the fair rounded fingers of her soft hand upon his, "What shall I sing him?" And as she spoke, she raised her eyes towards the sky, as if trying to remember some particular lay from amongst the many that she knew; but scarcely had she done so, when an involuntary cry burst from her lips--"Good Heaven!" she exclaimed, "there are armed men looking at us from the top of the bank: there, there!"

Every one started up, and turned their eyes in the direction which hers had taken. There was, indeed, a rustle heard amongst the trees; and a stone or two, detached from above, rolled down the crag, and plunged into the stream at its foot. But no one was to be seen; and, after gazing for a moment in silence, the lover beckoned one of his attendants to follow, and bounding up the most difficult part of the cliff, notwithstanding the fair girl's entreaty to forbear, he plunged into the brushwood, in pursuit of the person who had disturbed their tranquillity.

"You are dreaming, my fair Alice," said the Lord of Hannut; "and have sent poor Hugh de Mortmar on a foolish errand."

"Nay, indeed, uncle," replied Alice, "I dreamed not at all. I am not one to dream in such a sort. For Heaven's sake! bid one ride to bring us assistance, and send some of the men up to aid poor Hugh; for, as sure as I live, I saw two or three faces with steel caps above, looking through the branches of the trees. Hark! do you not hear voices? Climb up, sirs, if you be men, and aid your young lord."

The attendants looked to the baron; and on his part, the Lord of Hannut only smiled with an air of incredulity; when, much, indeed, to the surprise of Alice, her lover appeared above the moment after; and, springing easily down the rock, declared that all was clear beyond.

She gazed on him for a moment in serious silence, and then merely replied--"It is very strange!" Hugh de Mortmar cast himself down again by her side, and once more pressed her to sing; but it was in vain. Alice was agitated and alarmed; and finding it impossible to shake off her terror, she besought her uncle to break up the party and return to the castle, notwithstanding assurances from all that she must have been deceived by the waving of some of the boughs, or the misty spray of the cataract.

Finding, at length, that to reason with her was fruitless, her uncle agreed to return; and the horses being led forward, the whole party remounted, and, with their hawks once more upon their hands, made the best of their way back towards the castle of Hannut. For the first two or three miles, Alice continued anxiously to watch every opening of the trees on either side of the road; remaining in such a state of alarm, that her falcon's wings were continually flapping, from the agitated haste with which she turned to gaze on every object that they passed on the road. It was only when they came within sight of the vassal town, and the castle on its high rock, about half a mile beyond, that she seemed to consider herself in safety; and the long, deep breath she drew, as they passed through the barbacan, announced what a load was taken off her mind when she found herself within the walls of her uncle's castle.

"You have dwelt so long in cities, dear Alice," said the Lord of Hannut, laughing, "that the forest is a strange world to you; and your imagination peoples it with creatures of its own. I shall write to your father, my good Lord of Imbercourt, to say, that he must leave you many a month with me yet, till we have cured you of seeing these wild men of the woods."

"Nay, uncle," replied the young lady, who had by this time recovered her playful spirits, and looked up in his face as she spoke, with a smile of arch meaning; "if I were to be terrified with imaginary things, I can tell you I should not have come at all; for my maids have got many a goodly story of the castle of Hannut and its forest, ay, and of its lord to boot; and, on the morning after our arrival, I found that they had all burnt shoes and twisted necks, with sitting the whole of the night before, with their feet in the fire and their heads turned over their shoulders."

The Lord of Hannut heard her with a melancholy smile. "And hadst thou no fear thyself, my fair Alice?" he demanded; "didst thy imagination never fill the dark end of the chamber with sprites and hobgoblins?"

"Nay, nay, in truth, not I!" replied the young lady; "such things have no terrors for me; but, when I saw three armed men looking down upon us in the forest, and thought that there might be thirty more behind, there was some cause for terror."

The Lord of Hannut and Hugh de Mortmar--in whom the reader has, doubtless, by this time discovered that Hugh of Guildres, who, twenty years before, was found sleeping by the cascade--looked at each other with a meaning smile, but replied nothing; and, indeed, the conversation was here brought to a conclusion by a variety of unwonted sounds which now suddenly rose up from the forest below. Seldom was it, in truth, that those wild woods rang with the clang of charging horse, and echoed to the blast of the trumpets; but such was the case in the present instance; and, as the sounds came borne upon the wind through the open windows, the brow of the Lord of Hannut darkened, and his eye flashed, while the cheek of the younger cavalier flushed as if with anger.

"By the Lord! our fair Alice is right, it would seem!" cried Hugh de Mortmar; "there are more men in the wood than we thought for. What, ho! warder!" he exclaimed, leaning from the narrow window and shouting to some one stationed in the gallery of a tall slender tower, which, more like some Moorish minaret than anything else, rose, towering above all the others on the opposite side of the court-yard. "What, ho! warder, what seest thou down in the woods below? By the Lord! there is another blast," he added, as the trumpets again echoed through the woods.

The next moment the loud voice of the warder was heard in reply: "I see a plump of spears under the arms of Burgundy, running down a handful of the green riders; but they have not caught them yet. They come closer: they come closer," he added; "but the riders make face; they turn again, and spur on; the men-at-arms are thrown out; but I can see no more, my lord; they have all got beneath the haggard hill."

"Sound the ban-cloche, ho!" exclaimed the young cavalier: "arm, and saddle! arm, and saddle, below there!" he continued, shouting to some of the groups who were assembled in the court-yard. "I would fain see who it is," he added, turning to the Lord of Hannut, "who dares to hunt down any men in these woods, your free domain, without your good leave, my lord."

"Beware, Hugh, beware!" said the Lord of Hannut, holding up his hand with a monitory gesture.

"I will, I will, indeed, my lord," he replied; "I will be most cautious." So saying, he sprang down the steps into the court-yard, and, while the great bell or ban-cloche rang out its warning peal over hill and dale, he gave rapid orders for arming a small body of men; and was springing on his own horse to lead them down to the valley, when the warder called from above, announcing that the party of Burgundians he had before seen, together with a considerable troop of strangers, were winding up the steep road that led directly to the castle.

Hugh de Mortmar paused; and the instant after, a trumpet was blown at the barbacan, by a squire sent forward by the party to give notice of the approach of the noble Lord of Imbercourt to the dwelling of his good brother-in-law of Hannut.

The gates of the castle were immediately thrown open; the armed retainers of its lord were drawn up to receive his honoured guest; and Alice ran down to meet her father, whose unexpected coming seemed a gratifying event to all. Hugh de Mortmar, however, lingered behind, conversing for a few moments in a low and hurried tone with the Lord of Hannut; and the only words which were heard, "It is strange that he should have done so in your domains, my lord, a man so careful in his conduct as he is in general. They surely would never dare to attack him," seemed to show that the two gentlemen spoke of the events which had just taken place in the forest.

While thus conversing, they overtook Alice of Imbercourt, whose impatience had hurried her forward; and then dropping the subject, they advanced with her even beyond the grate of the barbacan, and stood on the edge of the hill, looking down upon the large party that approached, as it wound slowly up the steep ascent which led to the castle.

The cavalcade soon came near; and it became evident, as it did so, that it comprised two distinct bodies: the one being but partially armed, and riding under the banner of the Lord of Imbercourt; the other being clothed in steel from head to heel, and bearing conspicuous the cognizance of the house of Burgundy. The first band, however, was the most numerous, and might consist, perhaps, of a hundred men-at-arms, independent of a number of grooms, horse-boys, and varlets, as they were called, leading several spare horses, some perfectly unburdened, and some loaded with large quantities of armour tied together confusedly with ropes and chains, and so disposed as to be little burdensome to the horse. The other party seemed to have no baggage of any kind; and the arms of all sorts which they employed, they bore about their own persons.

Thus accoutred, both bodies wound on up the slope, glancing in and out of the scattered wood, which, tinted with all the thousand shades of the declining sun, clothed the ascent, and cast long marking shadows across the winding road of yellow sand. Now, the horsemen passing through the depths of the wood could scarcely be distinguished from the trees amidst which they advanced; now, emerging from the overhanging boughs, they stood out clear upon the evening sky, as their path skirted along the edge of the cliff. At first all appeared indistinct: one confused mass of horses and riders; but, soon coming nearer, the form of each individual horseman became defined; and gradually their features, as they wore their helmets up, could be distinguished by those who stood and watched their approach.

At the head of the first party rode a tall, handsome, middle-aged man, with a countenance which was grave, without being austere. When within a few yards of the top of the hill, he threw his horse's rein to a squire, and, springing lightly to the ground, advanced with a quick step towards the little group of persons assembled to meet him. Yielding first to natural affection, he cast his arms round his daughter, Alice of Imbercourt, and pressed her to his bosom. He then saluted frankly and kindly the Lord of Hannut and Hugh de Mortmar; and, as he held their hands in each of his, he said, in a low and hurried tone intended to meet their ear, and their ear alone, before the rest of the party came up, "I beseech you, my good brother, and you, my dear Hugh, whom one day I shall call my son, whatever you may hear presently, bridle your anger. Your rights have been somewhat violated by the leader of that band behind; but I have prevailed upon him to desist: and both because he is a high officer of our sovereign lord the duke, and because these times are too threatening from abroad to admit of feuds between subjects at home, I entreat you to govern your indignation as much as may be."

The followers of Imbercourt had halted as soon as they reached the level ground or terrace in face of the barbacan; and the leader of the second band, having by this time gained the brow of the hill, now rode quickly up to the party at the gate. He was a tall, gaunt, bony man of about forty, with keen eagle's features, and a look of that bold assurance which proceeds more from animal courage, and a mind continually upon its guard, than from conscious rectitude of action or design. He was armed at all points except the head, which was covered alone by its short curly grizzled hair, while his basinet hung beside his axe at the saddle-bow. Such was the appearance now borne by Maillotin du Bac, the famous Prevot Marechal of Burgundy, who, having been himself one of the most notorious plunderers of the time, had been appointed by Charles of Burgundy to root out the bands by which the country was infested, probably on the faith of the old adage, which recommends us to set a thief to catch a thief.

"You are my Lord of Hannut, fair sir, I presume?" said the Prevot, dismounting, and speaking in a coarse, sharp, jarring tone of voice, only fit for a hangman.

The Lord of Hannut answered by a stately bow, and the other proceeded: "My good Lord of Imbercourt, here, whom I reverence and respect, as in duty bound, he being as stout a soldier as he is a worthy counsellor, has but now prayed, or rather commanded, for he having taken the responsibility upon himself, I have yielded to his injunctions, has commanded me to desist from pursuing the brigands and plunderers who, for many years past, have haunted this forest of Hannut."

"Sir," replied the Lord of Hannut, "I, living within the precincts of the wood itself, am, it appears, sadly ignorant of what goes on beneath its shade; for during nearly twenty years I have heard of no outrage whatsoever committed within the bounds of my domain. Had I done so, had any tale of robbery or pillage met my ears, I, as supreme lord, holding a right of exercising justice both high and low, would not have failed to clear the territory within my jurisdiction of such gentry as you mention; nor shall I certainly suffer any one else to interfere with my rights, within my own lands."

"My lord! my lord!" replied the Prevot; "I will easily furnish you with proof that your forest is tenanted as I say. Did we not, within this half hour, encounter a whole party of as undoubted brigands as ever lived?"

"That you attacked some persons in the forest, Sir Prevot, was well enough seen from the belfry of the castle," rejoined Hugh de Mortmar, with a frowning brow; "but whether they were not as honest or honester persons than yourself, remains to be proved, and shall be inquired into most strictly. At all events, sir, you have infringed upon the rights of my uncle, which must be inquired into also. Well, well, my dear lord," he added, noticing a sign by which the Lord of Hannut required him to be silent; "well, well, I say no more, than that these thief-catchers grow too insolent."

The brow of Maillotin du Bac bent, his eyebrows almost met, and his left hand played ominously with the hilt of his dagger, as he muttered, "Thief-catchers!" But farther discussion was cut short by the Lord of Hannut, who exclaimed, "Peace, Hugh! peace! we must not show scanty hospitality to any one. Sir Maillotin du Bac, we will speak farther with you hereafter, on the subjects that you mention; and if you can prove to us that any outrage of any kind has been committed within the limits of my domain, both my nephew and myself will do our best to punish the offenders. But neither duke nor king shall exercise, within my lordship, the rights which belong alone to me."

"Outrage, sir!" rejoined the Prevot; "did not the men who burnt the house of the Lord of Harghen take refuge in your forests within this month?"

"Whether they did or not, I cannot say," replied the Lord of Hannut; "but their burning the house of that audacious villain, the oppressor of the poor, the plunderer of the widow and the orphan, was no very evil deed in my eyes. However, let us not bandy words here at the gate; we will speak farther this evening."

The whole party now passed through the barbacan, and the Lord of Hannut gave special order to his seneschal to attend to the comfort of the soldiers, while he himself led his brother-in-law, the Lord of Imbercourt, and a few of that nobleman's most distinguished attendants, towards the great hall of the castle.

Maillotin du Bac followed boldly, as one of the chief guests; and finding that no great courtesy was shown him in marshalling the way, he exclaimed, in a loud and intrusive voice, "My lord! my lord! before we leave our men, I must crave that you would yield me the use of a dungeon."

"For your own abode, sir?" demanded Hugh de Mortmar, with not the most gracious smile in the world.

"No, no," replied the Prevot, "but for yon prisoner there;" and he pointed to a part of the court-yard, where two of his followers were aiding a young man of a powerful frame and striking appearance to dismount from his horse, which was rendered difficult by his arms being tightly pinioned behind.

"That can be no thief, surely," said Hugh de Mortmar; "I never saw a nobler countenance. By his dress, too, he seems a burgher of the first order."

"The gown does not make the monk," replied Maillotin du Bac, with a grim smile. "If he be no thief, he may be somewhat worse. However, he was not taken on these territories, and therefore, my good lord, his capture can be no offence to you. For courtesy's sake, and for the prince's service, I claim the use of a dungeon for this night. He is a state prisoner, and must be guarded carefully."

"Be it so, Sir Prevot," answered the Lord of Hannut; "thank God, all my dungeons are clear at present; and far be it from me to oppose the due exercise of your office in the duke's service."

"Said like a worthy lord, as I always held you," replied the Prevot. "Where shall we bestow him?"

"Roger de Lorens," said the Lord of Hannut, turning to his seneschal, "show this worthy gentleman, the Prevot of our lord the duke, the different prison-rooms beneath the square tower; let him choose which he will, as most secure; and when he has made his choice, give him up the key thereof. Be the prisoner under your own charge, Sir Maillotin du Bac," he added; "yet, for the honour of my dwelling I trust that you will let his treatment be as gentle as may be. Let him have wine and other refreshments to keep his spirits up, I pray you."

"Black bread and foul water would be good enough for him," replied Maillotin du Bac; "but at your request, my lord, he shall have better fare. Sir Seneschal, I follow you; lead the way. Ho! Martin du Garch, bring along the prisoner."

Thus saying, the Prevot of the Duke of Burgundy, who, though a knight and a man of good family, had once, as we have before noticed, been a notorious adventurer, and had now become the great persecutor of his former comrades, followed the seneschal of Hannut across the court-yard, towards the passage which led to the dungeons. In the meanwhile, the Lord of Hannut, Hugh de Mortmar, the Lord of Imbercourt, and his daughter Alice, advanced to the great hall, where preparations were already in course for serving the evening meal.

CHAPTER VIII.

While the Prevot of Burgundy had remained within ear-shot, Imbercourt had maintained a profound silence, or, speaking in a low familiar tone to his daughter, had appeared perfectly inattentive to what was going on beside him. No sooner, however, had they passed on through the great hall, and up a flight of steps, into a large sort of withdrawing room, in which it was the custom of the guests in those days to wash their hands before dinner, than he closed the door, and earnestly thanked the two noble gentlemen by whom he was accompanied for their forbearance on the present occasion. "I have much, much to tell you, my noble brother-in-law," he said; "and much on which to ask your advice. Much have I also to tell you, Hugh," he added, laying his hand on the arm of the younger of the two noblemen; "but I must do it in as few words as possible, before we are joined by that unworthy man, whom we must not offend, though he be part spy, part hangman, part cut-throat. In the first place, in your solitude here, you scarcely know the state either of the duchy of Burgundy, or of the county of Flanders; both of which are unhappily in so dangerous a situation, that it will need infinite moderation, prudence, and skill, on the part of all true lovers of their country, to keep us from events too fearful to contemplate. Throughout the whole of Duke Charles's dominions, the nobles are turbulent and discontented; the citizens rebellious and insolent; and, to crown all, the duke himself, never very temperate in his conduct, seems since the defeat of Granson, to have given unbridled rein to his fury, and to have cast all common prudence away as a burdensome incumbrance."

"We have heard, indeed," said the Lord of Hannut, "of his having hanged a garrison of four hundred Swiss, whom he found in a town in Lorraine, a most barbarous and inhuman act, which, if he commit many such, will make all good men abandon him."

"Too true, indeed," replied Imbercourt; "but I fear this is but a prelude to greater outrages."

"Ay, and to greater misfortunes," interrupted the Lord of Hannut. "If there be any truth in the starry influences, he has met with some deep misfortune already, and will meet with greater still ere long. When heard you from the duke?" he added, seeing a doubtful smile curl the lip of his brother-in-law, as he referred to an art in which Imbercourt placed less faith than most of his contemporaries.

"Our last news is more than a fortnight old," answered Imbercourt, "the duke was then marching rapidly towards the mountains. But it was not of his intemperance towards the Swiss I was about to speak, though his conduct to them has been cruel enough. Still they were enemies; but he seems resolved to drive the men of Ghent into revolt also; and he has commanded his prevot to arrest any one, whether merchant, mechanic, or noble, who attempts to pass the frontier from Ghent into France. The prisoner, whom you saw but now, is the first-fruit of this precious order. That meddling fool, Du Bac, who, like the tiger, loves blood for blood's sake, takes care to fulfil every intemperate order of the duke to the very uttermost, especially against the Gandois, towards whom he and some others of his fellows have a most deadly hatred. I can hear of no precise offence which the prisoner has committed, though his captor has shown me some letters found upon him, which he would fain construe into treason; and if they urge the matter farther against him, they will drive the men of Ghent mad outright. Why, one half of their trade is with France!"

"How is it then, my lord," demanded Hugh, "that you do not interfere to set him at liberty?"

"I dare not for my head," replied Imbercourt. "Besides, I am not here in the capacity of counsellor: I am now, by the duke's order, marching to join him with the small force that you see: all, indeed, that I have been able to raise. But to the object of my coming! Hugh, the duke needs men, and calls angrily on all his vassals to take the field. Often and earnestly have I entreated for clemency towards your father; and my entreaties have been in vain. One good stroke in the field, however, done by your hand, were worth more than all the eloquence that the tongue of man could ever boast. Gather together what forces you can, and follow me to the camp, under the name you have at present assumed. I will take care that you shall have the opportunity of distinguishing yourself; and, from your conduct both in Spain and Italy, I fear not but--"

"It is in vain, my lord, it is in vain," replied Hugh de Mortmar. "Never will I draw my sword for a man who holds my father a close prisoner: surely it is enough not to draw my sword against him; and it has only been for the hope that this fair hand--" and as he spoke he raised that of Alice, who had been listening, with her deep blue eyes full of anxious attention--"and it has only been for the hope that this fair hand would form a bond, which, uniting the fate of Imbercourt and Gueldres together, would render them too strong for tyranny to resist, that I have refrained, during the last year, from attempting to open the gates of my father's prison by force, while the oppressor is embarrassed with wars and misfortunes that his own grasping and cruel disposition has brought upon his head."

"I cannot blame your feelings, Hugh," replied the Lord of Imbercourt, "nor will I hurt you by pointing out the somewhat serious causes of offence which have induced the duke to treat your father with so great severity; but do you, at the same time, moderate your angry terms, and remember that Charles of Burgundy is my sovereign lord, my benefactor, and my friend. I think I need say no more."

He spoke with grave and impressive earnestness, and seemed about to proceed to some other part of the subject, when the heavy clanging step of Maillotin du Bac, as he walked nonchalantly up the stairs, from the great hall, into the withdrawing room, warned the Lord of Imbercourt that a suspicious ear was nigh, and he merely added, "We will speak more to-night."

The Prevot entered the room with a look of great satisfaction, slipping at the same time the handle of an enormous key over the thong of his belt, which he again buckled over his shoulder; so that the key, dropping down till it struck against his sword, hung by the side of the more chivalrous weapon, offering no bad type of the character of the wearer.

"Admirable dungeons these, my good Lord of Hannut," he reiterated as he entered; "Admirable dungeons, admirable dungeons, indeed! Your own construction, I doubt not, and a good construction it is. I defy the nimblest cut-purse in the empire to make his way thence, while this key hangs at my side. The window, indeed, the window is a little too wide; what the devil the rogues want windows for at all, I don't understand; but it is just a thought too wide. I have known a fat young rogue so starve himself down in a week's time, that he would get through a hole that would not have passed his thigh when first he was taken. No fear of yon fellow below, however; it would require a precious hole to pass his chest and shoulders."

"Pray, what is the poor youth's offence?" demanded the Lord of Hannut; but as the other was about to reply, the pages and varlets, as the inferior servants were called in that day, brought in basins, ewers, and napkins, for the guests to wash, while the trumpets sounded loud without; and, in a few moments afterwards, the whole party were seated at their evening meal.

As must always be the case in such meetings, when the ingredients of the assembly are discrepant in themselves, notwithstanding the fortuitous circumstances which may for the time have brought them together, the conversation was broken and interrupted. Sometimes the loud swell of many voices made, for a minute or two, an unspeakable din. Sometimes one or two protracted the conversation in a lower tone, after the others had ceased; but still, every subject that was started, dropped after a few minutes' discussion, and the parties betook themselves again to demolishing the huge piles of meat which, according to the custom of those times, were set before them. Wine was in plenty, but all drank sparingly, except the Prevot, and one or two of the officers who followed the Lord of Imbercourt. For his part, Maillotin du Bac seemed determined that, as far as the quality of his favours went, no jealousy should exist between the trencher and the pottle-pot. His food swam down his throat in Burgundy, and the consequences were such as are usual with men of strong constitutions and well-seasoned brains. He lost not in the least degree the use of his senses; but his tongue, on which he was never wont to impose any very strict restraint, obtained an additional degree of liberty after the fifth or sixth cup he had quaffed; and, perceiving the Lord of Hannut speaking for a few moments in a low tone to his brother-in-law, he concluded at once that their conversation must refer to his prisoner; and, resuming the subject without farther ceremony, he replied to the question his entertainer had put to him before dinner--so abruptly, indeed, that for the moment no one understood what he meant.

"Offence, indeed!" exclaimed Maillotin du Bac; "offence enough, I trow; why now, I'll tell you how it was. We had just come out of Namur, where we had supped, not quite so well as we have done here, it's true; no matter for that, we had wine enough; and we were quartering ourselves in a little village down below, when one of my fellows, as stout a hand as ever was born, got saying something civil to the wife of a draper, just at the door of her shop. What more I don't know, but the foolish cullion took it into her head to cry out; when up comes my young gallant there in the dungeon, and at one blow fells my fellow, Stephen, to the ground with a broken jaw. What the devil business had he with it? If he had been an old lover of hers, well enough; but he confesses that he never saw her before till that moment, and must come up and meddle, because she chose to squeal like a caught hare."

Hugh de Mortmar turned his eyes upon the Lord of Imbercourt, who bit his lip, and observed gravely: "Were this all the young man's offence, Sir Prevot, it would behove us to consider the matter better before we give way to your hankering for dungeons and cords."

"Ha, ha! my lord," replied the Prevot, with a grin, "not so great a fool as that either! Had I not thought to make more of the good youth, I would have split his skull where he stood, with my axe; and his punishment taking place in chaudemelee, as the laws of St. Louis have it, we should have heard nothing more of the matter: but I knew the gallant well by sight: one who affects popularity amongst the turbulent folk of Ghent; and having orders to arrest all who attempted to cross the frontier into France, I laid hold of him forthwith, examined his papers, and found sufficient, with a little good management, to give him a cool dangle by the neck in the fresh air of some fine September morning. But what need I say more? You yourself have seen the letters."

"Meddling fool!" muttered Imbercourt to himself; "he will contrive to drive the duke's subjects into revolt at home, while he is assailed by enemies abroad." This speech, however, passed no farther than the ears of the two persons next to him. And the conversation soon turned to the bands of freebooters which, the Prevot stoutly asserted, harboured in the forest of Hannut.

A few words passed, in an under tone, between Hugh de Mortmar and the Lord of Hannut; and at length the old noble proceeded to discuss with the Prevot of the Duke of Burgundy the infraction of his rights which had been committed by that officer in the morning. The Prevot, however, sturdily maintained his ground, declaring that he himself, and all his band, consisting of about forty persons, had encountered and pursued a considerable body of men, whose appearance and demeanour left not the slightest doubt in regard to their general trade and occupation. Going farther still, he appealed to the Lord of Imbercourt himself, who came up while the freebooters were still in sight, and who actually did confirm his account in every particular.

"Well, sir," replied the Lord of Hannut, "since such is the case, far be it from me to impede the execution of justice. The maintenance of the law within my own territories I have always hitherto attended to myself, and that so strictly, that for twenty years I have heard of no outrage within the limits of my own domain--"

"Why, as to that, my lord," interrupted the Prevot, grinning, "we do hear that you have an especial police of your own: a sort of airy archers of the guard, who keep better watch and ward than mortal eyes can do. Nevertheless I must not neglect my duty, while I am in the body; and in doing it, I fear neither man nor spirit."