action coolly and deliberately to-day, which yesterday he would have considered as little less than a crime. Yet could the veil, beyond which all is darkness, be rent asunder, and free will still left to man, how many great and noble as well as bad deeds would be prevented! Selfish and calculating, he would constantly consider how his intended actions would bear upon himself and his own fortunes; those generous bursts of feeling, those almost more than mortal traits of heroism, would be extinguished for ever. Yet again, how many, could they be favoured with the magic

mirror of futurity, would exclaim with Hazael, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing ?"

Such might almost have been the question of Courtenaye; had a vision been vouchsafed to him, and could he have beheld himself the bearer of despatches between the Earl of Montfort and his countess, he would have declared the thing

impossible, for to his noble nature the bare idea of treason, or any approach to it, was as the nettle to the hand of the infant, a stinging poison.

Bred amidst the din of arms, the principles of honour and chivalry had been early instilled into his youthful mind by Sir William de Courtenaye, a knight who lived not long to enjoy the renown he had acquired in defending the cause of the Count of Flanders against his rebellious subjects. He died soon after his return to Paris, when Reginald was not more than twelve years old; but, young as he was, he had attracted the attention of Margaret de Valois, and her penetrating judgment discovered qualities which required, she thought, only a little care and culture to ripen into virtues, such as were prized highest in those days of honour and high principle. She determined to keep her eye upon him, and made him page to her son Charles; but she early im

pressed upon his mind that he had neither rank nor wealth, for Sir William de Courtenaye had dissipated his patrimony in the Flemish wars; the path of honour was, however, open to every one, and the youthful hero wanted small stimulus to inspire him with the desire to follow it.

"He nor of castle nor of land was lord,

Houseless he reap'd the harvest of the sword;"

and that sword he was resolved should do more for him than ever weapon had done since the days of Charlemagne. He received the honour of knighthood from the hands of Charles of Blois, and won his spurs at the siege of Mont St. Quentin. When the war for the succession of Brittany broke out, he gladly obeyed the summons of his master to seek fresh laurels in that fertile province; the right of Jane of Penthièvre to the possession of the duchy he thought unquestionable, and was therefore doubly eager for her and her husband's cause, though possibly, had it been un

tenable, early attachment might have made him little less ardent for Charles's success.

Many and conflicting were the thoughts that passed through his mind as he journeyed on from Rennes. The beautiful dark-eyed girl flitted Never had he like an apparition before him.

seen her equal-nor in Flanders, nor among the fairest flowers of France. She had evidently been alarmed at the idea of danger besetting him; yet the rich glow of her cheek, as she informed him of his peril, and her diffident manner, while it added an indescribable charm to her beauty, enhanced the favour by evincing a degree of hesitation in conferring it.

He had almost worked himself into a belief that their destinies were linked together by some secret spell, when he heard loud voices and the clashing of arms. Always eager to try the temper of his sword, he spurred his horse, and arrived at the scene of action at the critical

moment when a party of free companions were threatening to murder the poor old wood-cutter, Bertram, as related by himself in the last chapter. At first he thought this was the danger against which Iola had warned him; and glad to have finished the affray in so satisfactory a manner, he hastened onward, anxious to regain by speed the time he had thus lost.

He pondered, as he went, on the fate of the noble countess, whose lofty bearing and demeanour he could not refrain from comparing with that of the timid though amiable Jane of Penthièvre. With such a woman for his partner, Charles might indeed, he thought, be secure of his rights. Then came the heavy reflection of how his absence from the camp would be regarded; for as he had left the whole of his slender retinue behind him, it could not be supposed that he was gone in search of adventures,—a very common occurrence in those days. That Charles