University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
SCENE IN MASQUERADE.

When the count left Estelle in her chamber to return
to the banquet-room, he sternly commanded her
not to leave it, nor suffer her slaves to quit it that night.
His manner startled her; and a suspicion which entered
her mind on beholding the magnificent entertainment,
the silent slaves, and the privacy of the room,
which had prompted her to seek the eye of the president,
became impressed upon her mind, and she believed
that her father meditated evil to the councillors.

She vainly strove to banish the thought, but it grew
more vivid with the effort. The peculiar look of sinister
gratification with which he parted from her; his
firm, confident tread as he walked away; the private
nature and costly character of the entertainment—
which could not have been given solely in honour of
men against whom he had, more than once that day,
breathed vengeance—with her painful knowledge of
his dark character, all led her to the conviction that
these men, whose age and dignity of appearance (especially
that of the venerable and patriotic president)
had interested her, were in danger of death or of foul
wrong.

To boldness of spirit in the young is ever united a

generous nature. With the singular education her
father had given her, she retained all the tenderness of
a virgin that had never roamed beyond bower and
boudoir. She was proud, noble-hearted, and self-sacrificing.
Pure in heart, she knew no evil herself, and
wondered at it in others. Loving her father, she was
not blind to his errors; and, while hating his crimes,
and, like a guardian spirit, working to avert the consequences
of his imperative and wicked disposition,
she loved himself no less. It was a hard task for her
to cherish love and hate towards the same object—to
nicely discriminate between the good and evil; to preserve
the balance between filial affections and virtuous
indignation; to know where to love and where to condemn!
She had now a bitter and sore trial of her
filial love and sense of moral duty. That her father
contemplated evil to his guests, the more she dwelt
upon the idea, the more firmly her conviction was settled.
Humanity and every benevolent feeling prompted
her to save them—from what fate she knew not.
Poison, assassination! each pressed upon her mind in
turn, making a distinct and terrible picture. But, whatever
threatened them, she felt she was called upon
to exert herself to prevent crime. How she should
proceed, she knew not! Her love for her father pointed
out a course, that, while operating for their safety,
should protect his honour and shield him (if the act
could be averted) from having contemplated it. It was
a hard trial between filial love and moral justice.

“What I do must be done now. A moment of
delay may be fatal to them, and involve my poor, mistaken
father in a crime that men will shudder to name.
How shall I proceed? How shall I take the first step?
If I enter the banquet-room, my poor arm and voice
will avail nothing! Heaven in mercy direct me—
aid me to save a beloved father's honour!” she cried,
casting herself on her knees.

For a few moments she remained in deep meditation,
and then rose with a countenance full of hope and
resolution. Looping her flowing train to her belt, she

cast over her shoulders a military cloak, which completely
enveloped her person, and placed low upon her
jewelled brow a broad creole's sombrero. Then placing
a naked sword beneath her arm, she left her chamber,
and, entering the long, cloistered gallery that surrounded
the court, cautiously moved along in the shadows
of the vines that crept luxuriantly over it. Directed
by the sounds in the general banqueting-room
at its extremity, she approached one of the open windows,
through which the cool night-wind was suffered
to enter into it, and looked in upon the revellers—for
such they had now become. There she lingered a
moment, and then, as if her mind was made up, she
more carefully arranged the folds of the roquelaure
about her form, drew the hat deeper over her eyes, and
passed through the lofty Venetian casements into the
hall. The loud music from the orchestra, the bacchanalian
voices of the banqueters, the sound of a
thousand moving feet, and the ringing of clashing wine-cups,
created a scene of confusion that she paused an
instant to contemplate, and to assure herself of her
self-possession.

“This is the way my father would enslave the wills
of the town's-people, and gain their approval of his
contemplated deed. Men feasted and made drunk, as
they have been, will be willingly blind to the evil acts
of their entertainer. This, then, is the policy that hath
assembled this multitude here. Alas! my dear father,
flowing seas of wine will not wash out from thy conscience,
or Heaven's dread doom-book, one drop of
blood!” were the thoughts that passed through her
mind. “Now must I seek for one of those youths I
have to-day learned were devoted to the party of the
councillors. I should know them by a sprig of myrtle
worn in their bonnets and worked on their breasts.”

Thus soliloquizing, the bold and generous maiden
mingled carelessly with the feasters, scarce attracting
attention amid the crowd as she slowly passed along,
her eye fixed upon every man's bonnet with anxious
scrutiny. She moved towards the upper end of the

hall, where the door led into the banquet-room of the
councillors, that she might, perchance, learn something
there of what was transpiring within before she took
her final step. As she approached the upper end of
the table, she observed that here the noise and confusion
of voices were greatest, and that some one was
seated in a chair upon the table, surrounded by a great
number of the revellers, who were applauding and encouraging
what appeared to be an address to them.
At the same instant, she caught sight of a myrtle-sprig
in a bonnet twenty feet from her, and was about
pressing forward towards it, when she was rudely addressed
by a man whom she had rubbed against somewhat
quickly.

“Not so fast, signor,” he said, speaking thick with
wine, “till thou showest thou art better than those thou
treadest upon!”

“Nay, good fellow, I meant not to touch thee. Pray
let me pass on.”

“He hath made apology, Rascas,” said one near,
who seemed his companion; “let him go.”

“Nay, I bethink me he looketh like a traitor,” said
the other with a hoarse laugh. “Cock thy hat, master,
and let us look thee i' the eye.”

“Thou wilt see but a youthful one, signor,” said
Estelle, putting back the flapping brim of her sombrero,
and looking him steadfastly in the face.

The creole surveyed for an instant the fair and boyish
countenance presented to his gaze, and then said,
roughly,

“Hadst thou a beard, boy, I would have made a
quarrel of this matter. But I have none with a stripling
like thee. Pledge me and pass on.”

“Willingly,” said Estelle, receiving the cup he filled
and gave to her.

“Name the cup, master,” he said, eying her with
fixed suspicion.

“Osma,” she answered, firmly, lifting the wine-flagon
to her lip. Instantly he dashed it from her hand to
the ground.

“I would have sworn thou wert one of them. He
who pledges the Spaniard with Rascas shall drink his
next pledge from a poisoned cup.”

“Ha, villain!” she cried, indignantly, “and thou,
too, drinking and feasting at his own board! Thou
shalt be remembered, sirrah!”

“Lest thou shouldst forget me, take this!” he
cried, ferociously, drawing from his breast a stiletto,
and striking savagely at her heart.

His arm was arrested ere he could effect his deadly
purpose, and the weapon torn from his hand by a
stranger, habited precisely like herself, in a sombrero
drooping over his eyes, and his person wrapped in a
dark roquelaure.

“Wouldst thou mingle blood with wine?” he demanded,
in a deep, stern tone.

The man, foiled and abashed, turned away with a
lowering brow, and mingled with the throng, though
Estelle trembled when she saw that his final glance
rested upon her with vindictive hate, and she feared
he might again cross her path, and defeat her success
in the work she had undertaken. But, trusting to the
purity of her purpose, she instantly banished this fear,
and turned to thank the mysterious individual who had
so opportunely interposed to save her life; but he had
already retired several paces from her, and the closing
throng hid him from her view. She sent after him a
grateful thought, and then pursued more guardedly
her way to the door of her father's banquet-room.

As she approached it, she saw that the individual
upon the table, whose head only she had before seen,
was a person of an extraordinary fantastical appearance,
with a broad, extravagant visage, uncouth in
feature, but glistening with quirks and smiles, while
around him she heard roars of laughter, excited by
some jest issuing from his cavernous jaws. She
thought it was the ugliest and merriest face she had
ever beheld; and, notwithstanding the weight of anxiety
upon her mind, she could not forbear smiling at
the grotesque appearance made by this singularly

strange being. Near him, above the heads of the
crowd, towered the myrtle sprig she sought. Pressing
forward, she was within a few paces of the wearer,
when, as she was urging her way eagerly along, her
form caught the eye of this elevated personage, who,
with an orange impaled on the point of a knife held in
his right hand, and a huge cup of wine elevated in his
left, seemed to be the presiding spirit of the revel.

“Ho, cousin Broadbrim; too much haste maketh
ill speed,” he cried, singling out the hapless Estelle,
and directing all eyes towards her.

She stopped confused, and trembled with alarm; but
she felt too much was at stake for her to yield to womanly
weakness, and that, at every sacrifice, she must
now sustain her assumed character.

“Art thou bailiff?” he continued; “there be no
rogues here, no escapados from justice! Art thou
priest? ne'er penitent wilt thou find till day dawn, and
then we shall repent us all that we be too drunk to
drink more! Art thou—”

“Nay, your highness,” said the disguised maiden,
at once taking the humour of the king of the feast,
and anxious to escape as soon as possible from observation;
“were I bailiff, I should be better bred in my
duty than to seek escaped rogues in thy august presence!
Were I priest, I should be at my prayers for
thy soul's benefit, as in duty bound; or did I seek penitents,
it would be at a fast and not at a feast. May
your highness live for ever!”

“He has well answered, my subjects and gossips,”
gleefully cried Gobin, now become a priest of Bacchus.
“What shall be done in honour of his rare
wit and wisdom? Doth he not deserve to be chosen
my prime minister, and to sit at my left hand. If we,
both together, rule you not wisely, then there lieth no
virtue in good government.”

He was answered by a general cry of approval,
and one or two of the bacchanals laid hold upon their
newly-chosen prime minister to elevate him to the destined
honour.

“Thou hast heard our decision, cousin Gray-cloak.
Mount! ascend! elevate! Seat thyself at our right
hand. We will induct thee into thine office with three
pint cups, one poured on thy head, and two down thy
gullet. Thanks to cousin Osma, wine is not lacking.
Here, cavaliers, let us drink to him!” Cups were filled
and lifted in the air, and at cries of

“Viva Osma! Viva Gobin!” they were emptied
at a draught. Estelle set her cup down untasted, and,
in the temporary excitement, sought means to withdraw.
But the eyes of Gobin were unusually vigilant.

“Nay, cousin, thou hast too rare a wit to be lost to
the state. Come up on the table and be prime minister,”
he cried, “or give a weighty reason why thou
shouldst not,” he added, with humour.

“Listen, then, great king of the revels! I am in
the court of Cupid, and am hither sent to bid thee and
thy court to a feast in the planet Venus on Wednesday
se'nnight. I pray thee, therefore, that, having now
delivered my message, thou wilt do no injustice to
King Cupid by seeking to rob him of his prime minister,
and wilt graciously permit me to depart.”

“A proper speech, and a conclusive,” exclaimed
Gobin, whom the humour of the stranger pleased;
“thou art at liberty to go after thou hast borne testimony
to our regard for thy master, Don Cupid. Fill
bumpers, gossips, round! and let us drink to the health
of King Cupid, who hath the wisest of prime ministers.
May his shadow never be less.”

While every cup was upturned on the lips of both
Gobin and his courtiers, Estelle adroitly passed behind
the revellers, and gained the upper end of the table
and the rear of the jester. She was now within a
few feet of the door, which she approached in a listening
attitude; but the noise in the hall prevented her
from hearing anything from within; but her worst
fears were confirmed by discovering that a bar was
dropped across the door, and that a bolt on the side
next to her was shut down into the sill.

“Treachery!” involuntarily fell audibly from her

lips. She fortified herself for the duty she had imposed
upon herself by remembering both her father's endangered
honour and the imminent peril of the councillors.
She now looked anxiously around, and saw
standing near her the individual distinguished by the
myrtle sprig, whom she had such difficulty in reaching,
and whom she had lost sight of during her detention
by Gobin, who now once more pursued his orgies, as
if of Don Cupid and his prime minister he had never
heard.

This person appeared to be observing her with interest,
and had evidently approached near the door
when he saw her advancing towards it. This did not
escape her; and the suspicion that he might be one of
her father's instruments passed across her mind, and
she feared she might betray herself to an enemy, instead
of one who should prove a friend of the victims
of his displeasure. Nevertheless, the crisis called for
decision, and without hesitation she approached him.
There was an expression of honesty and good-nature
in his countenance which invited rather than repelled
confidence, and, as he seemed to be something under
the degree of a gentleman, though young and well-favoured,
she felt less embarrassment in addressing him
than perhaps she would have done had he been a cavalier
of rank.

“Signor, if it please you, step aside with me; I
would have a brief word with you,” she said, coming
near him and speaking in a low tone, then passing him
and crossing over to the shadow of a column.

He started with evident surprise, followed her with
his glance suspiciously, and then, loosening his sabre
in its sheath (for the flapped hat and closely-folded
mantle looked treacherous to his eye), walked up to
the spot where she stood awaiting him.

“By the myrtle sprig in thy bonnet and on thy
breast, thou art one of the courreurs du bois!” she
said, in the same tone in which she had first spoken to
him.

“If thou art a friend of the courreurs du bois, thou

wilt give me the sign; if thou art an enemy, this hall
is no place for the show of thy sword-skill,” answered
the young man, haughtily, and with something like defiance
in his tones.

He was turning away, when she said earnestly, reassured
by his lofty spirit and bold language, and confident
that nothing like murderous guilt or treachery
dwelt in his bosom,

“Nay, brave sir, I know no sign of brotherhood
save that which binds in one all noble hearts. Art
thou a friend of the venerable president of the late provincial
council?”

“I love him as a father,” answered the youth, fervently;
and the warmth of Estelle's inquiry assured
him the speaker was not less a friend to him.

“Then Heaven bless thee, for thou art he I seek.”

“Doth danger threaten him?” he demanded, half
drawing his sword, and taking a step towards the inner
room.

“Hold! be not rash!” she cried, detaining his arm;
“the president and his council, I fear me, are in great
peril!”

“Then are his suspicions true.”

“How! did he suspect?”

“From the first; and, returning after he had entered,
he sent word by one of our number to our chief,
Renault, that peril menaced him.”

“My poor father! Thy honour is already shaded;
yet I will save it and thee, if there is virtue in a child's
love!” she said, mentally. “Wherefore art thou
here, then?” she asked.

“To see what passes, and that no one enter but
tried men, save across my body. So I promised the
good president when he sent my comrade Martin
away for Renault!”

“Bless thee, bless thee!” she exclaimed, pressing
his arm with sudden earnestness in her thankfulness.
“Yet the danger is not from without. Dost thou see
the heavy bars and bolts that repel all ingress from
this side?” she added, pointing with her finger towards

the door. “What force will thy captain bring with
him?”

“Forty young men, signor, that have but one will,
and that one his. He should be here; it is a quarter
of an hour since Martin went for him, and he is not
wont to be slow when there is a friend to succour or
work to do.”

“Yonder is a myrtle sprig; but, alas! it is but a single
one,” cried Estelle, speaking with animation at first
as she descried it, and then dropping her voice with
disappointment.

“Thou wilt be disappointed, signor, if thou lookest
to see them marching like a Spanish phalanx into the
palace. Look by yonder column, and thou wilt see a
second myrtle sprig; and, wert thou an inch or two
taller, thou couldst discern, as I can, two more of our
green plumes waving in the entrance. Even the windows
opening upon the corridor are means of admitting
them into the hall.”

Estelle clasped her hands together in silent gratitude,
for wherever she turned her eyes appeared a
myrtle sprig; and the bonnets to which they were attached
were seen moving, one here and one there, in
the direction of the spot where she stood, seemingly
without design, but all with a certain and steady advance
towards the same object. She trembled with
mingled joy and apprehension as they came, one by
one, towards the column, feeling that the moment had
now come when her father was either to be saved from
crime and his knightly honour preserved, or to have a
hundred witnesses of his consummated guilt.

She turned listeningly towards the inner door; as if
she would catch an outcry, and shuddered lest it should
be too late. This latter reflection restored her self-possession,
and assured her there was no time to lose.

“Yet must no wrong come to him. He must be
saved if guilty, if I lay down my life for him,” said
she.

“There is our captain, signor; would you speak
with him?” asked the youth.

“Without delay. Is he among these?”

“There,” he said, pointing to a tall young man,
slowly, and with a careless air, walking up the hall,
nodding pleasantly and shaking his head in the negative
to those who, as he passed, would have him pledge
them in their wine. When he came near Gobin, this
personage immediately laid claim to him, and swore on
his goblet he should not pass through his vinous dominions
without cracking a cup with him.

“I will crack thy crown for thee,” he replied, with
a good-humoured smile.

“Thou wilt do me a kindness, cousin Renault, an'
thou dost; it is over-full with good wine, and I would
let out some to make room for more; I have many a
round goblet to put aneath my belt the night.”

“Thou wilt scarce get that goblet in thy hand aneath
it, Gobin; thou wilt have to steal those of less size,
an' thou wouldst not have the governor's guard opening
thy girdle.”

“Out upon thee, gossip! Twit not thy cousin upon
his failings! Have not I been i' the wars?” continued
the jester, showing his finger bound up. “Because
thou didst know I had stolen a silver bodkin or so,
shouldst thou blab it? Discretion should ha'kept it
secret. It will hurt my credit i' the town. I had
looked for better charity at thy hand, cousin. Ah,
cousin!” he added, with a sad countenance, “thou hast
done me great mischief. Go on—and leave this goblet-stealing
rogue with the rogues thou hast found him
companying with. Rogues all—arrant rogues all are
we!”

The young chief smiled, and, passing on, came into
the broad area that intervened between the upper end
of the table and the door, near which, in the shadow
of one of a row of columns that supported this extremity
of the roof of the hall, stood the courreur du bois
and the disguised Estelle, who by this time had counted
above twenty bonnets bearing the myrtle-sprig,
within a few paces of the young chief. With his lofty
bearing and fine face she had been struck, as her

companion pointed him out to her advancing up the
hall; and while she wondered at his coolness and self-possession
with so weighty a matter as she knew to
be upon his mind—his deportment defying the keenest
scrutiny of a covert purpose—and while she yielded
her admiration to the tact with which he escaped from
the king of the revels, she felt awakened in her bosom
an undefinable interest in him, that made her heart
palpitate with emotions hitherto unknown. The deep,
manly tones of his voice; the rich beauty of his smile;
the haughtiness, yet becoming loftiness of his manner,
as if speaking forth a noble spirit, deepened the instant
impression; and, without hesitation, she determined
to place the fullest confidence in him.

“Yes, I would speak with your captain,” she said,
earnestly, while the blood that quickly mounted to her
cheek and brow at her own ardour, which she could
not conceal from herself had a deeper source than the
safety of the councillors, would have told one skilled
in reading the open heart of a young maiden that in
hers already was the germe of what, if not suffered to
die, would one day become a flourishing tree. From
a careless glance cast by a passing eye often grows
the strongest love. Alas! how many a germe, bursting
from a seed thrown by the wayside of the heart,
has withered for want of the sower's care, for ever unknown
to him; or has grown up to blossom and then
perish in the heart's waste! If in thy bosom, gentle
Estelle, one seed of true love has fallen, may it take
deep root, and grow till the sower shall lie down in its
shadow, and the golden birds of affection come and
lodge in its evergreen branches, “Love, love, love,”
their undying song!

The young man directly crossed the area, and
spoke in a low tone to his captain. Renault glanced
in the direction of the column against which Estelle
leaned, and then, after a hasty inquiry if any one had
passed in or out, and all had remained quiet in the
banquet-room, moved across the space towards her.
Her heart almost ceased its pulsations; for the danger

of the councillors, the honour of her father, and the
responsibility she had drawn upon herself, all rushed
upon her thoughts. What, before seeing the courreur
du bois, had been only strong suspicion, was now certainty.
Danger and death hung over a body of innocent
men, and her father's hand was ready to be dyed
with the crimson stains of murder. The thought nerved
her with resolution; and when Renault, coming up,
addressed her in an under but earnest tone, “Monsieur,
would you speak with me?” she answered firmly,
“The president and his council, banqueting within
yonder chamber, are menaced with danger, sir.”

“Am I then too late?” he demanded, loosening his
bugle from his girdle. “They must be rescued, if I
have to contend with the whole Spanish army.”

He was about to place the bugle to his lips, which
would in an instant have gathered about him the determined
band of forty young men, that had fortunately
been left in the city that morning with the president,
when she caught his arm, and said commandingly,

“Wind not a note, or you will perish with them!
If you would save your rulers, follow me forthwith
with twelve tried men.”

“May I trust you?”

“If I prove false, am I not in your power? Lose
not a moment here, but follow me! We have delayed
too long!”

“Yonder is not the way to the banquet-room, monsieur,”
cried Renault, seeing her advance with a quick
step towards one of the windows.

“Dost thou not see that this door is barred?” she
demanded.

“I do. Treachery most foul! Lead on! It shall
be as you desire, for there is an earnestness and sincerity
in your tones that are no part of treachery!”

“Send your men upon the corridor singly, and meet
me there,” she said, crossing the hall, and disappearing
through the casement.

Renault immediately walked down through the hall,

speaking a word or two to one here and there, each
person addressed at once separating himself from the
crowd, and moving towards one of the windows,
through which he disappeared. This movement was
made with caution and an assumed carelessness in the
change of position, without attracting the attention of
the banqueters, who, amid the miscellaneous and moving
throng, would scarcely note the particular movements
of any one individual. Two of the party were
Martin, who had been sent away by the president, and
the courreur du bois who had been left to guard the
door of the banquet-room. Renault (who had arrived
in town from the lake fortress, whither he had ridden
at the head of the chief part of his troop in the early
morning, but a few moments before the message from
Sieur d'Alembert came to him informing him of his
suspicions), having seen the men he had chosen leave
the hall, followed them shortly afterward himself. Here
he found the stranger, to whom he had surrendered his
motions, awaiting him at the extremity of the corridor.

“You see, monsieur,” he said, addressing him, “that
I have obeyed you, and placed in you the most open
confidence.”

“It shall not prove misplaced, brave signor,” answered
Estelle, warmly. “I, as well as yourself, have
reason to believe danger menaces the liberties, if not
the lives, of the venerable body of councillors; and I
was seeking in the hall for some of your band (having
knowledge of their attachment to the president), to
communicate my suspicions and seek their aid, when
I fell in with the young man who had constituted himself
guard at the door. In a few moments you appeared,
as if in answer to my prayers, with a host of
strong arms and brave hearts.”

“Who art thou, fair youth (for such thy scarcely-seen
cheek and voice betray thee to be), who hast taken
so deep an interest in the father of our city? Thou
art a stranger with us!”

“It matters not, so that I am the friend of those
thou lovest. Will you be led by me?”

“I were a base craven were I to refuse thee, generous
stranger. For, though I do not see thy features,
I see thy heart. Lead on!” he cried, with energy.

Without a word, Estelle walked forward a few steps,
and, turning to the left into a dimly-lighted anteroom,
crossed it to an opposite door, which was partly open.
Renault, with a sign for his men to fall in and move
with silence after him, followed close to her, his hand
upon his sword, not from fear of treachery on the
part of his guide, but with the ready grasp of a man
who is prepared to use his weapon in open and hostile
encounter with a foe. At this door, which led into
the passage that conducted past her own chamber to
the private banqueting-room, she paused to listen before
proceeding farther. Hearing no sound, she threw
it open, and, motioning them to follow, led them into
the passage, which was brightly lighted from the lamps
shining into it through her own chamber door.

“Now, signors,” she said, with a beating heart (for
paternal love was struggling with the duty humanity
called upon her to perform), “if you will be guided by
me and obey my orders, you shall, if not too late, save
the lives of many innocent men. But first, on your
crossed blades, sacredly swear that the Count of Osma
shall not come to harm! for, if I may not save his honour,
I must his life.” As she spoke, she drew her
own sword from beneath the folds of her cloak, and
held it aloft.

“Comrades, let us take the stranger's oath,” said
Renault, drawing his sword, and crossing that of Estelle.

Twelve more glittering weapons were laid across
these, forming a brilliant star of martial crosses, upon
which every eye was fixed.

“Swear!” she said, fervently.

“We swear!” repeated Renault.

“We swear!” responded the rest, in one deep and
solemn voice.

“It is well,” she said, folding the mantle about her;
“at the extremity of this passage is a private door

leading into the banqueting-room. Follow me silently;
and you, signor, I trust, will do nothing save by
my orders.”

“Till this event be accomplished, I yield thee obedience,
monsieur. Pray lead the way!”

With a quick but noiseless tread, they moved along
the narrow hall, and came to a low door covered with
green cloth, which, after a moment's listening pause,
she softly opened. It led into a dark and spacious
closet, the width of the passage, and one that seemed
to be the ante-chamber to the banquet-room, the door
of which was on the farther side, and was the same
through which her father had conducted her to her
own apartment.

“A whisper or careless movement may be fatal to
both them and us,” she said, softly, as she stood on the
threshold. “Enter one by one, signors, and station
yourselves in the dark sides of this closet, ready to
obey me when the time shall come to demand your
swords' aid.”

“Yes, comrades,” said Renault, over whose mind a
sudden suspicion of foul play crossed on finding himself
and his men led into this dark chamber as if to
an ambush; “yes, my brave comrades, be every man's
weapon in his hand, for we know not what nor whom
we have to deal with. But, if I have led you to death,
I shall die with you.”

“Shame on you, signor!” said Estelle, understanding
his words; “look with me through this aperture,
and trust a cavalier's honour henceforward.”

She placed her hand upon his wrist, and led him to
a recess behind the door; then drawing carefully aside
a curtain from a small lattice, that seemed to have been
made for the occupant within to communicate with attendants
in the little anteroom where they stood, she
showed him the interior of the banquet-room, with
the Count of Osma seated at the head of the sumptuous
table surrounded by the seven councillors.

“Pardon me, signor,” he said, pressing Estelle's
hand deprecatingly, but instantly withdrawing his grasp,

as if astonished and surprised at the softness of it; “I
will be guided by thee.”

“Do so, and thou mayst save them. Let us be
thankful to Heaven we are not too late.”

“'Tis a sumptuous feast, and methinks the rulers
share it with convivial zest. Our president hath done
the Spanish noble wrong,” said Renault, looking in upon
the gorgeous festive scene with admiration.

“The deepest danger lies deepest hidden!” answered
Estelle.

“Poison! would he poison the cup?” he exclaimed,
with sudden suspicion and alarm; “then are they dying
men as they sit there! They have already drank
to the dregs the poisoned cup. There remains nothing
for us but vengeance on the assassin.”

“Thine oath!” said Estelle, impressively.

“Nay, it should scarce save him!”

“Then, by the twelve sacred crosses thou hast perjured
thyself upon, I will set upon thee an armed band
that shall not leave one limb among thee joined to its
fellow,” said Estelle, whom fear for her father's safety
roused. “But enough! thou hast no fear of poison.
Dost thou not behold behind each chair a silent Ethiopian
slave?”

“The attendants whom the courtesy of the Spaniards
has given to each guest. I see in it no more.”

“Dost thou see each slave has his right hand in his
bosom?”

“And, by Heaven! there was then, half drawn out
by one of them, the shining hilt of a dagger!”

“Thou seest the danger! Be not too hasty. Dost
thou not hear that courteous words fall from my—from
the Spanish knight's lips? The time is not yet come.”

“Is this door open, that we may enter to the rescue?”
asked Renault, burning with ardour, his soul filled with
horror and indignant surprise at what he saw.

“'Tis just ajar, and a single effort will fling it wide.
Let us be patient, and, with the blessing of Heaven,
which has inspired me to this thing, we shall yet save
the Spanish noble's honour and the rulers' lives.”

“Methinks, fair sir, thou art equally affected towards
this wicked knight and the councillors. If thou art a
Spaniard, as thy speech and bearing would bespeak
thee, verily 'tis wonderful thou art a friend of these rulers;
and if thou art of the province, I marvel at thy
regard for the new governor.”

“He hath virtues with his crimes, signor,” said Estelle.
“No man is altogether bad—no one so wholly
wicked that he hath not some redeeming quality that
invites love and confidence. How else is it that the
darkest bandit and most ferocious outlaw have ever
found woman's affection to entwine itself around their
rugged hearts?”

“Truly woman's love is ever a mystery! Methinks
it loves most where men hate most,” answered Renault,
surprised at the ardour of his companion. “It
may be that Heaven in mercy hath given her to us for
this very end, so that the heart, outcast and desolate,
shrinking from the scorn and contempt of men, may
not be utterly desolate and lost to humanity.”

“Thou sayest, perhaps, truly. Heaven hath never
suffered a human mind to live, however lost to the
world's charity, without a witness of its benevolence.
It would not have any of its creatures live among its
fellows without awakening the sympathies that are its
birthright. The divine image, however obscured, is
never extinguished, and it is given to woman alone to
revive it with the torch of affection.”

“Your words, signor, are worthy a cavalier, and,
heard by a maiden, might win you laurels,” said Renault.
“Doubtless thou hast been taught this pretty
sentiment by some gentler lip than thine own—though,
by'r lady! thy lip, what I can see of it, is full gentle
for one who carrieth a sword.”

“Thou mayst repeat it to the lady of thy love, signor,”
said Estelle, with a tone that seemed to ask if
the youthful chief, in whom she became more and
more interested as his ingenuous and generous nature
unfolded itself to her, possessed a ladye-love.

“Signor! if thou knewest me, thou wouldst scarcely

have dared to venture that speech!” said Renault,
taking a step backward, and speaking in a gloomy and
sad tone of voice.

“Good Signor Captain, pardon me! I meant no offence
to thy feelings. But we forget our object here.
Listen now to their words! The crisis approaches!
Remember thine oath!”