portant results, engraved it yet more indelibly on her memory. The morning which followed that eventful night beamed brightly, and the Lady Beatrix arose with a more serene countenance than she had worn for many a day. A hawking excursion had been proposed, and the whole party were mounted, or preparing to mount, when a messenger arrived from Foix, requiring the immediate return of Gaston. Vexed and disappointed, yet not daring to disobey, the youth was making preparation for his almost instant departure, when his uncle requested a private and farewell audience with him. At first young Gaston seemed anxious to render the interview a brief one; for he wished to pass the few minutes he could claim by the side of the lady Beatrix. But his uncle's discourse, whatever it might be, interested and chained him; and when, at the expiration of half-an-hour, he rejoined the party, who were waiting anxiously for his leave-taking, his countenance bore evident signs of some pleasurable emotion. Beatrix was mounted on a cream-coloured palfrey, decked more gaily, if less richly than its beautiful rider. In a minute Gaston was by her side, while the noble creature tossed its head, and pawed the ground, as if proud of its lovely burthen. Perhaps, as Beatrix stooped a little to catch some low and farewell words of Gaston, she might have contrasted his face with one upturned in a not dissimilar position only a few brief hours before. However this might be, never had she spoken more kindly to her stripling lover; for in truth she never before had read so legibly on his fair and handsome countenance that bright hope and expectation-that "heritage of youth," to blight which, she feared, was in some measure her destiny. Never had she "pitied" him so much and as she, at his timid request, bent down her head, and pressed a kiss upon his brow, she felt that he might be to her as a dear and younger brother, and rejoiced that since he was, alas! a mere instrument for the purposes of others, destiny had not given her to one that she need hate. While they were speaking, a little packet dropped from his vest ; and as he, in some haste and confusion, recovered it, Beatrix said with a smile, "Is it a charm or a love-token? Nay, I am not jealous, even if it be the gift of some lady fair; and to prove my assertion," she continued, after a moment's pause, "I will give you this, with which to fasten it more securely for the future." As she spoke, she untwisted a streamer of pale blue ribbon, several of which adorned her horse's mane, and giving it into Gaston's hand, he, with evident delight, placed it round his neck, linked the mysterious packet securely to it, and hid both from sight beneath his vest. She looked at him with a faint smile, and understood that he did not despise the " idol worship" another had rejected. III. The scene is again at the lordly castle of Foix, where the banquet is now spread in honour of the young heir's return. The Count had lis tened with a scornful smile to the reiteration of excuses and messages of which Gaston was the bearer; and though he had been impatient for his son's return, he seemed to welcome him but coldly. However, as the wine passed round, the conversation became more cheerful and animated, and Gaston related many of the sports he had witnessed at Navarre, and among others a new trick in wrestling, which he had seen practised successfully. Iobaim seemed to doubt its efficacy; and when Gaston somewhat boldly challenged him to a trial of strength or skill, Iobaim rose with an air in which contempt and scorn were but ill concealed. Their outer garments were laid aside, and they prepared for the encounter; though to the lookers-on, the athletic form of Iobaim gave him so decided an advan tage, that there appeared almost an absurdity in the contest. To the beholders the brothers appeared on terms of the best fellowship, and their encounter was evidently one of playful sport; yet the reader knows the fierce contending passions which raged in the bosom of one, and it is pos sible that the recollection of many a taunt implied, if not avowed, and, above all, the unlucky blow which had fallen on the poor hound immediately preceding his departure, might have warmed Gaston's naturally gentle feelings to something approaching anger. However this might be, after a severe struggle, the "new trick" succeeded, and Iobaim was thrown to the ground with considerable violence. The victory once decided, Gaston held out his hand, and would have raised his fallen antagonist, but the offer was ungraciously declined, and it was evident that the vexation and resentment of Iobaim were with difficulty kept within due bounds. His pent-up rage, how ever, found but too soon an opportunity of bursting forth. The youths were side by side, leisurely resuming the garments they had cast off, when Iobaim was attracted by the blue ribbon which hung round Gaston's neck. Nay, he claimed it as his own, maintaining, with angry words and fierce gestures, that its hue and texture were too familiar to be mistaken. Gaston persisted in asserting his right to the object of their dispute, and even refused to yield it to his brother's nearer inspection. But this time he was as a reed in that brother's hands; for Iobaim grasped his throat with a strength almost supernatural, and snatched from him the prize, before the bystanders, if inclined to do so, could have interfered. Yet when the ribbon, broken in the struggle, remained in his grasp, he stood for a moment motionless and spell-bound, while Gaston reeled half fainting to the nearest seat. After all, it was not the cherished band lobaim had believed it to be, but one precisely similar, though securely fastened to a small bag of a thick material, containing a few grains of some dark powder. Even while he gazed in mute astonishment, an attendant raised from the ground its very fellow-the ribbon which Iobaim had stolen months before from the palfrey of Beatrix, Gaston trembled. Some mystery was evidently connected with the prize that had been thus forcibly wrested from him; and Iobaim determined at once to refer the matter to their father. The Count insisted on an instant explanation, and Gaston told his story with the boldness of truth. He told how his heart had mourned at his parent's alienation, and how bitter his disappointment was that his own efforts at a reconciliation had been unavailing. He expressed himself eloquently-too eloquently perhaps, while relating the kindness that had been shown him at Navarre, and he pointed to the rich presents he had brought home, and had already scattered around. But that which he prized most highly was the little bag, consecrated and charmed, though, alas! he feared its power had now departed. Strewed secretly on some viand of which the Count should partake, his uncle had assured him that this mysterious powder would have the power of restoring his mother to the entire confidence and affection of her lord. For this purpose had he guarded it carefully about his person, and had only waited an opportunity | to prove its efficacy. 66 lobaim laughed outright at this recital, and taunted Gaston with his weak credulity. "Nay, brother," replied the latter with an air of mock respect, you believe that the stars have power to influence graver matters even than that in dispute-though to my poor judgment they seem to shine much the same whether a prince or a beggar is born; do let me, who am less aspiring, believe that the herbs of the field may more surely be bent to our purposes." Poor Gaston! he could not have chosen a more ill-timed reproach. The wrath of Iobaim, however, was faint compared to that of the Count of Foix, who knew the King of Navarre, his treachery and double dealings too well, to believe that he could entertain one friendly feeling towards himself. So far was he right; but in his blind rage he confounded the innocent with the guilty. With that rapidity of thought which has no comparison, he felt convinced that the drug was some deadly poison, and saw at a glance the consequences that would have resulted from a train thus artfully laid; his own death, and his youthful heir a mere tool in the hands of the King of Navarre. The Count gave utterance to this be lief in passionate and broken exclamations, and, horror-stricken at the charge, yet startled into something like belief of the fearful truth, Gaston turned pale with dread-a sign interpreted as full confirmation of his own guilt. Then, with a composure more awful than his previous rage, the Count de Foix took the little bag from Iobaim, and mixing its contents with some remains of the banquet, called Chéri, the favourite hound, to his side. The obedient creature swallowed the tempting morsel, and returned to its master; but scarcely had it reached Gaston's caressing hand, when, uttering a cry of anguish, the poor animal sank lifeless at his feet. All was horror and dismay; but Gaston, dreaming not that he should be accused of guilty intentions, suffered a lesser sorrow to engross him, and stooping to the ground, raised his dead favourite in his arms, and absolutely wept over it. Perhaps the exhibition of these feelings added to the anger of the enraged Count, perhaps his wrath was already excited to the highest pitch; however this might be, he struck Gaston, in his wild passion, a fearful blow. The youth staggered, and the horrible truth flashed across his mind; he now understood that he was suspected of participating in the vile plot. Though almost fainting from the effects of the stinging blow, he raised his hands, exclaiming, in accents that should have proclaimed their truth, Father! father! believe that I am innocent, by all that is most But his speech was cut short by another and more fatal blow, for this time some sharp instrument, which the Count chanced to hold in his hand, inflicted a deep wound in poor Gaston's throat; and he sank upon the ground, while the red tide flowed fast away. Attendants gathered round, and raising the insensible form, conveyed it to his chamber. The wound was carefully dressed, but the Heir of Foix was, by his father's commands, to be considered as a prisoner. By the same cruel orders he was left alone; and oh! how wearily in anguish of mind, and in bodily suffering, must the lagging hours have passed! No mother's gentle touch, or soothing voice, was near; no Beatrix, whose presence was sunshine, and whose accents were music; no father, that he might have loved, had he feared him less; not even poor Chéri, whose sparkling eye had so often beamed with almost more than brute intelligence, and whose silent yet most eloquent attachment had been the solace of many cheerless moments! Yet if Gaston shed scalding tears, and experienced bitter anguish, there was one in the castle of Foix that night, whose sufferings, though springing from such different sources, at least matched his own. Iobaim's nature was not one to seek relief in the puerile display of emotions. Even had the cause for it been known, few would have guessed how wildly sharp-fanged remorse had seized his heart. But he sought not rest; and when midnight approached, and the inmates of the castle were wrapped in slumber, his troubled spirit led him to the loftiest rampart, and there did he pace for hours in the contemplation of those mysterious orbs which he believed had exerted so sanguinary an influence. A superstitious dread at first assailed him, and he trembled almost at his own shadow; but after a while this gave place to a calmer and holier feeling, though the omnipresence of a spiritual power seemed still as perceptible to his mind. Whether these emotions suggested an atonement, or with what intentions he sought the chamber of Gaston, destiny has not developed; enough, that in the silence of night he bent his steps in that direction. Softly withdrawing a massive bolt which fastened the outside of the door, Iobaim entered. The flickering of a feeble lamp was almost over- Count of Armaignac granted it, for he was little inclined to sow yet more thickly the seeds of dissension. Beatrix was seated at her embroidery, listening to the same minstrel, and perhaps to the same lay that had attracted her attention at Navarre on a well-remembered night, when he who was now called the heir of Foix arrived at her father's castle, with all the pomp and retinue of rank and state. He came for the interview which had been almost as strangely sought as ceded. The Vicomte of Milan rose with a smile, and Beatrix yielding herself for a moment to his fond embrace, he left the chamber almost at the moment that Iobaim entered by a different door. Why had he sought her? Himself perhaps could hardly tell; and certainly he stood for many minutes almost speechless before her. But words, though perhaps some of them unbidden, came at last, the strong eloquence of deep feeling, and he painted, as such words even could do but feebly, the whole career of his love. Beatrix was moved, for she had little suspected the intensity of his attachment, and utterly despairing as he did, compassion from her was consolation. In looking back on deeds like this, which history has faithfully recorded, we do not always make sufficient allowance for the barbarous customs of the age; we do not consider how lightly human life was thought of, or how commonly all the finer sensibilities were checked. The Count de Foix was human, and must have felt The hour-glass had been turned, and yet some horror at the result of his own wild pas- he lingered, when a tear, truly one of sor sion ; but to tell that the manner of his son's row and pity, in the eye of Beatrix, emboldeath-a son whom he had never greatly loved-dened him to take her hand. It was not withmade any lasting impression on his mind, would only be to mislead. The breach between himself and the Countess became yet wider, and was never entirely healed; while history tells us that he succeeded in procuring the acknowledgment of Iobaim for his heir, although on his decease fierce struggles ensued, and Iobaim was obliged to yield both title and inheritance to the" legitimate successor and cousin of the Count, the Lord of Castellon. drawn, though so completely had the better feelings of his nature been touched by her manner, that he knew himself a very slave before her. He felt the moment of parting had ar rived, and he made a movement as if to wreathe one daring arm around her waist. Only feebly did Beatrix repulse him; but she answered, This very morning another has clasped me." The arm was withdrawn, and then he asked one first, and last, and only time, to touch her lips; and she answered, "Would you value a kiss from lips that yet tremble from another's pressure?" Iobaim was subdued-stooping, he kissed some portion of her garments, and then left the room with hasty and unequal steps. They never met again; but the young Vicomte of Milan, who in another week was the husband of Beatrix, once in after years received a signal service at his hands. Of lobaim a few words must be said; though whether he eased his conscience by a confession of the share he believed he had had in Gaston's fate, to his father, or to a priest, is uncertain; but the latter supposition is the more in accordance with the spirit of the age and his own peculiar circumstances. As he had foreseen, overtures were shortly made for the hand of the Lady Beatrix; but either the Lord of Armaignac felt some misgivings as to Iobaim's true position, or was less anxious to preserve the amicable under- For lobaim's future career, the old chronicles standing which prevailed: certain it is his pro- tell us, that after being compelled to yield all posals were declined. Possibly the father- claim to the heritage of Foix, he entered the however unusual a proceeding-might have lis-service of Charles the Sixth of France, where he tened to his child's entreaties, or probably his hasty quarrel with the Milanese was as hastily healed. Once more the lovers were united; and they who had parted in such anguish, and had passed through such bitter ordeals, met to be no more severed. It must not, however, be supposed that Iobaim submitted quietly to his rejection, for his passionate heart and his proud spirit alike rebelled at the decree. At last, though all hope of winning her had faded away, he demanded a private interview with the Lady Beatrix, and though startled by the request, the held several offices of trust about the court, and was distinguished by many acts of bravery. He met his death on that disastrous occasion, the fright attending which caused the fatal imbecility of Charles. THE CAPTIVE KING'S LAMENT. BY MRS. WHITE. The forest's garb of leafy green, And sunshine, like young beauty's smile, Long centuries have passed away; Brave hearts to death gone down; Beauty been gather'd to decay; Fame robb'd of its renown— Since from thy dungeon-walls arose "Had perished where the red cross shone Bright through the arrowy showers, That o'er the field of Ascalon Strewed knightly forms like flowers! "Better by Paynim hands to die Of wounds that leave no scar "That leave no scar upon the breast "Must I-Oh! must I-perish thus, Of the pining thoughts that rise and crush "Shall the brightness and the glory pass In vict'ry's haughty hour?+ A dungeon's thrall for kingly dais- "Is it for this that I have led With the blazon of the red cross shed "That I've pour'd the blood and treasure forth *The verses were suggested by Chalon's View of the Castle. Richard forbad the banner of the Duke of Austria to be hoisted on the towers of Acre. An insult Leopold is said never to have forgiven. THE STORY OF A LIFE. (Adapted from the German of the Gräfin Hahn Hahn.) BY M. A. Y. (Continued from page 141.) An elegant and comfortable residence in Leopoldstadt near the Prater, had been secured for Egon and Renata, and they were soon at home there. Renata might have entered the best society and mingled in all the gaieties of Vienna, but she felt no inclination for a life of excitement, never went to balls, seldom to the theatre, and only accepted invitations for small parties or petites soirées; she cultivated the study of painting, practised music, read or worked by Egon, drove out with him daily, paid or received visits, and lived as quietly as at Ischl. Emmerich was with his parents at Pesth, and only came to Vienna occasionally. The physicians, after having studied Egon's case for some weeks, stated it as their opinion that he would never be permanently better either mentally or physically; and advised, as the only means of averting the nervous paroxysms, perfect tranquillity. They considered that the taking him from place to place was likely to be injurious rather than otherwise, but said that in the quiet of his country seat he might grow rather stronger and live to a good old age. It would be difficult to define what were the hopes which Dr. Weinhold's sanguine views had awakened in Renata; possibly they had never assumed any tangible form; nevertheless, they had strengthened and buoyed her up; for so long as we have the shadow of hope we can live and strive courageously. But now her future stood before her, her sentence of banishment from all she had just learned to prize was pronounced. Can we wonder that she wept? When Emmerich came and heard this he was not astonished. "You have done your utmost," he said. should worship divinity. This is no exaggeration! Renata, you believe me sincere?" "I do, Emmerich !" she said; and her voice was as that of one speaking in a dream. "Then hear my prayer! Separate yourself from that grown-up child, that half-existent being whose name you bear; the law, circumstances, friends, the world, all would justify your freeing yourself from that hateful yoke; that bond which fetters you to monotonous misery! Once free, oh, let mine be the blissful task to teach you the happiness of a beloved, an idolized wife; mine the joy of lavishing on you those cares, those attentions, you have hitherto bestowed, not received; mine-" "Hush!" she said, almost in a whisper, passing her hand across her pale brow as if to chase away some illusion. "What is it you'd have me do? Forsake Egon! desert him whom I vowed at the altar, and again by the corpse of his mother, to cherish and tend for life? Emmerich, you cannot, you do not mean what you say! I am strangely bewildered!" "I do require it, demand it of you! Renata, you love me-I worship you. Why must we be miserable? because, when ignorant of the powers, the wants, the affections of your heart, you bound yourself to an idiot? Any one can nurse and tend him, any steward can minister to his property; he would scarcely miss you, while I shall be miserable if condemned to lose you." Renata paced the room with unequal steps; all seemed confusion in her brain, a mist was before her eyes, sounds ringing in her ears, sense and feeling, right and wrong, were struggling wildly for mastery. Suddenly her eyes "Would that I could do more!" she ex- fell on the Testament from which she had been claimed, while tears flowed fast. reading before he came in; it was still open, and her hasty movements had fluttered some of the pages; involuntarily she looked down and read aloud the commencement of the fourth chapter of St. Luke; Emmerich, who had watched her every motion, listened with awe as though it had been an angel spake; scarcely had her voice ceased than hasty steps were heard, bells were rang, and her name was called; with the exclamation, "Oh, Heavens, Egon ill!" she darted from the room. 18 It was so, a worse attack than usual had seized him, and no one was near but herself, who understood how to treat him. Who shall tell the conflicting feelings of that young and |