ns!"

Such a mass of silent, awful testimony perhaps never was produced to
substantiate the allegation of similar villany against any man; and
atrocities like these, of the early and middle ages, have given their
character to the legends of Le Morvan, which, still carefully related
from one generation to another, are so impressed on the minds of the
people, that the honest peasant of the present day would rather make a
circuit of a dozen or twenty miles, than pass in the deepening twilight
near the scenes to which they relate. Not all the gold of Peru--no, nor
even of California--would tempt _Les Pastoures_ to graze their flocks or
herds near the scene of these horrid events, or pass them when the stars
are spangling the dark arch of heaven.

Here also may be seen the solid walls, the array of towers, the high
belfry, the iron gates, and the ponderous drawbridges of the Chateau de
Lomervo; and many are the dependent buildings, courts, and gardens,
surrounded by the thick copse wood that covers its domain, which extends
over three neighbouring hills. Under the principal facade is a large
lake, whose blue waves bathe the walls; an immense mirror, ever
reflecting the numberless turrets, and the grotesque birds and beasts
which decorate the extremity of every waterspout; wherein, too, the
tranquil marble giants, who support the broad balcony on their heads,
seem to contemplate and admire their own imperturbable
countenances--countenances that betrayed no shade of feeling at all
that must have passed before their eyes. The gathering of armed knights
for war or revelry; the rejoicings for the birth of an heir, or the
lamentations for the death of the stern gray-headed lord; the bridal of
one lovely daughter of the house of Lomervo, or the solitary departure
of the mail-clad lover of another for the Crusades. But, it is said,
they saw much more than all this: according to popular rumour, these
calm deep waters are the cold and mute depositories of frightfully
tragic secrets. One bright spring morning in the very olden time, says
the tradition, a Lord of this domain left his castle. It was when the
sweet violet first cast its odours on the breeze, when the bright and
abundant bloom of the lilac and laburnum gracefully decorated the
gardens, and the country was reclad in all the charming freshness of the
season. After a short absence, he returned, accompanied by a lovely
bride;--but ere long she died. He went again, returning w