ht; "thou
hast taken all that was dear to me." And the sun setting, and no other
warrior appearing to do battle against him, he was proclaimed the
conqueror, and rode up to the duchess's balcony to receive the gold
chain which was the reward of the victor. He raised his visor as the
smiling princess guerdoned him--raised it, and gave ONE sad look towards
the Lady Fatima at her side!

"Romane de Clos-Vougeot!" shrieked she, and fainted. The Baron of
Barbazure heard the name as he writhed on the ground with his wound, and
by his slighted honor, by his broken ribs, by his roused fury, he swore
revenge; and the Lady Fatima, who had come to the tourney as a queen,
returned to her castle as a prisoner.

(As it is impossible to give the whole of this remarkable novel, let it
suffice to say briefly here, that in about a volume and a half, in which
the descriptions of scenery, the account of the agonies of the baroness,
kept on bread and water in her dungeon, and the general tone of
morality, are all excellently worked out, the Baron de Barbazure
resolves upon putting his wife to death by the hands of the public
executioner.)

*****

Two minutes before the clock struck noon, the savage baron was on
the platform to inspect the preparation for the frightful ceremony of
mid-day.

The block was laid forth--the hideous minister of vengeance, masked
and in black, with the flaming glaive in his hand, was ready. The baron
tried the edge of the blade with his finger, and asked the dreadful
swordsman if his hand was sure? A nod was the reply of the man of blood.
The weeping garrison and domestics shuddered and shrank from him. There
was not one there but loved and pitied the gentle lady.

Pale, pale as a stone, she was brought from her dungeon. To all her
lord's savage interrogatories, her reply had been, "I am innocent." To
his threats of death, her answer was, "You are my lord; my life is in
your hands, to take or to give." How few are the wives, in our day, who
show such angelic meekness! It touched all hearts around her, save that
of the implacable Barbazure! Even the Lady Blanche, (Fatima's cousin),
whom he had promised to marry upon his faithless wife's demise, besought
for her kinswoman's life, and a divorce; but Barbazure had vowed her
death.

"Is there no pity, sir?" asked the chaplain who had attended her.

"No pity?" echoed the weeping serving-maid.

"Did I not aye say I would die for my lord?" said the gentle lady,