--she turned heedlessly away; and only pained by the courtesies
that had so little resemblance to Otho, she shut herself up in her
chamber, and pined in solitude for her forsaker.

The Templar now resolved to attempt darker arts to obtain power over
her, when, fortunately, he was summoned suddenly away by a mission from
the Grand Master of so high import, that it could not be resisted by a
passion stronger in his breast than love,--the passion of ambition. He
left the castle to its solitude; and Otho peopling it no more with his
gay companions, no solitude _could_ be more unfrequently disturbed.

Meanwhile, though, ever and anon, the fame of Warbeck reached their
ears, it came unaccompanied with that of Otho,--of him they had no
tidings; and thus the love of the tender orphan was kept alive by
the perpetual restlessness of fear. At length the old chief died, and
Leoline was left utterly alone.

One evening as she sat with her maidens in the hall, the ringing of a
steed's hoofs was heard in the outer court; a horn sounded, the heavy
gates were unbarred, and a knight of a stately mien and covered with the
mantle of the Cross entered the hall. He stopped for one moment at the
entrance, as if overpowered by his emotion; in the next he had clasped
Leoline to his breast.

"Dost thou not recognize thy cousin Warbeck?" He doffed his casque, and
she saw that majestic brow which, unlike Otho's, had never changed or
been clouded in its aspect to her.

"The war is suspended for the present," said he. "I learned my father's
death, and I have returned home to hang up my banner in the hall and
spend my days in peace."

Time and the life of camps had worked their change upon Warbeck's face;
the fair hair, deepened in its shade, was worn from the temples, and
disclosed one scar that rather aided the beauty of a countenance that
had always something high and martial in its character; but the calm it
had once worn had settled down into sadness; he conversed more rarely
than before, and though he smiled not less often, nor less kindly, the
smile had more of thought, and the kindness had forgot its passion. He
had apparently conquered a love that was so early crossed, but not
that fidelity of remembrance which made Leoline dearer to him than all
others, and forbade him to replace the images he had graven upon his
soul.

The orphan's lips trembled with the name of Otho, but a certain
recollection stifled even her anxiety. Warbeck has