lad,' said Sir Marmaduke. 'It is Heaven's good mercy that
Osbert carried you out alive. No other Protestant left the palace alive
but the King of Navarre and his cousin, who turned renegades.'

'And she is left there?' he repeated.

'Heed her not, my dear boy,' began his mother; 'you are safe, and must
forget her ill-faith and----'

Berenger seemed scarcely to hear this speech--he held out his hands as
if stunned and dizzied, and only said, or rather indicated, 'Let me lie
down.'

His stepfather almost carried him across the room, and laid him on his
bed, where he turned away from the light and shut his eyes; but the knot
of ribbon and the pin-pricked word was still in his hand, and his mother
longed to take away the token of this false love, as she believed it.
The great clock struck the hour for her to go. 'Leave him quiet,'
said Cecily, gently; 'he can bear no more now. I will send over in the
evening to let you know how he fares.'

'But that he should be so set on the little bloodthirsty baggage,'
sighed Lady Thistlewood; and then going up to her son, she poured out
her explanation of being unable to stay, as her parents were already
at the Manor, with no better entertainers than Lucy, Philip, and the
children. She thanked him for the gifts, which she would take to them
with his love. All this passed by him as though he heard it not, but
when leaning down, she kissed his forehead, and at the same time tried
to withdraw the knot of ribbon: his fingers closed on it with a grasp
like steel, so cold were they, yet so fast.

Sir Masmaduke lingered a few moments behind her, and Berenger opening
his eyes, as if to see whether solitude had been achieved, found the
kind-hearted knight gazing at him with eyes full of tears. 'Berry, my
lad,' he said, 'bear it like a man. I know how hard it is. There's not
a woman of them all that an honest, plain Englishman has a chance with,
when a smooth-tongued Frenchman comes round her! But a man may live a
true and honest life however sore his heart may be, and God Almighty
makes it up to him if he faces it out manfully.'

Good Sir Marmaduke in his sympathy had utterly forgotten both Berenger's
French blood, and that he was the son of the very smooth-tongued
interloper who had robbed his life of its first bloom. Berenger was
altogether unequal to do more than murmur, as he held out his hand in
response to the kindness, 'You do not know her.'

'Ah! Poor lad.' Sir Marmaduke shook