rl, and
become, by some contrivance, her attendant; but reflection ever proved
that these were as wild as lovers' plans are wont to be; and another
week stole away without anything being settled. Yet this second week was
not so desolate as the first. On the contrary, it was full of exciting
hope; and each day to hear that Lothair still adored her, and each day
to be enabled to breathe back to him her own adoration, solaced the
hours of her captivity. But Fate, that will often frown upon the
fortunes of true love, decided that this sweet source of consolation
should flow on no longer. Rufus, the huntsman, who was ever prowling
about, and who at all times had a terribly quick eye for a bird, one day
observed the carrier-pigeon sallying forth from the window of the tower.
His practised sense instantly assured him that the bird was trained, and
he resolved to watch its course.

'Hah, hah!' said Rufus, the huntsman, 'is Branchimont thy dovecot?
Methinks, my little rover, thou bearest news I long to read.'

Another and another day passed, and again and again Rufus observed the
visits of Mignon; so, taking his cross-bow one fair morning, ere the dew
had left the flowers, he wandered forth in the direction of Branchimont.
True to his mission, Mignon soon appears, skimming along the sky.
Beautiful, beautiful bird! Fond, faithful messenger of love! Who can
doubt that thou well comprehendest the kindly purpose of thy consoling
visits! Thou bringest joy to the unhappy, and hope to the despairing!
She shall kiss thee, bright Mignon! Yes! an embrace from lips sweeter
than the scented dawn in which thou revelest, shall repay thee for all
thy fidelity! And already the Lady Imogene is at her post, gazing upon
the unclouded sky, and straining her beautiful eyes, as it were, to
anticipate the slight and gladsome form, whose first presence ever makes
her heart tremble with a host of wild and conflicting emotions.

Ah! through the air an arrow from a bow that never erred--an arrow
swifter than thy swiftest flight, Mignon, whizzes with fell intent. The
snake that darts upon its unconscious prey less fleet and fatal!

It touches thy form--it transfixes thy beautiful breast! Was there no
good spirit, then, to save thee, thou hope of the hopeless? Alas,
alas! the blood gushes from thy breast, and from thine azure beak! Thy
transcendent eye grows dim--all is over! The carrier-pigeon falls to the
earth!

CHAPTER V.

_Another Mes