of their late young lord, and which his father had
raised on a small and richly wooded promontory, distant about a mile
from his stern hold.

At the first chime on this lovely eve came forth a lovelier maiden from
the postern of Charolois--the Lady Imogene, the only remaining child of
the bereaved count, attended by her page, bearing her book of prayers.
She took her way along the undulating heights until she reached
the sanctuary. The altar was illumined; several groups were already
kneeling,--faces of fidelity well known to their adored lady; but as she
entered, a palmer, with his broad hat drawn over his face, and closely
muffled up in his cloak, dipped his hand at the same time with hers in
the fount of holy water placed at the entrance of of the shrine, and
pressed the beautiful fingers of the Lady Imogene. A blush, unperceived
by the kneeling votaries, rose to her cheek; but apparently such was her
self-control, or such her deep respect for the hallowed spot, that she
exhibited no other symptom of emotion, and, walking to the high altar,
was soon buried in her devotions.

The mass was celebrated--the vassals rose and retired. According to her
custom, the Lady Imogene yet remained, and knelt before the tomb of her
brother. A low whisper, occasionally sounding,-assured her that someone
was at the confessional; and soon the palmer, who was now shrived, knelt
at her side. 'Lothair!' muttered the lady, apparently at her prayers,
'beloved Lothair, thou art too bold!'

'Oh, Imogene! for thee what would I not venture?' was the hushed reply.

'For the sake of all our hopes, wild though they be, I counsel caution.'

'Fear naught. The priest, flattered by my confession, is fairly duped.
Let me employ this golden moment to urge what I have before entreated.
Your father, Imogene, can never be appeased. Fly, then, my beloved! oh,
fly!'

'Oh, my Lothair! it never can be. Alas! whither can we fly?'

'Sweet love! I pray thee listen:--to Italy. At the court of my
cousin, the Duke of Milan, we shall be safe and happy. What care I
for Branchimont, and all its fortunes? And for that, my vassals are
no traitors. If ever the bright hour arrive when we may return in joy,
trust me, sweet love, my flag will still wave on my father's walls.'

'Oh, Lothair! why did we meet? Why, meeting, did we not hate each other
like our fated race? My heart is distracted. Can this misery be love?
Yet I adore thee------'

'Lady!' said the page, a