was never permitted to quit, except to walk in a long gloomy gallery
with an old female servant remarkable for the acerbity of her mind and
manners. Her page escaped punishment by flight; and her only resource
and amusement was her mandolin.

The tower in which the Lady Imogene was imprisoned sprang out of a steep
so precipitous that the position was considered impregnable. She was
therefore permitted to open her lattice, which was not even barred. The
landscape before her, which was picturesque and richly wooded, consisted
of the en-closed chase of Charolois; but her jailers had taken due care
that her chamber should not command a view of the castle of Branchimont.
The valley and all its moving life were indeed entirely shut out from
her. Often the day vanished without a human being appearing in sight.
Very unhappy was the Lady Imo-gene, gazing on the silent woods, or
pouring forth her passion over her lonely lute.

A miserable week had nearly elapsed. It was noon; the Lady Imogene was
seated alone in her chamber, leaning her head upon her hand in thought,
and dreaming of her Lothair, when a fluttering noise suddenly roused
her, and, looking up, she beheld, to her astonishment, perched on the
high back of a chair, a beautiful bird-a pigeon whiter than snow, with
an azure beak, and eyes blazing with a thousand shifting tints. Not
alarmed was the beautiful bird when the Lady Imogene gently approached
it; but it looked up to her with eyes of intelligent tenderness, and
flapped with some earnestness its pure and sparkling plume. The Lady
Imogene smiled with marvelling pleasure, for the first time since her
captivity; and putting forth her hand, which was even whiter than
the wing, she patted the bright neck of the glad stranger, and gently
stroked its soft plumage.

'Heaven hath sent me a friend,' exclaimed the beautiful Imogene; 'Ah!
what--what is this?'

'Didst thou call, Lady Imogene?' inquired the harsh voice of acid
Martha, whom the exclamation of her mistress had summoned to the door.

'Nothing--nothing--I want nothing,' quickly answered Imogene, as she
seized the bird with her hand, and, pressing it to her bosom, answered
Martha over her shoulder. 'Did she see thee, my treasure?' continued the
agitated Imogene, 'Oh! did she see thee, my joy? Methinks we were
not discovered.' So saying, and tripping along on the lightest step
imaginable, the captive secured the door; then bringing forth the bird
from its sweet s