It was noon when the company entered upon that romantic pass I have
before referred to--the ancient Lantulae. High to the left rose steep
and lofty rocks, then covered by the prodigal verdure, and the countless
flowers, of the closing May; while to the right the sea, gentle as a
lake, and blue as heaven, rippled musically at their feet. Montreal, who
largely possessed the poetry of his land, which is so eminently allied
with a love of nature, might at another time have enjoyed the beauty of
the scene; but at that moment less external and more household images
were busy within him.

Abruptly ascending where a winding path up the mountain offered a rough
and painful road to their horses' feet, the band at length arrived
before a strong fortress of grey stone, whose towers were concealed by
the lofty foliage, until they emerged sullenly and suddenly from the
laughing verdure. The sound of the bugle, the pennon of the knight, the
rapid watchword, produced a loud shout of welcome from a score or two
of grim soldiery on the walls; the portcullis was raised, and Montreal,
throwing himself hastily from his panting steed, sprung across the
threshold of a jutting porch, and traversed a huge hall, when a
lady--young, fair, and richly dressed--met him with a step equally
swift, and fell breathless and overjoyed into his arms.

"My Walter! my dear, dear Walter; welcome--ten thousand welcomes!"

"Adeline, my beautiful--my adored--I see thee again!"

Such were the greetings interchanged as Montreal pressed his lady to
his heart, kissing away her tears, and lifting her face to his, while
he gazed on its delicate bloom with all the wistful anxiety of affection
after absence.

"Fairest," said he, tenderly, "thou hast pined, thou hast lost roundness
and colour since we parted. Come, come, thou art too gentle, or too
foolish, for a soldier's love."

"Ah, Walter!" replied Adeline, clinging to him, "now thou art returned,
and I shall be well. Thou wilt not leave me again a long, long time."

"Sweet one, no;" and flinging his arm round her waist, the lovers--for
alas! they were not wedded!--retired to the more private chambers of the
castle.

Chapter 3.II. The Life of Love and War--the Messenger of Peace--the
Joust.

Girt with his soldiery, secure in his feudal hold, enchanted with the
beauty of the earth, sky, and sea around, and passionately adoring his
Adeline, Montreal for awhile forgot all his more stirring projects and