e. But, at the same time, fresh
fortifications were added to the castle, ample provisions were laid in,
and, night and day, spies and scouts were stationed along the pass, and
in the town of Terracina. Montreal was precisely the chief who prepared
most for war when most he pretended peace.

One morning, the fifth from the appearance of the Roman messenger,
Montreal, after narrowly surveying his outworks and his stores, and
feeling satisfied that he could hold out at least a month's siege,
repaired, with a gayer countenance than he had lately worn, to the
chamber of Adeline.

The lady was seated by the casement of the tower, from which might be
seen the glorious landscape of woods, and vales, and orange groves--a
strange garden for such a palace! As she leant her face upon her hand,
with her profile slightly turned to Montreal, there was something
ineffably graceful in the bend of her neck,--the small head so
expressive of gentle blood,--with the locks parted in front in that
simple fashion which modern times have so happily revived. But the
expression of the half-averted face, the abstracted intentness of
the gaze, and the profound stillness of the attitude, were so sad and
mournful, that Montreal's purposed greeting of gallantry and gladness
died upon his lips. He approached in silence, and laid his hand upon her
shoulder.

Adeline turned, and taking the hand in hers, pressed it to her heart,
and smiled away all her sadness. "Dearest," said Montreal, "couldst thou
know how much any shadow of grief on thy bright face darkens my heart,
thou wouldst never grieve. But no wonder that in these rude walls--no
female of equal rank near thee, and such mirth as Montreal can summon to
his halls, grating to thy ear--no wonder that thou repentest thee of thy
choice."

"Ah, no--no, Walter, I never repent. I did but think of our child as you
entered. Alas! he was our only child! How fair he was, Walter; how he
resembled thee!"

"Nay, he had thine eyes and brow," replied the Knight, with a faltering
voice, and turning away his head.

"Walter," resumed the lady, sighing, "do you remember?--this is his
birthday. He is ten years old today. We have loved each other eleven
years, and thou hast not tired yet of thy poor Adeline."

"As well might the saints weary of paradise," replied Montreal, with an
enamoured tenderness, which changed into softness the whole character of
his heroic countenance.

"Could I think so, I should inde