tigny, you
have not stolen together to the church?--but this is in the street;
come in."

Claude tied his courser to a young maple that grew near the door;
and, whilst he was doing so, the advocate retired within, murmuring:
"Montigny, Seigneur Montigny, this is your work, and yet may prove
the dearest piece of petty larceny that ever man committed; as dear
as would have been to have furnished the dower you refused me. No;"
he continued musing, "trouble does not spring from out of the
ground. Then whence comes this? Who hates me?" he continued sharply;
"Covets her? Whom would her absence serve? who, except the father
of you boy, the Sieur Montigny?" and he had scarcely finished his
soliloquy when he was rejoined by Claude, who, straightway in the
obscurity of the library, related to him the adventure of the night.

The old man listened in silence, but his bosom heaved, and when
Claude had ceased, he grasped him by the hand and exclaimed:

"Montigny, we are bound together in that girl, the outrage upon whom
has made us rivals in the task to find and rescue her. Yet are you
sure the voice you heard was her's? You did not see her carried
off; you only heard, or thought you heard, her cry. You may have
been deceived. Hasten back to Stillyside. She may be there now
sleeping between the unruffled sheets, making them sweeter than
the perfuming lavender;--if she be not--why then--alas! what then?"
And he struck his palm against his brow, holding it there, perplexed,
revolving.

"You say you heard your name pronounced?" he enquired at length.

"I did," said Claude, unhesitatingly; and this seemed to satisfy
the lawyer's doubts, and, rising, he said, shaking his companion
by the hand: "Montigny, go. Beat up the bush at Stillyside; and if
she be not there,--why all the country side shall be roused to find
and bring her back. But, Claude, she is safe. Yet hie you thither;
mount again your horse, and bring me word before the day breaks:
begone." And in a few moments Claude was scouring back to Stillyside,
and the advocate ruminating alone amidst the shadows of his library.

CHAPTER XIII.

"This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
Is in opinion, and in honor, wronged;
That in the rescue of Lavinia,
With his own hand did slay his youngest son"

_Titus Andronicus._

The elder Montigny, wrathful and irresolute, and like a beast in
the toils, had yesterday again visited the advocate on the same
errand as