at done, the speed of horses, and a swift sailing ship
will soon have us safe in England; and if that land be not so fair, or
so dear as our own France, at least there are no tyrants there, like
this Louis; and there are laws, they say, which guard the meanest man
as safely and as surely as the proudest noble."

"A happy land, Raoul. I would that we were there even now."

"We will be there ere long, fear nothing. But tell me, whom have you
near your person on whom we may rely. There must be some one through
whom we may communicate in Paris. It may be that I shall require to
see you."

"Oh! you remember Rose, Raoul--little Rose Faverney, who has lived
with me ever since she was a child--a pretty little black-eyed
damsel."

"Surely I do remember her. Is she with you yet? That will do
admirably, then, if she be faithful, as I think she is; and unless I
forget, what will serve us better yet, she loves my page Jules de
Marliena. He has not forgotten her, I promise you."

"Ah! Jules--we grow selfish, I believe, as we grow old, Raoul. I have
not thought to ask after one of your people. So Jules remembers little
Rose, and loves her yet; that will, indeed, secure her, even had she
been doubtful, which she is not. She is as true as steel--truer, I
fear, than even I; for she reproached me bitterly four evenings since,
and swore she would be buried alive, much more willingly imprisoned,
than be married to the Marquis de Ploermel, though she was only
plighted to the Vicomte Raoul's page! Oh! we may trust in her with all
certainty."

"Send her, then, on the very same night that you reach Paris, so soon
as it is dark, to my uncle's house in the Place de St. Louis. I think
she knows it, and let her ask--not for me--but for Jules. Ere then I
will know something definite of our future; and fear nothing, love,
all shall go well with us. Love such as ours, with faith, and right,
and honesty and honor to support it, cannot fail to win, blow what
wind may. And now, sweet Melanie, the night is wearing onward, and I
fear that they may miss you. Kiss me, then, once more, sweet girl, and
farewell."

"Not for the last, Raoul," she cried, with a gay smile, casting
herself once again into her lover's arms, and meeting his lips with a
long, rapturous kiss.

"Not by a thousand, and a thousand! But now, angel, farewell for a
little space. I hate to bid you leave me, but I dare not ask you to
stay; even now I tremble lest you should be misse