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tous flight of stairs to a small octagonal tower, which overlooked the postern’s gate.

This tower was called the warden’s tower, and when the establishment of the castle was on a full scale, the tower was inhabited by a warder, whose duty it was to reconnoitre every one demanding admittance to the fortress, and make his report to their appearance and answers to his questions to the lord of the castle before the draw-bridge was lowered to receive them. There was a latticed window in the window of the warden’s turret of Zindorf Castle, which was now thrown open, and commanded a view for a long distance in front of the castle.

The baron drew his sword when they arrived at the door of the tower, and standing himself upon the staircase, so as to be completely out of view, he cried, in a threatening tone to Caroline,

"Do as I have bidden you, or expect instant death by my hand."

He opened the door, and hurled her alone into the chamber, with such force, that she went completely across the turret, and was compelled to cling to the window-sill for support. The moment she appeared, the trumpet again sounded a loud clangour, which awakened the mountains echoes far near.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CAROLINE cast one glance from the window to the opposite side of the moat, which floated lazily below, and she saw a party of horsemen, of

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about twenty in number, collected in a group exactly opposite the warder’s tower.

They seemed well armed, and one carried an emblazoned banner. On a milk-white steed standing a little advance of the group was a herald, in his gorgeous emblazoned coat, and the trumpet, the sounds of which had created so much alarm in Zindorf Castle, was at his lips.

When Caroline appeared, there darted out from amongst the group of horsemen a gallant looking cavalier, attired in half armour. Instead of a helmet, he wore upon his head a silken cap, which was overshadowed by a profusion of crimson feathers.

This person raised his cap gracefully from his brow in courteous recognition of the presence of a female, for the age of chivalry had not then quite passed away, although it was in its decline.

He waved his arm gracefully to the herald, who drew his charger back a few paces, and then elevating his voce, he said, in a clear manly tone:—

"In the name of the king, I, Gaston de Beauvais, Knight of the Golden Fleece, and of the Lamb of Jerusalem, summon Baron Zindorf, of Zindorf, to repair to the court of his Catholic Majesty, there to answer certain grievous accusations."

A loud blast from the herald’s trumpet concluded the speech of the gallant and well known Sir Gaston de Beauvais.

"Answer!" shrieked the baron from the stairs, "on your life, girl, answer as I bade you."

Caroline was about to speak from the warder’s tower, when Sir Gaston de Beauvais again riding forward in place of the trumpeter, spoke.

"I likewise," he cried, "in the king’s name, summon to the court Count Durlack, for many foul crimes, but principally for a foul murder."

Again the trumpet sounded.

"By the foul fiends," cried Count Durlack from the staircase, "the day may come, Sir Gaston de Beauvais, when I may have it in my power to stay your brawling tongue that makes so free with my name."

"Answer girl! Answer!" cried the baron.

"I will," cried Caroline. Then leaning as far from the window as she could, she said, "Sir Gaston de Beauvais, the men you seek are here! I am their prisoner."

"All hell shall not save thee," cried the baron, rushing into the warder’s tower with his drawn sword in his hand.

"Hold!" cried Durlack, springing after him, and clutching his sword-arm tightly. "Hold, Baron Zindorf. This fair lady’s life is of importance to me!"

"By the infernal fiends!" shouted the baron, she has betrayed us."

Caroline had closed her eyes when she saw the baron rush into the tower and heard his exclamations of fury, for she expected nothing but instant death. The words of the count gave her new hope, and she shouted from the window,

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"Help! help! As you are knights and gentleman, help! Save me! save me!"

"Traitors and recreants!" shouted Sir Gaston de Beauvais, "I see you both. Shame to your manhood, both of you. Could you murder a woman?"

The baron struggled with Count Durlack, but the latter was the younger, and the stronger man of the two, and he wrested the sword from the hands of the baron.

"Fool!" he cried, "what benefit would the death of this girl be to thee?"

"Vengeance!" cried the baron. "Vengeance shall be sure another time if not now."

"Let it be another time," said Durlack.

"Curses!" cried the baron, "we are seen by de Beauvais."

As he spoke, the baron rudely pushed Caroline from the window, and she fell upon the floor of the tower.

The action was seen by the horsemen on the opposite side of the moat, and their leader cried in a voice of indignation—

"Coward! dastard! dishonour to knighthood. Dare you strike a defenceless female? Shoot, Frederique, shoot!"

With one bound a light horse, on which was seated a youth, with a cross bow in his hand, darted to the front, and with the rapidity of lightning, fixing an arrow in his bow, he sent it whistling through the air.

The baron had but just time to move his head on one side, when the shaft flew past his ear, and splintered into a hundred fragments against the stone wall of the tower immediately opposite to the casement.

"By heaven!" cried the count, "a well sped shaft."

"Curses on the hand that aimed it," said the baron. "Come, my fair and most magnanimous niece, you will afford a good target to your marksman."

He stooped, and grasping Caroline by the waist, raised her from the ground, and forced her to stand at the window.

"Hold, Frederique," cried Sir Gaston. "For God’s sake, hold. The dastards have placed the damsel at the casement."

"Well, Sir Gaston do Beauvais," cried the baron. "What want you with the Baron Zindorf? What have you to say to him?"

"That he is a craven, and no true knight," cried Sir Gaston.

"Methinks you have taken a long journey," answered the baron, "to gratify your spleen."

"I bear the king’s mandate for your immediate appearance at court," said the knight.

"I am slow of credence," said the baron, "you have no such mandate."

"Liar and coward," shouted the knight, "I would not, without the express orders of my sovereign, bring my good steed one step after such a carrion as thee."

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As he spoke, Sir Gaston de Beauvais spurred his charger with one bound into the castle moat, and the gallant animal swam with his rider across the stream. The baron bit his lips with vexation.

"Curse him!" shouted Count Durlack. "Baron, if the chains of your drawbridge are not strong he will hew them down with his battle-axe. He has an arm like the limb of an oak tree."

"Oh, for a good shaft well aimed," cried the baron.

Roland, who had entered the turret, looked at his master with a grim smile, and hurriedly hastened away.

There was no footing on the other, or castle side of the black moat for either horse or rider, but the object of Sir Gaston de Beauvais was immediately discovered by the count and the baron. It was with his ponderous battle-axe to divide the chains which held the drawbridge up, and which, coming from the further extremity of the bridge, passed over massive pulleys on each side of the postern gate.

These pullies were within reach of Sir Gaston de Beauvais as he raised himself in his stirrups, and waved, as if it were a reed, the ponderous, gleaming battle-axe above his head.

The strong but docile animal which the knight rode obeyed the rein as well in the water as on the verdant sod, and carried Sir Gaston in the course of three minutes across the moat to the spot he wished to reach.

"Slack the chains," roared the baron from the turret to some of his followers below; "slack the chains of the drawbridge, or by all the fiends he will snap them like pieces of cane."

"Recreant baron," cried Sir Gaston de Beauvais, "as cowardly in war as you are false in peace, your boasted strong-hold shall not save you. And you, Count Durlack, who are a blot and a dishonour to the spurs of knighthood, prepare to answer for your crimes."

High above his head Sir Gaston swung the gleaming axe, and it descended with a whistling sound upon the piece of chain which was within his reach.

The drawbridge rattled and shook beneath the stroke, and had the chains not been slackened according to the baron’s order, it must have been divided by that fell dint. As it was, it yielded under the powerful stroke, and thus deprived it of its greatest and most destructive energy.

Again and again came down the ponderous axe upon the chain, and each blow was met by oaths and execrations on the part of the baron and loud cheers from the gallant band on the bank of the moat, who were accustomed to the daring acts of personal courage of their brave leader.

Roland now returned to the warder’s tower with a bow in his hand and an arrow thrust into the belt which was buckled round his waist.

The baron regarded him with a smile of malicious satisfaction.

"Quick, Roland—quick," he cried, "or the opportunity will be lost for ever."

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Partially shielding himself from observation, Roland took his place the side of the casement at which still stood Caroline Mecklenburgh.

"You will be so good, all of you," said Count Durlack, in a tone of some alarm, "to bear witness that I remonstrate with my good friend, the Baron Zindorf, against offering any violence to Sir Gaston de Beauvais."

"Hush, hush," cried the baron. " A man is hammering like a legion of smiths at my postern gate, and one of my bold fellows wishes to teach him a little civility."

Caroline’s heart sickened as she saw Roland fix the arrow on the string, and cast his glaring, wolf-like eyes along its length to take a sure aim.

Roland pulled the arrow to its head; but at the moment that it would have sprung forward with deadly aim and speed, Caroline, by the impulse of the moment, struck the arm of Roland, and the feathered shaft flew, whistling in its progress, high in the air, even above the heads of the party on the opposite bank.

"Murder!" she cried, "Sir Gaston, retire. Be warned."

"Confusion!" cried the baron; "are we to be ever thwarted by a girl?"

Roland stood eyeing Caroline like some wild beast of prey meditating a spring upon his innocent victim.

Sir Gaston de Beauvais was too practised a warrior to be merely allured by the glitter of an achievement when it would answer no end, and he no sooner felt convinced that the slackened chain would not divide under his blows, than he turned his charger’s head to the land.

Before, however, he landed, he turned his steed, and said in a loud voice—

"I here, in the name of my sovereign, proclaim the Baron Zindorf, of Zindorf Castle, and the Count Durlack, outlawed traitors."

The baron still holding Caroline at the window as a guard for his personal safety, scowled upon Sir Gaston as he replied—

"I ever held Sir Gaston de Beauvais as my enemy. Small wonder is it, therefore, that I open not my gates to him and a band of armed followers. Let Sir Gaston himself alone enter my postern, and I will listen to whatever message he may be the bearer of."

Sir Gaston de Beauvais shook his head, and said—

"Baron Zindorf, who will soon be no baron, but a vile knave, you know I fear you not, but small wonder is it that I will not trust you. Sooner would I walk unarmed into the den of a tiger than into Zindorf Castle."

"And what," said Count Durlack, "what want you with me, Sir Gaston de Beauvais?"

"The commands of my sovereign and yours," replied Sir Gaston, "are to convey you both without delay to the court."

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"And are noblemen to be dragged from their own residences," said the baron, "to answer every petty attack that may be made upon their fair fames and reputations?"

"This is no petty attack," answered Sir Gaston. "You have both been denounced as assassins and leaguers with robbers by no less a person than the Duke of Hanault himself in full council."

"Bring this conversation to a close," said the count in a whisper to the baron. "It may be better, in case of any untoward accident, that we knew not quite so much. This affair grows serious."

"Knowing you as an enemy," said the baron, "we doubt you at the same time that we admit our duty and allegiance to the king."

"Tell him we will surrender to any other nobleman of the court, but not to him," whispered the count to the baron. "That will, at least give us time to think."

"At your mandate, Sir Gaston de Beauvais," cried the baron, "I will not leave my castle, nor will I turn the honoured guest it now contains from its doors. Let the king send some other messenger."

"Then here, in the king’s name," said Sir Gaston, spurring his steed up the bank of the moat, "I declare, according to the tenure of my instructions, the castle and lands of Zindorf confiscated."

The baron turned deadly pale, and looked at the count as if for further advice.

"Let him go on," said the count.

"And likewise," continued Sir Gaston, "the lands and castles of the Count Durlack, a known traitor, unless he the Baron Zindorf and the Count Durlack repair to the court of our most gracious sovereign within three days."

"I defy thee," cried the baron, "and the day will come when I may throw my gage in thy teeth."

"That day will never come," said Sir Gaston. "I cannot now fight with thee. Thou art beyond the pale of knighthood now. If I come within reach of thee, Baron Zindorf, beware, for although I may not now measure swords with thee, I would strike thee to the earth with any chance weapon."

"You boast," cried the baron; "but do you know, Sir Gaston de Beauvais, the Baron Zindorf never yet forgave or forgot an injury?"

"Summon them again, herald," cried Sir Gaston.

The herald advanced and blew a loud blast on his trumpet.

"In king’s name I summon the Baron Zindorf and the Count Durlack to accompany the most noble and gallant Sir Gaston de Beauvais, knight of the Golden Fleece and of the Lamb of Jerusalem, to court, to answer certain heavy and grievous charges there preferred against them by the High Duke of Hanault, Protector of the Holy Sepulchre and Champion of Bavaria, Lord of Chanterly, and High Constable of the kingdom."

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Again the trumpet blew a loud blast.

Sir Gaston de Beauvais waved his hand, and again and again the walls of Zindorf rung with the clangour of the trumpet.

Sir Gaston then turned his charger’s head, and shouted to his gallant band—

"Forward, my friends—to the court."

Amid the clash of steel and the ringing of the horse’s trappings, Sir Gaston and his followers galloped a hundred yards or more from the moat. Then wheeling round his charger, he doffed his plumed cap, and bowing till the feathers swept the dew from the waving grass, he cried to Caroline—

"Fair lady, despair not, your imprisonment shall be brief. On the word of a true knight I will return and rescue thee from the base bad men who now hold thee in shameful durance."

Then turning to his followers, and giving the spurs to his gallant steed, Sir Gaston and his band swept onwards like a torrent, and were soon lost to the view in the intricate windings of the path through the forest which was in the vicinity of the Castle of Zindorf.

The baron and Durlack had preserved a moody silence during the summons of the herald and the subsequent address of Sir Gaston de Beauvais to Caroline. Now, however, the baron’s rage broke forth with wild fury, and stamping upon the floor of the tower, he called down curses upon the head of Sir Gaston de Beauvais, the Duke of Hanault, and every one who he thought had at court contributed to bring this misfortune upon his head.

"You, too." he cried, darting a ferocious glance at Caroline—"you, too, must league with my enemies, and through a nice scrupulousness refuse to utter a single sentence that might be useful to me. You must needs call upon my worst enemies for aid and succour with the hope of involving me in ruin and destruction."

"I am a prisoner," answered Caroline; "and I use a prisoner’s only privilege, that of striving for my own release."

"You came here my guest," cried the baron.

"But I remain your captive," said Caroline. "I have ceased to be your guest, baron. Allow me even now free egress from this prison, and my presence can no longer affect your interests or security."

"No!" cried the baron; "safety may not be mine; but I can still grasp what is equally dear to me—vengeance! Caroline Mecklenburgh, you are in my power, if yonder boasting braggart, Sir Gaston de Beauvais is not; and I will make you feel that you are, ere you and I part."

"The fair Caroline," said Count Durlack, "will perchance consent to the wishes of those who love and honour her."

"Yes," said Caroline; "the wishes of those who love and honour me, are sacred obligations; but neither Count Durlack, nor the Baron Zindorf can convince me that they do either the one or the other."

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"Your prize, now," said the baron to the count, glancing at the same time towards Caroline, "is nearly useless. The estates are gone."

"Not so, by Heavens!" cried the count. "Caroline Mecklenburgh is more valuable than ever. I can enjoy the Mecklenburgh estates as the husband of the undoubted heiress of them, should I choose to proclaim her right—"

"Hush!" said the baron; "we may be overheard. Roland."

"Here," said the ruffian.

"Convey this lady to her former chamber, and bring me the key."

Caroline was not sorry after the exciting scene she had gone through, to reach again the quiet of her chamber; and she accordingly followed Roland without reluctance. Once more she found herself opposite the open panel. She heard the key turned in the lock by Roland, and she almost felt it a luxury, after the tumult and intense excitement of the last hour, to find herself alone, and amid the stillness and repose of her prison; for although lacking no comfort which she could have desired, still such it was.

CHAPTER XXV.

THERE was one person, who from a small loop hole in a turret of the castle, which overlooked the moat, had observed the whole scene between Sir Gaston de Beauvais and the inhabitants of the castle, and listened to every word that was uttered, with the most wrapt and breathless attention. That person was Count Durlack’s favourite page and personal attendant, the young and handsome boy, Euphoric.

With his face pressed against the stone wall of the turret in which he stood, so as to bring his eye close to the loop hole, and command a wider range of vision, he looked eagerly at the armed band which was assembled on the opposite side of the moat. So fixed—so absorbed was his attention, that he might have been taken for a statue.

Only once when Sir Gaston de Beauvais charged Count Durlack with murder, did Euphoric steal his small hand to the hilt of his dagger, and a flush of colour mantled his dark Italian cheek, while fire seemed to flash from his expressive eyes.

"The time is coming!—The time is coming!" he muttered; and not till the armed band of horsemen had disappeared from before the castle, did Euphoric stir from his post of observation.

"The time is drawing near," he kept muttering, half aloud. "By no hand but mine though must the blow be struck! No!—Not for worlds!—Not for worlds!"

As he spoke, he descended from the turret, and with a rapid step, tra-