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The baron, therefore, made no reply to Roland’s insolent answer to his question.

"Well, lady," said the count to Caroline, "you see your wishes have been complied with. You must perceive that you hold the lives of your friends, or those whom you choose to call such in your own hands."

"I will retire to my chamber," said Caroline. "I trust I shall now be allowed its undisturbed possession."

"Till two days are expired," said the count, "you shall be free from question or intrusion. Let me hope that at the end of that period the good sense of Caroline Mecklenburgh may induce her to submit to my ardent wishes."

Caroline made no answer, but walked to the door of the chamber. When there, she paused for a moment and said to the baron—

"May I be permitted to see my aunt?"

The baron’s face turned very pale, and he leaned against the wall for support.

A cold contemptuous sneer curled the lips of the count.

"May I," said Caroline, "construe your silence into consent, Baron Zindorf?"

"I—I—do not know—I cannot say," stammered the baron.

"You cannot see your aunt," said Count Durlack, in an affected courtly manner.

"And wherefore?" asked Caroline.

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"For a special reason, Mademoiselle Mecklenburgh."

"Are you master here, or the Baron Zindorf?" cried Caroline. "He seems ashamed to withhold his consent to my seeing the relative upon a visit to whom I was alone induced to enter this castle."

"You would know the reason?" sneered the count.

"No, no—hush, hush," cried the baron.

"But she would be pleased to know the reason, baron," persisted Durlack.

The baron groaned, and made no further opposition.

"Tell me then, sir, the reason," said Caroline, "since from your lips it appears I can alone hear it."

"Your aunt is dead," said the count.

"Dead?" cried Caroline.

"Aye, dead," repeated the count. "Is the reason not a good one?"

"Oh, Heaven! my poor, poor aunt!"

"Confusion!" cried the baron; "why did you bring on this scene, count? To your chamber, Caroline Mecklenburgh, to your chamber."

Caroline said no more, but with her hands clasped, and a blanched cheek, she left the turret.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE two soldiers who, at the request of Frederique, had been despatched in search of the egress from Zindorf Castle by the vaults, had been unsuccessful. For several hours they wandered amid the intricacies of the dark forest, but they saw nothing which presented the least indication of being the spot they were in search of.

After pursuing separate routes for a long time, they met in an open glade of the forest, and as the day was far spent, they agreed to turn their steps back to the castle.

"Have you encountered Master Frederique?" said one of the soldiers to his companion.

"No," replied the other. "He must have taken some contrary direction, and has probably, by this time, returned to Tristram."

"The evening is creeping on," remarked the first who had spoken, "and I would not exactly choose to be benighted in the forest."

"The castle lies," said the other, "to the east. Let us place our backs towards the setting sun, and push forward in as direct a line as possible."

The soldiers proceeded onwards as rapidly us possible towards the bivouac of their comrades, lashing aside the boughs of the trees, which stretched across their path, and cutting their way with their swords through the tangled brushwood which impeded their progress. They succeeded in keeping a tolerably straight path towards the east. Now and then they would come to some open grassy spot, sweetly embowered among the trees, through which they would pass rapidly, and

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plunge into the gloom beyond. They had more than completed half their distance from the front of Zindorf Castle, when one of them suddenly paused, as they were pushing onwards through a verdant spot which was destitute of trees.

"By the mass," he cried, "what have we here?"

"An enemy?" cried the other, who was not so much in advance as his comrade.

"Now the saints send it was an enemy," said the first one, "instead of what it is. Look you here," lifting something from the ground.

" ‘Tis a cross-bow."

"And belonged to Frederique. The initials of his name are burnt upon the stock."

"By Heaven! something has occurred to the brave boy."

"The circumstance is suspicious, but still he may have cast it from him after using all his arrows."

"No," said the other; "he loved the weapon. It was given him by Sir Gaston himself; and the youth prized it much."

"You have a horn?" said the other.

"Yes, but it’s against orders to sound it."

"Never mind that now. Frederique will know the sound if he be within hearing; my mind misgives me that something has happened to the youth."

The other soldier now blew a peculiar blast on his horn. It sounded mournfully in the darkening forest, and the dead silence seemed more solemn than before when the last echoes of the blast had died away.

"He may have returned," said the first who had spoken.

"Then," replied the other, "our best plan is to delay time no longer, but to hasten to the camp, and should he not be there, Tristram Chablot will take the necessary steps for his safety."

"Forward, then."

The soldiers now hurried forward, and another half hour’s struggling through the forest, brought them into the neighbourhood of one of the sentinels.

They gave the watch-word, and immediately proceeded onward to where Tristram had established the head quarters of his little party.

"How now?" cried Tristram, observing the haste of the soldiers. "What now?"

"Captain Tristram," said one; "may we ask if Master Frederique has returned yet from the forest?"

"He has not," answered Tristram.

"Pray Heaven, then, he may have met with no mischance."

"He is a soldier," said Tristram Chablot.

"But we have found his crossbow, captain, lying in the forest. That circumstance it is, that has caused us so much uneasiness."

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"Let’s do things regular," said Tristram; "you report yourselves returned?"

"We do."

"Have you found the place you went in search of?"

"We have not, captain."

"Very well! now about finding this cross-bow?"

"We found it in an open spot of the forest; no one was near."

"Were there traces of a fight?"

"None, whatever—the grass was as smooth as velvet."

"At sun-rise we will scour the forest. Frederique is bold and wary. I have few fears on his account."

"And these few, good Tristram, you may at once dismiss!" said Frederique, presenting himself before his temporary commander.

Tristram was of too phlegmatic a constitution to be very much moved at anything, and he only nodded his head as Frederique spoke.

"You are back before me, friends," said Frederique to the soldiers; "did you make any discovery worth mentioning?"

"None, sir."

"Did you?" said Tristram.

"Yes," answered Frederique.

"You found the place you sought?"

"I did."

Tristram gave a grunt of dissatisfaction.

"I suppose," he muttered, "we shall have no fighting at all, but shall go burrowing underground like so many moles, under the castle, instead of scaling the walls sword in hand."

"I have matter for your private ear, good Tristram," said Frederique.

"Dismiss," said Tristram, to the soldiers.

When they were alone, Frederique related the whole of his adventure to Tristram Chablot, who listened with the greatest attention except when Frederique expatiated upon the beauty of Constance, and then his patience gave way, and he interrupted the narrative with various exclamations of discontent.

When Frederique had concluded, Tristram remained for a few moments as if in deep thought, and then he said—

"Well—I’ll send a guard."

"I fear," answered Frederique, "we have not men enough for such a purpose. That cavern is inhabited you must recollect, and the question is altogether turned upon whether the persons who are there be friends or foes to the Baron Zindorf and his rascally ally, the Count Durlack."

Tristram rubbed his forehead, and then muttered—

"All this bother comes of letters and such like unsoldierly practices."

"Our force, you know" continued Frederique, "is very small. If we

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withdraw from the castle deep into the forest, we leave the baron full liberty to walk out at the postern gate. A couple of soldiers might have guarded the pass from the vaults, had there been no one there. But from the noise of voices I heard, I should say that the party there, whoever they may be, is a stronger one than ours, considerably. It is for you, Tristram, to decide what is to be done in this troublesome piece of business."

"I decide?" said Tristram. "The devil! I’d rather fight any day."

"But you see the necessity, Tristram, of deciding immediately upon some course of action in the present case."

Tristram Chablot rubbed his hands very violently for some time, but at length his countenance brightened and he said—

"I tell you what, Frederique—Sir Gaston told me to watch the castle back and front, and let no one come out. He said nothing about caves and vaults at all."

"But Tristram, don’t you perceive the necessity?"

"No, I don’t; I perceive nothing but the necessity of obeying orders with the sincere hope of a fight when Sir Gaston comes back."

"But," said Frederique, "the baron may escape by the vaults."

"Do you think he’d be so mean when Sir Gaston actually promised him he’d come back and attack his castle as soon as possible?"

"Indeed I do," said Frederique, laughing.

Tristram Chablot shook his head doubtingly.

"He may be a great rascal," he said, "but I can’t think anybody in their senses would think of running away through a vault, when there was the finest chance of a row that ever was."

"I am afraid," said Frederique, "that the fair chance of a row is the very thing that will induce this baron Zindorf to try every means of escape. Everybody, good Tristram, has not your exquisite sense of enjoyment."

"Ah!" cried Tristram, "some people have strange tastes."

"They have, indeed," laughed Frederique.

"Why, you recollect De Rainville?" said Tristram.

"He who fought with Sir Gaston at Fleury?"

"The same, Frederique. Sir Gaston with the self same sword he wore when he left here, gave De Rainville such a downward stroke that he cut off a great slice of his head and one of his ears, and de Rainville went about boasting of it for ever afterwards."

"Why, it is not often," said Frederique, "that any one lives to boast of a stroke from the sword of Sir Gaston de Beauvais."

"Certainly not," answered Tristram; "but do you mean to tell me that this Baron Zindorf would throw away his fine chance of measuring swords with the most renowned knight of his age?"

"I think it more than probable that the baron Zindorf would think it no great sacrifice to creep through any hole to get out of Sir Gaston’s way."

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Tristram raised his hands in perfect amazement.

"Well, well, Frederique," he said, "all I can offer as regards this cavern, is a small guard, for you know I am scarce of men."

"I think there is no immediate cause to apprehend that the baron and the count may escape us this way," remarked Frederique. "In fact, the tone of the damsel was rather hostile to him than otherwise, and there can be no doubt but she shows the feelings of those she resides with."

"You are to meet hear to-morrow, Frederique?"

"I am, Tristram. Oh! her loveliness exceeds—"

"Bother!" cried Chablot.

"Oh Tristram! you have no eye for female charms? Have you no—"

"No I hav’n’t!—Good night," cried Tristram.

Wrapping his cloak around him, Tristram Chablot lay down upon his bed of leaves, and resigned himself to repose.

Frederique was fatigued, and after musing for a time upon the exceeding loveliness of the fair Constance, and repeating over and over again to himself every word she had uttered, he laid down to repose and to dream that he was again listening to the music of her voice, and feasting his eye upon her rare and wondrous beauty—a beauty without comparison.

The sentinels had been just changed as Frederique arrived, and soon dropping into slumber, he awoke not till the bustle of relieving the guards aroused him.

The grey light of morning when he had laid himself down to repose was quietly stealing on, and brightening into day. Now when he opened his eyes, the early morning sun was gilding the topmost branches of the trees, and the birds were singing sweetly from every bough.

He heard, indistinctly, a great quantity of oaths and maledictions proceeding from Tristram Chablot, and he raised himself upon his elbow to discover the cause of Tristram’s renewed agitation and rage.

"The devil," cried Tristram, "invented writing and letters and such bothers. Confound the fellow, whoever he is. A man can’t now do his duty in peace. Here’s a pretty state of things. Letters—letters—nothing but letters! Damn letters!"

"Why, what’s the matter?" said Frederique.

"The matter?" cried Chablot,—"the devil’s the matter. Botheration is the matter. I’d rather fight a man any day than receive a letter. Here’s a bore.—I wish the fellow here, that’s all."

"Why, good Tristram, you are terribly out of sorts," said Frederique, rising, and approaching the enraged soldier.

"Out of sorts?" cried Tristram. "Who wouldn’t be, I should like to know? Bother—I never saw so many letters before. This makes three. Three letters—enough to last a moderate man his whole life."

"What, is there another letter from an unknown friend in Zindorf Castle, Tristram?" asked Frederique, smiling.

"Unknown friend! Unknown devil—no doubt he has heard of me, and

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wants to put me in a rage, so he keeps shooting out his damned letters. I’ll have him one of these days. I’ll be with him."

"But Tristram," said Frederique, "whoever sends these letters, no doubt intends to do so much good service."

"Good service! Whoever heard of good service being done by a letter? No—no. Give me a good sword to do good service."

"Have you read it, Tristram?"

"I read it? No, certainly not. I will have nothing to do with it."

"Where is it?"

"There it lies," said Tristram, pointing to an arrow on the ground.

"Has it just been brought in?"

"Yes. The first thing I heard when I awoke was, ‘here’s a letter.’ Wasn’t it enough to drive a man mad?"

Frederique laughed.

"When I was serving in Hanault," continued Tristram, "under the Duke of Vincenges, we were just preparing to attack the forces of Marshall Bergin, when a courier arrived and asked to see the duke.

" ‘What is it?’ said Vincenges.

" ‘A letter,’ answered the courier.

"Now the Duke of Vincenges didn’t like letters at all. He was an uncommonly sensible man, and no scholar, so he said.

" ‘What’s it about?’

" ‘I have ridden hard,’ said the courier. ‘A peace is proclaimed. His Holiness the Pope has mediated, and the war is over.’

" ‘It’s about a peace is it?’ said the duke.

" ‘Yes,’ said the courier, ‘a peace.’

" ‘Then,’ said Vincenges, ‘I’ll read it after the fight.’

"With that, he ordered the attack on Marshall Bergin, and the glorious battle of Le Champ Blanc was fought and won."

"And the letter?" said Frederique, smiling.

"Oh, somehow or other," replied Tristram, "the Duke lost it in the fight, and a very good job too."

"At all events," said Frederique, as he untwisted a scrap of paper from the arrow, "you have no objection to my seeing, Tristram, what this communication contains. Our unknown correspondent is entitled to some credit, for we have found that he has spoken nothing but the truth as regards the egress from the castle by means of the vaults, the entrance to which I have discovered."

"Read it and you will," growled Tristram.

Frederique unfolded the scroll, and read—

" ‘Till to-morrow night no attempt will be made by the Baron Zindorf or the Count Durlack to escape from the castle. Be vigilant then, for they intend to leave Zindorf, if possible, loaded with valuables.’

"This gives us time," said Frederique.

"Time be bothered," cried Tristram. "Who wants time?"

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"Not you, Tristram, I know," said Frederique.

"I want Sir Gaston," cried Tristram, "and an order to assault the castle immediately."

"I think there is every chance of your being gratified," replied Frederique, "sooner than, under ordinary circumstances, we might expect; for I’d wager my head, Sir Gaston de Beauvais will not be an hour out of the saddle when he arrives at the court."

"So much the better," cried Tristram. "We may have him here, then, on the fifth morning, for Sir Gaston seldom has to wait long for whatever force he requires."

"Think you," said Frederique, "he will bring cannon with him?"

"Likely enough," answered Tristram; "though between you and I, Frederique, since these same cannons have been introduced, we have had fewer brave knights than of old."

"Such engines of war," said Frederique, "produce such effects naturally. Gunpowder has thinned, indeed, the ranks of chivalry."

"I should not wonder," said Tristram, "that the time may come when personal bravery and courage will be of little moment, and battles will be mainly fought with the cannon and the arquebuse. One man will then be as good as another. It’s a melancholy thought, Frederique."

"I think your prophecy will, indeed, be fulfilled," answered Frederique. "The glory of war will then be at an end, for a trembling idiot with a lighted match will be as efficient a soldier as he who has in his bosom the bravest heart that ever belonged to mortal man."

"Let us not think of it," replied Tristram, sadly. "We shall be in our graves before then."

"We shall," cried Frederique. "And Heaven forbid that I should live to see the day when honourable warfare is so degenerated. Soldiers will then lose their dignity and become mere machines and puppets. A gallant leader a mere mathematician, and the trade of a soldier a refuge for imbecility and idleness."

"Don’t think of it," said Tristram, laying his hand heavily upon Frederique’s shoulder; "don’t think of it, my boy. Cannons are very well to knock down stone walls and bring sneaking cowards to a fair fight, but nothing else. But trust me, Frederique, that the day will come when an officer will cease to be a gallant gentleman."

"I fear," said Frederique, "Tristram, that the day will come when a gentleman will cease to be an officer. Strip war of its romance—its personal courage—its chivalrous feeling, and what does a soldier become?"

"What?" said Tristram.

"A butcher in livery," said Frederique.

"Say no more. Say no more, boy. You grieve my soul."

Tristram Chablot turned from the conference with a saddened aspect, and an oppression at the heart.