was sergeant-major di battaglia, under Don Gonzalez de Cordova in Hainault, and am now Camp Master-general and Count of Carlstein, Lord of Geizer and Koningratz, under the Black Eagle. I believe, young gentleman, you will acknowledge that I owe these old monks of Redemption much; for I should have waited long enough, if I had tarried until some of our Scottish ministers came to Barbary to release me, to heal my scars and break my fetters. But enough of these prosy explanations," he added loftily, haughtily--almost fiercely; "I have saved your lives, when I might have left you both to your fate. Taunt me not with the loss of those poor fellows at Boitzenburg--for they had a fair warning to march off without firing a shot, or being fired on--to withstand an assault and risk extermination." "May I ask to what family you belong, and what is your Scottish name, Sir Count?" "I belong to a family that never regretted my loss, so I disown it," he replied bitterly. "The Imperialists call me _Rupert-with-the-Red-Plume_; but what is your name, and who are your family?" "Like your own, count, my family were not much distressed by my departure; so their name matters little--their memory less; but our Highlandmen call me Philip M'Combich, which means Philip, the son of _my friend_." The Count laughed at this mode of retorting upon his reserve, saying-- "Well, well, let us each keep our little secrets; but here we are arrived at last. This is my temporary chateau, and a very comfortable one you will find it." With their copper vanes glittering in the moonlight, the highpointed and old-fashioned gables of a hall now appeared above some thick copsewood. Entering an avenue of old beech-trees, we were alternately in light and shadow as we passed their ivied stems; we came to a broad fosse full of long reeds and wild water-plants, chiefly floating lilies, and over this we passed by an old and moss-green bridge of stone, at the end of which was an archway surmounted by armorial bearings which proved afterwards to be those of my friend, the Baron Karl of Klosterfiord, one of whose mansions on the Luneburg side of the Elbe had been appropriated by the Imperialists as the quarters of the Count of Carlstein and a troop of Reitres, whose horses were stabled in all the lower apartments where the doors would admit them. The vast and irregular façade of the old chateau, with its broad balconies, its steeple-like turrets and indented gables, was bathed in white moonlight, a number of noisy and half-armed soldiers thronged the courts, or played at dice and shovelboard, over cans of German beer in the stone chambers on the ground floor, where they burned large fires on the tesselated pavement, and recklessly were never in want of fuel, while doors, windows, and furniture lasted.