warriors to whom I was ordered to reveal my trust. As soon as ye have done the last offices to this wretched corse, dig under the seventh tree on the left hand of this poor cave, and your pains will---- Oh, good Heaven, receive my soul!” With those words the devout man breathed his last. “By break of day,” continued Frederic, “when we had committed the holy relics to earth, we dug according to direction; but what was our astonishment, when, about the depth of six feet, we discovered an enormous sabre--the very weapon yonder in the court. On the blade, which was then partly out of the scabbard, though since closed by our efforts in removing it, were written the following lines--no; excuse me, madam,” added the marquis, turning to Hippolita, “if I forbear to repeat them: I respect your sex and rank, and would not be guilty of offending your ear with sounds injurious to aught that is dear to you.” He paused--Hippolita trembled. She did not doubt but Frederic was destined by Heaven to accomplish the fate that seemed to threaten her house. Looking with anxious fondness at Matilda, a silent tear stole down her cheek; but recollecting herself, she said, “Proceed, my lord, Heaven does nothing in vain; mortals must receive its divine behests with lowliness and submission. It is our part to deprecate its wrath, or bow to its decrees. Repeat the sentence, my lord; we listen resigned.” Frederic was grieved that he had proceeded so far. The dignity and patient firmness of Hippolita penetrated him with respect; and the tender, silent affection with which the princess and her daughter regarded each other melted him almost to tears. Yet apprehensive that his forbearance to obey would be more alarming, he repeated, in a faltering and low voice, the following lines: Where’er a casque that suits this sword is found, With perils is thy daughter compass’d round; Alfonso’s blood alone can save the maid, And quiet a long-restless prince’s shade. “What is there in these lines,” said Theodore, impatiently, “that affects these princesses? Why were they to be shocked by a mysterious delicacy, that has so little foundation?” “Your words are rude, young man,” said the marquis; “and though fortune has favoured you once----” “My honoured lord,” said Isabella, who resented Theodore’s warmth, which she perceived was dictated by his sentiments for Matilda, “discompose not yourself for the glozing of a peasant’s son: he forgets the reverence he owes you; but he is not accustomed----” Hippolita, concerned at the heat that had arisen, checked Theodore for his boldness, but with an air acknowledging his zeal; and changing the conversation, demanded of Frederic where he had left her lord?