“In the very best way in the world: we will not part company until morning comes, are we at peace?” inquired the count, smiling and holding out but hand. “Until then, we will have to be, I suppose,” replied Sir Norman, rather ungraciously taking the hand as if it were red-hot, and dropping it again. “And we are to stand here and rail at each other, in the meantime?” “By no means! Even the most sublime prospect tires when surveyed too long. There is a little excursion which I would like you to accompany me on, if you have no objection.” “Where to?” “To the ruin, where you have already been twice to-night.” Sir Norman stared. “And who told you this fact, Sir Count?” “Never mind; I have heard it. Would you object to a third excursion there before morning?” Again Sir Norman paused and meditated. There was no use in staying where he was, that would bring him no nearer to Leoline, and nothing was to be gained by killing the count beyond the mere transitory pleasure of the thing. On the other hand, he had an intense and ardent desire to re-visit the ruin, and learn what had become of Miranda--the only draw-back being that, if they were found they would both be most assuredly beheaded. Then, again, there was Hubert. “Well,” inquired the count, as Sir Norman looked up. “I have no objection to go with you to the ruin,” was the reply, “only this; if we are seen there, we will be dead men two minutes after; and I have no desire to depart this life until I have had that promised interview with Leoline.” “I have thought of that,” said the count, “and have provided for it. We may venture in the lion's den without the slightest danger: all that is required being your promise to guide us thither. Do you give it?” “I do; but I expect a friend here shortly, and cannot start until he comes.” “If you mean me by that, I am here,” said a voice at his elbow; and, looking round, he saw Hubert himself, standing there, a quiet listener and spectator of the scene. Count L'Estrange looked at him with interest, and Hubert, affecting not to notice the survey, watched Sir Norman. “Well,” was that individual's eager address, “were you successful?” The count was still watching the boy so intently, that that most discreet youth was suddenly seized with a violent fit of coughing, which precluded all possibility of reply for at least five minutes; and Sir Norman, at the same moment, felt his arm receive a sharp and warning pinch. “Is this your friend?” asked the count. “He is a very small one, and seems in a bad state of health.” Sir Norman, still under the influence of the pinch, replied by an inaudible murmur, and looked with a deeply mystified expression, at Hubert. “He bears a strong resemblance to the lady we were talking of a moment ago,” continued the count--“is sufficiently like her, in fact, to be her brother; and, I see wears the livery of the Earl of Rochester.”