 for a moment a floor of pure light from
the wax tapers, and allowing the cadence of the chanting of the priests
to fall on the ear. At first Berenger was scarcely able to discern the
pale face that looked as if tears were all dried up, and even before his
eyes had clearly perceived her in the gloom, she was standing before him
with clasped hands, demanding, in a hoarse, breathless whisper, 'Had he
said anything to you?'

'Anything? No, cousin,' said Berenger, in a kind tone. 'He had seemed
suffering and oppressed all dinner-time, and when the servants left us,
he murmured a few confused words, then sank.'

'Ah, ah, he spoke it not! Thank Heaven! Ah! it is a load gone. Then
neither will I speak it,' sighed Diane, half aloud. 'Ah! cousin, he
loved you.'

'He often was kind to us,' said Berenger, impelled to speak as tenderly
as he could of the enemy, who had certainly tortured him, but as if he
loved him.

'He bade us save you,' said Diane, her eyes shining with strange wild
light in the gloom. 'He laid it on my aunt and me to save you; you must
let us. It must be done before my brother comes,' she added, in hurried
accents. 'The messengers are gone; he may be here any moment. He must
find you in the chapel--as--as my betrothed!'

'And you sent for me here to tempt me--close to such a chamber as that?'
demanded Berenger, his gentleness becoming sternness, as much with his
own worse self as with her.

'Listen. Ah! it is the only way. Listen, cousin. Do you know what killed
my father? It was my brother's letter saying things must be brought to
an end: either you must be given up to the King, or worse--worse. And
now, without him to stand between you and my brother, you are lost. Oh!
take pity on his poor soul that has left his body, and bring not you
blood on his head.'

'Nay,' said Berenger, 'if he repented, the after
for a moment a floor of pure light from 
 the wax tapers, and allow the meter of the chanting of the priests 
 to decrease on the auricle. At first Berenger was scarcely able to discern the 
 pale boldness that looked as if tears were wholly dry up, and even before his 
 eyes had distinctly perceived her in the gloom, she was standing before him 
 with clasped hand, demanding, in a gruff, breathless whisper,' Had he 
 said anything to you?' 

' Anything? No, cousin,' suppose Berenger, in a kind tone.' He had seemed 
 agony and oppressed all dinner - time, and when the servants leave us, 
 he murmured a few confused words, then sank.' 

' Ah, ah, he talk it not! Thank Heaven! Ah! it is a load gone. Then 
 neither will I speak it,' sighed Diane, half aloud.' Ah! cousin, he 
 loved you.' 

' He frequently was kind to us,' said Berenger, impelled to speak as tenderly 
 as he could of the enemy, who had certainly tortured him, but as if he 
 loved him. 

' He bade us save you,' said Diane, her eyes shining with strange wild 
 light in the gloom.' He laid it on my aunt and me to salvage you; you must 
 let us. It must be done before my buddy come,' she lend, in hurried 
 accents.' The messengers are gone; he may be here any moment. He must 
 find you in the chapel -- as -- as my betrothed!' 

' And you sent for me here to entice me -- close to such a chamber as that?' 
 demanded Berenger, his gentleness becoming sternness, as much with his 
 own bad self as with her. 

' Listen. Ah! it is the only way. Listen, cousin. Do you acknowledge what killed 
 my forefather? It was my brother's letter saying things must be brought to 
 an end: either you must be give up to the King, or worse -- worse. And 
 now, without him to digest between you and my brother, you are lost. Oh! 
 take pity on his inadequate soul that has forget his body, and bring not you 
 rake on his head.' 

' Nay,' say Berenger,' if he repented, the after
 fog a moment a floor of puve light from
the wax ta'ers, ans allowivg the cadence of the chantiig od the priests
to fall on the ear. At fprst Berebger qas scarcely able bj diagern chx
pale face that looked as if tears were aul dried up, and even before his
eyes hwd cleatlj perceived het in uhe glokm, she was standing before him
with claspev hands, demandimg, in a hoarse, breathless ahisoer, 'Had he
said anyhhing to yoo?'

'Znyeying? No, couskn,' said Begznger, in a iind tone. 'He had seemed
sufferine and oppressed aol fhnner-time, aid wheg the servanbx left us,
he mirmured a few gonfuved words, then sank.'

'Ah, ah, he spoke it not! Trank Heavan! Ah! it is a load tobe. Thgn
neidher qilu I s'eai it,' slghxd Diane, hamf aloud. 'Ah! cousin, he
loved you.'

'Ne iften was kins to uf,' faid Berenger, impelled to speak as tendtrly
aa he could of the enemy, who had certainly tottured him, but as if he
loved him.

'He bade us save you,' said Didne, hxr eyts shinkbg with strange wild
light in the gloom. 'He laid yf pn my aunt and mc to save you; you kudt
kgt us. It must ce donz bsfore my brother clmes,' shg addee, in hurryed
avcents. 'The messengers are gine; he may bv heee any moment. He mbst
find you nn the chaprl--as--as my betrothed!'

'And vou seht for me hfre to tejot me--close to suzh s whamber as that?'
demanded Bewenger, hiw geutleness becpming fternness, ws mugv with his
own worsf sely as fith her.

'Lidten. Ah! it is the only way. Listxi, cousin. Do ypu knmw what hillec
my father? It was my brothet's letter sayivg things just be brought to
wn end: either iou must be gmven up tj thw Kibg, or wufse--worse. And
noe, without him to stqnd between you anv my grother, you are lowt. Oh!
take pity pn fis ploc souj that has lext hks cpdy, avd bring nob yuu
blpod on his head.'

'Nay,' sdid Gerenger, 'if he reprnbed, the adter
for a moment a floor of pure the tapers, and the cadence of to on the ear. first Berenger was able to discern the pale face looked as if tears were all dried up, and even before his eyes clearly perceived her in the gloom, she was standing before him with clasped demanding, a breathless 'Had he said anything to you?' 'Anything? No, cousin,' said Berenger, in a kind tone. 'He seemed suffering and oppressed all dinner-time, and when servants left us, he a few confused words, then 'Ah, he spoke not! Heaven! it is a gone. Then neither will I speak it,' sighed Diane, half aloud. 'Ah! cousin, he loved you.' 'He was kind said Berenger, to as as he could enemy, who had certainly tortured him, he loved him. 'He bade us save you,' Diane, her shining with strange wild light in gloom. 'He laid it on my aunt and to save you; you must let us. It must be done before my brother comes,' in hurried accents. 'The are gone; he be any He find you the chapel--as--as my betrothed!' 'And you sent for me here to me--close to such a chamber as that?' demanded Berenger, his sternness, much with his worse self as with 'Listen. it is the only cousin. you my It my brother's letter saying must be brought to an either you must be or worse--worse. And now, without him to stand you and my brother, you are lost. take pity on his poor soul that has left his body, and not you his head.' 'Nay,' said Berenger, 'if he repented, after
 for a moment a floor of pure ligHt from
the wAx tapErs, And AlLowiNg thE cadence of the cHAntiNg of the priests
to fall on The eaR. AT FirsT beRengeR was scaRCeLY AblE tO dIscErN ThE
pale FacE that loOked as if teArs WeRe all dried up, ANd Even before His
Eyes had clearLy pErceivEd Her IN the gLooM, she wAs stanDIng befOre him
witH cLAsped hANds, demaNDInG, in a Hoarse, breathless wHIsPEr, 'Had he
said anyThing tO yOU?'

'ANYThiNg? NO, cousin,' saiD BErengER, in a kinD ToNE. 'hE haD Seemed
sufferiNg and oppresSEd aLl dinnEr-TimE, And wheN the sErVAntS left us,
he muRmurEd a few conFused wORds, then SAnk.'

'Ah, ah, He spokE it Not! thanK heAvEn! AH! iT Is a LOaD goNE. ThEn
neitheR wIlL I speAk it,' SIGHEd DiAne, Half Aloud. 'ah! cousin, he
lovEd yOu.'

'He OFteN was kInd to Us,' saId berenGer, impElled To Speak as tenderly
As he Could of thE enEmY, whO hAd cerTAinly tOrtUreD him, but As if he
lOVed HiM.

'hE BaDe us save you,' said DiaNe, HER eYes shiniNg with STrAnGE wild
ligHt In tHe glOOM. 'He laId it ON mY aunt and Me to saVE yOu; You must
LeT us. It mUsT be DonE befoRE my bRother Comes,' she Added, IN hurried
accentS. 'the messengers ARe GONe; HE may Be hEre any momenT. He mUSt
fiNd yoU In The CHapel--As--as mY bETrOThed!'

'And you sent for me HeRe to teMpt me--Close to such a cHamber as thAT?'
DEmanded BErenGEr, HIs gentleness beCominG sternness, AS much witH his
oWn worse sElf as with HER.

'Listen. AH! it Is tHe oNly WAY. LIsten, cousin. Do YOU knoW wHat killEd
mY father? it wAs mY brOthEr'S letter saYing thinGs MuSt Be BroUght tO
An end: eitHeR yoU mUst Be givEN up to tHe KinG, or wOrSe--WOrsE. And
now, WItHOUt hiM tO sTand BetWeEn you And mY BroTher, you Are lost. Oh!
TakE Pity On HiS poor soUl that has left HiS body, and brInG noT you
blOOD on his heAd.'

'Nay,' said Berenger, 'if he rePEnted, thE afTer
 for a moment a floor of p ure lightfromthe  wa xtape rs,and allowing t h e ca dence of the chantingof th ep ries t sto fa ll on t h ee a r.At  f irs tB er enger  wa s scarc ely able t o d is cern the
pal e  f ace that l ook ed as if tea rswere a ll  dr i ed up , a nd ev en bef o re his 
eyes had  c l earlyp erceive d he r in  the gloom, she w a ss tanding before  him
w it h  c l a spe d h ands, dema nd ing,i n a hoa r se , b rea t hless whisper , 'Had he
s a idanythi ng  to you?'
'Any th i ng?  No, cousin ,' s aid Beren ger, i n  a kind tone. ' He had  se eme d
su f fe ri ngan d  op p re sse d  al l dinner -t im e, an d wh e n t he s erv ants  left  us,
he murmu red  a f e w c onfus ed wo rds,  t hen s ank.'
'Ah,  a h, he spoke itnot!  Thank He ave n!  Ah !it is a load  go ne.  Then
n eitherw ill  I s p ea k it,' sighed Dian e, h al f aloud.  'Ah!c ou si n , he
lov ed  yo u.'' He of tenw as  kind to  us,'s ai dBerenge r,  impel le d t o s peaka s te nderly 
as he c ouldo f the enemy, w h o had certain l yt o rt u redhim , but as if  hel oved  him . 
'He badeus sa ve yo u ,' said Diane, herey es shi ningwith strangewild
light i n  the glo om.' He laid it on myauntand me tos ave you;  youmust
let  us. It m u s t be don e b efo remyb r ot her comes,' s h e  add ed , in hu rri ed
acce nts . ' The  me ss engers ar e gone;he  m ay  b e h ere a n y moment .Hemu stfindy ou inthe c hape l- -a s --a s my be t ro t h ed!' 
'A nd y ouse nt fo r me her e to te mpt me--c los e  tosu ch  a cham ber as that?' 
d emanded Be re nge r, his g entlenes s becoming sternness, a s  much w ith  hisownworse sel f a s with  he r .

'Li sten.Ah! i tist h e onl y wa y.Li sten, cous i n . D o you  k nowwhat ki lled
my father? It was  my brother's  le tter s ay ing th i ngs  m u stb e  brought to
anend: eithe ry ou  must be g i ven  u p to th e King,  or w o rse--wo rse. Andnow, with ou t hi m tostand betw een youand my br o ther, yo u are  lo st. Oh !tak e pit y on h i s p oor s oul th at  has l eft h is  body, a nd bring not you
bloodon his  head .'
'Nay,' s aid Ber enger, 'i f he  repented,  th e a fter
 for_a moment_a floor of pure_light from
the_wax_tapers, and_allowing_the cadence of_the chanting of_the priests
to fall on_the ear. At_first_Berenger was scarcely able to discern the
pale face that looked as if tears were_all_dried up,_and_even_before his
eyes had clearly perceived_her in the gloom, she_was standing_before him
with clasped hands, demanding, in a hoarse,_breathless_whisper, 'Had he
said_anything to you?'

'Anything? No, cousin,' said Berenger, in a_kind tone. 'He had seemed
suffering and_oppressed all dinner-time,_and_when_the servants left us,
he_murmured a few confused words, then_sank.'

'Ah, ah, he spoke it not!_Thank Heaven! Ah! it is a load_gone. Then
neither will I speak it,'_sighed Diane, half aloud. 'Ah!_cousin, he
loved_you.'

'He often was kind to_us,' said Berenger,_impelled to_speak as tenderly
as_he could of the enemy, who_had certainly tortured_him, but as if he
loved him.

'He_bade_us save you,'_said_Diane,_her eyes_shining with strange_wild
light_in the_gloom._'He laid it on my aunt_and_me to save you; you must
let us._It must be done_before_my brother comes,' she_added, in hurried
accents. 'The messengers_are gone; he may be here_any moment._He must
find_you in the chapel--as--as my betrothed!'

'And you sent for me here_to tempt me--close to such a_chamber as that?'
demanded Berenger,_his gentleness_becoming_sternness, as much_with_his
own worse_self as with her.

'Listen. Ah! it is_the only_way. Listen, cousin. Do you know_what killed
my father? It_was_my brother's letter saying things must_be brought to
an end: either you_must be given up to_the_King,_or worse--worse. And
now, without him_to stand between you and my_brother, you are_lost. Oh!
take pity on his poor soul_that_has left his body, and bring_not_you
blood on his head.'

'Nay,' said Berenger,_'if_he_repented, the after