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PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS.

NEW YORK

GAS-LIGHT .

BY G. 6. FOSTER, Esq.,

Author of " titia Jgorfc in HUctn" iet.

(Tnntf nta :

BROADWAY AT EVENING.

Sceneii ut the Cuunoniiua,
The Oysier Cellnra,
Midnight UrRies,
Uroudwuy usiuep.

The Sidewiilker,
HiM>kliig It Viciiiii,
Mu:<ic liiid the Uruiiiinoad
Lights,

MODEL

The Wulhalla.
SuMHnniih in the Bath,
Ur. C.iilyer,
Illstor> uf Model AttUts,

ARTISTS.

Tiiinbly and the Living

t^tatiies,
Thti Goddiesses and the

Pulice,

lleflentioiis.

BOWLING AND BILLIARD SALOONS.

Rooms versuii Saloons, The Tall Son of V'ork,

Plucking a Pigeon, Horn and hln Last, and his

Contrast!* of Chiiracter, Chuuis.

THE GOLDEN GATE OF HELL.

Prostitution in General, The Fashionable Brothel,

A Description thai thou- Personal llislor)- uf Two
sandd will recognise. Cyprians,

A NIGHT RAMBLE.

TheUp-staira Drinking Sa- The Widows,

loons. Private Gambling,

Fashionable OysterPalace, Contrasts and Contempla-
The Bowery Kuffle, tlons.

BUTTER
The Press,

The Newsboys,
Murk Magulre,
Mike Madden,

CAKE DICK'S.
Tommy Ryan,
Sunday night with the

Newsboys,
The Trade in Newspapers

THE POINTS

The Love of Civilization,

Regent's Park,

Cow Bay,

The "OUl Brewery,"

The Fences,

THE ICE CR

A Streak of Sunshihe,
The Fashionab.'e Lunch
for Upper-teudoin,

AT NIGHT.

Wholesale and Retail
Warehouse,

Facts respecting the Re-
form uf Courtesans.

EAMERIES.
Well-known Characters,
The Steam Ice-Creamery
Cootolt's.

THI: DANCE HOUSE.

Pete Williams's, or Dick- A Liberal Description,

eiis's Place, Curious Facts about the
The House and Cave In Lives of Proatltutet.

Water at.

THEATRES AND

Miss Charlotte Cushman,

Old Drury,

Mager's Saloon in Eliza-
beth St,

The Italian Opera,

'file Aristocracy of New
York,

AMUSEMENTS.
Epitaph in Prose,
Third Tiers,
TheDutchDrkinaandBhll-

llng Concerts,
Max Maretzek and his

White Neckcloth,
The Picture Galleries,

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC TOE.

Duncing in New York, Another of the same sort.

Extra Doings, only a little more so.

The Grand BuU at Castle Flotilla Balto, fcc.
Hastings,

MOSE AND LIZE.

The Philosophy of the

B'hoys,
Ditto of the G'ha Is,
Llze at Work,
Lize at her Toilette,

LIxe and the Fashionable

Lady,
The Target Excursion,
^'he Fireman,
Materials for a New Lite-
ral uie.

THEDOG-W.^TCH.

Thieves and Burners A Night's Experiences,

"about," Winding up of Mr. Green's

Doing a Countryman, Adventures.

A Scene Underground, Night in the Tombs,

ModelArtists in dishabille

SATURDAY NIGHT.
The Weekly Holiday, The Old Woman's Basket

The Markets, and Dilemma,

Washington Market, Catharine Market,

The Poor.

THE CITY

The Station House,
The "Tombs,"
The Battery Loafers,

AT DAYLIGHT.

The Daylight,
Market Horning,
Sunri$t, and fkreicM.

J^tm Dork:
DEWITT & DAVENPORT, TRIBUNE BUILDINGS.

I860.

-tef,

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THE

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MONK KNIGHT

ST. JOHN.

^ STaie of tl)e €ru5a^e0.

MAJOR RICHARDSON,

KNIOBT OF ST. FEROIKAND,
AUTHOR OK "ECARTE," " W A C ;; S T A ," ETC.

NEW YORK:
DEWITT AND DAVENPORT,

TKIBCNK BCILDIHG8.
1850.

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" Entered Mcording to the Act of Congreu, in the year 1BS0«
By dew ITT & DAVENPORT,
In the Clerk's Office of tbe District Court of the United States, fur the Southern
District of New York.

>•' :t''

..^.>^^

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

^ *■

>>'''

CHAPTER I.

^ . INTRODUCTORY.

Rkturnino from San Sehastian in the autumn of 1837, by the way of
San Juan de Luz, Bayonne and Bordeaux, and being desirous of visiting
Auvergne, where I had heard there was an old chateau, connected with
which was some wild traditionary tale, I determined to gratify the strong
curiosity 1 felt, personally, to inform myself if there really was any good
foundation for a story which had been related to me by an elderly French
gentleman in the latter charming town.

Having at my disposal plenty of that commodity which belongs to idle
men — leisure — I sent on my baggage by diligence to Amiens, merely
reserving a change of linen, &c., which was carefiilly stowed away in my
light knapsack. Thus equipped, with my gun on my shoulder, and with a
bottle of the host cogniac the Hotel de Lille could afford, stuck in one of the
ample side-pockets of my shooting jacket, I set forth m route. It is need-
less to fatigue the reader with the details of the journey, therefore, I will at
once introduce him to the old garde chasse, who, in the absence of his
Seigneur, and indeed in that of every other member of the household, seemed
to combine in his person all the offices usual to the establishment, for with
the exception of a little shoeless gar^on who attended to the cows, and a
couple of Spanish pointers, nearl ■» old as their master, there was nothing
bearing life to be seen about the 4' j.;o.

When, following the course of the 1 arrow Dordogne, I reached the venerable
pile, which was situated about three leagues from Clermont, and bordering
upon a forest that swept semicircularly round its wings towards the front, I
found the sun-burnt garde chasse seated on the bank of a streamlet, which ran
outside the grass-covered elevation that denoted the once existence of a
battlement, and arranging the flint of his gun — his two old dogs crouching
meanwhile at his feet — evidently watching his movements and anticipating
sport.

Here was the very man for my purpose, and engaged in the manner in
which I most could have desired to have seen him. The freemasonry of the
gun is not a bad letter of introduction.

Good morning, brother

sportsman,"
S

1 said, approaching him, for the

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

low growling of his doga had told him th»t a stranger was near. He looked
up, and I touched my cap tu him in salutation.

*' Ah ! pardieu, Monsieur," he exclaimed in his own tongue — that in which

I had addressed him ; " I am very glad to sec you. I was thinking what

dull work it would be without a companion, and hero yon are, all equipped,

as if St. Peter himself had sent you from Heaven to my aid. We shall have

'-'A capital sport, sir ; few people venture here to disturl) the birds, and 1

^.<v having had a twiugo of the rheumatism, have not been out for a week

"; past."

•' And so am I well pleased to have met you," I said. " When I venture
in pursuit of game I prefer to have an experienced hand like yourself to
lead the way. Capital pointers those of yours. Of the real Spanish
breed, I perceive!"

" Yes, Monsieur ; neither of them can be less than nine years of age.
Their noses are well used to the scent. But, allons. The sun is beginning »
K ' to get a little fierce, and if wo would escape a broiling, we must gain the

'wtj • cover of the wood. But perhaps Monsieur would like some refreshment

first. The (chateau de Boiscourt does not afford what it did when my great-
great-greatgrandfather was steward to the noble Baron, who served in
the tvrre siiintc in the time of the crusades, but at least it can furnish
Fromagc de Rochefort and Neufchatel, bread baked by my own hands, and
eau de vie ! cninme ffl."

Hero lie had himself touched upon the outwork of the subject I was so
^ anxious to introduce, but I felt that this was not the moment to pursue it.

1 might startle him — excite suspicion as to my motive — put him upon his
guard, and thus hear nothing. I trusted, however, to my well-filled flask
of cogniac to draw forth the garrulity of the garde chaste at a subsequent
period of the day — if indeed there was anything to be communicated.

" 1 tJiank you," 1 said, in reply to his offer of refreshment, " I break-
fasted at a farm-house about half way between this and Clermont ; besides, .
voUa de la bonne, goxtez en;"' and I handed him the flask to judge for himself.
" Pardieu" ho exclaimed, after having sipped a good wine-glass full,
" this is indeed la veritable ; 1 am afraid that I have none such to offer you."
" It will restore us when fatigued with our walk after the birds," I re-
turned. " Let us be off, then."

" I see Monsieur has no dog," observed the old man, as we moved off to-
wards a distant copse which he said abounded with partridges, " viens
■Coco, viens Toto."

" I lost my dog on my way from San Juan de Luz to Bordeaux," 1 replied.
" These are very magnificent grounds," I continued, after a pause. " al-
though I must confess the chateau is a little the worse for wear. You say
that your great-great-grandfather was born here. Have all your family,
from him, been born here ?"

" Pardieu.' and his great-great-grandfather before him. Monsieur forgets
I spoke of Uie time of the crusade in the Holy Land. My fathers have
lived with the Barons de Boiscourt from their first existence as a family
We know all their secrets ; and," putting his finger on the tip of his nose,
" we know how to keep them, too."

I. >.

^■*>4;..

THE iMONK KNIO)lT OK ST. JOHN.

I was not Horry tluit Coco ui that monunit started a covey of partridgcH,
for 1 felt titat I had been imprudent in tliua tulkin^^ of other timn gnncrul
muttert. 1 N.aid no inure.

Our sport ihronj^liout the day was fair — the iiardy garde rhasse bugging
twenty brace, and niyHolf sixteen and a liiilf. More tlian onco he liad com-
plained of a return of liin rhcumatiBni, and I had prevKiliMJ upon iiim occa-
sionally to rcHt, and as often to restore hiinwlf from my brandy flask, liy
this time, we were the best friends in the world, and when we had returiuid
home, literally laden with our game, nothing would induce the old man to
part with so good a cumaradc until the morning.

This was exactly what I had desired, and although 1 pretended that 1 had
no time to spare, but must be in Clermont that night, I yielded, with what
gratification it may be presumed, to his proposal, to give me the only bed-
room that was kept in any sort of repair, yet which coittained the nuptial
bed, preserved as a sort of heir-loom, of the first Baron de Boiscourt, who
had served in Palestine.

About nine o'clock, our supper of partridges and home-made bread, mois-
tened on my part by the very indifferent eau de vie of the gai'tk rhasse
having been dispatched, and a pipe smoked, the old man conducted me to my
dormitory. The chateau was, as has been represented, very old indeed.
The outside being built of stone, had borne the ravages of age pretty well,
but it was evident that the interior had many and many a time bt^eu re-
newed. One end Of the foundation had evidently sunk, for there was an
inclination in that direction which threatened to overthrow it altogether,
were it not for the support of strong oaken props placed at the gable-end.
The wide staircase that conducted from the lower apartments where we had
supped, (indeed, we had taken our meal where we had cooked it — in the
kitchen) — was crazy and worm-eaten, the balustrades gone, and the footing,
consequently, anything but secure. Arrived at the first landing, we passed
along a corridor of some extent, and then, turning abruptly to the left,
entered what had the appearance of having been a salon, at the end of which
was a shorter corridor, or passage, opening into a large bed-room — the same
alluded to by the garde chasse.

The oil lamp, which the latter carried in his hand, did not throw much light
upon surrounding objects. Everything wore a sombre look, and was unin-
viting enough. The high ebony bedstead, which had evidently once been richly
carved, exhibited but faint traces of the sculptor's chisel. One of its broken
legs had been replaced by another of mahogany, while the bed itself, though
far more modern, did not exhibit the moat tempting appearance. It needed
no great penetration to see that the whole was a relic of by-gone centuries.
The large and tall-backed chairs, of ebony also, were much in the same con-
dition, and the floors of those rooms, like all others in the chateau, being
paved with the rude tiles that were in general use in France in the eleventh
century, were in many parts crumbling to decay. There was little of the
ornamental in the arrangements of those apartments, and the only things
that attracted my attention were a large ebony crucifix, and a group of three
figures — tall as life, beautifully carved, in high relief, and, with clasped
hands, grouped round a figure of Cupid, bearing a torch in his right hand.

A 1

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THF. MONK KNIOHT ON f>T. lOHV.

*■••

Tli») «iH' wa.-t a I't'iuJili' I'l luuliltf M/.r. t)i>aiitt('iillv toriru'd — tht' .wcoii'l a
kiii({lil-crii«fidtr in Iiim war ilrt'MS — ;iiiii lli,' third .1 vi'ry rail and lyiiuiu'lrically
tuniiud, thdii^li lailiir liriivy warrior, who-ii' (-(wttiiuif, and partifuiarly iho
croHN cut |iroiain(nitly nii hin \vt\ hr»<nAt. diiintfd litm In Ix' a kiiiirht of the
brulhrrluKMi of St. jiilin.

From what I iiad Inard ol'th*; tradition, iIh- i^haracti'r ot'tiiiH Qronp, wh^'h
stood brtwt'iMi lh(^ head ot' th<> hiMl.Mtrad and llit- daiii|t wall, Ictt im: no room
to doiilit thai tho rumor wius corrcc-t. I ;i.skfd, with as iiiurli iiidiHeri'iioo
as (could iisMunu', whom the tahlcau was meant to represent, olwervinir at the
same limn that its a^c iiiUHt ho ncHrlv coeval with that ol' the cliateau. The
gmiJi (hnxsc, who hail holpcd himsolf. as I intended he should, from my
cogiiiao Wtle, until lie hiMviine cominiinicativ(>, was now hy no in«>an9
disposed to tacittmiity.

'• Ah, Monsieur," he said, '• there \s a curious story ahout tiiesc ligurea.
They rcpreneiit the Haroness, who is said to have been the best, the kindest-
hearted, and the most beautiful woman of her day in nil Franco — tiie Raroii,
her liusband, and Ah<hillah, a monk knight of the Holy (-ross, and the sworn
friend of the Baron."

My curiosity became more and more excited — my interest was inietise.

" And what, my ^wmI friend — but try another gmit of brandy. I think tho
night is chilly, and after WiUking so much, the ni^ht air may bring un a
return of the rheumatism. What, my brave rninaradr, is the strange story
you speak about*"

" jIA, >,;fli, that does one good," as he returned the brandy flask, which
was now nearly empty : " why. Monsieur, you see, as my family have from
generation to generation been in the service of the Barons de Boiscourt, [
seldom open my \\^ about these things, not that I think there is much harm
in the story as it goes, but people don't all think alike, and one does not care
to have remarks made."

"Well, but surely— "

" Yes, Monsieur, I know what you would say — you think that I might
make an exception in your favor. Well, camaradc, 1 think so too, fgr you
are an honest fellow. Hut, look you, several people have tried to pump me
Oil the subject before: They never could succeed, for I always pretend to
know nothing of the rumor which, they say, has got abroad about the doings
of old in the chateau."

'• You do know them, then. Well, my friend, since I have had the good
fortune to please you, do gratify me so far as to relate the circumstances."

" Diantre, it i» too long a story for me to tell, but if you give me your
word— ^«i de gentilhomme — that you will never speak of it while there is
one of the family of de Boiscourt living, I will put you in possession of some
papers which I found secreted in a small tin case, inserted in the right leg
of the figure of the Baron."

" Found secreted in his leg ! — How came it there'"

" Placed tliere, pardieu, I suppose, by himself, aa the present young
Baron, who, entre nous, is a great rou^, and prefers Paris to living here on
his rentes, declares. I found it, it is now nearly five years, while dusting
and cleaning the figures, and gave it to him. He eagerly opened the case,

;., V

■■■^^,

Mi,w*iCri^HW«ft«Mifa.«

THE MONK KNfOHT Of ST. JOHN.

thinking that it might contain money or jewels ; but nothing l)ul written
papflrs, which ttie excluaion of the air iiad preserved, were to be seen."

" Bah, Picard," he said pettishly, at\<>r reading a few linos, " those ;ire
nothing but fusty old i)archmenta — old as the time of the Crusade itself. It
is a sort nf history, I believe, of these wooden imager. Here, put them
back into ihe case, and uke care of them. If I have nothing else to amuse
me, when next I visit this old rat-trap of a chateau, I will look over them."

" And they are there now?" I said eagerly.

"Where else should they be?" was the reply of the garde chaise- If
Monsieur will assist me in turning down this heavy tripod, I will soon pro-
duce them."

The weight of three full length figures in ebony was by no means trifling ;
however, with some effort, having in view, as we had, the avoidance of all
injury to the figures, we turned them sideways on a blanket which Picard
placed on the brick floor. A large cork was removed from the foot he had
indicated, and the tin case drawn fbrth. The figures were suffered to remain
in their recumbent position, the garde chasse deeming it unnecessary to
restore them to their proper position until the following morning, by which
time I said I should have concluded my examination of the manuscript .

"u4A, fa, camarade, you are all right now, but recollect, /ot de gentilhomtne,
no babbling the secrets of the family, while one of them lives. Votre tman
la dessus."

I took his hand in aifirmation of the pledge. " Depend upon it," 1 said,
'* I will keep my promise to the letter. While a Baron de Boiscourt livee,
the knowledge of what those papers contain shall never escape me."

*' Dame! I know well that you are a man of honor; but," he continued,
" I must trim your lamp with a little more oil. It bums dimly, and
wants renewing. I must leave you in the dark, while I go down for a
aupply."

Burning with curiosity to open the case and read its contents, and yet
dreading that I never should make out the quaint old French of that day, I
awaited with some impatience the re-appearance of the garde chasse, who
at length came m, not only with the lamp newly trimmed, but with a supply
of oil, in case I should require it before I had completed the deciphering of
the parchment.

Having properly disposed the lamp near the head of the bed, and lighted
another which he had had the precaution to bring with him, Picard shook
me by the hand with a " Good night, sir hunter ;" and withdrew.

heh to myself, I was not long in undressing, for my eagerness to open the
manuscript was great. I removed the lid of the box — examined a few pages,
and found to my great joy that there was no difficulty in making them out,
although there was an idiom which makes me prefer rendering it in my own
language, retaining the original only in the few letters that are introduced.

As I stepped impatiently into bed, the old timbers groaned until I thought
the whole would come to pieces. Happily they did not, for I would not for
worlds have been instrumental in destroying that relic of departed loveliness
•—the resting-place which, centuries before, had received the beautiful limbs

'tr

..3«<'

!»'''

■ /: •

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

of the woman, whose faultless image was, even then, lying in shadow a
few paces beyond me.

The first words I read on the first scroll of parchment were these : " Who-
ever may condemn, while reading these pages, knows not his own heart. Man
is the creature of circumstances. What I have done I repent not of Be
wise also, and make not evil where none exists." Then came the story,
which is vividly impressed upon my memory, and, in substance, was as
follows : —

CHAPTER II.

' .-I

-&;

During the reign of chivalry in Palestine, it was no uncommon circum-
stance for the warmest attachments to be formed among the knights and
warriors engaged in that sanguinary struggle. Many a Pylades had his
Orestes. Many a Damon his Pythias. They fought side by side — ate to-
gether — slept in the same tent, and, in the hour of danger, were ever ready
<o lend the hand of succour, either personally or through the forces they led
to battle. Community of interest and of position induced community of
thought and of purpose. The inmost secrets of their hearts were laid bare ;
each delighted not less in the confidence reposed by himself in his brother in
arms, than in that which was paid back to him in kind, and the more sacred
the character of the disclosures which the glowing heart dictated, the more
deeply riveted became the links of the chain which bound them in indisso-
luble friendship. The cold and soul-annihilating conventionalisms of modem
life were then unknown. Selfishness had not attained that refinement which
progressive civilization has nurtured.

It was on the evening of a day which had been passed in conflict with the
Saracens, and not six months before the recapture of Jerusalem, that two
knights, who had doffed their harness, entered a very handsome tent, part
of the encampment without its walls. He who evidently was the youngest
was Alfred, the Baron de Boiscourt. He was elegantly dressed ; his doublet
being of crimson velvet, embroidered with gold, and on his breast he wore the
cross of his order, while a graceful plume floated from the hat which adorned
his brow. His features were animated and handsome, and from his deep
blue, dark-lashed eye, there beamed the fires of a soul which not even his
frank open countenance could belie. His hair, which fell in rich profusion
of ringleta over his fine shoulders, was of a dark chesnut, approaching to an
auburn, and through the small and expressive mouth, as he smiled some re-
mark to his companion, came sounds sweet but powerful, which seemed to
have been given to him by nature to warm the heart of her who should be
exposed to their influence. His teeth, not too large, were dazzlingly white,
and his lips and chin were models of their kind. His height might hare
been about six feet, but the grace and elegance of his carriage were such
that, finely proportioned as it was, his figure might have been taken for some-
thing less.

THE MONK KNIGHT ON ST. JOHN.

His companion was of a different mould. He was of almost Herculean
proportion, and in the plain black monkish robe, furnished with its eight-
pointed white cross, which he wore as was his wont, when not in the armor
of his order, seemed even taller and larger. A low skull-cap covered his
head, with' ut however impeding the flow of the masses of dark hair, slightly
sprinkled with gray, which fell over shoulders even more ample than those
of the younger Knight ; coarse sandals were upon his feet, and from his full
chest depended a large crucifix of ebony, to which was attached a chain of
solid gold. A coarse mantle of black was thrown across his shoulders, and
on the left breast of this was the unsullied cross which denoted him to be a
Knight of the Holy Order of St. John.

The face of this warrior Monk was noble in the extreme. It wore an
expression of calm and quiet dignity, which even the fierce tumult of recent
battle had not in the slightest degree rufiled — an air of benevolence, which it
was impossible to contemplate without being impressed with the most favor-
able feelings towards their possessor. His forehead was high, intellectual,
full of thought ; and the remainder of his features were fashioned in a spirit
of strict harmony with the general character of his most winning counte-
nance. His eyes were large and dark, and although their habitual expression
was that of softness, corresponding with his other features, they would
occasionally kindle with a fire that proved the soul within to be as capable
of animation as that of him who had been the least tutored to command his
passion. His hair was, as has just been said, extremely thick, and fell over
his shoulders in large masses, adding, as it were, to the majesty, and dignity,
and vigor of his striking personal appearance. His frame was firmly knit
together, his chest, like that of a Hercules, and his muscles were like cords
of iron.

'• Beshrew me, Abdallah," said the Baron de Boiscouit, as, having en-
tered the spacious tent, they now sat down to refresh themselves with a flask
of Cyprus wine, which the latter had desired his page, Rudolph — a beautiful
and blooming boy, fair as the Narcissus of old — to place before them;
" Beshrew me, I say, but my soul yearns to you, as though you were the
first-born of my mother's womb. This is the fourth time you have saved
my life from those Saracen dog<i. But for you to-day that infidel would have
carried off my head, instead of pricking my shoulder. In fact, I had given
myself up for lost, hemmed in as I was by at least a score, and my last
thoughts were, I confess, less of Heaven than of my adored Emestina, and
of you, my friend, my noble Abdallah."

"Of me?" said the Monk, with surprise — "that indeed was kind,
generous de Boiscourt ; and deep and truthful indeed must be your regard
for me, when, in your supposed dying hour, you could suffer my image
to mix with that of such a one as you have described the Lady Emestina
to be."

" I thought of you both," pursued the handsome and the enthusiastic
Baron, '' as being the dearest to my heart, and I determined in my soul that
nothing should content me until I obtained your promise, in the event
of my fall before this war is over, to abjure your monastic vows, and make
the sweet wife of my bosom your own."

THE MO.HK KN,.>HT OF ST. .!0H\.

The pulsss of the Monk swelled visibly, his jwlc and noble face l>ecame
for a moment suffuaed with ii deep flush, but quickly recovering his self-
possession, he said, with his wonted calmness:

" Believe ine, do Boiscourt, this could never be. Firstly, 1 could never
prove false to ray vows of chastity, even at such a price; for think you,"
he added with sudden energy, while his eyes were lighted up with an un
wonted fire, " that I have listened unmoved to the tale of her superhuman
loveliness, as told by yourself? No, my friend — no, ray generous, noble de
Boiscourt, tempt me not. 1 am a priest, it is true, yet am I but a man.
Even to see her now would be to seal the downfall of my honor; but
wherefore," he resumed, after a pause, '* do I talk thus; I have, as you say,
•aved your life, my friend, for the fourth time. You were surrounded by
Qumbers, and notwithstanding all your valor — notwithstanding that your
good battle-axe had hewn down seven of your assailants, you must indeed
have perished against such fearful odds, had not fortune — fortune do 1 term
it? — had not instinct — friendship — the desire to preserve to her chaste love
llie lord of your noble lady, whose image, de Boiscourt, you have painted
as a thing of light and life, led me to your rescue."

'• Proceed," said the gay and reckless Knight, pleased with the avowal
that the heart, hitherto so insensible to the fascinations of women, should thus
have been reached through the imagination, by the idol of his own soul.
" You do not then include my Ernestina in that almost detestation with
which you regard women in general?"

" Dear de Boiscourt," answered the Monk solemnly, as he raised his tall
figure to its full height, " you know that I do not; I have just now told you
that 1 do not. But tempt me not further, I entreat you. Do not bring
images before my eyes, which I dare not — ought not to think of. Let me
regard the Lady Ernestina as a daughter of grace and charity — as a
Madonna of the church, rather than as a mere daughter of earth."

" How charmingly she would look in the coarse garb of a Sister of
Charity," pursued de Boiscourt, " only fancy her as such in a cloister,
Abdallah. Her graceful carriage — her noble and voluptuous figure — masses
of hair of the darkest brown, through which the eager comb can scarcely
find its way, falling over shoulders of polished alabaster, and terminating
only mid-leg ; eyes of the deepest, softest |)lue, surmounted by marked brows
of ilie same dark shade, and long eye-lashes which mock the glossiness of
the raven's wing. A Grecian nose, most delicately formed— lips of coral
that have stolen all their fragrance from the honeysuckle and the rose —
teeth polished and dazzling as the ivory — two sweet dimples on her downy
choek. which ever show themselves when those coral lips divide to blazon
forth the gems wiihin — these, with a moulded arm, and hand, and foot — "

" De Boiscouri — dear de Boiscourt," interrupted the Monk, trembling, and
with the paleness of agony depicted on his countenance^" is this your
friendship for mo '"

•' Fancy all thnse," continued the Baron, with a certain degree of fierce-
ness, as he felt his blood to glow at the recollection of hut wife's beauty, and
presemg, at the same time, heavily on the shoulder of the monk — " &ncy

THK MONK KNir.HT Ob ST. JOHN.

these — fancy a bosom moulded by the hand of love, on which a divinity might
well desire to repose his head."

Tiie breast of Abdallah heaved — liis brow was knitted — his features were
fixed in an expression almost of despair.

" Think of these — fancy all her host of charms concealed beneath the sanc-
tified dress and air of a Sister of (Charity, and inhabiting the same cloister
with yourself."

" What then !" said Abdallah, with an effort at composure : " the cloister
well merits the self-sacrifice of earth's fairest daughters at the monastic
shrine."

" Tell me then," he asked, seriously, '-since you will not break that fool-
ish vow by espousing Ernestina in the event of my fall, promise me, at least,
that you will clothe her in some such garb, and place her in a cloister near
your own."

*' Should she desire it, certainly," replied the monk ; " but what reason
is there to think that such will be her determination."

" Because, should I fall — and I have a vague presentiment that I shall — I
am satisfied Ernestina will be nowhere so happy as near yourself."
" Near me !" and the Monk started.

" Even 80, Abdallah ; you shall hear what she writes. The courier who
arrived yesterday in the camp from France, brought me this letter from Au-
vergne." So saying, he took from a small trunk ihat lay in the corner of
the tent, a long scroll of parchment, which, after having removed the string,
he read to the Monk, dwelling especially on those passages which related
immediately to himself. — Thus the Lady Epestina wrote :

" But though I pine and languish for my lord's return, as one whose lips
have simply tasted of the cup of bliss, whjch has now, for three long years
been absent from my touch, it is my great delight to think of my lord and of
his noble friend, the warrior Monk, Abdallah. Indeed, my lord, you must
not be jealous, but it is not so certain to me of which I think the most — you,
whose dear life has been so often saved by him — three times, I think, you
write — or him who has been the means of preserving you to my earnest love
and tenderness. Right glad am I that you are bosom friends ; but my lord
should not, as he says he does, so often speak my charms upon his holy ear,
nor his great manliness on mine. ' You say he is brave, and learned, and of
such majesty of mien as well may rank him with the kings of men — of much
mildness, benevolence, sobriety, chastity : the latter virtue doth become
him greatly ; therefore, dear lord, do not, I pray, bring strong disorder to his
soul by such relation of my charms as may make him hate me for bringing
down his thoughts from God. besides, my lord, you make me too much
think of him, and deem it pity that one so noble, of such esteem in all his
manliness, should ever wear the monkish cowl. To you I frankly speak my
thoughts, for such sweet confidence has been our golden bond of love, that I
were indeed most guilty, were the heart that beats only for its lord alone, to
hide one feeling from him. Thus, then, I must confess, these high descrip-
tions of your friend Abdallah have made me so much think of him — so raised
him in my lore — that love which doth become a wife to feel for him who
thrice has saved her husband's life." —

i
!

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

"What will she write when she learns that you have, for the fourth time, .
done me that good office," said the Baron, interrupting himself.

" That," continued he, reading, " were he, in the event of my dear lordu
falling on the fields of Palestine, to throw away the cowl and seek in these
arms the sweet remembrance of his friend, and full reward for all his length-
ened years of continence, most gladly and at fitting moment, would I meet
my lord's desire. But this will never be. First, because Abdallah's giant
arm will never shield my dear lord's life ; and next, because his love for God
is such, that Ernestina's charms, if ten times richer than my lord is pleased
to paint them, were far too weak to wean him thence."

" Heavens, de Boiscourt!" exclaimed the Monk, grinding his teeth, and
exhibiting other evidences of strong excitement, " would you destroy my
peace of mind everlastingly ? Alas ! that letter has done it.'*

" Thus, she continues, pursued the Knight, who took a deep but not un-
friendly delight in the confusion of his friend, whom he loved with the most
unbounded tenderness — " In such, is it prudent in my lord to assail his high
virtue by placing before his imagination, each separate beauty of a woman,
whom the stern monastic vow forbids his ever knowing as a wife, or is it
more prudent that my lord sho Id, by such descriptions as he gives of the
majesty, courage, and bearing ..f his noble friend, inspire in the bosom of his
wife, thoughts and images of the future which never can be realized? I
write these things in humble deference to my lord's opinion ; but if it be his
will and plsasure, as he says it is, to keep the glowing picture of those
charms ever before the memory ofhimwhomhe wishes to succeed him in
the nuptial rite, let him also say, that she who is thus described, loves Ab-
dallah with a love only less than that she bears her wedded lord, and blesses
him in nightly prayer, when in the solitude of stillness her thoughts but lire
in Palestine, even as a holy monk, superior to the frailties of humanity, and
as an unconquerable warrior, who has saved to her ardent love the dear
lord of her loving soul, whom to press once more within her circling arms
she languishes and dies."

The Monk's lip quivered— his face was ashy pale— and there was evidently
a deep struggle at his heart.

" De Boiscourt," he said solemnly, rising from his seat, " this is enough.
I am undone ; for, by the holy One above I swear," and he raised his arm on
high, while his whole person dilated itself to the utmost, " that come what
will, your wife shall be my wife."

( !,

•t^-,,

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

CHAPTER III

Originally of Moorish origin, and abducted in infancy by the Maltese,
Abdallah, or the Monk Knight, as he was ever called in Palestine, had been
coiTipelied, by his Christian captors, to abandon his religion and adopt the
cowl. For more than thirty years he had exercised all the austerities of
the monastic life, and this had given to his countenance that benignity of
expression which has been remarked, and which had grown out of the care-
ful tutoring of his passions. About that period, however, Jerusalem having
been tiireatened by Saladin, Abdallah, who, although suflered to retain
his name, had become as fervent a worshipper of Christ as he had once
been of Mahomet, feeling within him a sort of divine inspiration to follow
that course in which his services might be more actively employed in defence
of the true faith, entreated and obtained permission to -forsake the scene of
his seclusion, and attach himself to the Knights of St. John, the strictest of
the religious orders then embarked in that contest.

Here, while he distinguished himself by the prowess of his arm. ren-
dering himself remarkable as one of the most formidable combatants who
used the battle-axe and the scimetar, he practised all those austerities in
which he had been brought up, and particularly and scrupulously adhered to
that vow of chastity which he had pronounced on passing the threshold of
the Church. This, considering the laxity of morals of the age — the temp-
tations offered — tlie opportunity continually presented, was no slight mani-
festation of the strength of will which had thus subjected the flesh of the
man to a penance that could have been little less than torture ; for often
amid that fierce struggle had he seen the Saracen wife — the Saracen maiden
violated before his eyes, or, yielding herself up a trembling victim to her
conqueror — all her rich beauties exposed to the gaze of a licentious soldiery
— appearing to share with him the raptures he compelled.

It was on an occasion of this kind, that, after a trial of his virtue, under
which one of less strength of mind, less confirmed in principle, had surely
fallen, that he first became acquainted with the Baron de Boiscourt — an
ac(i ;aintance that rapidly ripening into friendship, had now bound their
hearts together in the closest ties of confidence, and led, as we have seen, to
the wild desire entertained by the latter, that Abdallah should, after his
death, espouse his wife. Often had he pictured to himself the overwhelming
ardor with which, when pillowed on his Ernestina's bosom, the Monk would
exhale his soul, while she, already disposed to receive him as her husband,
when her first lord should be no more, would respond to the more than
human joy, with that voluptuousness of abandonment which was so natural
to her, and in a spirit of deep gratitude, and endearing love for him who had
thus been careful to send her such a successor to the nuptial bed.

Returning from a successful foray near Jerusalem, one evening about sunset,
the Monk Knight of St. John, fatigued with the exertions of the day — for he
had with his own good right arm slaughtered many a Saracen — had given

' (.

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

the rein to his noble war-horee, and was pursuing his way leisurely to the
camp, when his ear was suddenly arrested by the screams of women and
the clattering of arms. Turning his steed in the direction of the sound, he
entered a small forest of sycamores, and had not penetrated more than
twenty yards, when he beheld a sight that almost petrified, and for a
moment rendered him undecided whether to advance or to retire. Within
a belt, formed by the sycamore also, was a large open space of about thirty
feet in diameter, covered with a carpet of grass, which, shaded from the
sun's beams, had preserved all its original freshness, and was, withal, so
thick and velvety, that even the tread of several heavy-footed combatants,
engaged in deadly strife, could not be heard. At the edge of this open
space lay, with disheveled hair, clothes nearly torn from their backs, limbs
unconsciously exposed, and uttering sobs that proved the violence of the
unholy lust of those who had placed them in that condition, two beautiful
young Saracen women — for maidens, under the circumstances, they could
scarcely be called. But the eye of the warrior stayed not to linger on these,
but was, as it were, irresistibly led to, and fascinated by the principal figure
in this most extraordinary scene. At a few paces from the group just
described, and bound, standing on naked feet, to one of the sycamores that
formed the inner belt, even as Andromeda to her rock, was a third woman,
of the most surpassing loveliness, whose carriage and high bearing were
manifestly those of a woman of superior rank. Not a vestige of a garment
was upon her, and the efforts she had made to conceal the shame with which
she was oppressed by the cruel exposure of her divine beauty, were such as
iu show that the pang she endured at this violation of her modesty, could not
have been exceeded by anything resulting from personal outrage. By
loosening the cords which bound her arms, she had managed to throw her
jewelled turban to the ground, and thus by untying the knot which confined
her dark hair, to part and bring down its magnificent volume, over shoulders
that had been formed by the god of voluptuousness himself. Her whole
figure, in short, was of exquisite proportion, and without giving himself
time to analyse features which it was easy to perceive were beautiful, the
monk felt his heart to swell with strange and undefinable emotions, as his
eye, fascinated and involuntarily riveted by the sight, feasted almost un-
consciously on the voluptuous contour of the matchless form these rude
ravishers had evidently brought there as their common prey.

Angry with himself for thus gazing — unreasonably indignant at the beau-
tiful Saracen for thus carrying a strange and unaccountable trouble to his
senses, Abdallah turned furiously upon the combatants. They were six in
number, equally opposed, and consisted all of inferior men-at-arms. Blows
rained heavily upon their gambesons, but as yet no injury had been done,
,vhen, like an avalanche, the steed of Abdallah, furiously spurred by his rider,
came tumbling over them, upsetting three to the ground.

" Villains!" he thundered, " what do you herel what means this ravish-
ment, this most unchristian and sacrilegious tumult?"

" Nay, Sir Knight," answered one of the uninjured men who appeared to
be the leader of the party, '• we took these women in the foray. These two,
pointing to their victims, we have shared amongst us, and as there is some

4^-

'§\

I i

v.:

iMM

THE MONK KNIGHT OF sT. JOHN.

difficulty in the m:itt*T of precedence with the other, we were even now de- •
ciding by battle who first should possess so sweet a creature. There was not
much difficulty in the beginning, but wc had no sooner undrest and bound
her as you see, when the devil seemed to take possession of the whole of us,
and we came at once to loggerheads."

" Unheard-of infamy — six of yo\) burning with accursed lust for one help-
less woman. Shame, shame u[Kiii you ! You bring disgrace upon the very
name of Crusader. Ah ! how can our holy cause expect to prosper when
men — fiends like these are the instruments upon which we depend for its ac-
complishment? Unbind that lady, miscreant — unbind her quickly — restore
her garments — robe all these women, and see that you conduct them safely
to the first Saracen outpost. But, mark me : if I but hear that you have
failed to obey my order, or commit aught of violence more, then, by St. John,
you shall die. Whom serve ye ?''

" The noble Baron de Boiscourt,'* was the sullen reply.

" Then take heed of it," cautioned the knight as, not venturing to turn
his eyes in the direction of the bound Saracen women, he wheeled round his
horse, and galloped from the scene of meditated murder and partially accom-
plished lust. He had not, however, ridden a hundred yards beyond the inner
belief sycamores, when it suddenly occurred to him that, freed from the re-
straint of his presence, the villains might, in the certainty of his ignorance
of the ultimate fate of the women, carry out their original diabolical design.
Thoroughly impressed, as he now became with this idea, he walked his steed
c^iutiously back, and had again nearly reached the area he had so recently
quitted, when a succession of shrieks met his ear so piercing, and yet so full
of melancholy, that his whole frame thrilled with indignant emotion. He
dashed forward anticipating the worst, and soon beheld a sight that stirred
up his spirit to the fiercest anger.

The beautiful Saracen had been unbound, but was totally naked as before,
f'lose to the spot where she had stood was a small mound-like acclivity
covered with rich soft grass, on which she lay extended sobbing violently,
and with her black and luxuriant hair floating over her neck and bosom, and
held down by her delicate hands. Poor was the defence. Two men were
even then in the act of forcing back her arms, while two others held down
her moulded and polishetl feet. The man to whom the Monk Knight had
addressed himself, had doffed his gambeson, and the deepest conceutfation of
savage and unpitying lust gloated in the flushed cheeks and fiery eyes of all
the others, who, like himself, had thrown away their skull-caps. The brute,
with long, coarse black locks, overshadowing w countenance, in which sen-
suality was strongly depicted, iiad recommenced his brutal assault upon the
now utterly defenceless victim, with the most palpable recklessness of
consequences, and regardless of her reneweu .-.cieanis and vain eilbrts to re-
lease iierself, when suddenly a sharp smooth sound met his ear, and then two
heads fell under his very eyes to the ground, saturating not only liis own
hideous face, but slightly sprinkling the bosom of his victim with their blood.

But guilty passion, when once excited to its utmost pitch, hrus no tear.
'I'lie ruffian knew, without seeing him, that the knight was returned. Ho
was sensible that tin ghastly heads lying before him had been sacrificed

>^1

1 1

-«

THE MONK KNIGHT OF sT. JOHN.

4»y liis scimetar — that his own turn would be next — that he must die. Whj
he had not yet been slain lie could not tell, but if he could only fully satisfy
his desire before he died, then were death to him a thing of no moment.
Fired to madness by her charms, he redoubled his efforts — another minute
and the struggling and deeply flushed woman was lost, when, as she uttered
a last scream, calling on Heaven for assistance, she felt his loathsome
weight suddenly removed, heard a distant crash, blended with a groan of
agony, and then exhausted with her emotions, closed her eyes languidly, and
lay for some moments as if dead.

The timely succour she hid received, the sounds she had heard, had
l)een in truth the work of the Monk Knight. For a few minutes after
striking off the heads of the associates of the ravisher, he had gazed on the
strange scene before him with the most indescribable emotions, but no sooner
had the last agonizing cry of the Saracen captive reached his ear, than
recovering his self-possession, Abdallah seized the violater by his garments
with one hand, and the back of his bushy hair with the other, then, raising
him with great force until be brought him to a level with his own chest, he
hurled him with violence against ihe trunk of a large sycamore tree, a few
])aces from him, and dashed out his brains.

What a scene was thus presented ! On either side of the insensible and
naked Saracen, lay the bleeding heads and bodies of tho.se whose office it had
been to prevent successful resistance to the designs of their leader. A little
l)eyond that was the corpse of the wretch himself, and farther on in the back
ground, and now in the act of slowly rising and resuming their garments,
which lay near them, were the tv,o young girls, whose shrieks of agony had
tirst drawn the attention of the Mcmk to the spot. Never had his blood
circulated more quickly in his veins. Oppres.sed with a sense of suftocation,
he unbuckled his helmet, and threw it upon the sward, disclosing in ilie act
the whole of his manly, noble and benevolent features. Then, addressing the
girls in the Moorish language, he bade them gather up the clothes of their
mistress, and hasten to cover her.

The sound of her own language in that spot, seemed to arouse the
Saracen lady from her stupor. She slowly opened her eyes, raised herself
upon her elbows, and, shuddering at the sight of the blood which every-
where encompasssed her, gained her feet, and approaching with tottering
steps lh9 bewildered and pallid Monk, threw herself upon his harnessed
chest, and. ns far as lii^ great height would permit, clasped her beautiful
arms round his neck.

Startled by the act, Abdallah drew suddenly back. "■ Woman, leave me,"
he cried, in the Moorish tongue , " ^ have saved you from the pollution of
the body ; let not the pollution of vhe soul be my reward. Slaves," he iui
peratively exclaimed to the other rtomen, " do my bidding. Approach, and
clothe your mistress."

The attendants, now habited in the light costume in which they had been
dru^ired at early morning from their beds, not knowing whether they should
not b ; subjected to a repetition of the previous outrage, approached trem-
blinfrly to execute his will, when, bowing herself humbly, and with an air
of deep dejection, their mistress withdrew a fv?w paces, her beautiful

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

jeii
uld

air
[ful

countenance expreiwing deep sorrow and mortification, that the fervent
offering of her heart's gratitude should thus have been rejected.

There was more danger to the virtue of the Monk in this retiring and
moileat act. than if .siie had overwhelmed him with caresses. IIw heirt
now smote him for his seeming cruelty to one who appeared destined to
suffer. His interest, at each moment, became more and more awakened in
her favor. Insensibly his feelings assumed a tumultuous character. Wild
thoughts, with lightning speed, flashed through his mind, and threatened him
with mastery. His brain was dizzy with the contemplation of the glowing
and suppliant beauty belbre iiim. Kur the tirst time his monastic vows wore
forgotten. He saw and confessed the majesty of Uod in one of the most
perfect of His creatures. The whole of the strange scene which had so
recently occurred, came forcibly again to his memory ; he saw but the
woman. She was the talisman which enchained his soul. He made a move-
ment with trembling steps, when, suddenly, the image of the devil, grinning
fiendishly and exultingly, seemed to him to interpose itself. A moment ho
paused, but the temptation was beyond his sorely tried strength to resist;
another moment, and he was lust, when, suddenly, the sounds of a hor.'^e's hoofis
near at hand recalled him to himself

CHAPTER IV.

Turning suddenly to behold the intruder, Abdallah saw issuing from the
body of the wood into the enclosure, a knight, whose costume, and the particu-
lar plume he wore in his helmet, proved to be a noble of France, one, more-
over, whom he had, though a personal stranger to him, frequently remarked
for his gallant bearing in the field, as well as for the enthusiaslic ardor with
which he entered on every enterprise of peril.

" Ha!" exclaimed the new-comer, as he dismounted, and, like Abdallah,
unbuckled his helmet, and dashed it on the soft green turf: " what a
charming scene of love and murder have we here ' — What '. a knight of
St. John, with his sword nearly stained to the hilt in blood! a knight of
the most holy order — the most strict in virtue of our array, and alone,
and with a naked and beautiful daughter of Mahomet, after having
evidently cut the throats of the.se varlets. Ha! by my faith, what do I
behold ! Hy the Holy Virgin bt.l they are my own followers. There i.s
that libidinous wretch Thibaud, with the little brains he ever possessed
dashed into a jelly ; Sancerre, Guillaume, Benoit, Prudhomme, Fredain,
their heads all bodiless, and their features looking little less horrible in
death, than they did in life. Pray, Sir Knight," and he looked and smiled
courteously as he spoke ; " am 1 right in connecting that dripping falchion
with those headless rascals of mine? But, before I question further, permit
me to ask if that very charming infidel, whose gract.s of person a good deal
remind me of a certain fair one I have left in Auvergne, is your especial

'"■y

V4IJ

THK MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

;i»v

^ ..

'* k"* •

i .

captive ? If she be, then, by 8t. Paul, but those sly Knif^htii of 8t. John are,
albeit their vows of continence, not bud jud^reH of tho Hex. Ha!"

At that moment the subject of his remark, who had now boon partially
dressed by her women, attracted by tho soiiiid of a now voice, lookc<] up,
and with so tender and anxious an expression of nountoniuico, thiit tho youii^
Knight, suddenly intorruptiuK himsf^lf llow tu her side, and fullin)? on one
knee, Heized and imprinted a kiss upon her small and delicately formed
hand. So soothing; was this act of kindness and interest to tho oppreshtyl
soul of the unhappy woman, that, with (rencrous impulse, sin; threw hersidf
this time with more success upon the shoulder of the handsome Knij^ht, and
shedding tears of joy and gratitude, suflored his arm to encircle her, until
their beating hearts seemed to grow together ; then, when the paroxysm
of her feeling had passed away, she raist^d her head, smiled upon him, and
amuse<l herself with passing her fingers through the rich clusters of his
wavy hair. It was strange that so warm a feeling should have been so
suddenly induced, yet it seemed as if in these few momenta they had lived a
life of intimacy, and the flushing cheek, and flashing eye, and beating heart
of the young Knight spoke a language which could never be mistaken by
her. Again she sank her head, her rich dark cheek reposing on his neck,
and her raven and luxuriant hair sweeping over his face and mingling with
his own.

" Sir Knight," said the Monk, somewhat sternly, and approaching him,
" by what you have stated, I know you for the Baron do Boiscourt — a noble
name, and one which should not be disgraced. For what they would have
oflfered of violence to this lady I slew those villains, but not to pander to the
appetite of their master."

The interruption was not ill-timed. Carried away by the impetuosity of
their newly-awakened feelings, the Saracen lady and the Christian knight
had forgotten that there was aught beside thennselvcs within that seeming
solitude.

The young knight rose to confront the intruder, after having gently depois-
ited his fair burden upon the velvet sward.

" Sir Knight of St. John," he asked somewhat haughtily, " I crave to
know whether this lady be your captive ; my course shall fashion itself on
your reply."

" If the act of saving that lady from the brutal lust of the men-at-arms of
the Baron de Boiscourt, can give such right, I claim it." was the calm re-
joinder of the Monk." And, in a few brief words he explained all that had
occurred.

" My hand in yours upon this holy deed," exclaimed the latter. " It
was that shriek which brought me here, little thinking that it had been
wrung from those beauteous lips, by the very scoundrels I wa.s in pursuit of
to punish for their absence from the ranks. Right well have you done.
These knaves were a graceless set — the worst of my retainers, and good
service have you renderetl me in dispatching thum. Pledge me,l)rave Knight,
in holiest friendship from this hour, for you have, even now, saved me from
much weakness and greater wrong. Shame, as you say. th;U the master
should acknowledge ihi; same wild impul??' with the slave I" "

THK Mti.NK KNi'.HT Ch ST. JC>HN.

ot
ro-
und

•• 1 acc^^pl and iickiiowl(!djri' the |iln<lRc,"' solnmily reiivirknd ihe Monk,
•' not 8o n»\M'h it) t^itriK'st ot whiit li;is now occiirriMl, us that I loujj; have marked
you as one of llit' hriivest and most (fallanl kniffhtb ol I'Vmce."

"TIkmi, shall wi' nt'v<!r more be unknown," exr' mcd the Baron, as he
warmly f^ratipcd hi.s hand. " Ilencetortli my tent md liuurt an; yours. Hut
the evening wanes. What Hhiill Ix- dune with kI\\» our most unwillin(f
char/fe' It i.s now tuo hitu to hear them to their lines and it will not do to
leave tiiem wanderers hy the way, lest worse than tiiis i. i ill them."

" You are rit^lii, Sir Baron. Protection for the night we must atl'ord.
Witliin your t'Mit the lady niiiat irjmse till early dawn, and then, when tho
whole camp are wrapped in sleep, kuvc the tired sentinels, we can sally forth
and bear them siiCely to the line.s ot'Saladin."

" And tlie p(K)r defloweriti maidens, where shall they tind shelter '" asked
the younger knight.

•' Even in my own tent, ' said the Monk. " Nay,' he continued, calmly,
and with an air of the most imposinfr dignity, " when you know your friend
Abdallah better, ymi will spare those meaning smile.'*. They shall lie in
my humble tent, while I pass the night in watchfulness in yours."

" But why 111 watchfulness in mine," eagerly returned tho French knight.
•' Surely you will not leave these hapless maidens thus exposed."

" To see the tempter enters not the portal to defile it," was the solemn
reply.

" Then be it so," remarked the Baron ; " and now for the manner of our
march. These damsels cannot walk, and as yours is the noblest steed. Sir
Monk, you shall bear the noble lady on your crupper, who, enfolding her
sweet arms around your stalwart form, shall thus preserve her seat, while I
follow with her maidens where your monkship leads."

"Not so," replied Abdallah, quickly, and paling as he spoke. "'The
lady must with you. Sir Baron. I am sworn to sternest vows of church, and
thus to be in contact with a woman might east deep peril on my soul."

" That is to say," observed the Baron, with levity. " you would not prove
unfaithful to the church."

" (lod forbid," ejaculated the Monk. " 1 would not again be beset by tho
devilish temptation that assailed me at the moment of your coming for all
that earth contains. To him who has my friendship," he continued, solemnly
and laying his hand upon the shoulder of the young knight, " 1 yield my
fullest confidence. The woman, alone, was then before my eyes. The
stifled passions of a long life were battling against the open prayers of f;)rty
years, and, but for ytnir timely arrival, I was lost. 1 felt that I was fast
yielding before the tempter, Snian, arrayed in the enchanting form which
had 30 ii'Mily subdued yourself. Think yon, then, I would a second time
incur tiie fearful risk her nearer presence Wiinld entail'"

" You are right." said the Baron, who had half expected an objection bo
little distasteful to himself. " Devoted as you are to the monastic vow, it
were unwise to court this danger to youi- peace. With me it is difierent. I
have entered into no compact with the church, which cannot be broken. ;ind
the more presence of a woman can impart no guilt unto my soul. Tim Sar

rHK MOVK KNI'iHT <>\ >T. JOHN.

'^l

i.i

ac«!n ln»ly tliall lidp iMil'ore me, and Iter hiind-maideriit mu«l walk the (jnntlo
paw w»* lake."

" Hill iiKirk limy army tliuniHelvcn in tbf driiss "I' tliost' riiHiuim, returned
thi' Monk. " Should wo Rntor the ciimp with them in tlinir own attire, not
oiilv Mhoiild we siillt'r in our ri)|)iitalioii, hiil there would l»e dan^fur to thein-
■I'lvcs. Tlif lifcatiouM soidiory would (|uickly hoar them from our night." ,

♦' You say tm\\i, ajjniii, my Houndly-iudjjiiiy: friend," replied tl»c Hnron.
" "Twa-s yiiiins till- la.«ik to slay those wrelehe.s : he it nuiio to strip th«m of
the (Turli Ihry hiive diHjjracpd."

So sayiiiu- '"' approaehed the fast-HtitrnniiiK hodi«8 of hm mPii, and 8»'l«ct-
intf Iwo of iha HinalleMi in form ami slatiire, proceeded to divrHt thoni of their
eliitiiing. The youiijf .Sariicen fjirU, while (•linking round their ininlreiw,
had watched the whole of the oe«urronees, from the moment of the last
arrival of Ahdaliah, with the mo.it intense, interest, and they now shrank
haek iilfriphlcd, as the youn^^er knight ijave them to understand, hy siffns,
that they w(>re to plaeo the bloody dresses of their raviahers over their own.
They did not seem to'compreheiid what was meant, until the Monk explained
to them, in hrief terms, that the step they were now taking was neecnsary
to their preservation from further oiitrafje.

" .And how mean yon to dispose of the lady ^" asked the Monk, perceiving
that his frienil had finished stripping the lM>die.H. " Her ffarments will surely
be ohsrrvcd. and what may not such a sight produce amon^; our turbulent
men at arms '"

" Here is her safeguard," answered the Baron, K>'ily> '^ ''" unstrapped
from the back of his hiuh-peaked saddle an ample cloak of rich dark velvet,
and threw it around the voluptuous and nearly naked form of the trembling
Saracen. " Beneath this, and with one of those head-pieces thrown over
the turban, I defy Satan himself to recojfni7,e that which he seems to have
sent for the temptation of us all. It must he confessed," he pursued, in an
under tone, and halt sif,'hing, '" that rascal Thibaud was not without some
shadow of excuse for what he did."

"Tiii.s will do," daid the Monk, as the attendants, who had previously
retired to the skirt of the wood, to cover themselves with a clothin|r which
they abhorred, now appeared timidly before him, " but the gambesons must l>e
borne by them also. Thoy will suffer a little beneath the unusual weight,
it is true, but better that than a repetition of what has already befallen them.
Nay, more than this ; they must bear the weapons of the dead. None then
will take them for other than your own men-at-arms."

IJoth knights had now replaced their helmets. The younger raised him-
self into the saddle, and sat ready to receive his fair burden, over whose
turbaned brow had been placed the head-piece of the very man from
whose fierce and indomitable lust she had been so opportunely rescued by
Abdallah. She stood at the horse's head, wrapped in the cloak, and looked
upwards in supplication, as though she feared the rider would go without her.

" Raise her to my saddle-bow," said the latter, addressing the Monk—
" raise her gently to hor seat. Now that the cloak is removed, there i»
plenty ofToom for both in the hollow of the saddle."

THK MONK KNKiHT OK ^T. JOHN.

" \nil mu.il I luueh hor," iiiiinixirml the Monk : " iiiiiMt thcat; humia coiiie
ir. <()»itact with ht-r I'onn'"

" By mv faith," Muid ile lioiHCuiirt, iHUKhiii)^ i>iitri|;ht, "hut I know no
other inutiiiH Itv wliu li she can uf\ then', unlftMH, iiidrrd, yuii ciin Innd hnr
the winfTs ot'tUitli ^ iii>t her in htir IliKht."

With ;i vJoltMit ctforl :it i^ouipoHurc, AlMlalliih |ilii<;*!il lioth Ihh |iu1inH nndur
ih<^ arms ot ilic Siini<;<Mi, iind riiiM-d hftr to th*> Huddli;. 'I'h)' cloak had
purtcd in front wliile in lliP act of doiiiff ao, and as hu drew away liis handn
rapidly, n iv. ulinoHt with a foeliii^ •>* loathing, thoy hruHliml li|;litly a^ainHt
her ma^nitU'iMit, nnooiiHnrd, and Klowiuu lioHoin ; institictivoly, and without
being wnmihlo of the act, the Monk promiutl that ht'auty wildly in hit) tifiii-
blinif hands : hut no sooner had li<* done so, than he feltont; of thi>ui irrasped,
and n fervent kiss of gratitude imprinted on it hy lips that were uioiitt and
fragrant as the very dews that were fast gathering around theui.

Fated Abdallah! Who shall rob the touch of what it once hiut known,
racking the brain with such wild fever of recollection, that to repeat the
maddening act, the sternest monk that ever tore his flesh with thongs, would
forfeit all of hope hereat\er. That touch was thine, Alxlallnh ! What lir.st
thy much-bewildered eye had seen, thy monkish hand caressed. 'I'nie, hut
for a moment; but in that moment tho\i hadst lived a life of kiu)wled<re.
What Gotl-creatod charms! Ah, what a world of memory waslhciel It
wa« the triumph of nature over art — of truth over falsehood — of a hallowed
and divine sentiment, over the cold and abstract conventionalisms of a world
which, child-like, forges its own chains, fetters its mvn limbs, and gloiies
in the display of its own bondage.

CHAPTER V.

For acme minutes, Abdallah remained absorbed in the feelings which
seemed almost to convulse his frame, but perceiving that bis strong emotion
was remarked by the French knight, who, after having secured the cloak
around his charge, was now preparing to depart, he made an effort at -ielf-
command, and raised himself heavily to his saddle.

The sun had long gone down, and the shades of twilight had merged into
darkness. Their course through the sycamore grove was difficult to trace,
but as they emerged into the open plain, the outline of object.s was clearly
discernible. The younger knight was in front. A few yards behind him
walked the attendants of the fair Saracen, habited as has been seen, while
at an equal distance rode Abdallah, the whole moving at a pace that was
necessarily slow.

In spite of himself, in spite of the determination he had formed, to impose
the most^vere self-denial upon his feelings, the Monk could not distract his
attention from the outline of the figure of de Boiscourt, before whom rode
the fascinating and voluptuous infidel who had raised such a tempest in his

•^»

THK MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

soul. Clouds were pa.'^sing in the heavens. The moon, tlion in hor infancy,
^ppciired only at intervals through the flitting vapor, no.v aiiddeiily illu-
minating everything around, and then as rapidly siiadowing with darkness.
lA)oking attentively, during one of these fitful gleams, he i»crceived that the
Baron had removed his helmet, which now hung from his saddle-how, and
that he was bending his head, his heautiful hair hanging over his shoulders,
low over the figure which his arms encircled. Once or twice he atartcd, as
he fancied he heard the sound of human lips, meeting and parting in an
intensitjj of tenderness ; and, as his but too vivid recollection traced all the
outline of the gorgeous beauty which lay within the full grasp of the young
knight's daring hand, he experienced a burning heat within his veins, that
Btung him with impatience to reach the camp.

At length, about midnight, they arrived. All war^ still. The groups
that, a few hours before, had thronged each avenue of the vast enclosure in
revelry and amusement, were now steeped in repose — all save the watchful
aentiaels, who vigilantly guarded the approaches. The pass-word was given.
Tho women were mistaken for attendants of the Baron, and in a few minutes
the little party stood before the entrance to the rude tent of the Monk Knight,
which, strongly in contrast with that of the Baron de Boiscourt, was
barely furnished with the absolute necessaries of life.

" Better dismount here," said the Baron, as Abdallah quilted his saddle.
" We shall, with the greater ease and freedom from interruption, gain my
tent. I pray you my holy friend, once more relieve me of my charge."

But the Monk had now armed himself with that virtue which for a
moment, but in thought alone, had yielded to the tempter. A sudden
revulsion of feeling had come over him. He almost loathed himself for the
momentary weakness that had beset his soul.

"That office heat may suit one of the lady's handmaidens," he replied,
rather sternly : " what holy knight may do, surely I have done. An arm of
strength it needed to exalt her in reach of the lesson thou hast doubtless
taught her, de Boiscourt, but now a child may lead her thence. Tjend your
mistress aid," he concluded, in Moorish, to one of the attendants.

The girl did as directed, and the fair Saracen, putting her hands upon her
shoulders, leaped lightly to the ground. But the trial of Abdallah's virtue
was not yet at an end. As she alighted, the loose cloak, entangled in the
peak of the saddle, was left behind, and the bosom of her tunic, evidently
displaced during the ride, again exhibited in the moonlight to his unwilUng
view, the most gorgeous of female charms. ^A-

'• Imprudent !" he exclaimed, sternly, in Moorish, as he advanced, disen-
gaged the cloak, and threw it over her half-naked form. " If you have no
consideration for others, have at least regard for your own safety ; let but
some prowling eye — some straggler of the camp — behold that womanhood,
and nothing will arrest the fete from which you have once been rescued."

*' Yon have given me more than life ; you have saved me from the outrage
of those horrid men," she answered, in the same tongue, and in a voice
whose every note was sweetness. " Ah ' I would not incur that risk again,
even to mingle with the Houris and to share their bliss; — accept, then, mj
gratitude. Spurn me not away. Let me kneel and thank you.*'

I i V <

--A

■■'Sr

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

! ^

Sbe fell at his feet. Again she caught his hands, imprinted a kise upon
tnem, and before he had time to prevent her, or even to anticipate the action,
pressed them tenderly upon her glowing and heaving bosom.

" Nay, this weakness must not be," he said, as, stifling his emotion, tie
withdrew his hands, almost violently, and strode towards a smaller tent that
stood immediately behina his own, and in which reposed the man-at-arms
who usually took charge of his steed. Returning the next moment, he cau-
tioned the French Knight to keep the cloak closely folded around the person
of the lady, lest the man whom he had awakened, and who was now ap-
proaching, should notice her. and thus, by possibility, commit him with his
Order.

" Fear me not, brave Monk," replied the Baron to his caution : " no ia-
discretion shall be mine : but, the better to favcr our approach to my own
tent, let both our steeds remain here. It is but to feed and keep them sad-
dled for early dawn, when we can again prepare us for our journey."

"Justly remarked," said Abdallah ; "retire within the shadow of the
tent with your women," he continued in Moorish, to the Saracen lady,
" some one comes."

The man, half asleep, and too stupid to notice anything beyond the mere
mechanical duty required of him, now came up, and after having received
the orders of Abdallah, withdrew with the chargers to the front of his own
tent, which looked in an opposite direction. As soon as he was out of sight,
the Monk entered his own, and having lighted his rude lamp, pointed out to
the two waiting-women the humble couch they were to occupy until called
for at early dawn. He then gave to each a piece of brown bread and a
bunch of grapes, and after having placed a pitcher of water by their couch,
bade them lie down ; desiring them on no account to stir, until he should
come in person to call them. He then extinguished the light, and moved to
the entrance of the tent, where the Baron stood in careless attitude, shielding
the now closely-cloaked Saracen in his embrace. They all then proceeded
in that direction of the Christian camp in which the latter had hoisted his
pennon.

Owing to the precaution of de Boiscourt in leaving his steed behind, there
-was no sound created in their progress, which could disturb the sleeping
thousands that surrounded them, so that little more than a quarter of an hour
had elapsed before they found themselves at the entrance of the gaily orna-
mented tent of the young French Knight. There they were met by the
handsome page, who had been anxiously awaiting his lord's return, and who
expressed the most affectionate concern lest some accident should have oo-
curred to detain him so late. He was aware that he had not fallen, or even
been hurt, in the morning's foray, for he had been constantly at his side ; but
having suddenly lost sight of him in the evening, and when the battle was
over, he had been led to apprehend that some straggling band of the dietnim-
fited enemy, might have fallen in with and made him their captive.

" And so, my gentle boy, I was a captive to the Saracen," said the Baron,
after having heard from Rudolph the little history of the fears he had enter-
tained — " but all that you shall learn later. Meanwhile," and he removed
the head-piece, the turban of the beautiful infidel — " conduct the captivete

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

t >

■•i.i

my inner tent — give her of Cyprus wine, and those figs of Ascalon, whidi
melt like liquid amber in the mouth. Nay, Rudolph, fie — fix not thoae blue
and earnest eyes upon her thus, for see how the blood mantles on her cheek —
else how will you ever find calmness to array her — as array her you must — in
one of your plainest battle-suits. Nay, look not surprised, my Rudolph.
'Tis even so. At dawn we must away again ; this lady as my page. Yet
say to none on earth that the ripened beauty of a glowing infidel has past the
portal of a Christian knight ; still less, that a holy monk of the austere bro-
therhood of St. John — henceforth, mark you, boy, your master's plighted
friend — has lent his aid and sanction to conduct her here."

" Your word is law — all of secresy is mine, my gracious lord," replied
the youth earnestly, yet coloring deeply as he saw the eyes of the beautiful
Saracen turned upon him with a tenderness of expression which denoted
curiosity and interest, that one so youthful, so delicate, should be found
amid the hosts of battle, and a sharer in all those scenes of blood, which,
under the garb of religion, were even then devastating the fair soil of Pales-
tine. She seemed to say to herself, " Ah, if he has a mother — if he has
sisters, how must they bewail his absence, and count the days until his
return !"

"If the lady will permit me," said the blnshing boy, with a hesitating
manner, as be oflTered her his hand, to conduct her to the inner tent.

Evidently not comprehending the motive of this action, the Saracen held
out her own hand, took his, and affectionately pressed it as a mother would
that of her son.

Abdallah explained to her, in Moorish, that afler having taken a few hours
repose on the couch whither the boy would lead her, she was to be induct-
ed in one of his suits, as a better means of security in her departure from
the camp. ,

With a look expressive of deep gratitude, the beautiful woman caught, at
the same moment, the hand of the Monk and that of the younger Knight,
and pressing them gracefully to her bosom, sought to demonstrate, by that
act, the deep sense she entertained of ail that had been done for her. She
then, conducted by Rudolph, withdrew into the remoter part of the capacious
tent.

" Fail not, boy, when you have disposed of your charge," said the light-
hearted de Boiscourt, "to bring us lights, food> and a couple of flasks of
Cyprus wine ; and, hear me, youngster," he added, smiling, " the tempta-
tion to linger is strong, but be not too tardy in lulling her to sleep."

" Is not that strange language to use to so mere a child V questioned the
Monk Knight, somewhat reproachAilly, when they were alone.

The Baron smiled. " There is little to be said or taught to Rudolph," he
replied gaily. He has ever been the pet of such noble Saracen dames as
the fortune of battle has thrown into our hando ; and, by my faith, he is not
one to neglect improving an occasion."

Abdallah raised his eyes in astonishment. " So young, so beautiful, and
yet so hardened in sin!" he ejaculated. " Of a verity, the Christian camp
has that within its limits, that well may lead us to despair of the eventual
success of our cause. No !" he continued, emphatically, " I prophecy that,

«J

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

notwithstanding all the blood that ha.s been shed — all that will be shed
for the extinction of Moslemism, and the propagation of the true faith, we
shall never firmly establish the cross in Palestine. Heaven chooses not
such agents to accomplish its ends. Murder, rapine and unholy lust are not
the means by which its will is to be effected. Mark my words, Sir Baron !"
and the usually calm and benignant expression of his noble countenance be-
came clouded as he spoke — " either a strange revolution must take place in
the moral condition of the Crusaders, or we shall return to Europe with
ignominy and disgrace. Not all the virtue of the holy Urban himself can
avert this."

'• You speak like an oracle, my noble Monk," returned the Baron, se-
riously. " By my troth, but I half incline myself to believe that your pre-
diction will prove correct. It must l>e confessed that, with the trifling
difference in their favor, that they have almost a new wife for every month
in the year these infidel dogs beat us hollow in the practice of morality."

" And their plurality of wives," remarked the Monk, gravely, " is, you
know, permitted by their religion ; therefore there is no infringement of a
moral law."

"What a delicious idea !" resumed the gay and imaginative Baron —
" that of being nursed in the lap of so many loves — the dark, the fair — the
short, the tall — the voluptuous, the graceful — the tender, the impassioned.
By my troth, had I not espoused the most beautiful, the most enchanting
woman in the whole world — one who has no equal but in heaven — I could find
it in my heart to embrace Moslemism, and take my fill of their Houris both
here and hereafter. Ha! that graceless boy ' Did you hear 1"

The young Knight had been interrupted in his remarks by sounds that
seemed to him to partake of the mixed character of murmurs and sighs,
several times gently repeated, firom the interior of the tent.

" What mean you ?" asked Abdallah, with an air of surprise ; " I heard
nothing."

" I was deceived," continued de Boiscourt, not desir'ng that the attention
of his new and severe friend should be directed to what he had involuntarily
noticed aloud. " Rudolph, you have forgotten the wine."

In the course of a few seconds, the page made his appearance with a lamp
newly trimmed, and a small basket, containing some cold refreshments, fruits,
and a couple of osier-covered flasks of Cyprus wine, which he deposited on
the low table at which the friends were already seated. His face was
flushed. The Baron, without making any remark, looked at him attentively.
This caused the boy to blush even more.

" How fares your charge, my Ganymede V inquired the young Knight,
playfully, and in a tone designed to set the boy at his ease.

**«kie «aolipa*-^n my.iwBd's couch," answered Rudolph, "and in the
ample cloak in which she came."

" You have not, then, habited her in her page's attire? Did your young
heart fail you in the attempt ?"

" I signed to her that I was ready to assist her," returned the still blush-
ing boy, " bot^e, in the same manner, gave me to understand that she would
sleep first, and change afterwards."

fii

'ip

THt; MOVK U'N'ii.lir dl'-

roHV.

" Did you give her wine .'" punsiKMl the iJaroii, nmlicioimly. •• i am surt-
of her having t:isu>(l the grapn. fcr I tli<)iii»ht her lips iniirUe<l linw ,ii>n'<i!ihly
she relished its flavdr."

Rudolph remarked that thi' Haitrn's eyes were intently, hut n(»l liiiislily,
fixed upon him, and he cohired tu the very hr>»\v. Ahilallah had lutl imticed
anything particular in the matter.

" I gave what my lord desired," said tiie Page, with a deprecating look
and manner.

" Dear Rudolph," resuined the young Knight, '■ drink of my eup and re-
tire — you have need of rest — your cheek hetrays the excitement of fatigue
and long watching, and you know you must he up hetimcs. When the hour
is near I shall call you. Disturb not the stranger lady until then ; but, lest
she should require aught in the intervening hours, spread my lion's skin near
the couch, and place yourself at her side."

While draining off the wine, the boy looked at the Knight, as though he.
did not quite understand him. " Good night, sweet Rudolph,'' said the
latter, taking and pressing his hand. " Make the most of the few hours that
are given you," he added, significantly. " Myself and this holy Knight will
keep watch for the dawn."

Again the eye of the page caught that of the Barou. The expression
brought him at once to his knees. He kissed the hand that was extended to
him, and again rising, with a countenance radiant with expression, retired to
his humble couch. • ■■-

CHAPTER VI,

It wanted about an hour of dawn. The Baron and Abdallah, who never
refused his wine in moderation, had finished the two flasks brought in by the
page, and the latter, overcome not more by the fatigues of the day, than by
the violent but concealed passion, over which, however, he had finally gained
the victory, was reclining in his seat, calmly, but profoundly asleep.

The hour, the opportunity, were tempting. A gentle and voluptuous
feeling suddenly stole over the heart of de Boiscourt. He knew where
Rudolph was. He had heard the same subdued sighs and murmurs since
the return of the beautiful boy, and now he adopted a wild resolution.
Cautiously he approached the curtain which divided the two portions of
the tent. A lamp was burning faintly in the distance, the light evidently
screened, but still there was sufficient to throvM*to foll-^«3fw»f-*fc* novctU
objects around. The lion's skin was spread out upon the floor, but there
was no one extended on it. He raised his glance to the couch beyond, and
beheld, as lie had expected to see, the blooming youth pillowed on the bosom
of his charge. The outline of their forms was distinctly marked. She was
robed simply in the white tunic she had resumed in the morning, but this,
disordered and loose, only heightened the effect of her powerful beauty.

"^K.

TIW. IVIONK KNIOIIT ON 87. JOHN.

Her attitude; wxs one of perfect abandonment. Her long, thick, dark hait
was unconfined. One moulded arm waa thrown, with the protecting fund"
meas of a mother, around tiie neck of the boy, and while her rich, ripe, red
lipc were poutingly pressed to his, the other was thrown carelessly over hia
bock. They were perfectly motionless. The group was worthyof the chisel
«rthe sculptor.

The Baron dropped the curtain he had partially raised, and retired a step
or two, intending to call out to the page from the seat he had just quitted, at
Um>, side of the Monk. But when he reflected that the sound of his voice
would awaken Abdallah, he again advanced, passed into the inner tent, and
ta4))>ing the boy on the shoulder, caused him to spring, with something like
terror, from the arms that still fondly encircled him.

'■' Rudolph, " said his master, gently, " go forth instantly to the tent of my
friend, the Monk Knight of St. John, which you will find at the extreme
comer of the north-east division of the encampment. There is another and
smaller one beside it. At the entrance of the latter, you will see two steeds
all ready for mounting, and held by the drowsy retainer of the Knight. You
know the fiery Beloeil well ; he is one of them. You will mount him ami
lead the other.''

" And when I have brought the horses, my lord?" inquiringly remarked
tbe boy.

*' You will tarry silently at the door of my tent until we join you."

" And the lady 1" ventured the page, with some hesitation. " Who is to
robe her for the journey, my lord ?"

*' That shall be my care, considerate Rudolph," replied the Baron archly,
as he patted his head affectionately. " First point me out the clothes you in-
tend for her. Ah, there ! 'tis well. And now gp; but as you move through
tke tent, mark well," and he looked significantly, " that you do not awaken
the Monk. He sleeps fatigued, and must not be disturbed."

As the page passed through the curtain, the Baron followed him with his
eye to see if he in any way attracted the attention of the sleeper. His tread
was subdued, and he gained the entrance of the tent without disturbing Ab-
dallah . What a volcano of passion was now at the heart of de Boiscourt. He
hack at the side of the beautiful Saracen. Her breathing was deep— impassion-
ed ; it carried consciousness of the presence of one who could call forth its more
generous impulses. Gradually he stole an arm around her moulded form —
ooR hand pressed her polished and heaving bosom, which absolutely bounded
beneath his first touch ; the other madly weaved and clenched itself in her
lang and clustering hair. Ah I where was the Lady Ernestina^ Even then,
strange as it may seem to the novice in the wild imaginings of the human
keart, she was uppermost in the thoughts of the fiery and voluptuous de Bois-
eourt — the fondly-cherished husband cf her long-widowed love. The rich
and parted lips of the Saracen met his, and a thousand fires consumed their
■ouls. He stopped the murmured sighs of guilty transport she would have
altered, and the intensity of bliss was upon their willing hearts. Ah, how
different that voluptuous woman now from what she had been a few hours
earlier, when subject to the will of the brutal Thtbaud.

** Tjove, love — divine and mystic love — thou richest, rarest attribute of w(»-

(

THE MONK KNtGHT Or ST. JOHN.

•I

f 1

man, who can resist thy enthralmentH, when presented in such a shape!"
muttered de Boiscourt fiercely, through his closed teeth : — " Ernestina, my
beloved Ernestina, forgive the adoring husband who thinks only of thee
while in the arms of one of whom Mahomet alone is worthy — sweet, sweet
Ernestina, receive my soul."

Guilty, guilty de Boiscourt ' — doubly guilty in this, that thou hadst not
only violated the sanctity of hospitality, but forfeited thy implied pledge tu
thy friend — that holy warrior Monk, whose very presence under thy knightly
roof, gave tenfold sin unto the deed ; and yet thy wrong was not without a
stem, reproving but pitying witness.

Lost in the wild tumult of their excited feelings, the guilty pair thought
not of Abdallah, who had awakened from his restless and uneasy slumber,
and finding the young Knight absent from his side, could not doubt,
novice even as he was, that the ardent and impetuous youth had weakly
yielded to the sorcery of the beauty of the infidel. But if so, where
was Rudolph ? Surely some remnant of shame would prevent him from
availing himself of her evident partiality for him, in presence of the boy.
To assure himself that his surmise was incorrect, and that the sounds
proceeded merely from cause.s connected with her change of raiment, he
slowly approached the curtain. (lently he raised one corner, and stood
almost transfixed with confusion at what he beheld. There was now no
doubting the evidence of his sense?. Rudolph was nowhere to be seen, but
on the broad velvet couch, and faintly revealed in the dim light which
burned in the distance, he saw the lady and the Knight fast locked in each
other's arms. Abdallah felt the blood to ebb and flow within his veins with
a violence that threatened to destroy him. Quickly he dropped the curtain,
pressed his hands to his aching hrow, and sank upon his knees, praying
silently, but fiervently, that some dreadful scourge might not fall upon the
Christian camp, as a punishment for so great a sin. Somewhat relieved by
this prayer, he rose, moved back to the seat he had just left, and mused
deeply. For the first time, the veil had fallen from before his eyes, the
sealed book of God's holiest mystery had been fully opened to him.

An hour had passed away since the handsome de Boiscourt first entered that
more retired portion of his tent. The Saracen had risen, and having with
his assistance completed her page's toilet, and now lingered for the signal of
departure. The young Knight, after bestowing upon her the most passionate
caresses, sought to rejoin his friend, who he was apprehensive might awaken
and remark his absence. Before leaving, however, he poured out and
offered to her a small tankard of Cyprus wine, and some deliciously perfumed
grapes, to cool the fever of excitement in her veins, and to strengthen her
for her journey. She merely tasted of these, and as he turned to leave her,
put them aside, and sank upon her knees at his feet. Her arms embraced
his legs. Her head was bowed down, and her loose and luxuriant hair
completely enveloped his feet. She shed a torrent of tears, and deep sobs
came from her bosom. When she had given full vent to these, she pointed
to the dress in wh!'*h she had been habited, and gave him to comprehend, by
signs not to be mi^-.dken, that she wou!ri j^ia-Jy retain the garb, and serve
him as a page forever. The heart of Ute Baroi> wa,^ full of emotion, but

THE MONK KNIOHT Ol-' ST. JOHN.

alas, this could not be done. Had he not made the acquaintance of the
Monk, and exchanged with him vowa of eternal confidence and friendship,
his warm and generous heart never couhl have withstood the appeal, and
running all risks to himself, he would have joyfully yielded to her proposal.
But as it Wfis, and after the pledge which had been given — (he little suspecte*!
that the Monk was cognizant of its violation) — it was impossible that, without
i^If-dcgiadation as a Christian knight, he could retain, even as his page, an
infidel, whose very presence was an outrage upon the holy principles and
feelings of the noble-mindod and confiding Monk of St. John.

Still, full of tender sympathy for her, he raised her gently up, and by an-
Kwering signs, gave hor to understand that this was impossible — that painful
as it must prove to both, they must part. He, however, took a brilliant ring
from his finger, and, after carrying it to his lips, placed it on her beautiful
hand. Gratified by this act, she at once followed his example, (for, in
the anxiety of their gross and brutal lust for her, the ruffians who ha<l
violated her attendants, had not even thought of dispos.scs8ing her of her
jewels), moistened it with her still trickling tears, and placed it on the litile
finger of dc Boiscourt's left hand. Then, throwing her moulded arms around
his neck, and passionately pressing her ripe lips to his, she left there the last
outpourings of the deep passion he had infused into her.

Again the young Knight sat on the chair he had occupied opposite to tho
Monk, who still seemed to sleep profoundly, and a half sentiment of exulta-
tion crept over de Boiscourt's heart, as he thought of the successful manner
in which he had deceived him ; not that it must be inferred his was a nature
that could take pleasure in the mere fact of deceit itself, but, because it WiLs
voluptuously soothing to him to reflect that the recollection of what had taken
place would be unembittered, not only by the silent but just reproaches of his
friend, but even by his knowledge of what had occurred betweem himself
and his fascinating charge. Their secret, he thought, was their own. No
human being could attest against them.

The moments flew rapidly by. The faint approach of dawn was percept
ibie, and it was necessary, if they would avoid trouble, to depart immediately.

" Gallant Monk, you sleep soundly," remarked de Boiscourt, as he
gently touched the shoulder of Abdailah. •' What with the soothing grape of
Cyprus, and the fatigue of cutting off so many heads, not only Saracen but
Christian, you have well wonyoui claim to repose. But it is time we were
stirring. I have dispatched Rudolph to your tent for our steeds."

" And thy infidel par the Saracen lady," said the Monk, correcting

himself, and with a mild and searching look.

" Is doubtless dressed by this time in the attire left her by Rudolph." As
he uttered these brief words, de Boiscourt's cheek Hushed half in recollec-
tion of the more than human bliss of which he had tasted, half in shame for
the enormity of which he was conscious.

He again approached, and drew aside the curtain, but fearing lest some
new and strong demonstration of the Saracen lady's feelings should be over-
heard by the Monk, he passed not beyond, but motioned with his hand fur
her to come forth.

Pensive and thoughtful, she slowly rose to obey him. The iJaron took

THE MONK KNIGHT Or' ST. JOHN.

her hand, led her forth and to the side of his friend. Her Mep was timid,
for 8he felt all a woman's modesty in appearing in the garb of a man, amt
the consciousness of this had given a glow to her check, which lent oifBB
greater interest to her appearance than before, and wlicn in her own costunin
For a moment or two the Monk looked at her w^rionniy, but with th;it uuid
benevolence of cxpresHion which so usually pcrvado<l iiis noble fcaturisB.
Once hifi lips were oj)ene<l to tell her, in Mwtrisli. of his Kiiowlcdije <if th«
great crime she had committed, and gently to reprove lu-r for it ; but tht-iw
was such an expression of subdued sorrow on her sweet countenance* even
amid all the rich color which sufTusc*! it, that, wcnsible of the cause, Jiiii
unwilling to give her farther pain, now the past was witiiout rectll, he
checked the impulse, and rising from his seat, replaced his helmet and to-
sumcd the weapons that had been thiown aside. De Boiseourt followed his
example, and at that moment the low tramping of horses' feet announced the
arrival of Rudolph.

De Boiseourt was the first to mount, when Abdallah, knowing that -j!I
danger to himself was past, and feeling moreover a partial sentiment of pitji
and regret for one wiio had been so crueHy exposed to temptation, pre-
pared to place the beautiful Saracen on the seat she had occupied the piece-
ding evening. She remarked, with deep gratific ition, this seeming desirw
on the part of her preserver. It waa a solace to her oppressed spirit, and
giving way to the tide of feeling which oppressed her, she threw her arnia
around the neck of Rudolph, and bestowed upon him the most endearing ca-
resses. The poor boy shed bitter tears as the Monk raised her to the sail-
dle, and when they had departed he threw himself at his length within tho
tent, and long lay there, a prey to feelings in which the painful was so mixed
up with the jjleasurable, that it would be difficult to say which predominated.
As the little parly passed the tent of Abdallah, the latter called foitli the
attendants, who resumed their journey as on the preceding day, and, in tlie
course of less than half an hour, they had passed the uttermost limits of llio
Christian camp. About mid-day, clouds of dust were seen in the distance,
and apparently not far from what was known to be the outer line of ilie
Moslem encampment. Soon there was distinguished a troop of infidel
cavalry advancing at full speed towards them. Abdallah took a white .scarf
from beneath his coat of mail, and tied it to the end of his lance, then de-
siring de Boiseourt to keep behind him, he waved it some paces in advance
of his little party. Seeing the flag, and knowing it to be a sign of amity,
the leader of the Turkish troop halted his men when about a hundred
yards from Abdallah, and coming forward himself, communicated with th»-
latter in Moorish. Satisfactory explanations were soon rendered. In tli«
affair of the preceding day, one of the favorite wives of Saladin had been car-
ried off from lier tent, near the outskirt of the encampment, with tA-o of hfT
attendants. The discovery had been made only after the close of the battle,
and detachments had been out all night in pursuit of the straggling enemy
into whose hands it was supposed they had fallen. One of these had entered
the sycamore wood, when; they had seen the bodies of the decapit.at(Hl war-
riors of de Boiseourt, but no evidence of those of whom they were in search.
The pursuit had been tontinued all night, and the party now encountered.

TlIK MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

was on the poim ol' roturniii|L', disiilnted at their failuro, to their camp,
when they Hiiddenly <lewried the two knights, and pailnped towards them as
has been shown.

Many and warm were tht! thanks of . .n Saracen coinmunder, wlicn
Abdallah had detailed to liim the nuinner in which the wile of Saiadin had
been rescued trom the riililans who liad carried li(>r off, and th(! cause of her
thus appearing in tlte disjruise of a f Ihristian pagt;. Quickly lie dismounted
from his liiirh-ineltled Arahian, and advanced and .sainted licr wnhthe respect
due to her position, 'rin- Moslem c;\ptain l(K)k lier from the protecting arm
of De Boiseourt, and placed iicr on his own charger, he himself walking at
her side until he had nfjoined his parly. The knights, with heavy iuid
oppressed feelings, made their parting olieisance, and then turning their
chargers' lieads, slowly and in silence retraced their steps to. the Christian
camp. ,

CHAPTER VII.

In order that the lax state of morals among the Crusaders, such as has
been partially illustrated in the preceding pages, may be more distinctly
comprehended by those ignoriint of the semi-barbarous manners of the times,
it may not be irrelevant to devote a few pages to the condition of society, as
it existed both in Europe and in Palestine, during the eleventh and twelfth
centuries. The picture is a startling one, and few will rise from the perusal
without a deep sentiment of shame, that the avowed advancement of Chris-
tianity should have been prostituted to purposes the most vile, actions more
than levelling with the brutes themselves. Nay, we will even go farther,
and pronounce that the conduct of ninety-nine out of every hundred of the
Crusaders so completely unhumanized their nature, that the only marvel is,
how the Omnipotent God should have sullered his holy name and will to be
desecrated by their fiendish manner of enforcing his Gospel, and thus, as it
were, redticing his purity and overawing majesty to tiio mere condition of a
Juggernaut, at whose bloody shritie whole hecatombs of human victims were
to be sacrificed.

If there an! men, even at this day, who, although siurning the charge of
infidelity with generous disdain, have d'fiiculty in believing in that creed
which thf^ armed masses of Chri.slendom went forth to propagate with fire

and sword, and which was not even then ; nitted to prosper, it is be<'ause

of the obvious truth, that such agency never found favor with the Great God
of the Universe. Had it ever been intended that the one faith alone should
pervade the; world, wlr.it more favorable opportunity than was then aflbrded?
Patience, suflliring, endurance, piety, humiliation, in the proper acceptation
of these several terms, would have marked the progress of the Christian
arms, ('hastily, sobriety, meelness, would have been their watchwords,
and thus the after progre.-* of Christianity would haye been assured.

THK MONK KNIOHT OV ST. JOHN.

/ 'i v; ^

Posterity would Imv*- bclievuvl in the result ; iluiy would lu»c sieon in it the
directing; linger (it'(iiod. Tho iiiiudH ut' imtii would liuvu Lniun inipreitncd with
the ))eaiity, the Huldiinity, ;iiui the truth of :i Hyxtein wliich whs doonied to
be worke<l out iliron^h sueh means, imd (time. Mtren^theninf; und consolidating
the structure,) would have adored und elun^' to ii jib the last reeting-plucfl
the titrirkon, yet confiding heart. Dut what were the agencicH actually
euifiloyed ' Suiterstitiou, under the name ol" piety — liinaticism, under the
sarli of reli}(ion — fire, sword, pillage, hatred, unchariiableuess, revoltinj^
lust, brutality — nil the horrid |)assion8 that »'ver lowered man to Iho condition
of the l)rute.

VVc are not, however, of the number ol tliose who believe that the crucltiea
exercised by the great mas* of the (Crusaders over th(!ir Saracen foes, when-
■ver victory I overed over their banners, was a result of the innate prone-
nesd of their hearts to deeds of blood. On the contrary, we believe with
those who have entered much more diffusely into the subject, that the
.•"heddin;: of Saracen blood, and the commission of all manner of atrocities,
w;is. with them, an imperative duly, and that ihey imagined it to be the
highest service they could render — the most acceptiible homage they could
yield to their ('reator. What a creed ' And what a conception //wy must
have had of the Deity who coulil thus .lavo been propitiate<l ! liul this
fanaticism was strongly in keeping with tMc principle that had led them forth
to endure the most cruel privation. The great inconsistency was in this,
that men thu.s imbued at the outset with principles of self-denial, should
later, in moments of personal suffering, have lost sight of- all the firmness of
pur])ose with which they had embarked in the cause. So far from enduring
with Ibrtitude those privations which a correct appreciation of the object they
ha<l in view should have pointed out to tliem as a part and parcel of the
thorny path they had vowed to travel for the restoration of tl.r; (Jrosa, they
sank beneath these afli'-^iions whenever encountered ; and, in a diabolical
spirit, gave themselves up tu indulgences and vices at which the soul of
purity recoiled. What but the acme of fanaticism must have led them to
believe that men who could thus wantonly forego their better natures, and
wallow in the grossest sensuality, were in reality the chosen agents of God.
What but the blindest infatuation, the most besotted ignorance, could have
sustained them in the belief tliat they who nourished tiie seeds of vice and
crime in their hearts, and who hesitated not to outrage humanity by ripping
up the bellies and eati;; the flesh of their enemies, brutally exhumed from
liu i. i^iaves, rather than perish of a hunger which, unappcased, iiad led to
the martyrdom they pretended to covet, could expect to find favor in the
sight of the All-wise.

But these were merely the progressive evidences of the madness of the
undertaking. The result was not more inspiriting or confirmatory of the
divine character of their mission. After losing some millions of men and
treri'^ure — cutting some millions of throats, with a ferocity no tigers could
eiiiu.l. and indulging in every abomination of rape and murder, not only on
their Saracen foes, but on their own people — was their end even partially
attained ' Did Cod manifest his approbation of the acts of these lunatic and
wicked h ;>rdes f Did He will that the Cross, even v.lien planted on the walls

THK MONK

KNIiiM OF ST. }0 H.

of Jerusalem, should suporeede fhn P/re»c«nt ' Did He condes- onfim

*he divinity of him who woa called hm Son, by ronveyiiii' m ak.ibly to
t\\e world, in thti overthrow of. the power of Mahomet, ihin ' i» wrt« ilv;
true Memiah, h«)for<> whom all men wore to b^-nd th»! kne«^ W'M tm Not
only Joriimili'm jnd the wholn of PaleHtme wa8 coiiquored, it ..^ ir.u . biii
only that greater i^hame might come upon the cauae of Christ, by its final
forced relinquishment. U there no evident m thi.s' There is. Had it
been the will of the MoHt High tlul the doctrine.s of the (Jroapel should
iTOvern the universe, the time, cprtaiiily, would have been then. F'ight cen-
tiiriea have roHod by sinoe that erusade wa.-* commenced. F» there one
MuHHulman the loss^ But this la apart from the moraln of those ('hristian
jmoplo, who were so anxioiiH, liko the (jhurchmRn of the present day, to
teach what they so inUiHercutly practice

That the grossest immorality should have prevailed m Europe, will readily
enough bo understood by thnse who are at all conversant with the habits of
every class of that society, of which it haa been recorded: — "The clergy
were as licontioua as the laity. Tho chiefs as immoral as the people." Hut
that women, many of them of high social degree, should have abandone'l
themselves to these excesses, with the mere brutal impulse of the animal,
while absent on a pilgrimage, which it might have been imagined would
have guarded them in the hour of severest trial, is one of those paradoxes
and contradictions in human naturu, which strike the mind not only with
astonishment but with humiliation. Sharing in the first instance that spirit
of fanaticism whidi was so deeply imbued in the men, nothing could deter
them from encountering, in an equal degree, the hardships, privations, and
vicissitudes of the long journey to Palestine. Ail were animated by the
same zeul — the same fervent belief that the Holy Sepulchre was the goal to
which they were to bend tht-ir steps, there to receive the reward of all their
sufferings at ihe foot of the Cross. And yet, what does history relate of
these people, who, instead of enduring with humility, and in sackcloth, aud
ashes, the trials with which God had thought proper to visit them, could
thus guiltily conduct themselves ^

" All the distresses of the Crusaders," says a modern auther,* borrowing
from ancient writers, and in reference to their sutTerings at Antioch, " were
nothing before the walls compared with the horrors they suffered now that
they wen; in possession of the city. Misery levelled all natural as well as
artificial distinctions. The courage of the warrior — the pride of the noble-
,p;i„ — the dignified virtue of the matron, and the retired bashfulness of the
maid — all were reduced to the level of the ignoble and vicious, by the crav-
ings of unsatisfied and increasing hunger."

Such was the future — the painful, humiliating future ; and yet these poor,
misguided fanatics, religiously believed that the merciful God of all Nature
was thus leading them to conquest ! What strange infatuation ' What
blind credulity !

Then again, shortly after their liberation from this scourge, "Discord

* MiUi.

yTl>'"»-

li .." I IJ I1

'-«*•• i-*^

THE MONK KNIOHT OF 8T. JOHN.

prevailed amongf the prince*, and they evtiii aeaitted their people in rapine
uful thcf'.. Public justice did not restrain private injury, and tlie will of
every man was his law." Later, at the siege of Murra, "they were soon
ri'dni'cd Id thfir old resources of dog'H flesh, and hutnaii carcasses. Tiicy
broke 0{>en the tombs of the Mussulmans, ripped up the bellies of the d«Ml
for gold, and then dressed and eat the fragments of flesh."

Nay. even before the walln of Jerusalem, when it miglit have been ima-
gined the religiouh fanaticism of their hearts would have taught ihont virtuo
and restraint, " misery." says the same writer, " had produced disorder and
crime, and the clergy complained that in the short space of a month, the
character of the f-hristian soldier before .lerusaleip had become as immoral
as it had been during the long and ]iainful siege of Antioch. Superstition
wan u» active as vice. At the moment when, during a terrible assault, all
appeared lost, a knight was seen on Mount Olivet waving his glittering
fliield as a sign to the soldiers that they should rally and return to the
charge. (.Jodfrey* and Eustace cried to the army that St, George was come
to tlieir succor. The languishing spirit of enthusiasm was roused, and the
Crusaders returned to the battle with pristine animation. Fatigue and disa-
bility vanished ; the weary and the wounded were no longer distinguishable
from the vigorous and activo : the princes, the columns of the army, led the
way, and their example awoke the most timid to gallant and noble daring.
Nor were the women to be restrained from the fight : they were everywhere
to be seen supporting and relieving their fainting friends. In the space of
an hour the barbacaii was broken down, and Godfrey's tower rested against
the iimer wall. Changing the duties of the general for those of the soldier,
the Duke of Lorraine fought with his bow. At the hour when the Saviour
of the world had been crucified, a soldier, named Latoldus of Tournay, leap-
ed upon the fortification ; his brother Englebert followed, and Godfrey was
the third Christian who stood as a conqueror on the ramparts of Jerusalem.
The glorious ensign of the Cross streamed from its walls. The Mussulmans
fought fur awhile, and then fled to their temDles,and submitted their necks to
slaughter. Such was the carnage in the mosque of Omar, that the muti-
lated carcases were hurried by the torrents of blood into the court ; dissevered
arinci and hands floated into the current that carried them into contact with
bodies to which they had not belonged. Ten thousand people were mur-
dered in this sanctuary. It was not only the headless and lacerated trunks
which shocked the sight, but the figures of the victors themselves reeking
with the blood of their slaughtered enemies. No place of refuge remained
to the vanquished, so indiscriminately did the insatiable fanaticism of the
conquerors disregard both .supplication and resistance. Some were slain,
i^ome were tlirown from ilie tops of churches and the citadel. The syna-
pogucs were set on fire, and the Jews perished in the flames."

Thus it will be seen that, led away by their frantic etilhusiasm, the Chris-
tian women were foremo.st in these scenes of blood. The historians of that
epoch do not say whether they bore an active part in the murder of the un-

Th« V\Ae de Bouillun.

THK MONK KNIIJHT <iK sT. /OHN.

ilu

hnppy SuractMiH, iihnr the holy nty had been taken, but it iitJiHicuh tn divest
the iiiiiid III tho boli*>|', that they v\liii hud |ir*'vi(iuHly iiiud«m((|uaintuii<'i> vviili
vic-o 111 ail itH pliUHiH, would i'e«'l little citiriiiuhrliiin in wiiHliiiiK away thuir
aiiiM in ihu hlotid of the infidel, whoan Hiicntiue they d uicd wiiiild bo moHt
arreptKble to (Jod. Very diffi'rt'iit wa» ihf ronduut of he ladi»« ol' Uoeinend'H
caiiip, who, aci'oi'diii^r to Allifrt ot Aix, mi wein^ i.ic uiii^eiiHiii^ I'liry with
which the 'I'urka were deuliiiK d*>alh to all a^tett, and both t'nxM, at the terri-
ble Imttle of Doriilwuiii, i;I(iIIumI theiiiHf Ivch in tlitiir niont In oming ^arnientB,
and 8trov(! to diHplay tlmir chariiiM lo the heot advantage, liir the piir|ioM< of
ubtaiiiiiiK the durance of the liart'iii rather than tht; i^rave. Ueniiible women !

Ill order to show that the iiiHtitutiini of chivalry itttelf hud a favorable
influence on society, and in fXtir|)Htiii^r the prevailing; ^rrosoncHH of the a|;e, we
cannot do better than (|uote the ooiudiidin^ reiiiarkti of another hi^rhly |iu|iular
and indefatigable writer, who iH not lightly read in the luMtory and habit!! of
the middle ageu.

" Remarking these inHtanccH," he saya, in ullusion to the exemplary con-
duct of the order in Kiiropc, " and seeing what tht.> s|)irit of chivalry could
produce in ila perfection, we may judge what the society of tli;it day would
have been without it: wc may trace truly the etiect it had in civilizing the
world, and we may comprehend the noble legacy it left to after years. Had
chivalry not existed, all the vices which we behold in thai period of the
world's history would have been immensely increased ; for there would have
been no counteracting excitement. The immoralitv of those times would
have l)een a thousand degrees more gross, tor passion would have wanted
the only principle of refinement : the ferocity of the brave would have shown
itself in darker scenes of bloodshed, for no courtesy would have tempered it
with gentleness. . . .

" Hecause knights were superstitious, it was supposed that superstition
was a part of knighthood ; but this was not the case. I'he tendency of the
order was to purify and refine, and the civilization thereby given to the
world ill general ultimately produced its ellect, in doing away superstition.
The libertinism of society in the Middle Ages has also been wrongly attributed
to knighthood, and thus the most beneficial institutions are too often con-
founded with the vices that spring up around them.

" In common with all human institutions, chivalry presents anew aspect in
every page of the book of history. .Sometimes it is severe and stern — some-
times light and gay — but the qualities ol valor, courtesy, and enthusiasm,
shine out at every period of its existence."'

And concluding our chapter with this somewhat iimlihued extract from the
'jifted author of the History of Chivalry,* we resume our narrative.

' JHinoa.

Vv »

w«-<^^if%a^-

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

CHAPTER Vlll.

At the period at which the events recorded in the preceding chapters took
place, Jerusalem had heen in possession of the f -rusaders upwards of eighty
years. Godfrey de Bouillon, one of the mo.st victorious of the Christian
knights, had. immediately after its capture, been, by general .icclamation,
chosen as its king ; but he did not survive his elevation to this high dignity
more than a year. All sorts of infamy had, in the meantime, been perpe-
trated by the various chiefs of the invading crosses, who had partitioned
among themselves the fairer fields of Palestine, until their acts of aggression
and injustice became the means of waking up the slumbering energies of the
yet untiredSaladin, who, seized with a holy zeal, and guided by an honorable
ambition, re.solved to accomplish no le.ss an undertaking than the re-conqne.st
of the disputed city, which he was now rapidly approaching.

The day following that on which de Boiscourt and the Monk Knight had
80 warmly di.scussed the surpassing l)eauty. and the opening iiiterc.M in the
latter of the I.ady Ernestina, was that fixed upon for the attack of the Saracen
masses then laying siege to Tiberias, near .Terusalem, and composed of fifty
tliousand horse, and nearly two hundred thousand fooot.

" What hoi Rudolph "' exclaimed the happy Knight, springing from his
couch, fully an liour before dawn. " T'p, uj), and 1)0 doing ' There is brave
work cut out for us this day, and the sluggard must not lose his share of the
glory. But fill me first a full goblet of my favorite Cyprus wine, and then
for my armor. .Terusalem, the Holy City, won by the good swords and
battle-axes of Godfrey, of Eustace, and of Baldwin, must be saved thi« day.
Art ready for such a glorious fight, boy?"

" Wiierever my lord leads, there Rudolph shall surely follow, even if it
b«i unto the tent of Saladin him.self." replied the youth, rising <]uickly. and
trimming the dull and nearly wasted lamp ; " but had I my choice,"' he added
archly. " when once there, I should not be sorry to be detained a temporary
prisoner, and lM)und with silken cords, by our, at least, of his seraglio."

"Ah, you young epicure I Better indeed is that .slight frame fitted «or
the blandishments of Venus, than the more iron duties of Mar». But thai
reminds me — you say that wherever I lead, you will follow, flave T not, in
my turn, followed where you have led ' Nay, answer me, dear boy. In
me you will fiiul no jealous rival. Ah I never mind — that burning blush
suffii-iently t«>lls the tale."

The brow of the boy was suffused with crimson, as lowering his beautiful
eyes, he handed the wine without making any audible reply to the question
of his Lord.

" Here is to your pretty Saracen mother, and to my own adored Emea-
tina," continued the Knight, as he drained off the goblet to within an inch or
two of the bottom, and then offered it to the page. '• Drink to them both,
dear Rudolph ; it may be the last time we shall pledge them in this life."

" All honor to the dear I>ady Ernestina, and every blessing on the sweet
mother you have given me," said the youth, as, with still flushed cheek anJ

,*•

THi: Mii\K rtNiGHT Of ST. JOHN.

dilating eye, he tiiiislifd ilio (.'ontcnii? ol the jroblet. .Ah, that she were,
indeed, my niothei "'

" What I ail iiitidel lor your mother, lludolph !' exclaimed the Knight.

" Christian or infidel, what matter^" murmured the boy. " Is she not,
my lord, the beautiful creation of the same Cud' Alas! 1 have never
known a motiier'siove — I never was pillowed on a mother's bosom until "

" 1 understand you," interrupted the Knight, gently pressing his hand.
" Rudolph, henceforth you are my younger brother in love, but now, further
time to speak of this is denied. Quick — my armor."

" I obey,"" said the boy, with deep and fervent expression ; " and may that
armor guard from all liarm, the noblest — pardon me, my lord, I must speak
it out, or my bosom will burst — the most generous heart that ever beat under
a warrior's corselet.'

The Barnn caught and pressed him to his heart, imprinted a kiss on his
hot but open brow, and then bade him to his task.

In a few moments, both were equipped. The armor of the Knigiit con-
sisted of a hauberk covering the whole of his person. It was of double chain
mail, and formed of a hood-piece connected with a jacket with sleeves, and
terminating in breeches, stockings, and shoes. To these, were added gaunt-
lets, all of ti.e same material. His head was moreover covered with the
skull-cap tisually worn by the knights before entering into battle. His war
helmet was of burnished scales, and ornamented with a magnificent crest,
on which were emblazoned the baronial arms. A surcoat of costly fur, on
which also appeared the arms of his family, was thrown loosely over his
closely-fitting hauberk, thus depriving the figure of the almost spectre-like
appearance otherwise given to it by the chain mail.

" Go, Rudolph, to the tent of the Monk," enjoined the Baron, when the
page, after donning his own light armor, had gathered together the Knight's
helmet, battle-axe, banner and shield " bid him here if he has time, and is
already equipped."

Soon after the boy had departed on his mission, the trampling of steeds
was heard, and as the Baron moved forward, he met at the entrance one of
his men-at-arms, fully equipped, and leading his war-horse, as well as
the lighter gelding of Rudolph. He who generally acted as his groom,
announced that the camp was already in motion, and the retainers of the
young French knight forming even then their battle-array, which only the
presence of their leader was wanting to complete.

"Good, good, Coeur-de-Fer," remarked the Baron, "you fellows are
always anxious to be the first in a fight, but I find no such haste to get out
of it;" then patting the neck of his battle-steed, who, seemingly conscious
of the duty required of him, pricked his ears, pawed the earth, and neighed
most lustily — "Hast fed them well, Coeur-de-Fer? They will require all
they can get before night- fall, or much I mistake the character of the leader
against whom we wield our battle-axes this day."

"Diantre! true enough, most noble Knight," returned the man. "The
Infidels are in clouds, they say, under the very walls of Tiberias, and as
Monsigneur states, we shall have hot work enough before the dew falls
:i>-:iin, to moisten the lips of both horses and men : but you have only to order

' I In

; .1 i(

■Vnt

♦

4r l^"** •«*' ■ -•'— i^ m

THK MOVK KMGHT OV r-,T. JOHN.

(^oeur-de-Fer to dn :i lliiii;i and it is fioiio. The horses have been well ted,
lor luckily il is not now, an in the early days, when our aiieestora came to
Palestine. Then knights were oblitjed to oat their own chargers — the brave
animals thai had carried them throunh many a hard light, to prevert them-
selves iVom starving, and were made to look contemptilile in the (syes of the
enemy, by having their baggage carried on the back-s of dogs and pigs.
Pardieu ! the followers of the cross live more luxuriously now. Saladin,
that scourge who threatens the Holy City, has not yet been long enough in
arms to put \is to that stretch."

This long speech, rather unusual at that period, in its familiarity of tone,
but which the generous Knight did not, from his regard for the man, whom
he considered one of the most attached and faithful of his followers, like to
frown down, was now interrupted by the arrival of Rudolph, who, taking
charge of the fiery and well conditioned steeds, afforded Coeur-de-Fer no fur-
ther excuse for remaining. He accordingly departed to rejoin the body of the
force.

" Well, Rudolph, what says Abdallah '" asked the young French Baron
as they prepared to mount. *' Will he be here anon, or do we lake him up
on our way to the advance, where I know his comrades, the valiant
Knights of St. John, closely watch the motions of Saladin and his host'"

" The Monk Abdallah, my lord, is not to be found in the encampment,
where he rested last night. He set forth alone and armed, long before the
dawn, and has, doubtless, now gained the position occupied by the Knights
of St. John. They who bore me the.se tidings, state that us soon as he seated
himself in his saddle, he buried his long and heavy spurs in the flanks of his
noble charger, and passed out of the encampment with the rapidity of the
wind.'"

"Indeed !" said deBoiscourt, whose countenance had been gradually falling
during this short recital, for he really felt deep disappointment at his heart ;
" this is strange — but it is well, Rudolph, that you have stated this before
leaving the tent. Another goblet — a full goblet of Cyprus wine : it will
drown thought, and I do not wish to think to-day."

Rudoli)h, sad himself, because he saw that the unannounced departure of
the Monk-Knight had given pain, he knew not wherefore, to his noble mas-
ter, silently laid down the arms he was about to gird about him, and opened
and offered the wine. The Baron drained its contents at a draught, and as.
he did so, his charger whinnying, half turned his head, and cast his eye upon
the sparkling licjuid, as if anxious to share it with him.

" By the Saints I a good thought," exclaimed the Knight, whose annoy-
ance had somewhat excited him : " another flask, dear Rudolph. Both
horse and rider must outdo themselves this day. There — that will do. Hold
Beloeil steadily by the head, while I cause him to revel in the luxury of the
gods ; but stay— you are not tall enough, boy. Give me the bridle, and I
myself will do it."

Seizing the mouthpiece with his left hand, he held up the head of the
horse with such a strong grasp, that he easily introduced into his throat the
neck of the flask, which was nearly emptied before he withdrew it. The
effect was soon evident — the eye of the glossy black steed beamed with in-

.'!■/,

.•4-
* '.
\ •■:.

t-J**#-

jr!

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'.

creased fire, and he champed his bit, and pawed with a restleaaness he had
never before manifested.

Rudolph, in the meanwhile, who seldom anticipated a hard day's work
without making due preparation for contingencies, thrust into one of two pairs
of small panniers with which the cruppers of his saddle was provided, a couple
of bottles of the same wine emptied into tin flasks made for the purpose, and
well stopped up ; and into the other, the morning food, of which the Baron
had not yet tasted. This done, he held the bridle of the Knight's charger
until he mounted, and then vaulting lightly into his own saddle, rode into the
tent, and took from a table near the entrance, on which they lay, the spare
armor and weapons, and escutcheon of the Lord of Auvergne. They then
pursued their way to the heart of the encampment, where his retainers —
a numerous, bold, and imposing force — were already drawn up as Coeur-de-Fer ,
had stated. The order to march was soon afterwards given, and the whole
of the Christian force moved forward with alacrity, under their several ban-
ners to encounter their hated enemies, then waiting for them near the lake
of Tiberias.

The young Baron de Boiscourt, followed by the gentle Rudolph, whom
we have seen he loved with exceeding tenderness, even while compelled
by the customs of the order to treat him with a certain reserve in public, rode
some yards in advance of his inferior knights, who, in their turn, took the
lead of the men-at-arms. His charger, inspirited by the unusual Are that had
been communicated to his blood, was with difficulty restrained by the accus-
tomed hand of his rider, and manifested his impatience by spurning far behind
him, the parched and sandy earth which annoyed his fetlocks with its heat, even
at that early hour. The occupation thus afforded to de Boiscourt, in a measure
distracted his mind from the unpleasant reflections to which the tidings of
Abdallah's strange and unexplained disappearance had given rise, but finally
they forced themselves upon him with a pertinacity no outward influence
could prevent, while the additional wine he had taken, with a view to drown
recollection, seemed to have produced the contrary effect of rendering it more
vivid and distinct. In spite of his efforts to rally his spirits and treat
the matter lightly, his heart was deeply afflicted, for he feared that a senti-
ment inimical to the close friendship which had hitherto existed between
them, and arising from their conversation of the preceding day, had been the
cause of his singular conduct. He was well aware of the holiness and
purity of life which the Monk had constantly preserved in the midst of the
strongest temptations by which the flesh could be beset ; and it was there-
fore natural to infer that his mind would recoil from further association
with one who, instead of fortifying him in his virtuous resolution, had used
80 much diligence to undermine it.

The Baron was deeply grieved at this, not through any wrong he himself
found in what he had done, but because of its efl^ct upon him he so well
loved, and that at a moment when he had believed him to have been irresist-
ibly won to his dearest hopes. Nor must the reader of the nineteenth cen-
tuiy feel surprised at the sentiments which governed the heart of civilized
man in the twelfth. The looseness of moral feeling — the indulgence of every
appetite peculiar to that age, have already been alluded to ; so much so, in-

'^'^^.':

•jA -*"S

V ' * .

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

deed, that it has been aaeerted by the oW chroniclere " that there wae not one
chaste woman in Palestine," and that, in the belter circles of society, •* it
was scarcely possible for a child tu know its own father, neither was it ex-
pected of him." No wonder, then, that amid such universal corruption, a
generous and ardent nature, like that of de Boiscourt, should seek indulgence,
not in the groesness of sensuality which governed the mass, but in that re-
fined and tender voluptuousness which lives in the soul rather than in the
senses. He loved, he adored his Ernestina, with all the intensity of his
glowing heart. He regarded Abdallah with a feeling that rose far above
friendship ; he looked upon him as something more than human ; and no serf
of his own flowery land ever yielded up tlie person of his bride to the Lord
of the domain, with one-thousandth part of the joy with which he would
have warmed the soul of the majestic Monk towards his beautiful beloved.
His whole care, therefore, was to instil, and feed in each an overwhelming
passion for the other. Only the evening before, he had been happy in the
thought of his eventual sucC/Css — for the agitation shown by the Monk — the
fiery language he had used — the final determination he had expressed, seemed
to announce the existence of a passion nursed in solitude, which no consider-
ation, human or priestly, could restrain from fulfilment. Where vice was
80 {H-evalent, mere libertinism so tolerated, there could be neither heart nor
feeling to lend to passion that which alone could dignify and render it what
it is — the greatest gift — the most exquisite proof of the boundless love of the
great God of the Universe.

De Boiscourt was not a mere sensualist, iu llie vulgar acceptation of the
term. Women, whose lives were grossly dis.soiute from habit — and there
were but few at that day who were not — could yield him no pleasure in
their embrace ; and although we have seen him abandoned to the fullest im-
petuosity of passionate endearment while exposed tu the seductive beauty of
the captive Saracen, there was mingled in his devotion to her a delicacy, an
earnestness and warmth of feeling, which he had never known in the arms
of any but his own Ernestina. He was, in act, perhaps one of the strictest
of the Knights of the Holy Land — the Templars and the Order of St. John
always excepted ; but in proportion as he was insensible to the grosser ap-
petites of the animal, he yielded up his soul to the most enchanting images
of what passion might, and what his peculiar creed told him it should be.
Regarding his Ernestina and Abdallah as he did, his imagination revelled in
the thought of what they might be to each other, and that without, in the
slightest degree, impairing the fervor of love of the one, or the warmth and
sincerity of friendship of the other, for hims<!lf. y\nd thus satisfied, for he
would not have given up the treasure of her heart's iiflection for worlds —
thus assured that th<5 happiness of the holy Monk would be a source of no
sorrow to himself, but rather that the bond, which united them all, would
be strengthened into unoeasing durability by the gratification and outpour-
ing of the fulness of their hearts, he sought to infuse into the breast of each
a fierce and unspoken passion for the other. With a burning pen, and in
the quaint language of the day, he had first addressed himself to his wife.
He had described, in glowing terms, all the circumstances connected with
his first meeting with Abdallah, and had so conUived to awaken her interest

•Higjt

■^^fc

'^-Zjsttsam

:»^

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

by contrasting his holy and strict life, with the extraordinary physical attri-
butes of the man, and the indomitable heroism uf the warrior, that many and
many a lone night had she passed, in the dull chateau of Auvergne, in think-
ing, as she had artlessly confessed, of the noble Monk Knight, quite as much
as of her wedded lord — her generous and confiding husband. The innate, and
for the age, remarkable modesty of her own pure though imaginative nature,
had prevented her from answering, in the impassioned language used by him-
self ; but de Boiscourt could trace in her letters that the sentiment, he so
much sought to instil, was fast diffusing itself throughout her being, and
that her expanding heart was rapidly becoming ample enough to admit into
its warmest recesses, the image of a lover second to himself. What Ros-
seau has since been, his noble countryman, dc Boiscourt, then was ; but
more frank, more ardent, more generous, more liberal and self-immolating,
where the happiness of those he loved required the more than human sacri-
fice of self. And yet, with him it was no sacrifice. It would rather have
been a sacrifice to have abstained from the tn-union of hearts it had now be-
come the chief duty of those hours, not devoted to his knightly duties, to
promote.

Such were the reflections of the Baron, as he rode impatiently in the ad-
vance of his men, his eye keenly fixed on the Saracen host, then deploying,
wiih great pomp, their glittering order of battle to meet the approaching
Christians, while his heart exulted in a wild determination to expose himself
wherever the danger seemed hottest.

•f

i
'I

CHAPTER IX.

The day was bright and scorching — the arid sands, over which the
Christians moved, rose in impalpable dust, and parched the throats of the tens
of thousands composing their array. Fatigued and dispirited, and sufTering
intensely from a thirst which had lasted for many hours, they nevertheless
were animated by a zeal, which rendered them reckless of personal privation,
as they crossed the great plain, towards the lake of Tiberias, where the
cautious Saladin awaited their onset of battle. He had marked and exulted
in their error. They had imprudently thrown all the advantage of the con-
flict out of their own hands into his. Had they continued encamped under
the walls of Jerusalem, and there awaited his approach, they would have
forced upon him the privation they so unnecessarily encountered themselves,
and thus more, than neutralized the great disparity of numbers of their fight-
ing men. The Saracens were as little capable of enduring tl;e thirst of that
Syrian region as were their enemies, and the wily and sagacious Saladin well
knew that, before his army could traverse that burning plain, thousands
would have been disabled through exhaustion, from partaking in the struggle.
The more to harrass the Christians, he withdrew slowly as they advanced,

>«;

■^•"'^jBr'si*^

-X

Till' MONK KNI(;i;T 01' ST. JOHN.

€

™

and not until tliey had fjaiiieil the farther extremity of the plain, did lie fiiiaiiy
halt his masses to receive them. Tiien eommenced the most fearful earnafre.
Like fiends, the adverse S([iiadrons foil upon each other ; and the slai'trl'ter
on both sides was so great that, over the whole space occupied hy the iwo
armies, the sands were saturated and discolored with the blood of men and
of horses. Shouts, which rent tiie air, as if ten thousand devils had broken
loose from their confinement, marked the onslaught of the Christians, faint-
ing from exhaustion, thirst, and heat, while their equally enthusiastic, but
fresher foes, answered to their furious cries of hatred and vengeance, by the
ear-piercing clang of their trumpets and atabals. Death and desolation
marked the hand-to-hand encounter of the two hosts, and men stood aghast at
tJie vastness of the cruelty of their own prowess — of their own deeds of blood.
*' Christ and the Cross" was the battle-cry of one party — " Mahomet and the
Crescent" that of the other ; and if the true faith were to have been measured
and acknowledged by the standard of blood shed by each army that day, it
would have been difficult to decide to whom the palm of ascendancy should
have l>cen awarded. Clouds of dust, raised by the hoofs of the steeds of the ^
warriors, and by the struggling feet of men in their last agony, hid from both '
armies the sunlight of heaven, and formed a hot and floating veil which glis-
tened in countless millions of atoms, over their devoted heads, adding to the
fearful sense of suffocation they otherwise endured So deadly was the
fight — so confounded the melfe of horse and foot — of knights and men-at-arms
—that acts of individual prowess were scarcely distinguished from their very
multiplicity. It was one general slaughter-field of man, created in God's
fashion, and mercilessly cut down by his fellow-man, who looked eagerly at
the streams of blood that flowed around him, as if he would have slaked in
it the burning thirst wbich dried up the juices of his body, and gave him
a foretaste of the torments of the damned.

The whole of that fearful day, the tide of battle ceased not to r\ge, yet
without manifest advantage to either host. The Christians made the most
stupendous efl^orts to reach the wells, which lay close behind the forces of
Saladin, fighting with a ferocity which had not been surpassed in their con-
quest of Jerusalem itself, and throwing themselves madly upon the lances of
•heir enemies, to force a passage to the coveted water. But the Saracen
leader knew too well his advantage. While his own troops entered fresh into
the conflict, he had marked with satisfaction, the tottering advance of aeir
foes, sustained only by their indomitable zeal, and he had made his disposi-
tions accordingly. He had seen them covered, choked with the sands they
had traversed, and, with parched throats, reeling from the accumulation of
suflfering to which they had been exposed. To preserve the living wall of his
army, which formed the only barrier interposed between the Christians and
the wells, which would have aflbrded them new energy and strength, had
been his chief object, and gap after gap was filled up, the moment a point of
attack had been forced. Night came on, and still the object of the Christians
was unattained. Foiled, dispirited, they slowly retired and took up a po-
sition where a cluster of high and precipitous rocks promised them security
from .^ -^-tse during the night, but here their sufTerings were unabated.
Water there was none, and to add to the tortures they endured, the hot

■*?■ }

^:\

If'

'-.x:::^B

'-i\

THK MONK KNIGHT OK ST. lOH.N.

Syrian night-air was rendered more intensely arid by fires which had been
applied by the Saracens to various parts of a wood in close contiguity to
their temporary encampment. ^

Nearly at the head of that tired and sleepless host, sat a helmeted knight,
with his back reposing against a flat and projecting rock. His armor and
rich surcoat of fur were covered with blood and dust, formed into a thick
paste, so thickly streaked upon them, that it was difTicult to tell the original
color of either. Close a„ his side was a page holding two steeds, covered
with dust also ; one, with his jaded head drooping to the ground, and
with languid and half-closed eyes, attesting the excess of fatigue and priva-
tion which he had undergone. The second and larger animal cxhibitfed no
sucii signs of weakness. He champed his bit and pricked his ears un-
ceasingly, as if impatient to be let loose again upon the coarse he had so
recently run. The page himself was overcome by drowsiness, and, ever and
anon, dropped his head upon his chest heavily, but was almost instantly re-
called to himself, as the fiery steed tossed up his head at intervals, and drew
the bridle, with a strong, quick jerk, through his bent arm.

" Poor boy," remarked the Knight, in a low tone of commiseration — " if
you can sleep amid this terrible drought, great must be your fatigue, indeed.
But, wherefore should I wonder that it is so. Few of the men of Auvergne
have followed me to-day more closely than yourself. Sleep, dear boy, sleep >>

The waking of to-morrow will be a terrible one."

As he thus spoke, the generous Knight slipped the bridle of his own im-
patient steed from the arm of the page and inserted it within his own. The
effect on the tired youth was instantaneous. The other horse was too mo-
tionless to disquiet him, and when the boy's head again sank upon his chest,
he profoundly slept.

De Boiscourt — for it was indeed that gallant and noble-hearted knight who
had taken up his position at the head of his surviving retainers, waiting for
the dawn — sat for some moments with his arms folded across his chest, and
indulging in the same painful train of thought which had caused him so
much melancholy reflection in the morning. Suddenly, the pricking of the
ears, and the whinnying of Belteil, in a tone which seemed to indicate the pre
eence of some familiar acquaintance, caught his attention, and caused him
to turn his eyes in the direction in which he now first heard the fiiint tramp- \
ling of horse's feet. As the object drew nearer to him, the outline of a
mounted knight was dimly visible, and then, as it appro;iched, nearer the
heart of the Baron beat quickly, happily, impatiently — for there was no mis-
taking that majestic horseman. It was Abdallah, fully equipped in his
warrior's garb.

Starting up from the ground on which he sat, de Boiscourt advanced to
meet him, leading Belceil by the bridle, and with a sentiment of almost fear
at his heart, lest he should be disappointed in the manner of his reception.
Deep was his joy, however, when the latter, dismounting slowly from his
war-horse, embraced him with all the ardor of their usual friendship. They
then approached the spot which the Baron had just left, and turning the
angle of the rock, seated themselves a tew yards from Rudolph, who now
hidden from view, still profoundly slept. The Knights held their own - >

I ,/

-'?

THE MONK KNIOHT ('!■ M. JOHN.

horses, which, with nrntiial recofrnition, licked cacli others head and neck,
and otherwise wxined nearly as glad as their riders at the reunion.

"Deareet Abdallah,'' observed the Baron, when they had exchanged the
first warm evidences of their friendship. " If you knew what I had suffered
from your leaving the camp, without apprising me of your intention, you
.,y never would have pained me thus. Ah ! I never knew until this day, that

friendship can fee! as keenly in its disappointment as love. What caused
your abrupt departure'"'

"The explanation is .soon given."" returned the Monk, whose countenance,
ciilm and dignified as usual, was strongly reflected m the moonligiit. — " But,
dear de Boiscourt, the fatigue of this terrible day has so cloven my tongue
to my parched palate, that I must be brief in words. That," he pursued,
"was a master-stroke of Saladin, in forcing us to traverse the plain, instead
of harrassing the Moslem ranks by coming to ua. Had the sage advice of
the Count of Tripoli found the weight it deserved, that false move of the
Christians would never have been made, and the Holy City of the Cross
would not at this hour stand imperilled."

" Imperilled !" returned the Baron, " and wherefore imperilled, Abdallah'
" Will not to-morrow's stm go down upon a field of carnage, moistened
more with Moslem than with Christian blood 1 Will not the banners of the
% Cross float over theae very wells the Saracen has so stubbornly withheld

from us this day, and which, when gained, will flow like manna to the sick
sonl, giving new strength and confidence to the Christian host. In a word,
shall we not, to-morrow, revenge i.^ partial discomfiture of to-day ' Y'es —
by the Cross, we shall I"

" Nay, dear de Boiscourt," replied the Monk, with solemnity ; " your
generous and enterprising soul renders you more sanguine than the gloomy
aspect of our afiairs would seem to justify. Alas! I feel not thus confident.
Well do 1 know that all that zeal and heroism can afl!'ectwill be essayed, but
we cannot war against nature — '* '

" Ah ! say you so," quickly interrupted the Baron, his mind still engrossed
by the one sole subject in which he took delight ; " you admit, then, the im-
possibility of man warring against nature."

" Yes ;" answered the Monk, hoarsely — almost fiercely — as he pressed
,^ unconsciously, with iron grasp, the hand of the Baron. " I admit it even in
the sense in which you mean it ; but" — he resumed, ai\er a short pause, in
his usually composed manner — " that was not what I would have stated
here. I meant to convey that the Christian forces, worn out by fatigue, and
half maddened by the agonizing stings of thirst, cannot hope successfully to
contend against an enemy nearly double in number, and even now, while I
speak, perhaps, cooling their parched frames from those very wells they
have so carefully guarded, and to fill my helmet from which, before enter-
ing into battle, I would almost consent to lose my shield-arm. De Boiscourt,"
pursued the Monk, sadly, " if even I, who have, in accordance with the strict
duties of my order, lived a life of privation — of constant and unflinching war
against the flesh— feel thus, what must not be the eflfect upon the mass who
have not been taught the fortitude to bear? But I can no more," he con-

^ fl

THK MONK KNKiHT Or" »T. JOHN.

eluded faintly, '• my lips almost refuse to do their office, so parched are they,
so deficient in moiature is my tongue."

•'Oh, Abdallah! but stay — Rudolph, boy, awake- some hither imme-
diately," and de Boiscourl started to his feet.

Roused by the sound of his master's voice, the boy dropped the reins of
his palfrey, and advanced, rubbinp his eyes, to the spot whence the voice
proceeded, but when, on turning the angle of thewock, he beheld him not
alone, but in company with the Monk, iht^ joy of his young heart could not
bf' suppressed, and throwing himself on his knees, he plactxl his arms round
Abdallah's neck, shed a paroxysm of tears, and utlere<l the iTiost winning
and affcctionale expressions of delight at once nioro beholding him.

•• Poor child!" said the Monk, with much emotion, a.s he pressed hrin
fondly arnd paternally to his heart, " well do I esteem tlitiae marks of your
affection; bul wherefore is it, Rudolph, that I have won this new and ex-
ceeding interest in your regard. I had always thought you looked upon me
as one too stern to command your confidence and friendship."

" Ah ! Sir Monk," replied the generous boy, " not my high esteem for
you alone, but ray deep love for my master, the husband of the dear Lady
Ernestina, has caused me to act thus unseemly for a page. But did you
know what agony of mind he has secretly endured, yet failed to conceal
from ray too observant eye, you would not wonder at the deep, wild joy I felt,
on waking ^oraa dream of horror, in which, methought we were all perishing
of thirst, to find, with my lord, the dear friend whose absence he has so
greatly mourned."

" Rudolph," said the Baron, taking his hand as he rose from his knees,
" you say that your dream announced that we were all perishing of thirel —
alas ! this will be too true, unless you have made some provision against it.
I almost drejid to ask you whether, with your usual prudence and forethought,
you garnished your flasks this morning before leaving the tent, and if so,
whether they have escaped the descending battle-axes and scimeters of the
Moslems!'"

" Thank, thank God, I did provide," returned the youth, eagerly, "I
filled both flasks with wine whMemy lord was mounting. I had, most strange
to say, forgotten all about it ; but ah, it is well ; for now, in the moment of
most need, is it untouched. No battle-axe or scimetcr has injured the
llaaks, for, you know, my lord, I was too well guarded from their blows by
yourself."

" Quick, dear Rudolph, and bring hither a flask, for the noble Monk re-
(|uires it much, nor less myself, nor you, dear boy. Ah, if this be not manna
m the wilderness, what is?"

Rudolph hastened to secure his prize ; but, to his great dismay, on reach-
ing the spot where he had left his dozing horse, the animal was nowhere to
be seen. The horror of his feelings was great beyond expression, not ao
much for the loss of his horse, as of the liquid treasure with which he was
laden. Not daring to announce his misfortune, he followed in pursuit, taking
the narrow path among the winding rocks which led to the vanguard of the
Baron's retainers, where he hoped to find the further advance of the animal
ariested. Running with fleetness, he had not gone more than fifty yarda,

I';
i

.51
i

'II

•0'

THK .MONK KNKiHT OF sT. JOHN.

wlien he fancied lie could distinffuiHh the (lutliiu' of a horso, ri-lieved aijuinst
the face of a slate-colored rock. As he drew nearer he was convinced that
it was his own, but ho now also distinctly observed a human fifjure between
the animal and the rock, whom he at (nice recognized as one of the Haron's
men-at-arms. He was evidently riHiii>; the panniers of their contents, for ht!
held n|) one of the flasks to the light of the moon, as if with the view to aa
certain the quality of its qtatents.

CHAPTER X.

; I

That sight was sufficient to arouse all the energies of the gentle boy.
The fear of losing one drop of the precious wine, caused him to utter a loud
and startling shout, as he rushed determinedly towards the evidctii purloiner
of his treasure. Surprised at the interruption, the latter dropped the hand
which held the flask, and advanced to confront the intruder. As he stood face
to face with him, he recognized the hard features of Cceur-de- Fer. |

" Ha ! is that you, then? I thought that some unknown knave had stolen
my little Blondin, but now, I see, it is you. He slept, the cunning rascal,
while Beloeil was near him, but the moment my lord, seeing me fatigued
with holding both, led him round the angle of the rock, near'which we lay,
and therefore out of his sight, he thought his companion was gone. Coming
this way you met him. Was it not so, Coeur-de-Fer. Ah, my good fellow,
how much I have to thank you for. You have saved my lord's life."

" Indeed ! young Master Rudolph, and how is that, pray ?" asked the man-
at arms, composedly, as he proceeded to unscrew the metal stopper of the
flask, which, however, swollen with moisture as it was, resisted all his
eflbrts.

" Hold ! Coeur-de-Fer, you surely do not mean to rob my lord of his pro-
perty,"' remarked the page, eagerly and angrily. Consider that the Baron
and his friend, the Monk Knight, Abdallah, are even at thi.^ moment panting
like Dives from thirst, and waiting to cool their scorched palates from that
flask."

" Indeed," again sneered the man ; " are you sincere in what you say,
Master Rudolph."

" What I say, Coeur-de-Fer, is most true," returned the boy, in some mea-
sure discouitiged at the man's insolence of tone.

" And who sufl^ers the most in his thirst i" demanded the fellow, coolly.
" the Baron or the Monk ?"

" Oh ! the Monk," returned the Page, replying to his question, purely
from a desire to gain the object he had in view. •' He is almost speechless
from thirst."

" Ha ! that is well ! exclaimed Coeur-de-Fer, " let him thirst and be
damned in his thirst. The thought will render my own draught the sweeter.
It will revenge the death of the brave Thibaud, and of his comrades. Be-
sides, child, necessity knows no law of right— none of the mfitm ijiid tiniin

TlIK MONK KNKiHT OK ST. .lOHN.

nonfteiifcp I've liwijil spciik tif in the iiioimstery of Aiivt-renr. TC tin; Huron is
KiifforiiiK from lliirMt, I ;nu vtry sorry lor him, Init, pnrdini, 1 liiivc the suiue
complaint myscll, uixl tK't'ore I j^ivc ii)) the jjhosl, I would fUin ticklo my
palate wilh wiial hat* never yet passed lip of mine since 1 left onr Iteaulifnl
poutli — some of ilrti tempt infj-lookmjf ('y[)rnM wnie, with which I have more
than once seeti you jjarnish these hampers. As for the Monk," ho continued,
savagely, " let him die."

" .\nd wherefore this most unchristian bitterness agaiuHt the pious Monk,"
returned the youth, in acrentH that wen; intended to soothe the rough ('omr-
de-Fer into a change of purpose. " What can he have done to provoke
your anger !"

"Pious Monk ' said you'" retorted the man-at-arms, furiously: "piety
like Ills be dannied. Pretty piety, truly, to cut oil" half a dozen .sorvunls ot
the true (Jod. uieri'ly liecau.se iliey ra'ished a few infulel women, aiul
therefore did honor to the accursed of Christ and of his followers. Look you
here. Master Hudolph, 1 know whiil I speak about. 1 was one of a parly of
six, who, under 'riiihaud, ;il)(iul two vears ajjo, took tliree Sara(;en women
prisoners apd carri('d them into a wood a.>< our prize and spoil. Well, two of
them wore alre.uly .sacrificed, and Thibaud ua.s about overcoming the scruples
of the third, (who was the mi.-iress, an»l the ino.-t beautiful of them,) v^-hen
the devil .must make hia ajipearance in the shape of this Monk, who, v'ith ad
many blows of his tlaahiiif; scimeler. lopjied olF the heads of my five com-
panions, and luil satisfied wilh this, took 'riiibaud up in his hands as thoujjh
he had lu-en no heavier than a shadow, and dashed his l)rains out against the
very tree, where 1. on hearing; the Monk come up, had hidden myself, and
from behind which I had witnessed the whole scene. Pnrdini ! had he
waited until Thibaud had finished his little bit of love nuiking, 1 could
have forgiven his killinjf liiiii afterwards, but not then. It disappointed
Thibaud — it disajipointed me, aiul 1 liav(! hated him most cordially ever
since."

"Villain!" mutteri-d the [laife ; a thousand vecollectious connected with
that circumstance rushing upon his memory. " Vou were then one of that
ruffian party, and '..< lord, in ignorance of this, has ever since retained you
in his confidence!"

" Aiul why not. Master Rudolph ' Has not the confidence been well
repaid ' Have I not always done my duty both in camp as in the field — as
well as his ^rroom and forager, as his man-at-arms ? I have no enmity against
the Baron, lM)y ; he has always been kind to me, but I never looked upon
that cnrstnl Monk-Knight, without feeling a sensation of hate, as in fancy I
feel his sharp scimeter across my own neck."

" But ycm will give me up my flask, C(Eur-de-Fer," continued the youth,
in an insinuating tone ; " you know my loru .anguishes ; let us not waste the
time in fuiiher parley"

" Yes ; ' returned the man fiercely, "and the Monk languishes. Let
him in imagination slake his thirst in the blood of Thibaud and his fellow
victims, and tell my lord, that though men have eaten each other to stay their
appetite before this, I only drink his wine. And this, not because J regard
him less, but because 1 love myself more Tlimk not," he added, with sar-

^-'

TMK MClNK KMCiltr OK hT. JOHN.

casm, " th;itl liavp pjisord almost half the i)ij;lil in watching for my prize, to
Burremlor it thus ca»ily at your prayiii).', Ma.Mcr UiuUtlpli. Say to the
Duron, that to-morrow I shall bt- prepared to lay down my life in hattlp for
the (tom.1. hut liiat I cannot yifld liiui this. Ah ' how sweet will he the
quaffinjr "• 'he delicious slull" het'ore I die. SijH, Hudolph, for old aajuaiiit-
ancc sake, will I give you from the flask, to cool your burninjj tongue."

" Kuniaii I" sluiuted the hoy. .stampiii^; hi-^ foot violently on the ground,
"you tiien stole the horse, and he did not slvay to you. Out uiioii your m
tended regard for me. Hut dare to taste of that liquor, and your blood be
upon your own head."

" Hal do you ihroalen. young sir — a [luiiy thing like you, to use sucli
language to the strongest man-at-arms in the Baron's force' 'i'hia may do
for (la.scony hut not in Auvergne. fiy my troth !" he added, furiously, '" un-
less, you put a bridle on your pert tongue, 1 will slay and hurl your carcase
behiiul these rocks for the vulture to feast upon at hi8 leisure."

" Ciod defend the right!" cried the l)oy, as he saw that C.'oeur-de-Fer was
gradually loosening the stopper which had at length been moved; then, utter-
ing de Hoiscourt's name in a loud and piercing key, he sprang like a young
tiger upon him, and clenched his hand around his neck with a force of
which he had never believed himself capable.

Astonished, enraged, and nearly half-throttled, the man was compelled to
drop the flask, in order to have the free use of his hands. Furious with
pain, he sliook the boy so violently, that he, in turn, was driven from his
hold, when Coeur-de-Fer, grasping both arms in his iron clutch, tore them
asunder from his throat, and dashed him heavily to the ground.

" Young fool !" he nmtlered hoarsely, as he stooped over him, " you have
provoked your own fate. There must be no one to tell of this hereafter."

With one hand he felt the light armor of the page, fiercely struggling to
free himself, for an opening through which he might direct the point of the
short rude dagger, which he had unsheathed, and now held aloft in iiis right
hand.

"Hal ha! ha! caitiff!" laughed Rudolph, bitterly — almost hysterically,
" do you experience that tingling sensation in your neck now? just fancy
that, like Thibaud, you feel the sharp scimeler of the Monk-Knight ; or, the

very moment when you feel your purpose about to be accomplished "

" Damned be the Monk — may his soul burn in "

His spei'i'li was ali. ;itly closed — or if the word " hell" came from hi3
lips, It must have been uttered in too low a voice to be heard. The blow
had taken off the arm at the shoulder, and apparently extinguished life.

It was a singular coincidence, as the younger knight afterwards remarked,
that the same arm and the same scimeter, but at a different epoch of time,
should have pimished the last ot the band that had carried on their lustful
orgies in the heart of the sycamore wood. It was Alniallah, who, aroused
by he first piercing cry of the boy had, with de Boiscourt, flown to his
rescu N and guided by the sounds of struggle between the unequal combatants,
trace 1 their way without dilRculty to the spot. The younger knight lead-
ing thei" steel's wis a little in Uie rear, but Abdallah, who at a glance had
observed the condition of affairs, fearing that the tramp of their (c : niight

THK MONK K.VIOIIT OK >T. lOMN.

precipitatfi the (NitiiHlroplii' lin Moiiiflii lo avoid, iiK.tionrd lo Itirt friend i.i re-
main stationary, while ho Htolo cantioiif<ly forward with his scinifiter bared,
and fvcn navaifidy Krimpcd. <'i^iir-ii,--F'Vr hud hft'ti too miirh excited to no-
tice the approiich of any one, for Ins »oiil w.ih fill, d with .shame at havinjj
thus been riitiely umultcd and Ihrotiled by a boy whom he despised for his
very physiciil weaknusw, ami now res<ilv('d to desiniy ; ;iad so fiirions was
he, that not even the nidckin^ w«rnin(; of Uiidcdph. which was meant to
divert liim from hi« aim, eonhi for one moment turn him from his piirposo.
Stealthy and prompt, howe\.'i, .\^ hail been the ridvanee of AlMlallah, he
miijht have been loo late to save tlie iiti^ of the boy, had not tlie latter kept
his body in such uneeaKinf? motion, as to cause his assailant great delay in
findini,' an accessible point to his heart, and successfully directing the dasrgcr
where he had.

'♦ The wine — tlin wine — (!oil he praised ! the wine is saved." was the first
thonijht and exclamiilion of Kiidolph, a.s, .sprinjring lij^'htly to Ins tret, he
flew to the xpoi wli'Tc ill' inriiri.ueil Auveri,Miois bad dropped the flask totbe
earth. Hal here it is— untouched, undcfilod, by his ruffian lips. Sir Monk,
you have litis nifibt sjved Hiidelpli's life, as .some half dozen times before you
have .shielded that of my lord and miisler. Oh, think then," and lie bent
him reverently, " how deep is ray rejoicement at the sudden resolution with
which a divine Power must have inspired me to preserve this for those I so
much love, and who so much retiuire it."

In vain, however, Rudolph i .:S!iycd to unscrew the top. His fingers slip-
ped around it, and he was compelled to hand it to the Monk to open. But
even the great strength of the latter availed not more, when, using his scime-
ter, he, with a slight sharp blow from this, severed the leaden fiead from
its body.

It must not be suppose<l that the f1a.ska of that day bore any resemblance to
the puny things of the present. Like those who u.sed them, they were on a
scale of grandeur, and contained each nearly lialf a gallon of whatever re-
freshing l)ev(!rage was placed in them for the u.se of the knight, and such of
his brother warriors as he chose sliouhl share with him, when the tatigue of
the battle was over, and themselves far without reach of their own stores.
The leaden, or pewter, or silver flasks — for they varied in value, according
to the rank or individual taste of their owners — was broad, large, and flat ;
and fitted, as has been stated, into panniers, partially hidden under the man-
tle wbich the scjuire or page tsually carried on his crupper. They were not
iui indisi)ensablc, or even generrl, portion of the equipment of these latter,
out under those scorching suns, and in a country where water eould only be
obtaiiKul at particular points and long intervals of a march, they had been in-
troduwd by a majority of the knights, who were not of the severer and self-
mortifying orders. Many a hard-fought contest was cheated of a portion of
its toil, whenever the parched lips of the jaded knight could be refreshed
from these portable wells, whether of water or of wine, by his faitlifi.l page.

Ft hius already been seen that Abdallali, however denying to himself even
(he presence of women, was by no means rigid in his abstinence from wine,
not that he ever indulged in it to excess, but that his ideas of temperance —
more regulated by quantity than by quality — nor indeed was it enjoined, by

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

the rvilcs of the Order of St. John, that more than sobriety should be kept in
view by its members.

It was not likely then that, on the present occasion, after having endured
almost unto fainting, so many hours of intolerable thirst, he would impose
upon himself any very severe restraint, or fail to indemnify himself for the
terrible torture he had suffered from the maddening influence of that thirst.
Water had been to him far more acceptable than wine, but in the absence of
the former, the latter, from its comparative lightness, was without price.
Putting the heavy tlask to his lips, therefore, he drank, not with avidity, but
slowly and deliberately, and as he felt each drop of the wine insinuating it-
self as it were into his system, and mingling with his blood, while it infused
fresh vigor into his tired frame, he experienced the only true sensation of
vt)luptuous enjoymnnt he had ever known : nor did he stay the delicious
draught, until nearly half of the geneious wine had passed his lips.

Breathing a deep breath when he had finished, he sank upon his knees,
and, with uplifted liands, gave tiianks to God aloud, not only for the sns-
tenance of his strength, but for the relief afforded him from the anguish he
had endured.

" And you, too, my dear child, I must not, while rendering thanks to the
All-mcrcitul, tbrget its noble and generous instrument. But you are here,
de Boiscourt. Drink."

•' Riglit gladly." said the Baron, shaking the still well-filled flask which
he had received from the hands of the Monk, and now held up to his own
lips. " Here's to Ernestina !"

"Whom God of his infinite goodness bless," exclaimed the Monk, fer-
vently, and in a dee]i and impassioned tone.

" Spare it not. my lord," urged Rudolph. " its fellow is in the same
paruiier. Ah ! how lucky it was my jumping at that fellow's throat. But
for that sudden thought, what would have become of us'"

" Who iS the ruffian !" asked de Boiscourt as, after having swallowed about
half of what Abdiiliah had left, he handed it in turn to the page, with an
iiijuiK-tion to drink likewise, but sparingly.

'•It is ('(Pur-de-Fer, my lord," returned the boy. "Thank Heaven, the
villain has no further povver to harm."

" Coeur-de-fer and villain 1" returned the Baron with amazement, "Do
you mean tliat my own faitiii'ul groom was your assailant ' Explain, boy.''

In a few brief words Rudolph, wiio liad now merely moistened his lips
from the wine flask, communicated the whole of the farts connected with the
loss- of Ids Blondiii. his fiiuling him in the possession of <^'(pur-de-fer, already
in the very act of rilling the panniers , his entreaty in favor of the Baron
and of the Monk ; the insolent inessasre of the fellow to his lord : his de-
clared hutri'ii of Abdallali, and its cause ; the altercation and struggle which
nusiied. and lastly, the certainty with which lie looked upon death at the
very moment when, glancing forward as he lay lieneath the grasp of the as-
sassin, lie bclii'ld liie Monk-Knight coming to his rescue.

•• Noble i)oy."' said de Boiscourt, as he caught and pressed the paae to his
heart. " well have you acted. But for your firmness and pri'sencc of mind,
we had all. iiidei'd. suffered tiie tortures of the damned. But how. ihidolph,

■t

^V:.

THE :^.l;iNiC ICNIiiMT OF ST. .0!I\.

.■)1

could you think of tryinsr your strength aguiiist such a i^iaut ' Swpot will
be the kiss tho Lady Ernestina will bestow upon your fair brow, and as for
the pretty Henriette, she will absolutely devour her littl" \mge with the rose
buds of her lips."

" Oh. my lord," said the boy, whose blushes the r .rht alone concealed, " I
am so happy that I did it. It was a hopeless case, lo be sure, but I hadn't
time to reflect on the dantre-. I was wild with f'ismny, fr I knew that the
noble Monk was weary and faint from thirst, and I fancie'i, .ny lord's suffer-
ings scarcely to be less. Nay, T was the more miserable, because I knew
the fault was my ow-n, I'or I had no business to leave Blondin loose as I did.
Cceur-dc-fer never would have stolen him, if I iiad led him by the bridle
when my lord called me to him.

" I cannot help thinking of the fate of that scoundrel,'' said the Baron,
musingly. You say he admitted himself to have been one of the party who
fell by the scimeter of Abdallah, two years ago, and that he escaped unseen
and unharmed. Little did he think, while avoiding the punishment due to
liis crimes on thaf green and velvet sward, that he should meet it afterwards,
and from the same hand, amid those savage rocks. Surely, .surely this is
the work of an over-ruling Providence. But come, Abdallah, let us again
seat ourselves and while away the time until dawn."

«l

boy."

lips

ith the

ready

Baron

lis de-

which

at the

the as-

to his

mind,

iiilolph.

CHAPTER XI.

Thl spot where they were being as well adapted for their purpose as that
which they had just quitted, the friends reseatetl themselves, and within a
few yards of the bleeding body of Cieur-de-fer. The bead of the ruffian
lay at the opjiosite side of the winding pathway, and with the face turned to-
wards them, looking, in the moonlight, horrible in its ghastliness and fixed-
ness of feature. While Rudolph, now fully awakened from his slumber,
lightly held his recovered palfrey, the friends had the bridles of their
chargers carelessly thrown over their arms. Both remarked that, although
the war steed of the Monk was the stronger animal, and usually capable of
enduring the greatest fatigue, he now appeared jaded and sluggish, while
Beheil.on the contrary, manifested a vivacity and eagerness almost nruiatural
ill A charger, that had byen ridden over a hard-fought battle field during the
whole of the preceding day. The tossing of bis head, the chiUTiping of bis
l)it, the pawing of his forefeet was incessant, while as he ( ver and anon
niched his neck, the moonbeams which fell upon his eyes diseoverd there a
fire which, combined with the recklessness of action of his body, inarkei! the
hot hlood then raging in his veins.

"Truly," observed the Monk-Knight, '• some demon of necromancy must
have entered into your noldn steixl. I)e Boiscourt. Few horses come tjius
out of such an onslaught as thai in which we were yesterdaj engaged.
Would that mine were in the same condition U) undergo the vast test whif-h

If r

THK MON'k" KNUiliT oy ST. JOHN.

will devolve on both, ere the next rising sun shall have set. Beloeil looks as
if a dancing Bacchus were in his veins."

"How stupid of rue," replied the Baron. " Like you, I have been en-
deavoring to trace the cause of his excited action, and seeking in vain the
solution ; but your last remark reminds me. The fact is, Abdallah,that my
thoughts have been so exclusively devoted to you and to her, to whom you
are only second in my heart, that I had utterly forgotten having given largely
of wine to Beloeil, on the morning of yesterday, at starting from the camp."

" Of wine I" exclaimed the Monk, with surprise.

" Yes, of wine! and you may imagine how absent I have been, and how
completely immersed in my own thoughts ; when I add that it was with the
very object which has been attained — that of sustaining his strength and im-
petuosity in the charge."

" Indeed ! better then, that the wine of which I have ])artaken so abun-
dantly, should have been shared with mine," returned the Monk, seriously.
"This jaded steed will not, I fear, stand throughout the fatigue of to-morrow,
nor is that surprising. He has hui' more ti\an usual service to his share
yesterday, for even before the commencement of the great battle of Ti-
berias, which we are to conclude this day, had he been, for hours, trampling
down and burying his fetlocks in the thickened gore of the Moslem."

" Ha ! now I understand ; .some s\idden and secret enterprize was planned
by the (Jrand Master, and you were summoned suddenly to the council.
Hence your seeming neglect of your friend."

" Your surmise is correct," returned Abdallah. " A few brief sen""';
will inform you of all. Know, then, that about two hours before the da'
yesterday, a messenger came apprisses me of the intention of the (...,...«
Miister to force the wells of the Saracens at the head of three hundred chosen
knights, both of St. .Tohn and of the Temple. His instructions were to com-
mand my immediate appearance. Quickly as my war-horse, already equipped,
could be brought to me, 1 started at his fullest speed, and joined the warlike
array of my comrades. Three hundred camels, provided with skins and
other receptacles for water, sufficient to refresh the whole of the Crusaders,
before crossing the plain and giving battle to the infidels, were ordered to
follow. The point of attack was nearly a mile from Saladin's (diief encamp-
ment, near the lake. Onward we rushed like an avalanche, and, as we
approached the wells, we observed them to he guarded by a force of many
thousands. This was no obstacle to the bravery of the Grand Master, wlio
rushed upon them, and dealt out his blows, followed clo.sely by his knights,
with a violence and power almost superhuman. But, alas! our efforts were
in vain. The Saracen fanatics seemed to be .sensible that the safety of the
whole army and of their cause depended on our repulse. They fought with
determination, and yet not with the reckless valor of the members of the two
Orders, who.se many acts of heroism excited the admiration and wonder of
their foes. Some, afler losing their swords and battle-axes in the tnel^fi,
threw themselves impetuously forward, and assailed with their mailed fists.
Others drew forth the arrows, that were sticking in their bodies, and hurled
them back upon their enemies. .lames de Maike, in particular, mounted on
his white and noble charger, performed such prodigies of valur, that wt)cn

THE MONK KNIGHT UF ST. JOHN.

he [ell at last, overpowered by numbers, and mortally wounded ; his conquer-
ors knell over his body and tasted of his blood, not only as'a mark of their
respect for his bravery, but in the hope that tiie act might be the means of
imparting to them a portion of his superlminan courage. Poor de Maillc I
with him perished nearly every other knight, — the L!rand Master, another
'Templar, and myself only escaping the fearful carnage of tlic day."

'• Fearful, indeed I'' exclaimed de Ijoiscourt, '■ and yet, God be thanked,
you escaped, my friend."

•• The loss was great," returned the Monk ; '• but greater was the loss
sustaineil by our inability to secure the wells. Had the camels been laden
from these, the victory wouhl have been ours yesterday, and Jerusalem
saved. '

•• \Vc shall retrieve the day," replied the young Knight — "Abdullah,
you and 1 shall avenge the past, by carrying carnage, hand in hand, into the
midst of the Moslem rauks. But first for our steeds ; Rudolph I" turning to-
wards the the page, and in a somewhat elevated lone.

" My lord." answered the boy, springing to his feet.

" Are you ((uite certain that the second flask in your pannier is untouched ?"

'• Our virgin lady be praised, it is," returned the l»agf', after having shaken
the flask for about the fifth time, since the death of (.'auu-de-Fer, to satisfy
himself of the fact.

" Good, boy, we shall want it presently ; tarry yet where you are."

" Ah ! these arc brave tidings," observed the Monk Knight, nxultingly
" Now, then, for death or victory to-morrow — .Jerusalem saved or Jerusalem
lost !"

'• .Say not deatli, Abdallah," returned his friend, grasping his arm almost
fiercely. " Remember Ernestina."

" The loved of her adoring spouse," said the Monk, slightly affecled
by the wine, while a deep flush stole, at the ■ -•und of that name, over his calm
and noble features.

" The wife of a holy Monk — uf a father of the Church!" repeated the
Baron, in a low but earnest whisper. " Tell me, Abdallah, do you repent
your promise ! would you recall your pledge !"

••Repent! recall! Ue Boiscourt ; no," answered the Monk, with an
intensity of manner he had never before betrayed. " I have promised — I
sh-iil fulfill."

•• 11a, dear Abdallah — say you so? Repeat it to me. Tell me again th-at
in the event of my fall, the first violation of the monkish vow of forty years,
shall be at the feet of my Firnestina."

" Ue Boiscourt," returned the Monk, even more excited in his tone and
bearing. •' Who sows the whirlwind must expect to reap the storm. For
forty years, as you have said, has the fierce fiend of lust lain dormant within
my. Believe not that it was extinct. It only slept. You have studied hard,
my friend, to awaken it, and you have succeeded. That Madonna you have
paiiued — that sweet Ernestina must and shall be mine. Since our conver-
sation of the past day but one, -my vows have become a burden to me, and
Bhould you fall, wliich God and my deep friendship for you forbid, 1 shall
renounce my vows, and take, -as my bride, the wife of my friend. Yes, de

1 I

! i:

TflK MO.NK" KNlliHT 0!' NT. JOHN.

n: .

- h'

Boiscourt. Ill ihe rich l;i|) of ilit; iiiulchlcs.s beauty of tliat divine woman,
whicli I t'vcii now .si;t' rcvniilcd in sutrh perfection ;i.s Kve was finst created
in, will 1 pimr forth the lionndiess ir.msport of my endurin^f love."

" Wlial a picture I" exclaimed the Baron, impetuously. " Would that it
were now, (or 1 admit no joy, no Wli.ss on earth, so irreat as that of witnessing
tlie permitted hapj)iness — the intense devotion of her whom wc adore, and
wear in our soul of souls. If there is anything in man wliich partakes of the
Divine essence it is that. The total .sacrifice of self involved in the prin-
ciple has in it somethinij more than human,"

" Abdallah," — pursued the Uaron, inquiringly, his cheek burning with the
feverish excitement of his noble .soul — '" all this you will do, if I fall."

" All, de Boiscourt — more."

" But, recollect," returned the Baron smiling, not unless my fate be certain."

" Ah I fear me not," returned the Monk, composedly ; " only as the hus-
band of the Lady Ernestina can 1 possess her — in madness and in intensity —
in all the wild transport of our mutually-desiring souls, will I possess her, but
still as my wife. I take no joy in illicit dalliance. Love is the more powerful
— the more soul-absorbing, as I conceive the passion to exist, when it becomes
d'vine and purified by the holy rites of the Church."

" And yet you will possess her before those rites have sanctioned the
fires that will consume you both?"

" I will ; but only in order that Ernestina may revel once more in fancy in
the arms of her noble de Boiscourt. That night shall she share again the
love of her gallant husband. The betraying dawn shall give her to me un-
shackled by any tie, and in the unrestrained fulness of her awakened and
newaffectionThe nuptial benediction "shall follow, ere another sun goes down;
the second night she shall press a second husband to her arms."

" You will renounce your vows, then, if I fall?"

" I have sworn it," replied the Monk.

" And should they accept them not ?"

" Then will I, by absenting myself from my Order, prove the deep passion
that fills my whole being for your peerless wife, de Boiscourt. Should you
unhappily fall, nothing, save death itself, shall keep me from her arms."

The friends clasped each other in warm and affectionate embrace, and
during the silence that followed, the minds of both were filled with intense
emotion : the one, in the prospect of possessing a woman whose beauty had,
for the first time, excited his brain and inflamed his blood ; the other, in the
anticipation of unspeakable gratification in knowing that the adored wife of
his love would not be left desolate in her widowhood, but know even greater
happiness in the arms of his friend than she had ever shared with him.

" And now, of this I speak for the last time," said Abdallah, calmly.
" Let events guide our future course. If I fall, Ernestina is still your own ;
yet, say to her in your moments of tenderest abandonment, that even as a
brother prizes a grace-adorned sister more than all of womankind beside, so
I thought of her, so I adored her. But if, dear friend, the adverse tide of
accident be yours, (and some foreboding tells me that to-morrow's sun will
darken over the death-slumbering form of one of us,) then will 1 outstrip the
winds themselves to pour the oil of consolation in her soul, and make her

■•'*

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

mine for ever. And, though invisible, you shall be present lu spirit.
Listen, de Boiscourt : no indulgence of our overwhelming passion shall find its
vent unless your name be invoked — your image summoned to sanction and
approve it. Nay — no, more !" he added, seeing that his friend was about to
reply — " Hark ! the trumpets to piepare for battle."

And now, throughout those wild and clustered rocks, around and within
whose depths the Christian force had passed the sleepless night in dreamy
visions of cool streams, and purling brooks, and crystal fountains, only to mock
their palates, like the cheating mirage of the desert, rose far and wide the
ehrill sounds which called them to do battle for the safety of the beloved
Jerusalem. The shrill atabals, and camel-mounted drums of the Moslems,
responded to the cry, and fast the gathering ranks of either army swelled
into the order which had been assigned to them.

" The full flask, Rudolph," said the Baron, springing to his feet, " the
untasted Cyprus; I trust it may be the last I shall taste in Palestine."

*' Grod forbid ! " replied the page sadly, as he handed the wine. " Ah ! my
lord, why that cruel wish ! Consider the Lady Ernestina."

" It is because I do consider her, boy," said the knight gaily, as alter
having taken the bottle, he passed it to the Monk.

Rudolph's look betrayed his surprise.

" Dear child, should I fall this day I commit you to Abdallah, and to the
Lady Ernestina, whom you love so much. You are an orphan, and they
will adopt you.'

" They will adopt rae?" half questioned the boy through his trickling
tears. " Will the noble Monk Abdallah then live with the Lady Ernes-
tinal"

" As her confessor," returned the Baron, impressively, while he cast a
look, full of meaning, on his friend. " Well, Abdallah, now that we have
again cooled our thirst and warmed us for the combat, let not our noble
steeds be forgotten. Rudolph, the other Hask."

The page handed the flask which had been first opened, and into this the
Baron poured half the contents of the other. He then, as he had done on
the preceding morning, applied the flask to the mouth of the Monk's steed
thrown upward, and held tightly by him while he emptied nearly two-thirds
of the contents dowr his throat. The remainder he gave to Beloeil,

Thus prepared, the two Knights drew tighter the loosened fastenings of
their steeds, adjusted their own armor, and after having again embraced
each other with warmth, mounted into the saddle, and separated to join
their respective troops. As De Boiscourt watched the departing form of
Abdallah, he perceived that his steed, like his own, was already beginning
to feel the exhilarating effect rf the wine, a portion of which had been given
to Blondin, for his course to the point where lay the Knights of St. John
was marked by a life and earnestness of action, greatly in contrast with the
fatigue and sluggishness he had evinced almost until dawn.

" God bless and preserve you this day!" murmured the Baron, when, after
having lost sight of his friend, he turned his charger in the direction of his
own men.

4
11

f'f

ft»

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

CHAPTER XII.

While the Baron and the 31onk- Knight are preparing to engage in
the struggle in which the fate of Chrifitemlom in Asia depended, let us
for a moment transport the reader in imagination to the far-distant cha-
teau of the former, in sunny Auvergiip, wliore lingors in her widowhood
the subject of their deep interest ;uid conviTs.ition — the Lady Ernestina.

It was night — that very night when the friends held their glowing
converse in the heart of the rocks that swept :iround Tiberias. A large
wood fire blazed on the hearth of the outer cliamber which adjoined the
bedroom, and to which allusion has been already made. The furniture
was in keeping with the age. The wooden panels of dark and polished
oak — the massive tables, and high-backed chuiri? of the same material,
■were elaborately carved, the latter bearing, within a scroll on their back*,
the arms of the de Boi.scourts. The windows wi-re Gothic, and shaded by
curtains of rich red velvet, bordered with embroidery, which threw a
cheerful though softened light over the other wisic sombre apartment.
The floor, polished like the furniture, was formed of thin small inlaid
blocks of wood of an octagon shape. The luxury of a carpet was un-
known, but small neat mats, made of stained rushes, and bordered with
fringe of the same color with the curtains, were distributed about the
room. Against three sides of the chamber were placed as many enor-
mous mirrors of polished steel, set in frames of ebony, richly carved and
emblaaoned also, and extending from the coiling to the floor. These,
with a high-backed, sloping, and rather ample arm-chair, and a richly-
ornamented escritoire, composed the principal furniture of the apartment.
The bedroom was furnished in a similar manner, with the addition of a
large bed.stead of ebony, from the ample top of which depended hang-
ings of red also. The door of communication was on the right of the
black marble tiled hearth.

The Lady Ernestina entered the first chamber, with a silver lamp in
one hand and a bundle of parchmei^.t in the other. She placed the for-
mer on the table which was nearest the fauteil, and, with a pre-occupied
bur ! y no means dissatisfied air, approaclied the fireplace, and leaned
h'^r liead thoughtfully against the mantel. Her figure, in that attitude,
was imposing. Measuring at least five feet si.v inches in height, she.
was moulded in the most exquisite style of fe*- ^le proportion. Her
waist, althougli not particularly small, was in e. ■ harmony of grace
with her swelling hips, which displayed themselves symmetrically at
every movement of her body. It was evident that her leg was superb,
for the short petticoat which, in accordance with the fasliion of the day,
Bhe wore of rich velvet, bordered with lace of the rarest kind, suffered a
portion of its symmetry to be seen. This, at least what was seen of it,
as she leaned forward against the mantel-piece, was of exquisite fulness
and formation. Her foot was a perfect model, so rounded and delicate

' :m

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

•were its linet of curvature, and in the black relvet sandals which she
wore with rosettes, tightly laced around the taper ankle, would of itself
have quickened the blood of the most ascetic. Nor was her hand more
deficient than her foot in the smallness and elegance of its proportions.
The fingers were taper, and tipped with nails of a pink color, which
contrasted pleasingly with the whiteness of hov skin. Her arm was a
study for the sculptor. It was round, full, smooth, and of exquisite pro-
portion, which the full short sleeve of her crimson bodice, trimmed with
the same embroidery as that on the jupou or petticoat, admirably set off
and developed. Her bosom, half seen above the low-cut bodice, and
also of an eblouissant fairness, was full and streaked with purple veins of
such clearness that thev ■ embled the soft blue of an Italian sky visible
.at intervals in the w. t.^ and fleecy clouds of autumn. This was a por-
tion of her enchanting oeauty which the Lady Ernestina well knew was
a chef iTauvre of Nature, for, with the exception of the gossamer-textured
lace, no pains had been taken to shadow or conceal it. Her throat was
white and of swan-like grace of motion — her chin dimpled — and her nose
strictly Grecian in its character. Her eyes were blue, large, and ex-
pressive, and conveyed the feelings of the woman whose heart is the
abode of the warmest and most generous feelings of her sex. Her eye-
brows were full and arched, and of somewh.it lighter color than her hair.
This latter was of a dark rich chestnut, and exceedingly luxuriant and
glossy. It was folded many times, in a sort of club, round the back
of her head, and where the mass turned upwards from her beautiful
neck, not a straggling hair was to be seen. When the whole was loos-
ened, and suffered to fall by its own weight, it exhibited a redundancy
not to be exceeded even in the long-haired daughters of Spain, for as it
spread itself wide over the polished back and shoulders, it preserved the
same fulness until it reached the calf of the leg. To crown all this dazzling
beauty, the Lady Ernestina had very wl\ite teeth, and a mouth so sweet-
ly, tenderly, yet chastely voluptuous in its expression, that the blood of
the listener thrilled as he drank in the soft and melodious accents that
flowed from it tremulously, and as if half distrusting their own j^wer.
She was in the fully-budded flower of womanhood — at that age when
passion is, with the refined in feeling, not the gross sensuality which
priests pronounce it to be, but a divine emanation from the God who
created woman, that he might have the delight of contemplating
the intensity of emotion he had implanted in the bosom of the last
and most perfect of his creatures. The Lady Ernestina was five-and-
twenty — that voluptuous age when, in the sex, the passions first attain
the perfection of development ; and seven of these years had she been
the adored wife of a husband who loved her with such intensity that his
imagination was ever seeking to infuse some new and exciting idea into
her soul.

For a few minutes the Lady Ernestina, with a bosom heaving, and a
cheek glowing from her own thoughts, raised her head from her sup-
porting arm on the mantel, and with the parchment scrolls in her hand,

!■ 'I

THE MONK KNIGHT OK sT. JOHN.

V \

approached the table on which she had placed the lamp. Selecting one
of these which, from the newness of the silk which encircled it, appeared
to be the most recent of arrival, she untied the cord and unfolded it.
As she read, the blood mounted still higher on her cheek, and her full
bosom heaved as if it would have burst asunder the stomacher which
covered it. She read to the close, and then she pressed the parchment
warmly to her lips. This done, she deposited it for a moment at the
side of the others j then, with fervently clasped hands and eyes upraised
to Heaven, suffered tears of intense happiness to course down her
cheeks and trickle upon her lap. When this delicious paroxysm of silent
but tearful joy was over, a voluptuous calm crept over her features, and
she again took up the letter, which, the more to impress the value and
sweetness of its contents upon her memory, she read aloud to herself.
Thus ran that part which the most affected her :

" Still, amid all the privations I endure at being so long absent from
the arms of the beloved of my heart, 1 am much consoled not only by the
recollection of what the great beauty and the goodness of my Ernes-
tina are, but by the thought that another than myself — a noble and a
matchless other — shall know that goodness and that beauty also. Who
holds a gem of price, and fails to show its dazzling lustre to his friend,
that he may share in worship of its value, is most selfish and unworthy
to possess ^the treasure. That am I not. Ernestina, dear Ernestina,
does not your woman's fancy paint the ardor of the powerful, the majes-
tic Abdallah, to whom I speak of you in such glowing terms, that the
chaste calm Monk, whom passion has never yet seduced to woman's
mystic love, half maddens secretly with thoughts his vows disown ? If
not as yet. then straightway do. Imagine him, when your loving Alfred
is no more, losing all reverence for his monastic pledge, and fiercely
wooing, with noble brow and countenance serene, unto your nuptial bed
— not as one hackneyed in the world's cold ways, that turn the holiness
of passion to the brutal lust of beasts, but as an impersonation of all the
divine fire that filled the father of oar race, when first the adored God
unveiled to him the peerless beauty of his last created and desiring Eve.

" You, who so well can know and judge my thoughts, dear Ernestina,
sweet friend and sole possessor of my faithful heart, can feel with me the
luxury of that most holy confidence which, yearning to impart in the
ravished ear of each the most secret workings of the soul, whispers
forth, with trembling words and burning looks, such wanderings of the
imagination that soul entwines with soul in mystic bonds, no time, no
accident can weaken or efface. Knowing this, loved Ernestina, you
sweeter half of our united one, make then your lesser half your friend
and confidant. Confide to me the dear, dear secret of your bosom. Tell
me, tliat although you love me, as well I know you do^ with all the en-
prgy of a devoted heart, you scarcely love Abdallah less ; — say that your
trusting soul has been so tutored to a new delight, that it has gently
opened to receive a second husband, and swells with joyous pride to
think its aliment of love sufficient for them both. Confess that now to

I'HK .MONK KNKiHT Ol > T. JOHN.

dwell nil tliirs, ;iii(i now on lliiit. uiihl tin hnatinnf pulses riot in llic very
llioiitflii of bliss your caresses can ywU to both, is what your generouK
f'unry mostly likns to dwell upon. Kvimi did the nianneis of thts tiiiios ;u
home reslriiin the free indulgence of the sweetest bliss that Heaven can
yield to man, let us but take example t'luin the Moslem race, in all reli-
gious practices more strict than ours. In this, the Holy Land, a dozen
wives at least adorn each chieftain's tent, and yield him solace from the
toils of war. Then think, if such privile;,n' he taken by that ruder sex,
which arrogates the sole right of infidelity to one, how woitbi'er and ail
devoid of wrong is she — the dedicate and fair — who presses to her throb-
bing heart the friend of her only liege who urges her to hap|)ine8s.
Perish the hope of future peace with me when iny fond soul finds not
gladness in the thought that the all loveliness ol' my l'"-riiestina shall be
ay freely abandoned to him who best can prize it, as to myself. 'Twere
worse than agony to think Abdallah should not share the sweetness of your
affections, even as I, beloved, have shared it.

" Tell me, sweet Ernestina, that this is no strange picture which 1 draw
for you — tell me that, in the lonely hours of night, you think of him — that
chaste but still desiring Monk-Knight of St. John — that in your dreams you
yield and take such happiness in his loving arms, ;is in your waking hours
you pine to find is but a cheat. Tell me that, when your beauteous limbs lie
restless in your widowed sheets, your sweet and parted lips pronounce his
name with mine, and that in thought — for what of ill from simple thought
can spring? — you press the holy warrior in your arms, in thankfulness for
deeds performed in favor of your spouse.

" Much, as you know, have I studied to enslave Abdallah to your
charms. It is with me great source of joy to think that fate, forbidding
by my death all hope of fond re-union with my Ernestina, he the loved
friend — the sharer of my toils and of my heart's affection, should surfeit
him ill the fulness of your gorgeous love, and so succeed me in his lav-
ishment of adoration, that thought of me should not be source of an-
guish to your soul, but bring with it most sweet and soft remembrance
of the past.

" As yet, the holy Monk-Knight ventures not to speak tin; feelings
which the painting of your excellence creates, i)ut though his eye is
calm, and the high and placid brow, and much benevolence and dignity
of look, would tell the stillness of his heart, there is an under-current
rising, which soon will swell into an overboiling stream that nought
can stay, until it overleaps the strong barriered' chastity itself. Say what
he may in virtue of his vows — act as he deems most rigidly in keeping
with his monkish character, the pulses of Abdallah are swelling with a
growing fire for you, that will soon or late burst from its cells, and like
the wild blast consume wherever it descends. I watch with care the
moment of explosion, and thus it is 1 wish you to convey to me in truth-
ful language your fullest evidence of regard for him— your desire to be-
come his wile— and his alone, should the blood of your Alfred, as much
I think it will, help to fatten the corse-filled fields of Palestine. What

THE MONK KNIOHT OF >T. JOHN.

- i

next results from this my dear, dear Ernestina shall know. In the mean
time God and the Virgin preBPrve you in all health and lovelineis."

The I/uly Eriiegtina beeume more and more excited with each suc-
ceedinj; line of this remarkable letter. She foUlod the parchment care-
fully, and replaced it on the table. Then rising, she sank on her kneeo
before the fiuteuil, and with clasped hand and with eyes upturned to
Heaven, wept abunilantly, almost hysterically. For nearly twenty nvin-
utea she remained thus. At length, when the excess of her deep emo-
tion for h'T adon'd and generous husband had passed away, she rose,
pelted herself ii\ the chair, and again clasping her beautiful hands and
uprai.-ing her eyes to Heaven, luxuriated more calmly in the indulgence
of the feelinu's by which slie was beset. Never did woman experience
sucli tlelicii)iisness of rapture. Her being thrilled throughout every pore
with a dreamy voluptuousness not to be described, and varied and pleas-
ing Wire the dilferent phases of her intoxication of soul. Now she felt
subdued into a tenderness that caused her tears to How as if her whole
frame was about to dissolve in softnesa — and now, excited by the more
stinging passagen of the letter she had just read, she became so animat-
ed at the knowledge of having infused in the Monk a burning desiie for
her beauty, that the blood mantled deeper on her cheek, as, in ima-
gination, admitting him to the guarded and holy cloister of her love, she
murmured forth his name in a delicious abandonment of expression.
Her husband's letter had been written with a view to excite her, and it
had succeeded in the object. The Lady Ernestina was no married vir-
gin to mi.- understand the nature of the overwhelming happiness he liad
provided lor her in the eventof his own fall, and she inwardly and deep-
ly gloried in the possession of charms, which, if the more description of
them coulil so affect him, she well knew would carry madness to his
heart, when fully unveiled. Passionate feeling crept over her — she
thougiit tenderly, fondly of her adored — the generous, the noble hus-
band, to whom her pleasure and her happiness were far dearer than his
own, but hei imagination — the imagination of the wife- conversant with
love in all its pliases — was even more vividly impressed with the Monk
— the wedded of the Church — the apostle of Christ; in a word, the stern
and indomitable warrior, who rejecting all other women, and ignorant
of the mystic character of their sex, still pined for herself. Her feeling
was the more intense, not only because de Boiscoart wished this, but
because her own gentle heart, encouraged by his sanction, and freed
from all artificial restraint, found joy in almost deifying the man who,
in thiw manifesting his general insensibility to the fascinations of wo-
men, so eminently exalted herself.

The Lady Ernestina rose from her chair. She took a small silver bell
from the escritoir, and going to the entrance of the outer chamber, rang
it gently. She then returned to the table, took up the parchments, and
•with the exception of that which she had just read, tied them up toge-
ther and deposited them in a drawer of the escritoir, This she locked,

THE MONK KNIOIIT OF ST. JOHN.

»)!

and rnmoving the k«y, placed it in one of the embroidered pockets (hat
adorned her skiit.

Soon a beautiful and blooming girl of about aixteeu entered the room,
neatly dreBsed, with dark, long-fringed eyes — hair of the same jetty hue,
white and cvun teetli, a cuuiitenanco full of softucHH, iind features thiil in
their regularity defied all oriticism. She was of middle hei^jht, round-
ed in Hirure, but not so harmoniously moulded as her mii-tiegs, wlioin shu
now respectfully but not servilely accosted —

'• Did not my lady ring?'' she asked in a voice of mucli sweetnosB.

"I did, doar Honrietto. I would retire. I know not ho.v it is, but I
never felt so lonely since my lord's departure, as 1 do to-night. I pine
for something to press against my aching heart, uud still the tumult
that is there. You must sleep with me, child.''

" Sleep with my lady !"' said the blushing girl, to whom the privi-
lege had never before been accorded.

" Eyon so. dearest — you ahall nestle in my bosom like a diorub, and
on your sweetness I wi^l bestow my love,''

'•Thinking it is my lord," said the girl, tremulously; then, us if con-
scious that her lips had uttered what her sense of right condemned —
Bhe atlded hastily, ' My lady received Utters from the Holy Land mc-
thinks to-day. Is my lord in health ?"

" He is, my pet, iji perfect health and kindliness to me. But ah ! that
tell-tale blush, my Henriette. You would ask of Rudolph. He too is
well, and sends his love to both."

"Oh, I don't care about him,'' confusedly replied the blushing girl,

"Fie, Henriette," and she clasped her hand with intense fondness—
" you care a little for my Alfred. Confess, confess your secret to me.
In me yon will not find a jealous wife to chide you. Do Boiscourt's heart
is generous, open as the day, and well may justify your love, I'll spare
a corner in it to you."

" Ah, dear lady," exclaimed the astonished girl, dropping on her
knees and covering the outstretched hand of the Lady Ernestiiia with
mingled tears and kisses — "how shall I repay this goodness? Yes, you
have divined my secret. I love the noble Baron — but love him as a sis-
ter should."

" Nor shall your love be vain, sweetest. Now rise, dear Henriette.
When you lie nestling in these arms, and your sweet face is pillowed
on my shoulder, then shall we speak of this. Now to undress me,
which service being performed, I shall alike do handmaiden for my
Henriette,"

The Lady Ernestina stood before one of the large mirrors of the dress-
ing-chamber, and as now her bodice, and now her skirt, and then in
slow succession each article of drapery fell, under the hands of her
charming assi.-jtant, from her beauteous form, she ottered a picture of ra-
vishment to the blushing girl, that not the strong timidity of her nature
could prevent her heart from beating, or her lips from caressing the
galaxy of charms which daizled her.

THE MONK KNIGHT CiF ST. JOHN.

^Hji

^>i'

fir

" Ah, my denrfBt Indy," she murmured, "' how boautitul you are.
Yot Bomnthiiii,' i"* wautinir still to cotnpleto the picture of your h)v«li-
ncHrt. I.i't rui' unUiost' the full voUuno of your speak in;,' liair. Lot me
behold for the hrst time the perfoction of ^'riifo in ono of my own sex."

" Flatti^riT !" said the HaronesK, as she siniloil hor consent, and
looked teiiilcrly upon the mirror, wide tho^'entle Henrifttc. withllushed
cheek .uui trcmblini; hands, and feeiinf^s new and indescribable, proceed-
ed to unfa.>*ton the club, secured on the back of the head by three strong
exquisitely wiouijht iJTolden pins, so fasliioned and arranged as to com-
pose a jhiir-de-lis. At lerif-th that ifreatest and most excitin;,' ornament
which God has given to tiie most favored of His daughters, was ilepriv-
ed of its support, and fold after folil tumbletl heavily, uncoiling itself as
it fell, until the extremities of the wavy whole rested within the hollow
of the knee.

'Oh, how magnificent!'' exclaimed the gratified girl, as she passed
the silver comb through its meshes to lengthen them. " Dear Lady Er-
nestina, I know not why or how it is, but m)' delight, ever since I can
remember, has been for such a head of hair as yours. How I love it !''
she added passionately, '• how I love her who posaesses it,"

" More than Rudolph, sweetest?" and the Baroness imprinted a glow-
ing and atfectionate kiss upon the forehead of the enihusiastic girl.

" Oh yes ! more than Rudolph — more than any body else in the world.
I adore your beauty. I worship it, and it does good to my soul. It
confirms my faith. It tells more forcibly than can the words of priests,
that but one solo and undivided God — one niitchless and unapproachable
Architect — one comprehensive Will, oould have framed a being of such
perfection of beauty as yourself.''

Struck by the singularity of the young girl's language, the Lady Er-
nestina regarded her earnestly. Hitherto she had always looked upon
Henriette as a mere child, but here wai evidence of a mind of extraordi-
nary depth and feeling. The gentle but ardent girl seemed conscious
that she had betrayed herself, for when she remarked the fixed and in-
quiring expression of the Lady Ernestina's eye, her own fell beneath it,
and her cheek became crimson.

'■ Enthusiast !" said the Baroness, half-seriously, half-laughing, " then
you half wish that you were Rudolph, and Rudolph you."

'' No, no, dearest lady, for I am quite sure I should not love you so
well wore I Rudolph, as I do now as Henriette de Gaston— and why, oh
why, should not one woman love, as passionately as a man, what God ha.s
made so perfect in anotlier ?"

" You will know the ditTcrcnce when Rudolph returns to make you
his wife," said the Lady Ernestina, kissing her ; '■ and yet methinks there
is reason in your remark. Why should not one woman love another as
intensely as a man? The result is not the same, but the sentiment is
the stronger from the very tenderness of our natures, and our exclusive
devotion to it. And now. loved Henriette, let me be yowr handmaiden."
Soon the young :'irl. upon whom .she lavished much tenderness and

THE MONK KNIOHT OK M. JOHN.

admiration, an hIir unrnbod her, ittood, like herself, covered only with
the short and Bnow-wlntu tunic, on which rcpoNod the full trottaoH of
hiT dark liair, rendored moro «trikinc;ly ample by tho contrast.

The charms of the youthful HiJiirintto, altliouKh not to bo comparinl
with those of the Buront'cs do Boiscourt, wore still singularly attractive,
and, as they stood side by side, thoy mi;jjht have been assimilated, the
ono to the mothei of t..ovo, convcrsiiut with its mysteries, tho other to a
novice seeking initiiition.

'' And now to bed, doaroHt," said tho Lady Ernostina, affoctionatoly
"I am really tired, and fai« would pillow ny head upon your shoul
der."

" Dear Iiidy,'' urj^ently entreated Henriette, lookin? imploringly into
the eyes of tho Baroness, " you liave conferred ona great favor upon
me. Will you permit me to ask. another ?"

" Ask, child. I iim sur. I ciin lefuse you n^ thing — not even a little
corner in a nearly wholl) /re-occupied heart. '

" Thank you for that too, Lm.y Eni stina, but I have yet another
boon to ask." ^

" And that is "

•' That you will leave your hairdov ii all nigl . even m it is now. I
will dress it so neatly for you in the morninp, if , u do."

"Willingly, my love," returned the Latl , tinostina, '-if that will
please you;" and then aj^jain, struck ^v tbis now proof o) lie singularity
of mind of the young girl, she pre^> Jcd .i,ier onoe more i rudorly to hei
heart and kissed her forehead.

They were in bed. Tho lamp was left burning, and shed its dius 1";/V
over the apartment. Henriette liad thrown the thick veil from the Lead
of her mistress, and then nestled clostly in tlie arras that encircled her.
What picture moro beautiful ! Many and niiuiy an o-xprefssive kiss thoy
exchanged, and when later the Lad.- 'ilrnestina awoke from her restless
slumber, her lips might be heard to pronounce softly, and in broken
accents, the name of Abdallah.

tJH AFTER XIII.

ANOTHfiu siiltrv dawn, save earnest of ihe heat that wa-^ to oppress the
hosts of Christ .uul of Mahomet, when the »iiu should appear bkc a ball of
fire above ih t viist and sandy plain, the one drawn up in battle-array, and
awaiiiiiif the oiislauijhl with refreshed lips and re-invigorated limbs, and con-
fidence in their vatit superiority of number ; the other, filled with frantic
ieal, and upheld l)y that strange, wild enthusiasm which the very thought of
losiiijr the prized .Jerusalem was so well calculated to produce and foster,
yet. droopiii-j. fuintiim al e^ery step, from the fierce thirst that aliuosi mad-

->^ ,1

. ''I

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ^T. JOHN.

dened them. But not the safety of Jerusalem was now tlie immediate object
they had in view. Each man of that grim and embattled host, resoived to
force a passatje to the lake to quench the burning fcvtr of his blood, even
though hecatombs of their own force should fall, in forcing a passage
through the Moslem ranks. Awhile they stood face to face, as if desiring,
yet fearing the issue of the encounter. But as they gazed, the hatred of eacli
for the other became so intense, that suspense became unendurable.

As the sun rose above the still and cloudless horizon, the Christians, with
loud and fearful shouts, which rent the air for miles around, rushed upon
their detested foes, whose trumpets, drums and atabals answered to the fierce
defiiince a fiercer defiance still. The most prodigious etlbrts were made.
Each army felt that the ascendency of their own creed — the triumph of
Christianity or of Moslemism — hung upon the events of that day, and with
e(iual fury, equal obstinacy, they contended for victory.

The mailed knights carried death everywhere into the foemen's ranks, and
their swords and battle-axes literally rained blows upon the heads of the
Saracens to whom they were opposed. Already had they half succeeded in
forcing their way through the dense mass that opposed them, when a wild
cry of triumpii rose from that part of tlie field where the host of interior
knights and men-at-arms, and other foot soldiers were the most hotly en-
gag(Hl. They liad commenced their assault with a fury not to be surpassed,
but faint, weak, wholly unable to cope with the more vigorous Moslems,
could make no impression on their battle order, but fell in thousands be-
fore tlie gleaming scimeter which mowed them down, even as dried grass
before the scythe. Dismayed at their loss, and despairing of success, they
forgot their resolution to reach the lake or perish in the attempt, and turned
and fled. Great was the carnage which ensued. The swords and arrows of
the Moslems were dyed in the blood of tens of thousands of the discomfited
Christians, many of whom, flying for safely to some precipitouf; rocks in the
iir mediate neighborliood, were savagely hurled from their lofty pinnacles
upon the plain below, and crushed into masses of shapeless flesh. It was
the wild cry of the victors in pursuit that now attracted the attention of the
Knights i-^i' tlic Temple and of St. John, at the very moment when they had
looked upon their own share of the success of the battle as complete. Dis-
couraged at the sight, they still continued the contest, but the Moslems per-
ceiving tlipir succpss at the other extremity of the battle, gathered new
couraffe, ninl re in fore, '. by masses detached by Saladin for the purpose,
ilii'ckfil their further advance. Here the action now became terrific. Thou-
sands upon thousands of the choicest of th« Moslem warriors fell beneath the
renewed onslaught of the indomitable Knights ; but human courage, even
here as.sinning the .semblance of something more than that of mortals, could
not resist successfully the innuense masses which surrounded and presssd
thetn into a c<nTipass, where they could not act without injury to each other.
H 'dreds upon hundreds of slain Knights, with their steeds, crimsoned the
lieu; with the most valiant blood of Christian Palestine, until their numbers
beea ;io so thinned, that further resistance was regarded, not only as hopeless,
but vl:: imp - !i!\ for the daring Saracens, with upthrown shields, received
the descmding blows, so that they were finally made prisoners and d sarmed.

i \

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOH^f.

the
acles
was
the
had
Dis-
per-
ncw

OSl'.

lioii-
h the
oven
(itihl
rsssd
ther.
I the
nbers
less,
nvcd
;nfd.

The rout was now complete. A lowering gloom had gathered round the
Cross.

From the commencement of the second day of the fatal battle of Tiberias,
de Boiscourt had fjiven instructions to his lieutenant, de Pusey, a brave
and discriminating utRcer, liuw to conduct his men in the event of his fall, or
separation from them. It was nut, therefore, without a sentiment of satis-
faction at his foresight, that he found himself actually bonie, in the confu-
sion of the conflict, and by the fierce impetuosity of the excited Beloeil, who
Ecemcd to snifl" that air of blood with delight, toward the gallant array of
the knights of the Order already named. Singling out the standard of St.
John, ho succeeded in cutting his way through to the side of Abdallah, whose
steod was also snorting with a wild and unchecked fury, while his rider
either decapitated, or severed, limb after limb, Saracen after Saracen, with
each stroke of his sharp and heavy scimeter. Urging his horse to the side
of his friend, and thus mingling his battle with that of the White Cross
Knights, the gallant young Frenchman rendered himself even remarkable,
where each was remarkable for his prowess and fearlessness of danger.

At tlie moment when the cry of the Moslems announced the defeat of the
Christian array on their left, both he and Abdallah had stayed their arms
to behold the cause. The sight of that scene was sufficient to decide
them. Both saw, at a glance, that the only hope of retrieving the fortunes
of the duy, was by forcing a passage and coming round, like a sweeping
avalanche, upon the pursuing Moslems, whose diversion in their own defence
could alone afford the flying (Christians an opportunity to recover from their
panic, re-form their squadrons, and renew the battle.

" To the front — to the front!" shouted Abdallah, in full, clear tones ; and
heedless of the presence of the Grand Master of the Templars, who had the
whole of the knights in command.

" Where Abdallah leads, there, by St. Denis, will the Baron of Auvergrne
closely follow."

" Ciod, and the Lady Ernestina!" cried Rudolph, obeying a signal uf the
Monk-Knight, and spurring up his Blondin between him and de Boiscourt.

•' (Jod, and the Lady Ernestina I" repeated the Monk, in a voice of thun-
der. " Knights of St. John and of the Temple, forward !"

Up to this moment, from the time the Saracen shouts of victory had
reached their ears, there had been a sort of suspension of the battle at this
immediate point, but when the Monk-Knight first broke the temporary and
comparative truce, the contest was renewed in all its fierceness. Half mad-
dened witli wine and excitement, the steeds of the fiends, which oa«h suc-
ceeding moment rendered more impatient of the curb, now franticly leaped
forward, obedient to the spur, the rowels of which were buried in their
flanks, and crushed in their progress what their riders left unwvuBded and
unslain. Right and lef\, the scimeter of Abdallah, and the battle-axe of the
Barop, hewed a passage for their comrades, while the page, who was so
placed as to be incapable of making any use of his weapons, was protected
in front by the shields of the knights, and in the rear by the closely following
boily of the diflferent Orders. But just as the gallant band had forced their
way to the hist lines of the Moslem rear, and all seemed to evince certainty of

/'J

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

3 •

success, two strong divisions of honcmen came sweeping from eaeh flank, and
pressed upon the centre. Abdallah's quick ear caught the thunder of their
tread, as they scoured like a tempest through the lane that had been formed
for them a little in his front ; but shouting out that the enemy were attempt-
ing to cut them off in their advance, he and de Boiscourt, whom he had
warned of the danger, again dug the rowels into the withers of their steeds,
who, furious with pain, seemed rather to fly than to run their maddened
course.

A cry from Rudolph arrested the Monk-Knight. He cheeked his steed
with such an iron hand, it threw him upon his haunches. Close at his left
side lay the page, wounded in the shoulder, his Blondin's skull laid open
with a scimeter. Quick as thought, Abdallah threw his shield over the de-
fenceless boy, and, seizing him by the belt that confined his light armor,
raised him to the front of his saddle, where he bade hun cling tightly ; then,
once more extending his shield so as to cover them both, he again, and with
greater fury than ever, plunged his spurs into his foaming steed, whose
dilated nostrils seemed to emit sparks of fire, and so well did he wield his
weapon, and so completely did he awe those who immediately disputed his
passage, that the last bound of his steed carried him unharmed over the final
barrier, and into the open plain. Many a sword, many an arrow rang on
his coat ot mail as he fled, for flee he did, in imitation of de Boiscourt just
before him, when, as turning to see how far they were supported, they be-
held the fearful massacre of their comrades by the clouds of horsemen that
had hastened to intercept them.

Not one hundred yards in their front was the glassy Lake of Tiberias, on
which the sun's rays fell dazzlingly. likening its surface to a wide-spread
sheet of molten gold. Towards this the generous steeds of the warrior
knights now sped their way, with a rapidity of motion unexampled. The
excitement produced by the strange beverage which had, so happily however,
been administered to them, still continued to buoy them up, and to infuse
into them a spirit which soon left far behind the band who were detached
in pursuit ; but such was the raging thirst that dried up their palates, that
the proximity of the water acted like electricity or. their blood, and, with
loud neiphings and pricked ears, they bore their riders gallantly on. The
lake was reached through straggling Moslems, who vainly sought to arrest
their course. The steeds plunged furiously in to their very girths, and
drank deeply ; nor were the riders themselves less pleased at their attain-
ment of that of which they had been so long and so cruelly deprived. Re-
gardless of ^he mass of enemies who were rushing down upon them, De
Boiscourt unfastened his helmet, half filled it from the lake, and gave it to
the Monk-Knight, who, still encumbered with the body of the wounded
Rudolph, had only his sword-arm at liberty. The latter tasted of the water,
and was greatly revived. When the Monk himself nad drank, he returned
his helmet to the Baron, who was even then in the act of applying it to his
lips, when a loud shout, accompanied by the trampling of many horses' feet,
fell upon his ear, and, at the moment, a swiU arrow struck the loosely-held
helmet from his hands into the lake. Rapidly impelled by its own weight,
it sunk to the bottom, leaving De Boiscoan solely to the protection of his

and

i \
I

r«K M<

( K -T.

er-

thield. TliPie wus little hop'; of fwapo. lor ji coai|iIete host of Moslems
were now close upon their flanks, diverging forward to tf ■■ shore of the lake.
As soon as they effected this they halted, and iialf a > ■■^■!l stalwart horse-
men — all men of note — moved forward, to luake pri^- • rs of the knights.

" Hold bravely on, Rudolph !"' shouted Abdalh;.. raising his shoulders,
and rushing upon his nearest op|)onent.

His terrible seimeter fell upon the neck of the man. am. . !eft him to the
groin, then through the saddle, and backbone of his steed, which, with his
rider, sank exhaiisled and dying under the blow.

" (rod, and the J/a<ly Krncstina '" cried the Baron, nishitip on the next Sa-
racen, utterly reckless of life, bm resolved not to perish unrevenged. With
his beautiful hair floating in the wind, and his cheek f iisbed with excite-
ment, and looking more like Apollo than Mars, he rushed upon the
rapidly-advancing horseman. The latter, seeing the knight unhelmeted,
paused for a moment in surprise, but soon recovering bis self-possession, he
aimed an upward blow at the arm which supported his shield. The Saricen
was about to follow up his advantage, when the active Baron, having renewed-
his guard, furiously rose in his stirrups, and cleft him through his head-
armor I'roni the crown to the shoulders. One half of the ghastly, yet bloody
and horrible head, fi'll to the earth, and rolled over and over, Ue Boiscourt
with closed teeth consigning it to all the powers of hell.

" (iallantly donn, Di- Boiscourt,'" exclaimed the Monk-Knight, advancing
to the rencontre with a third Saracen knight, scarcely inferior in Herculean
proportions to himself. "God and the Lady Krnestina. Let the accursed
Saracen t'eel the true edge of our steel. "'

With one rapid side movement, he evaded a heavy blow aimed by his ad-
versary, then, (juick as thought, and before the other, borne down by the
liurce of his own unopposed blow, could recover the use of his sword arm,
dealt such a lightning and horizontal sweep of his sharp seimeter, that he
clove the man literally in twain. The upper part of the mailed body tum-
bled heavily to the ground ; the lower was so firmly seated in the saddle,
that, as the terrified horse turned round and galloped from the destroyer ot
his master, he exhibited to the astonished Moslems the appalling sight of a
human boily, from the navel downwards, dripping with gore, and centaur-
like, glued ••0 its flying steed.

.K moment afterwards, recovering from their consternation, in which, how-
ever, was mingled deep respect and admiration for the prowess of the knight
who had accomplished so extraordinary a feat, the whole mass of cavalry
moved forward to surround and take him prisoner. It happened that, at the
very moment when he swept his seimeter in the manner last described,
Kudolph had slipped from the shoulder of bis steed to the ground. Upon
seeing this, l)e Boiscourt came up to the succor of the boy, but even while
111 the act of leaping from his saddle to pick him up, another arrow entered
his chest, through a slight rent in the chain annor which, it hiisbeen already
said, he wore, and laid him motionless by the side of the page.

The horror, the distress of the latter, may welt be imagined. Ihtermgloud
lamentations, he threw himself wounded, as he was, upon the body, and wept
and shrieked as though he stood In the preHence of fumiliar and pitying

['' I

THE MONK KNIGHT Ol ST. JOHN.

f::l"

friends like himself, and not in that of a ruthless enemy. B'ven these, how-
ever, were deeply touched by the scene, and again there was a pause in the
fierce enrounter.

"Revenge!" shouted the Monk-Knitrlit, in a voice almost supernatural
fntm concentrated rage. '• Ernestina and De Boiscourt, revenge I"

Madly lie dashed through those willi wliom he was already maintaining
the unecpial conflict, then, giving the uncurbed rein to his steed, he absolutely
rode down his opponent, and then, suddenly throwing the animal on his
hatmches, trampled him to death with his heels until he became an undis-
linguishable mass.

Aroused by the shrieks of Rudolph, for he had had his back turned to De
Roiscourt at the moment of his fall, a glance had been surticient to assure
Ahdallah of the inanner of his fate, A .second glance at once detected the
slayer of his friend. The man, who.se feathered arrow might be seen stick-
ing in the quivering body of the ynung French Knight, still held his bow in
the position of one who has Just discharged his winged messenger of death.
Jt was this Saracen he had now sacrificed tO the manea of his friend. In-
furiated at the siffht, at least fifty Turkish hor.semen now closed around, and ,
finally succeeded in making him prisoner, not, however, without an additional
lo.ss of, at least, half-a-dozen of their number.

" rnliand me !" commanded the Monk-Knight haughtily, and in Mooriah.
" Now that 1 have slain theaccursed puller of that bow, 1 offer no more resist-
ance ; let me instantly be taken before Saladin, that I may demand of hina
honorable burial for the preserver of the life of his wife. Let yon wounded
boy, be carried, too. before her. She will recognize and obtain for him the
protection of your chief."

" What proof of this, (Christian?" demanded he who seemed to be the
leader of the party.

"Ha! 1 have it;" returned the Monk-Knight. " Let me but join my
tiriend, and I will show you a jewelled ring on the little finger of his left
hand, placed there, in gratitude for tlie deep service rendered to her "

" Stay where you now are, .Sir monk," remarked he who had spoken
last — a proud and distinguished chieftain, to whom all seemed to do reve-
rence. " We will duly examine into the proof, and if what you say be true,
not only shall the rites of sepulture be afforded to the warrior-knight, but
this poor youth shall gain the presence of her of Saladin's wives who
first admits the claim. Tarry not to bear the corpse along, but well secure
that prisoner, and conduct him to the tent of Saladin when the fight is over :
the boy \wll follow with yourself."

Obedient to bis command, Ahdallah and the inconsolable Rudolph were
hnraed oo to the front where shone the hated Crescent, and loud burst the
clang of victory. The gallant the ill fated de Boiscourt was left even on the
spot whereon he fell.

.0>'

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

CHAPTKR XIV

In a larpe and richly-adorned tent, on the evening after the battle of Tiue-
rias, sat on a temporary throne, the great and noble, yet occasionally cruel,
Saladin : great and noble, ever ; cruel, as caprice or circumstances disposed
him. Historians have ascribed to him artifice, cunning, and extreme bigotry
in religion ; but, in disproof of this assertion, may be adduced the strong
contrast of his conduct at the subseciuent capture of Jerusalem, with that ol
the Christians, detailed in a previous chapter. On that occasion, there was
no pity, no mercy extended by the victorious ('rusaders. The streets and
temples of the Holy City ran with blood, and carnage became not a necessity,
but a passion. But how acted Saladin, when shortly subsequently to tiie great
victory gained by him, he carried the disputed city by storm ? According in
a popular author already noticed, who quotes from Bernard, " the conduct
of the infidel sultan shamed the cruelty of the Crusaders. When the • ople
could hold out no longer, Saladin, who had at first offered the most advan-
tageous terms, insisted that the city should now throw itself on his mercy."

" He then agreed upon a moderate ransom for the prisoner.^, and promi.sed
to let each man carry away his goods without impediment. When tiiis was
done, with extraordinary care, he saw that neither insult nor injury should
be offered to the Christians, and having taken possession of the town, he placed
a guard at one of the gates to secure the ransom of the inhabitants as they
passed out. Nevertheless, when the whole of the wealth which could be col-
lected in the town had been paid down, an immense number of the poorer Chris-
tians remained unredeemed. These were destined to be slaves, but Saif Eddyn,
the brother of the monarch, had begged the liberty of one thousand of these,
and the same number were delivered up at the prayer of the Patriarch, and
of Balian de Ibylin, who had commanded in the place, and communicated
with the Turkish monarch on its surrender. After this, Saladin declared
that his brother and Ibylyn had done their alms, and that now he would do
his alms also, on which he caused it to be proclaimed through the city tiiat
all the poor people might go forth in safety by the gate of Saint Lazarus ;
but he ordered that, if any attempted to take advantage of the permission who
could really ptiv for their deliverance, they should be instantly seized and
cast in prison. Many of the nobler prisoners, also, he freed at the entreaty
of the Christian ladies, and in his whole conduct he proved himself as mod-
erate in conquest as he was great in battle."

Such was the man who now, amid his chief officers, sat to pronounce judg-
ment upon the Knights of the Temple and of St. John, who, with the Grand
Masters of the Orders, had fallen into his hands. Against these proud war-
riors, Saladin had conceived a most bitter and relentless hatred, not only by
reason of numerous acts of cruelty and aggressioi which had been charged
against them, but for the deep measure of their fierce slaughter of his people
in the field. This was in strange contradiction with his noble conduct on the
(all of Jerusalem, and with his generous admiration of the heroic Cceur-de-

.11

TH.'. MONK UNI.iHl ().• >!'. JOHN.

■, * r

Lion, whrii, Hii'i-iii|; thiil iiiAn.ireh tlimuounteil, and fij^rlitiiig like <i docoml
Arlulled, at Jalfii. h'- (i".-.|iilciied lo tiiiii two horses witlj thu remark thai
" such a man ouijiit not to remain on I'ooi ia so great danger."

The kni;,'hts stood uiieovered, h'.lnu't in hand, yet m their armor, and
diveated only of their weapons. I'ndiuinled hy their piwition, although well
knowing the tale that awaited them, tiicy looked proudly up in defiant mood,
and il' the cheek.=( of some were pale, and wore a cast of thouKht, it wiis not
from dastard fiarshut shame that they, .h indomitable warriors of many a
battle field, should be (impelled at lencth to Jiand iiiieovered in the presence
of the infidel they despi.^ed and hated.

" Are all the captive Knights of St. Joitn and of the Temple here assem-
bled ?" inquired the monarch of the otTicer w iio had their safe keeping in hi3
charge.

"They are, your Highness," returned the official, Iwwing low and defe-
rentially.

" MethlnKs," cried >Saladin, dairting his quick .stern i^lance upon the group,
<' 1 behold not the warrior-monk, taken near the Tiake of Tiberias, at the
close of the battle."

" He has declared his willingness to accept your Highness's coiidilioiui,"
returned the man, bending as b«'fore, " and, therefore, deemed 1 not him in
eluded in the command of your Highness to produce the prisoners."

" What !" exclaimed the (Jrand Miister of the Templars, in utter astonish-
ment — a .sentiment that was resj>onded to, in various ways, by his com-
panions — " Abdallah I — the monk Abdallah ! — the flower of our chivalry, an
apostate ! Abdallah, for the base love of life, renounce his vows, lo espouse
the damned — the accursed faith of Mahomet I Impossible !"

" Hold, sacrilegiou.s wretch !" exclaimed the infuriated Saladin, rising
(juickly from his throne, and advancing a few paces ; "your most foul and
insolent tongue has sealed your doom," and, with one rapid blow of his
acimeter, he struck the head of the Grand Master from his shoulders to the
ground. At that sndden and appalling sight there was much stir among the
prisoners, and many looked threateningly, and dropped their hands to their
thighs, forgetful that there was no weapon there to meet them.

" Hravc yet doomed knights," remarked Saladin, immediately after this
act, and with much dignity, " your power to do harm is, at length, ended.
Those swords, so long bathed in the best blood of Palestine, are even now-
hung up as irophie-i of your fall. Vou know the fate that awaits you ,
the option that is ortered. Go hence, and ponder well the subject. To-
morrow's dawn must sec you converts to the Moslem faith your haughty
chief has dared to slander, or like that" — and he pointed significantly lo the
body of the (Jrand Master.

"Our answer here is prompt," replied the Grand Master of St. John,
advancing a step or two ; " for myself and these I speak defiance to your
threat, proud Saracen. No knight is here so recreant in his fall, as cast a
shame upon the escutcheon of his Order."'

" Nay , by the Prophet, but you scarcely speak leaa scornful than yon acrurui'd
thing, whose vile carcase at your feel .should duly warn you. But ] hood
not your rejoinJer ; let eacii separate knight himself decide. Should any

THK MONK KNIOHT OK ST. JOHN.

among your cruel and remorseless ranks show cause for mercy in act of grace
performed toward a Saracen, that act being proved, shall give you lite and
liberty. For those who cannot show such plea must be reserved by the
Bcimeter or the true faith. Begone, and by to-morrow's dawn, let all have
choeen"

The knights turned haughtily round, and with steady step moved from the
tent. It was evident from the manner of each that their course had already
been decided on ; and Saladin, who watched them keenly, had no doubt
of what would be their final answer. But he had an object in what he was
doiug. Once his sentence should be passed, it was indispensable that exe-
cution should follow immediately, and he was desirous of obtaining certain
information, which concerned the fate of some of his prisoners, before he
pronounced his final determination.

If the heart of Saladin was ardent in wa. , it was scarcely less powerfully
influenced by women. His seraglio always accompanied him in the field,
and, at night, in the arms of his chosen and voluptuous wives, he sought
solace for the many toils and duties of the day. Zuleima — the fascinating,
the matchlefw Zuleima — was his favorite, the most cherished of his heart — the
sharer of his most secret thoughts, feelings, and sympathies. Tired with
the copious draughts of sherbet he had swallowed, after the more than
ordinary fatigues of the day, and with his blood heated and excited, and
pulses throbbing with love, he repaired, soon after his intervi.v with the
Christian knights, to her silken and luxuriously-furnished tent, where she
lay, half undressed, reclining on a rich ottoman, and expecting his return to
render tidings of his victory.

" Ah, my dear lord," she affectionately exclaimed, and half rising to
welcome him as he entered ; " the Holy Allah be praised, you are again
nnharmed."

'* It must be, sweet Zulfpima, that your prayars ward ofll" the death-blow,"
said Saladin, smiling, as he dropped at her side ; " but, in truth, life of my
soul, I am, as you say, unharmed. Yet come, dearest, let us not think of
the dangers I have passed, but of the happiness I crave of my Zuleima."

Her exceeding beauty, never more beautiful than at this moment, mad-
dened him with a poignant anticipation of the bliss he was about to taste in
the arms of his beloved wife. Her head reclined upon his shoulder. She
breathed deeply. Her long black hair, which he had loosened from the dia-
mond that confined it, fell upon his face and neck. Fondly, rapturously he
pressed his lips to hers. He called her his beloved — his adored — the peer-
less idol of his existence, and exhausted her with endearments, such as well
might come from one of his ardent and generous character.

Recovering from the delicious interchange of their mutual passion, Saladin
lay at the side of Zuleima, with one arm thrown around her neck, ami his
hand extended on high. Carelessly following the action of his playing fingers,
the glance of his wife soon rested upon a brilliant which adorned one of
these, and which, it seemed to her, he was then thoughtfully regarding.
Suddenly she became pale aa death, and had Saladin, at that moment, turned
bis eyes upon her face, he would have discovered evidences of strong and
unusual emotion. Her heart, too, beat violently, and various feelings rap'dly

« ' j

■\

THE MONK KNIGHT OK hT. JOHN.

succeeded each other through hrr agitated luiiid. She was afraid to a«k how
the monarch had become posaeKscd oithe riug, and yet, so great was her im-
patience to know, that she could not ret'iaiii from alluding to events which
she hoped might be the means uf throwing some light upon the matter.

" Your Highness' victory has has been great tins day," site at length re-
marked. " Not only Guy of Lusignan, King uf. lerusalem, and your greatest
foe, Kenaud of Chatillon, but the Grand Masterit uf the Temple and uf St.
John, with three hundred knights, are, niethinks, your prisoners."

" Even so has Allah befriended our arms," returned Saladin. " The
cursed Order of the Temple are nearly all within my power, and after to-
morrow's dawn, shall perish by the sword, if they but hesitate to renounce
their creed and embrace our own."

" And the Knights of St. John 1" tremblingly half queatiuned the an.\iou8
Zuleima.

" They too are our prisoners, and .shall perish also," returned the Mo-
narch ; " but this reminds ine of the missiuti on which I am partly come.
See you this ring, my Zuleima 1"

" I do," faltered the Saracen, her heart filled with a dreadful presentiment
of some coming evil to herself.

" I took it from the hand of a knight — an unhelmetud French knight, with
clustering locks, beautiful as Adonis — who lay dead on the battle-field."

" Dead ! said your Highness," relumed the almost fainting Zuleima, with
difficulty suppressing her tears.

" Dead or dying," was the answer — " at his side lay his page, a sweet
young infidel, also, and u!ooming in beauty, even thuugh wounded. There
we were about to leave them to their fate, when a tall, powerful, and daring
Knight of St. John, who had slain two of my best officers in a manner that
proved the power of his arm to be almost superhuman, addressed me as one
of no note, though in command of the party, and demanded that I should lead
him instantly before the monarch, while the page snould be borne to the tent
of his consort, who would not only recognize him, but obtain honorable burial
for his master."

" They say truly," exclaimed the excited Zuleima, Homewhat consoled by
the manner in which Saladin had obtained the ring. Phey are the noble
Christians to which I owe my honor and my life. That ring which you now
wear, I gave in gratitude to that ill-fated Knight of PVance, that it might
serve as a protection to him, should he ever fall into the hands of our
people."

Sbe then, in a few brief sentences, explained all that had occurred since
the moment of her being carried off by Thibaud, up to that of her restoration
by the Christian knights to the officer sent in search of the marauders ; omit-
ting, however, such portions of her story as she deemed might not be quite
pleasing to the ear of her lord and master.

" Dearest Zuleima, forgive my seeming apathy. True, I knew that one
of my harem had been carried ofT and subsequently recovered, but it never
occurred to me that it could have been you, and then you know I did not love
you as 1 do now, and so little interest did I take in the rest of my wives^
that I had never cai«d to inquire. I never knew, till this moment, how much

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

I stand indebted to these Christian knights. Why had you not told me of
this before?"

For a moment Zuleima hesitated, and then, buryinp her face in the
monarch's bosom, she murmured — " I wished your Highness first to ques-
tion me on a matter which involves some strange revealments — nay, start not
from me, dearest Saladin. Unhurt, untouched by these vile men, the faithful
knights — the Monk-Knight of St. John, and his noble friend of high degree
in J'rance — restored me, with my less fortune-favored handmaidens, to the
troop of horsemen sent in search of us. There first 1 saw the gentle youth—
the wounded page — whom now, 1 pray your Highnt.y, send to me, that I
may show my gratitude for all the care he lavished on your Zuleima. Him
seen, I can no longer doubt the identity of the Christian knight to whom
this ring was vainly given."

" At least, from his hand, let it return to yours, my Zuleima. It will
yield some solace to your gentle heart, to know that that which circled round
the flesh of both, brings life-long memory of the past — of the great, strong
service which that brave and gallant knight did render you."

As he spoke, Saladin took the brilliant from his finger and placed it ou
that of his wife. It would be impossible to describe the feelings that passed
through her mind as she felt, once more pressing her own finger, the ring
which, placed there by her own hand, had so recently been taken from that of
him who had clasped her to a heart burning with a thousand fires, and filled
her with an emotion, the sweetest she had ever known.

"Noble, generous lord!" — she exclaimed with deep fervor — " my own
monarch and master ! well do you strive to infuse into your own Zuleima's
heart, lasting joy in your princely nature. The unworthy jealousy of ano-
ther had fain withheld this bauble from my sight and touch, but you, with
your great mind, accord to softened sympathy what sympathy alone can ac-
cept or claim."

" Not this alone, my Zuleima," returned Saladin, as he fondly pressed her
to his heart ; " could I restore the dead, 1 would bear this gallant Knight of
France to hear your lipe pronounce your thanks ; but since this cannot be,
his page shall forthwith answer to your call, and him received, the valiant
Monk-Knight, chief agent in your escape from purposes most vile, shall
claim the measure of your feeling for his friend."

"What! that- cold, stem monk!" said Zuleima, in a trembling voice, which
moreover denoted astonishment; "but where shall I receive Aim.' With
the page there can be no difficulty, but "

" You are right, my Zuleima," returned Saladin, smiling, and kissing her
brow, as he rose to depart. " It were better far that the untaught page
should pour hie silvery tones into your ear, and tell you of his hope of pro-
tection in your loving favor. You want a young and comely page — mayhap
this youth, having lost his master, may change his faith, and enter in your
service — — "

And thus saying, he left the tent, not, however, without imprinting a final
kiss CD the crimson cheek of her he so fondly regarded.

TUB MOMi k•^tr'.HT Of ST JOHN.

en A r I'KR X V.

i<KKT to lirrttt*!)', Uu> boMUi) of '/uleiiiiii wa» u prey to (In* mosl ronlradictory
fet'linufo. urid fimt amoni; tliftM>, wat« eri< I for ihc dciith ut' the noblti C'hribtiiui
kiiij,'ht, wiiuni tihc had known undt-rsuch striiii){t* and oxoitin^ circiinintariotM
The elef{ance of his manner, and winning li(fhtnt>Mt< of di8|HNiition, had
firxt awakened an interest in hix favor. tlii> murt' 8tron)r|y marked at the time,
by the contraat thus exhibited tn the r«piil8ive roldne»^« ot Abdallah, and itn
ha« been seen, she not only yielded to a temptation too faacinating to be re-
rietrd with itiiceesn by one of her ({eiierouH nature, but wholly jimtified to her-
self by the occasion. litmg after her return home, had she lingered ni|;htly
in ima((itialinn over that tMwne in the tent of the (^hrmtian kiii^ht, wherr;
first her willing: heart consented to reward him with her love. The ring
she hud (riven him at partini?, she thought would never be iniB.s«<d, whil^
that whieh he placed on her own hand, she kept carefully secreted among
her jewels of price, and only regarded at intervals, whenever her truant
thoiiijht recurred to those most iU»r to her within the (Christian camp.

In the first momeuts of her impulsive transports, when filled with the wild
deiiriuui of a newly excited passion, she had prayed for it« continuance
in a request, that tht; Knight would retain her either as his pape or his
slave. iShe had done this not with a view ti> be guilty of open wrong to her
husband, whose love for her then had not attained the pitch we have just
shown, but wa» ever simihtr to that which he now admitted iii refjprd to tke
women of his harem generally ;but she knew that her absence would be
looked upon not a.s voluntary, but the consequence of forcible abduction,
and that a corresponding !<entiment would be created. The tender and volup-
tuous Zuleima was by no means of the common school of eastern women
She iVlt that which she had done was warranted by the occasion. No one
had .Mistained loss by it , but, on the contrary, two ardent souls had been made
supremely happy. Her creed in love resembled, in some degree, that of the
Spartans in theft. There was no wrong in the act, it was only in the detec-
tion. A wife, in little more than name, she had abhorred that unnatnral law
of custom which, whether with Christian or infidel, gives to nun the pos-
se8>ion of many ; while woman, with a heart filled with the most exquisite
seiiF^ihilities (lod has given to his creatures, is doomed to worse than oeiibsey
— constancy — or the sneers of the tyrant-forgers of those conventional hiws
whii'h bind her as his slave. She wao not licentious; and yet no woman's
bosom ever glowed with more voluptuous feelings. Ix)ve was a neoeeeity
with her, seldom gratified, it is true, but ever richly painted to her anient
and iiaaginative soul : hitherto she had only committed infidelity in thought.
Jler first adultery tiad been with de Boiscourt. He had stirred her soul into
exciii-inent, ;uid in:ide her first experience those agonizing sensations of pas-
sion of whicli she wiis so susceptible. lioving not Saladin, who had only
subsequently won her affections by his auentions and generosity of chaiaoter,
she was the more anxious to remain with de Boiscourt, who had first taught
her the value of herself ; but ike refusal of the embarrassed Knight, while it

TH1-: MOVK KNKiHT OK ST. lOHN.

^^9

derply painod ht>r, had ha(i the effect dI' Hubtlmiif( iiuir.h of the iiitetitiity of the
pawioii ht> had in.spir(< I, wluU; :ill the itMidiriiiHs of locollertiuii roinaiiied,
Now, ht>r ft.>rliii((!< hud tukfii iinothcr Mini, but IbrthiH, iilwi, Hhe was indebted
U> fit' floiscourt. Had she not exjieriiMiced all Mic ardor ot" Iuh love, Hhe never
wo\dd have ac(^ulr^^^ thi; knowhidRP that wiw m-cossary to compreheiid that
ol' Paladin, who, seeing her more beaiiliCiil — more aollentrd — more eaplivatinK
than ever, after the occurrenee of an adventure witii wiiieh he liad never
identilicd her, threw jwide the coldneHH of cu.sioinary favor, and warmed
hi» soul into HO much love for Iter, tliat. on Iiih manly boHom, .she breatlied
forth all those passionate marks of endearment which had, for the first time,
b«'tn called into life, by the more refined and delii itc ( liri.stian kiiighl.

Snrh had been the feelings of the .strong-minded, yet tender, Zuleima, up
to the moment when Suladin calle<i her attention to the ring. At first, a
horrible and unworthy fear of treachery iii the young Knight a.ssailed her,
but when he proceeded to detail the manner in whii;h lie had become
jK)f»esBcd of It, her heart waa lelieved from u mountain weight, and she at
once i<aw how favorable wau the opportunity to e.iplain the uecaition on
which she had bestowed it. Then, too, came tender emotioiiH of regret for
the fate of him whom she had once so known, and who had been the first to
awaken in her the ardent passion she now entertained tor her noble hiLsband.

Had the latter evinced anything approaching to jealuiusy or distru.st, her
sat leifaction would have been incomplete, but when, so far from this, he, with
generous confidence, placed the ring upon her linger, with the very view of
recalling to her memory the image of him who had worn it, and doubtless re-
garded it with acme lingering emotion, her mind became filled with a volup-
tuous, dreamy calm, which was more delicinu.s to her than the tumult of pas-
sion itself. In this mood she had been left by Saladin, and continued to in-
dulge in, for many minutes, until the arrival of an eunuch, conducting the
wounded and somewhat pale-looking Rudolph, roused her from her reverie

The boy, wondering where he was, and for what purpose he had been
brought to a tent so richly ornamented, threw his eyes rapidly around the
interior, but soon they rested upon an object which engrossed all his atten-
tion. He could not be mistaken. It was the beautiful Saracen, for whose
lose hp had shed bitter tears on the morning of her departure from the (Chris-
tian camp ; and yet, how could one so tender, .so lovely, be found near such
a scene of carnage aa had for the last two days been enacted here ? The
blushing a|)d delighted Zuleima rose from her couch, extended her hand to
him, and called him by his name, Kudolph.

On showing in the boy, the eunuch had departed, closing the curtains of
the lent after him. Rudolph threv/ himself on his knees, at the side of the
Ottoman, and mingled tears of joy with the burning kisses he imprinted on
her hand. She put her lips to his brow, and tunied pale at the sight of the
blood which was encrusted on the shoulder of his light armor; then, ringing
a small bell, that lay on an enamelled table at the head of the ottoman, a
•l^eautiful female slave appeared to do her bidding.

" Lead this youth, Fatima," she directed, " to my bath-room, and assi.st
him in laying bare this nasty wound. You may wi'il stare. He is rather
feshioned to be a lady's pet, than ;\ grim warrior. Be careful thai you do

111

1-^

It ■

T»

THE MONK A."' ' T or ST. JOH?

not hurt him, am) Id all thoar p»< i ,.i « unpuontn. whirh lh« ugp Nazareth
has prepared to prewrvf iln* life of the dentin' .i lonqueror of this vaunted
('hrii«tmn eity of .IcruKalem, be laid out, with hundaxeM of the noftent texture.
Fill the bath with nme-witter. tinil Huch nweet (xlorn an best are suited to
lull the senses to repose. Moreover, hear thither the ri«'ho8t gartiients of a
Moori.th pane. I will follow shortly to apply lb' dressinjfH to the wcmiid."

Hudolph heard all tlieHe orders, and well undrtMixHl them, fur he had inudo
(Treat progress in llie Moorish tun^rue, under AlMlallah, who had taken threat
pains to instruet him. ()be«lient to the orders of /uleima, he followed the
rharminc slave into the room whieli had been indicated.

When the fair Saracen joined them, his armor had been removed, and hifl
shoulder, while as alabaster, where the blood was not visible, completely
bared. At a sijjnificant motion, the blushinp nirl withdrew, secretly won-
derin^r at so uniisnal a care of a wounded Christian, even thniiirh a boy.

in a spirit of stlf-confidence, and stron)x in the almost maternal interest she
took in the boy, Zuleimu approached him. She imprinted a kiss upon his
brow, and findinj?, to her great siirpriw and joy, that he had become (piite a
proficient in the Moorish language, took (deasure in reminding him of the
peri<id when she was a temporary inmate of the noble French kni(;ht's tent.
But tlie conduct of ({udolph surprised her, for instaad of derivin^f satisfaction
from this, as she intended should he the case, the pape could not restrain the
tears that slowly trickled down his cheek. Zulcima fVlt deeply pained at
this. Of the cause of his (jrief she could not be ignorant ; and when, after
condoling with the boy, she frankly told him that she too deplored the brave
young knight's death iis deeply as he did, although she dared not yet openly
express it, he threw himself, sobbing, in her arms, and said he knew it
was impossible for his dear mother to feel such ingratitude as he had unjustly
fancied in her.

" Foolish boy," said Zuleima, looking tenderly in his eyes, while her own
were dimmed in lustre, " how could you think it possible for me ever to for-
get that noble knight, when recalled to my memory by the young friend and
page who knew and loved him so welll There now, then, get into your
bath. When you have finished and dressed yourself, ring that bell, pointing
to a small one near, and I will return and dress your wound with my own
hands." So saying, she hurried from the apartment, turning round and
putting her finger significantly upon her lip, as she passed through the door.

In less than twenty minutes the bell was rung, when Zuleima again re-
paired to the bath-room. At first she hesitated to enter, for Rudolph,
although out of the bath, had no other covering on him than the loose
drawers and 8lip|)er8 which had been provided with the remainder of an
Fiastem page's dress ; but the boy implored her so earnestly, both in look and
language, to come near him, that she found it impossible to refuse.

*' And must 1 wear that dress, my beautiful, dear mother ; must I trans-
form myself from a Christian page into a Saracen^"

" You must, if you love me, as yon say you do, Rudolph. It is the only
condition on which you can remain near my peison. Otherwise, dear child,
a place ionong the (.'hristiaa captives is allotted to you."

THE MONK KNIOHT OK 8T. JOHN.

*' I UHiiiVaa 1 ill) iiiit much taiicy tlie exchange," sutd tlie boy, with proud
inortificatKiri in hin Itiuk. " It scenic to di'i^rude nie."

/iilcnna looked m hiiii u tVv, mointMitit iiitKutly. N^vur had he appeared
III licr M) rttnkiii^ly iiitert'HtniK. Tlic trutth Ixith hud revived all hia tUtii^ued
My»tf"iii. 'I'he rriixraiicc of the ro»e-water seemed to lixiide ;'roin every pore.
iii.>< Howiiit; and biskiitit'iil ItM-kN were caret'ully i-oiiihed. A more lovely and
delicate red over^^pread hit* cheekH. The rich ripe Idood had mounted into iiia
miust and parting li|iH; and hm larue hliie eyeii now sparkled with deeper
vivacity, ami now Htuiiif with their voluptuous ian^our of exproution. A
tipeciCH iif la!4<-iiiatioM i-amu over /uleiiua. Shu watched the play of hi.s half
ticornful featurex, until she fancitui tiiat they .teemed to reproach her tor tiie
chanue that had come over them, and tlien a few tearu courted ttlowly from
her Htill ifiuiun eyes.

" Mother, dear mother, forj^ive me ! i will wear a Moorish drew — d«>
uiiytliini; to \h' near you. But ah ! i am sure that is not ail. With the
dre»» I am expected to a«»ume the ereed."

" Kvon 80, Uudolph," murmured /uleima, through her tears. "The
price i.s a severe one, but Saladin Ikw said it ; for none may ap|)roach his wife
but those of tender years and of his own creed. Rudolph, I love you, ja
though you were indeed my son, yet far bt3 it from me to persuade you to a
course you may hereafter repfret. True, it would j^ive joy to my heart, greater
than 1 can express, to have you ever near me, but do no violence to what you
consider to be a duty."

" And if i do consent, will you always love me !" eagerly questioned llie
page

" Always," she replied. " Kven as though you v^ere my child."

'I'lie fascinated boy vihispered something in her ear, and then buried hiii
burning face in her bosom.

" Yes, yes," she answered, coloring deeply. " Even as such a son should
he loved by a tender and confiding mother, proud of the exclusive devotion
of him to whom she has given the divine power to feel thus."

Jler voice was broken from excessive tenderness, and her hands trembled
under the office she was performing. It was that of applying fresh and heal-
ing salves to the wound on his shoulder, which now, the incrustration of blood
having been removed, was discovered to be but slight.

" Then ten thousand times would I become a Mussulman for this!" exclaim-
ed the animated boy. " Do you know," he continued, his deep blue eyes fixed
earnestly, yet languishingly on her, and his cheek covered with the same
burning glow, while his voice trembled, as if half fearful to disclose the one
absorbing thought of his mind, " I am very young — only sixteen — yet I am
what the Monk-Knight would oull very wicked. I should not love you aa I
do, if you did not permit me always to look upon you as my mother. I have
never known the love of one ; for 1 was an orphan soon after my birth. But
i have always fancied that, were she alive and beautiful, I could dote upon
her to distraction. Ah I you will supply her place to me. You will be
my own Injautiful mother. Say this, and I am your slave for ever."

" You mean my favorite page," returned Zuleima, nearly as much
troubled and excited as himself. " But, dear Rudolph, if you are wicked ii>

1,1

" Ji ' '

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

. It

'•■I
1

this, yonr Zuieima is not lees so. Her sou) is anient, imaginatrve as
your own. It is for the very reason that you feel as you do, that I love you
as I do. 1 adore the bold thought that enters into and fills the mind of one
so tender, so delicate, and so beautiful. Do you understand me now, my
child?" and she laid an emphasis on the last word, that perfectly intoxi-
cated the boy with delight.

" I do, I do. Oh mother ! dear mother ! sweet mother !" he faintly as-
pirated, while his feverish hand trembled in hers.

" Yes, always your mother. Never think of me, Rudolph, but as a lost
mother at length restored to you after an absence of years. To all the world
besides, you shall be my page — I shall be mistress to my page ; but in our
own secret hearts we shall exult in the fancied afiinity that binds them each
more strongly to the other."

There was an expression of soft voluptuousness in her whole countenance
as she uttered these words, which swelled the bosom of the boy with the
most intoxicating feelings.

"One question more," he returned, falling on his knees half-undresasd us
he was, and devouring her hand with kisses ; " Oh, disappoint me not in
your answer. Destroy not an illusion which is so necessary to the comple-
tion of our happiness."

* And what now?" playfully asked Zuieima. " Yon really look so seri-
ous, Rudolph, that you will make me think you wish me to run away with
you, my son, and leave the Sultan. ye.s, my child, the Sultan whom I so
love, but with a love different from that which I entertain for you. to curse
the folly which induced him to make me woo you to ray service."

" Not so," returned the boy. " I ask not, 1 desire not, that my own
beautiful mother should love her noble husband lees tlian her son. I would
not have her so ungrateful — so deficient in fulness of heart. My question
has another and a more delightful bearing. My soul yearns to know that
your age is such that you could have been my mother."

"Willingly, dear Rudolph. Your mother oould not well number lew
than eight-and-twenty summers of the Christian reckoning."

" Ah ! who would have thought it? Scarce twenty do you look — so great,
so fresh is your loveliness. But you mock me. Surely you do not mean to
say lliat you are what you state, dearest mother."

"I do, indeed, Rudolph. Were I ieae, I should scarcely comprehend
how to feel for you as I do."

"Ah! what joy," exclaimed the boy, suddenly throwing himself upon
the rich carpet at her feet. " Yo» are indeed my mother ; and I, with a
heart full of fire — a soul overflowing with deep tendernese for you — am your
son. Yes, you are my lost mother, returned to gladden me with your adored
love. Can you comprehend the fulness, the unutterable fulness of my joy ^ "

" I do. 1 share all your wild but beautiful imaginings. Even as to you,
so to me, these are sources of the most exquisite blias."

There was a pause of some moments in their conversation, but their speak-
ing looks were far more eloquent than words.

.. ? !

THE MONK K-MOUT OF hT. JOHN.

CHAPTER XVI

Lit no one accuse us of painting scenes more vividly — with a greater
warmth of coloring — than they were enacted in the age on which we have
drawn for material to show the loose manners of the times. It is pure hy-
pocrisy to draw the veil over those portions of the cnisade history more than
others. They form an essential clue to the character of the different people
of the earth, and show abundantly that the natural feelings, strongly
implanted in the breast by the will of the Almighty, were more acknow-
ledged and obeyed then, when the religious mania had spread like a poison
throughout the arteries of unpolished society, than now, when many of the.*e
dogmas are repudiated by all sensible and reflecting men, as insulting to
the majesty of God. And why, because .society — that society in wiiich the
wiafe man is compelled to mingle with the fool — the free and untrammoled
in mind with the bigoted in spirit — we repeat, bwause that society did not
exist to mar, by ita own selfishness, the beauty of God's ordinance*. The
conscience of every man told him that, under no circumstance-s. should he
wantonly take the life of his fellow, without incurring the bitter angni.'-li of
remorse arising from the sacrilege against his t'reator ; but there were othor-s
who ventured to disbelieve, that if the starving wretch who lived by the will
and command of his God, should appropriate to himself a loaf from the ri^h
funds of him who hoarded up granaries of food to carry them, figurativi>ly, ti
his grave, the wrong was towards God, or would be punished by (Jod. In
'ike manner, they could not believe that adultery was a crime in the eytw of
Heaven, because tl;oy saw that all men committed it, and almos» glorifieil
themselves in the act, while on woman it was visited with the utmost seve-
nty by their very betrayers. It was difficult to understand how that whirli
was venial in the man, should be criminal in tlie woman ; nor could they
comprehend that a great and good God should draw such a line of distinction
between the sexes, as to make that virtue in the one which was guilt in the
other. Men, then, rattier followed the promptings of nature than existing
human laws ; and the voluptuous and impassioned woman, strong in the
right of that which she felt to be her own, seldom gave, as we find in the
history of those days, the offspring of the adultery, which was necessary to
stimulate her own sense of happiness, the opportunity to determine who wa.=
its f"',her. But tyranny, then, under the name of society, had not framed it3
stringent laws. It had not yet accumulated fortunes, and grown arrogant by
the humiliating sale of the most petty articles necessary to human existence.
Men had not yet appropriated to themselves millions of acres of .hat globe
which God had given in common to all. They had not asserted their
exclusive right to a woman, when her soul was filled with hatred for him-
self and ungratifiod passion for another. They had not attained that refine-
ment of cruelty which drives, even from the bosom and affections of neares'
relatives, the dear and confiding girl who, yielding to that fulness and ten-
derness of soul which God had implanted in her for the wisest of purposes,
surrenders up at the earnest prayers of the lover she adores, those transcend-

THK MONK KNIUMT OF ht. JOHN.

cnt, unspeakaWe charms which arc an inconceivable and a beiiutiCiil mystery.
But all these great atrocities will be no more when the millenium arrives.
We f^dl^b^^lMl'^'^ * century too soon. The world will surely recur to
mannpraR^R\vffln assimilated to Uioae of past ages, as well as to their
i'ashions.

Much intercourse with tlieir conquerors had infused that laxity of morals
into the hearts of the Saracen women, which prevailed to .so great a degree
among the women of the West, of whom '(as we have just remarked) it has
been said by Mills, a authority not to be iiuestioiied, " that considering that
the Cavaliers (Knights of St. John) were to be as pure xs vestals, it is sin-
gular that the chastity of their mothers was not looked to. Tjegitimacy does
not seem to have been a matter of moment. No regulation on the subject
w.as made till the time of HiiljIi de Revel, who was grand master from
twelve hundred and sixty-two to twelve hundred and sixty-eight. The order
then enacted that no person could be admitted to the profession, if either
himself or his father had not been born in lawful wedlock, except, however,
the sons of counts and persons of high rank and quality. Then, again, Joiii-
ville, in his History of King St. Louis, asserts that while the French
barons, knights, and others, who should have reserved their wealth ("or a time
of need, gave themselves up to banquetings and carousings, tlieir men sated
their lusts in the arms of married women and virgins to a itarful extent, and
without power in the king to prevent them ; and, although he dismissed from
his service many of his otficers and soldiers, these excesses continued
unabated until the aroused Saracens, in their threatening attitude, effected
that change which considerations of virtue could not accomplish. Nay,
such was the unbridled disposition to gallantry of the Christian women of all
ranks, that even the king's wife, Eleonora, divorced from him on that ac-
count, and subsequently married to Henry the Second of England, gave such
unrepressed indulgence to the reigning passion of her soul, that on whomso-
ever the lust of her eye fell — Saracen or Christian — she bestowed the rich
voluptuousness of her charms, with an abandonment that proved the mys-
teries of love to be the dominant passion of her nature — the food on whicli
alone she lived. Nor was this remarkable in a woman wh^ had previously
decided in a case of appeal in the Provencal courts, that "true love cannot
exist among married people,"' :i decision that was strictly in accordance with
rtie principle maintained in those courts, that " marriage is no legiti nate

lar to the indulgence of

with another."

It i.s irue that all these things occurred after the re-conquest of Jerusalem,
-p to which period we have introduced the tender Zuleima ; but enough had
«N!nn done by the Christians during a long interval of comparative peace, to
instil into the hearts of the eastern women much of the looseness of moraWi
of their conquerors. Even the purest of the«?, dared not refuse to their
sohdiations whiit they well knew force would be used to obtain if they did,
until it length tlieir appetite, growing stronger on what it fed, and gratified
by iuu;iv — not confined to the possession of one mister — became almost as
markei'i as that of the women of the West themselves, while their glowing
and impa.-iione ! i"\:"7inations gave to its indulgence, richness of conception

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

— an endless ideality of object which the leas ardent women of the West — pur-
suing love as much from habit as from inclination, could but ill understand.

In the very heart of these exeitinff .scenes of voluptuous abandonment,
Zuleima had been broufjht up. Before .she had numbered ten summers, it
had been her fate more than once to behold her .more mature comnanion.s
compelled to the wmiification of the tierce lu.st of their conquerors, while
others, yitildinj? to their solicitations, ffave free indulgence to their long-
suppressed emotions. All thi.s had Zuleima witnesst^d, until her young
bloo<l tinirled in her veins, and Nature, knocking lovidly at her heart, told her
that the strotifj excitement of her friends wa.s ituiioativf of iwiythinij hut un-
willing sacrifice. Zuleima had remarked this, and yet while happily exempt
Iroin llir" same violence, she entertained no dtsire to partake of the same
free indulgeric»' ; yet, Jis she increased m years, and the full bloom of girlhood
snccrcded to the novitiate of childhood, her thi'ughta could not but revert
glowingly to ttie subjinn, ami a deep pa.s8ion for .some imaginary (Christian
knight — a l)ean-ideal paintcil by her own fruitl'ul fancy — one whom she
loved to invest with the endearing ties of consanguinity, became a fev("r — an
absorbinc passion of her soul, which she scarcely would have exchange*! for
a cold reality. Of Moorish blood, she was ardent in the extreme, and yet
so delicate were her feelings, that though she lingered agr.in and again over
the picture of intensely reciprocated passion that had never lor an instant been
effaced from her mind, she would not have voluntarily yielded to the hand-
somest of those knights, had he not fully realized her soul's ideality, and
furthermore shared to the uttermost her own wild and thrilling thoughts.
Possessed of little or no education as the eastern women were, and havecx>n-
tinued to be to this day, and indeed as the (irst ladies of the West also were
at that peri(Ml, she was. nevertheless, gifted with great but unobtrusive
!*trength ol" minil. scorning those piejudiees which equally influenc<>d the
conquerors and the conquered, and had moistened the land with their mutual
bloo<l. She (larcfl inwardiy toeoudemii, as unworthy that reason and intelli-
gence which .\llah had irivcn to man, the belief that lie had creaie<l the human
race, in its almost g(><l-like form, except with a view to the intense happi-
ne^'s which that very organization proved had been the chief object of their
being. Reality could allbrd no such )oy to her as did the ripe pointings
of her own glowing imajrination. .Vt first she was startled at the vivacity of
thoughts wliich W(nild force them.selves uj>on her in spite of all attempts
;o banish them, but tlip more she reflected the more she became convin^ied
of the alino't wickedness of endowing the great Oeator of all things with
other attriliuic.f than those of love, kindness, charity, beneficence, approval
on the indulgence of that bi-autiful. that myster.ous union of the choices',
of his creatures, of which He, in the t'ulness oi his crowning and immor-
tal glory, was ;)t once the fount and v-sc*;nee. Never could she recon-
cile to hersilf, l)ecauseman. in his dogmatic authority, asserted it to be crime,
'.tmt the infinite, the perfect (nnl. regarded as such, the sweet fruits of ihe
surpassing ly-gloriflns works of his hands. What could l>e ; doli^hi of
Allah ? Suicly it was not in seeing heeatombe of his own ere'
and perishing in excruciating agony — welling forth the pure '
had infused into their vein.^ for a far diiferoot purpose — it c< '

. n mangl«Ml

I vbich He

not be that

ti;

THK MONK KNIllHT OF ST. JOHN.

he round pleasure or pralifioation in the business, the vanity, the littlcnooifi,
the cheatinj,', the lying, tlic hypocrisy, the hearllessness of those whoso souls
had been fjivcu them for nolder purpose*— ^iven to them that lliey might com-
preheini and glorify the goodness of Ilini who had bestowed upon iliem a part of
His own divinity — delegated to ihera the incoinprehensiide power to create
thi'ni.'<elveg, and by means of sueh transporting joy, as in His gr«at wisdom,
III iiailowcd with the mystery of his own all-glonou.s (iodhead.

Such were the feelings, the thoughts, the creed of the Iwautiful Zulnmn,
when pIip had attained her sevenieenlh year ; and yet with a soul overtlowmjj
with love lor the great Allah, from whom it was lier dtliglit to believe ;U1
her impulsive as|)iraiion8 came — while painting images of rapture which
the glowing of isoul alone can understand, she bad not yet lound him with
whom she could partake of the priceiees and ecstatic bliss lliat memory,
aided by imagination, had painted on her mind. It was then that Saladia
first l)eb('lil her, and struck wiili her surpassing beauty, offered her the high
position of an eastein sultan's wife. Motives of prudenei; (Ui the part of
Zuleima, caused her to accept an oiler that implied a command. Saladin
was no Sardanajialus, Ardent in his temperament, yet little understanding
those exipiisite refinementa which give to enjoyment its principal charm,
he had, in the first years of their union, and soon after possettsiun, treatpai
her indiflerently with the rest of his wives. Too proud, gentle l>y nature ;u
she was, to betray the disaupointiiient of her love, she had lingered un in the
eiiilling ties of polygamic marriage — every finer senst; obtusoti, and tier heart
bick at the absence of her ideal, who alone could understand and respond to
the secret fire at her heart. It was at the |>eri(Nl, when this leeling wa;^
the strongest, that chance threw her into the way of de Doiscourt. The
very first glance satisfied her soul. Her t)eau-ideal was ther«i — identifiwl—
fiiiind :it last — and readily and impulsively, and with her mind filled with the
intense thought that all ner glowing dreams were at length on the |>oint ot
realization, she yielded up every suppressed desire of her heart to him, in
the lullcst lii.xury ol a devoted woman's nature. It has been seen how short-
lived wius the cause for her self-congratulation.

Mor" radiant than evt^r in beauty on h(!r return from the Christian camp,
Saladiii had again remarked her, and wondering how he could have t)een so
insensible to that which had, on '.he first iiistancu captivated his fancy, la
visbcd all the ardor of his love u|M)n her, with a fervor, a devotixInesM, whici>
hail he b«'en but imaginative as lu;rm'lf, would have left licr little to dosin;
His love was impetuously, exclusivtdy devoted to her, but it wa'ite<l that
delicacy of mind, that i<oft and dreamy abandonment of the abeorlNHl mmX,
which she pined for in the partner of her nuptial couch — the man who should
call forth in her the purest seeds of that chastened fire which she hvjkod
upon as a sacred gift — a beautiful Ikiou from Allah. To her glowing and
impassioned buul, mere phy.iical piUision, gross stMisuality, had no chamis
Apart from the k*H;ner emotions which sting, which miulden the blood
through the imagination, she felt mere animal indulgence to lie degrading
in the extreme. There was no doubt guilt, according to the fiat of society
and the church, in even imagining that illicit lov*;, which Adah found
BO sweet when she commenced the task of peopling the world ; but, unlike

I'm: .MONK KMrirr ok m'. joh\.

oaiii(>,
)uen so
icy, la-

whici.

tiMl that
mmI doul,
o should
looked
mg iuid
I'hamw
(• blood

sot'ioiy
ill) found
itnlike

Adah's, licr iiicrsiiKnis love was born only of, iii"! existed wholly in, hor
ardent imagination, which, uniting all tics in one. iuxnriuted in their pos-
aeasioii with a bouiidleaaness of jilcasurc no laiiguiio;)' can adiniuatcly
convey. Still nIic lovcil her Imsltaiid — loved him not 'iily lor himself, but
for the I'rtHjiienl opiKirUinitics he gave her to revel in .n flowing i)icliires of
her imaginative mind, and most on that recalled by th memory of her adven-
ture with tlie haiui»onie French Knight.

It was nil fault ot his that Suladin siiared not her seer. ; sympathies, re-
sponded not to her dearest iiupulsi's. He had never known, never suspected
their existence, nor was it for her to im|>arl them, unless sought by one of
eorres(i<(n(ling character and feeling, (iradually she had been led to believe
that slic was alone in her ideas of hajipinesK, an<l that she had been lavishing
the warnirst aflections of her heart upon that winch must ever remain a sha-
(fow — that no kindi'tul mind wtiuld ever be liiund to throw even the semblance
of reality iiv(>r the rich imagination of her miiturer womanhood.

No wonder then that, with a mind so consliluled, feelings so voluptuously
toned. Znleima »houlil have telt iier scuil intoxicated with delight, as the
tender but impassioned Rudolph, resembling rather an angel of light, than a
being of mortality, first avoweil to her sentiments so kindred to those which
preyed like a devouring tiri' upon her blood. The world, altlioiit;h then
abandoned to the lowest profligacy and vice, hatt still iis prejudices; but
these could offer no restriction to the soaring nund. The very liarrier that
wasoulwar(i!y iniposed on it, made it the nion; auxituis to overleap. The pro-
hibition of iho reality rendered the semblance more intenne. Zuleima had
thought deeply on the subject, and unlike the millions ot women who sur-
rounded lier Were it possible that she could now arise tVoni the dead and
witness the long delayed expansion of human intelle<'t. winch is fast assum-
ing a strength that must soon uproot all prejudice that estrani;es the hum:ui
he.irt, and shackles the nidtlest iin|uilses ol our nature, she would see that
man was rapi>lly ailo|)iiiig her own cherished theories, lor she would beiiold
.1 nation hithevo ■ unsidered the most moral of the earth, uniting through their
leadeis — men i I' sound ludgment and enlarged minds — to divest of the name
and odium nf eriininul love, one of the most di lightful feelinc- of the human
heart, that oJ i;api:rtnii; io I'le soul of the cherished and favoriie sister of one's
departed wife, tiiut tide of happiness which had sutl'used her own •• What
lotds," yhe would have been m.-iined to exclaim. For what dearer in love
iha. which weds you in the sam*' holy bond, her wlnmi you have known in
e'.ery phase of inlimac, , and who. in briiiguig back the dear image (,i htr
whom you still mourn, tills your rapt soul with a two-tidd '-iiiotion of delight
— confuieil not to yourself, but to her who succee«l«. and diopt* a tear to luir
memory in your arms. What, too, would be her triumph, tn ^e the capital
of the most intellectual city of the world, returniiu.' as their delegate, in the
temples nf wisdimi, the man whose writings have ever been inculcating the
creed of her own lieart, and of whose last, it is said, that no bookseller darn
to appciid his nam*' to it — no vender to place it on his count^T. Hut the niil-
leiiium has not yet ..rrived. .Men desire, but fear the approach ol perlecl
happiness. Women understand it better.

Thus would Zuleimi liave B|)oken, in all the warmth of her iinaginalive

THK MONK KNKiHT OF .sT. JOHN.

i -1

Boul. She woiilil have been startled to luMr it confessed to iMtonished mul-
titudes, that that was not crime, but virtuo\iJi passion, which the de«cend-
ants of the ('hristiiin spoliators of her own native land had, for age's, stamped
as iht! fornner ; but aj^ainst which the fjrcai (iiwi, who created the world in
a tieauty, winch man himself alone has marred, had n»!ver proiiounceil his
fiat. She would have had no ditficnlty ui ijivinin^j that, of all thorn' preju-
dices which yet enslave the human heart, imiie would he much loncjer
suflercd by the enlightened mind to disgrace the goodness of the fTcator, but
that immutable, and stern, and just one, which demands the blood of him
who has taken from his fellow, the first and most precious of His gifU.
'l'h;it He has willed His severest judgment against the wanton destroyer of
the breathing work of immortal hands, she had eve- religiously believed.
That, with blasphemv and foul slander, were the onlv crimes sIk- admitted
against God , ,iil thf others wen' of human invention

No wonder, then, that the loveZiileima bore the boy. who dared to think
as hi' did — who thoiiglif iike herself' — fearlessly, yet .secretly and voluptu-
ously, was the sweelext siir had e^rer known. She had at length met him
f(jr whom her he.trt ftad so long oincd in vain Her second .self h.oil bwen
found, not exactly the l)eau-ideal of hi-r younger years, but one whom her
own incieii.sed fulness of womanhood cau.sed her now to prize the more. It
suited 111 r voluptnous fancy t»etter that the sweet fever of lieHove should lie
unde-^iDod and shared by the daring and beautiful boy, than by the .st>-nier
and '.(lore ripeufd man. Moreover, her feelings of preference partook of i
d' able c.haraet' To the strong and exinundinary feeling he had infused
inio her, after the interchange of their inuUial explanation, she unite<i all the
tf^iiderness and affection of a mother ' There was a newness, a freshness,
a,"i inipulsivene.s.s. and yet a .subdued languor in the one, which she could not
expect to find in the o?hcr. Nevtr was Adonis dearer to Venus ; and as that
v«duptuous goddess t()und deeper joy in the fresh love of the hunter boy, than
in those of the iron-sinewed Vulcan or the vigorous Mars, so did the Iwautiful
and lender Zuleima prefer the freshness of Rudolph to the maturity of
Saladin, even vihile she lavishe*! all her lenderness on l)oth.

\ ,

CHAPTER XVIi

Tn£ captive Monk-Knight sat alone in the handsome tent which S&Udin
had aasi^ '! d him on hearing from h>s lips, at the dose of the battle of Tibe-
rias, the service rendered by himself and de IJoiscourt. It has been attributed
Ui the Saracon chief that he was full of artifice and treachery. Here w.is an
occasion when he thought himself justif«'d in having recourse to them at the
expense oven of the honor of his captive, to whom he felt himself to bo in-
debted. The statement made in the presence of the (Irand Master, and of
the other knights of the two orders, of his having embrr-jjed Moftlemism (o

»■

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

tonished mul-
, the dcRcend-
;i(Tei, stamped

the world in
rnnouix'fd his
11 thortt' prej\i-

jnnch lonijpr
le Creator, but

blood of him
, of His !?ifl«-
n destroyer of
mslv believed.
4 she admitted

dareil to think
y iind voliiptu-
len^tb. met him
1 self had bwen
one whom her
p the more. Ft
•4ove should l»e
1 by the sf-nier
ce partook of ^
he hati infused
le unite*! all the
188, a freshnesfi,
•h .■she eould not
1U8 ; and as that
[innier boy, than
did the l)eautiful
ihe maturity of

It which Saladin
battle of Tibe-
9 been atiributed
Here was an
fn] to them at the
himself to be in-
d Master, .ind of
ed Muftlemmin to

Have hid life, wiis false, and tuld at tiitt own (rommand. Saladin had licard
of the jrreat fame for piety and virtue of the .Monk-Knight — remarkable even
amotifi the Templars, and striet Knights of St John, and he wa» determined,
if po.KBible, to turn it to aeeount. It would have been a greater trium|)h to
him to eompel these proud and unlnMuiinp men to beeome eoiiverta to Mos-
leminni, than to have seen them bow their necks to the 8<'imeter. He well
knew that death earried no terror with it, lor that was always familiar '.o
them ; but the shame ot apostaey must live lor ever uj- a tjangrene at their
hearts. He had therefore eaused the knights to be summoned tofjether,
after having duly inslrueted hisoHicer, who f?ave in their presenee the an.swer
that has been reeordeil — an answer which lilltid the hearts of all with shame
and sorrow, that one so noble — so universally looked up to — should have
proved thus recreant to his vows. Saladin had been betrayed into iinpulnive
aiiyer by the m.sulting tone in which the (Irund Master had alluded to his
religmti, and therefore, in the mood of exasperation evinced by the kni[ihts
frenerally, he deemed it more prudent — more likely to efleet the object he
had in view — to give them until morning to cool their hlood, and to ponder
well over the course they iielieved the Monk had jnirsued.

Me;inwhile, unconscious of the injury that was bcint; done to his reputa-
tion in the hearing of his honorable comrades, Abdajlah yat alonii in the un-
gnurded tent which his priestly character had eaused Saladin to allot to him
in that portion of the ».'ncarnpment which contained his seratrlio. His !no(Hl
was thoughtful, and yet on his noble hrow there linjiered that calm lieiievo-
lenee — that holy placidity which, almost always, wiu- observable there, even
in the thickest of the battle — for, unlike the other knights, he wore no vi^or
attached to his helmet, when his herculean arm cut down whole scctioim
of Saracens as easily as the mower cuts down the gra.ss of the field. But
though his hriiw was unruflled. there were wild thoughts stirring at his
heart. Deep sorrow, too, was there ; for he mourned the beloved, the gene-
rous friend of his liogom. And when he reflected that he should never again
behold, railiant with life and inielligence, that handsome face which he had
s») long loved to dwell upon, a tear — the first and only one he ever sli(;d —
stole down his cheek, a heartfelt tribute to the memory of the uay. ami
brave, and hiuh-suii led young knight.

(IradiKilly his thoughts a.ssumed another turn. He reverted to the Luly
Krnestina, and as he pictured her glowing and widowed beauty given up
to his posse.-*sion, even as he had seen that of the wife of Saladin given t<.
her noble, yet ill-fated husband, his desire for her became so iiupetuous, that
he ground his teeth in anguish at the recollection of the possibility ot' his
never being permitted to behold her ; for he, like his companions, was awire
that every knight who refused to adopt the koran as his creed, was doomed
to perish. Should his life be spared, all restraint upon his passion would be
removed. Hi- triend dead — his order almost annihilated — the (Miri.stian
cause apparently abandoned by God hiniself — he had promptly decided upon
his course. Never would he embrace Moslemism — never would he he cftm-
pelleil to abjure f 'hristiauity , but, if necessary, he would forsake that cowl
to which experience proved he had hitherto dcToted hiniself in vam. Para-
dise — the paradise of the Lady Pirnestina's arms — would richly repay him

THK M(».\K kNKilir (»K ^ T. JOHN.

for tli(! stccMKHi. Ill t'lttiiru she hIiouIiI Iu> IiIh hope, liis temple, .iiiil lii.s
Hliriiif (if holy lovf. 'I'wcnty ycjirs ;ii li'ii^i "t" ltli^<H kIio\i1<1 he IiIh oh hur
liixiiridiiM bosom. Twciily yt-iirs, iii Ira.st, ilif lirli yiilaxy of lii-r oliarius
Bliniild Uc iM'Mtowcd on him. Twenty years at loust should they botli
rcali'A- that strange anil iiiloxieatini,' hli^ nliii-li he rather imagined ihun
understood.

A (jrcjit ehaiijfe liad eome over the mhui ot" Ahdallah sinee he hud be-
held the rieli beauty of Ziileima ; first, when bound to the syeamore tree, her
long and lloatiiifj hair but lialf-eonccalmg her foreed nakedness ; next, when
extended on the velvet moas, she lay exposed to the fjloatinjj eyes of 'Phi-
band. And that bosom bis eye had not dared to jjaze upon, his hand had
chanced to touch, after placing heron the saddle before de Boiscourt ThcBC
were the fust (jerms of knowledge of the sex of woman the Monk-K night
had ever known ; and when, towards the dawn of that night, he bebeld de
Boiscourt already folded in her arms, and uttering nnirnmrs of joy, to
which she wildly responded with her sighs, the veil was wholly removed,
and now, for the first time, he eomprelujnded that pining after something —
he knew not what — which had oft visited him in his monkish cell. Frotn
that hour, deep were the struggles of his soul w ith guilt ; night after night
had he knelt in prayer to heaven to strengthen him in his purity. But it wan
in vain that he attempted to baniish the reeollcctH)n of what he had seen and
known. It would surprise him in his orisons — it would haunt him in his
sleep-^it would be the last thing he thought of on retiring to lim rude couch
— his first thought on waking. And yet, the piission engendered by these
images, might have been mastered in lime — abst-ncs from objects calculated
to inflame might have redeemed the error — for such in a man eon.tistent
with himself it wa.s — and restored him to his original purity of mind. But
alas ' de Boiscourt did more by his description of his beautiful wite to un-
do the stern virtue of the Monk-Knight, than did that which he had even seen
and felt. That temptation he resisted as long as he could, but such frequent
recurrence to the subject was adding fuel to the fire, until in the end his pas-
sion for her became .-so intense, that, as has Injen seen, he promised to make
the greatest aacrifice on earth — that of his Church — to make her his own for
ever.

Such were the feelings of Abdallab — such bis resolution, as now he pon-
d(!re<l deeply on the future. His monastic vows had no longer a charm for
him — that charm, which in the pious, is derived from the consciousness
of the performance of a strict duty, and yet it suddenly occurred to him that
his possession of the beautiful Lady Erncstina need not involve the violation
of his connexion with the Hhurch, which would rather give a character of
holiness to his passion. He would, in ihat case, be at once her husband and
her confessor, and the Monk should make atonement for the sin of the man.
The very idea excited him, and though his countenance, ever .serene, betrayed
not the workings of nis mind, he luxuri.ited in the thought of first possessing
her, as himself, in his priestly character, until his impatience of delay be-
came so great, that he was compelled to pace his tent, in the hojie of dis-
tracting his attention from the subject. But the effon was vain. There, in
the crouching attitude of a Venus, stood the beautttul woman. •>») pul|>ably

!■

THE MONK KNIOHT Of ST. JOHN.

delineated to his mind'R-eyc, that it stirnmi (gifted with warmth and motion
— an enchanting vision — with lonf> floating hair that appeared to smile
throiiph her hall'-cloacd lips of pure and moiiitKned red, and woo him with
soft and meltin(j eyes to her outstretched arms. Whichever way ho
turnetl — however much he endeavored to di«|M!l the illusion by forced recur-
rence 10 IcNH exciting subjects, that imafro was still there, rich in the
utmost ()ert'ection of woman's loveliness. The fire of his heart becaujo now
mcupportable. He could have died in the next hour to possess hor then,
for still the (riorious and beauteous imaf^e haunted him. ('old drops of per-
»])iration fell from his brow, and he almost i^asped for breath. Then thinking
that the darkness might afford him relief, he partially removed his armor
and the outward portion of his drees, and then extinguished his lamp.

Liooking out at his tent-door, he saw from the appraiance of the heavens,
that it was near morning. The whole camp of Saladin was evidently wrapped
in sleep, for scarce a sound was heard but that of the moving sentinels. He
cloeedthe a|)erture an<l again paced the interior. Soon he saw a liglit at one
end. admitted evidently through a second imperfectly-closed 0|>fcning in the
thin canvass. He approached it, and looking through beheld what had not
hitherto attracted his attention — another lent of slighter material ; the en-
tranc<> to which was folded back as if to admit the air, and showing the
rich decorations of the interior. While he gazed, surprised to see so gorge-
ous a lent in the heart of so rude an encampment of armed warriors, he
looked through the muslin and distinctly beheld, in outline, the shadow of a
female form so richly moulded, that, excited as he was by the feelings
that had U-en for hours preying upon his soul, he could not resist the
strong temptation that impelled him to see more of her. He threw open the
newly-discovered entrance to his own tent and passed out ; then, pausing for
a moment, he glanced around endeavoring to penetrate the darkness that
everywhere prevaile<l. Finding that all was still, he looked again upon the
figure, strongly relieved by that time, by a light that stood near. She was
evidently undressing, and the shadow of each garment could be traced as it
fell from the form of the wearer. Presently a mass of slowly unrolling hair
fell over the tunic which alone remained. More than all else, the sight of
that reduntiant hair inflamed the bkMxi of the Monk-Knight. It reminded
him of her who, even in the presence of another, stood before him The
priest was gone, the man alone stood confessed. He trembled in every
limb, his muscles became hard and swollen; his robust frame expanded. He
must liavc beei, more than human to have suppressed the tumult of his over-
toiling passion. Still he hesitated. He thought of the danger ; not that
death in the abstract had any fear for him, but that it must for ever rob him
of Krnestina, the goddess of his adoration. At that moment the figure left
the shade and approached a small table, as if to placo tlie lamp there before
extinguishing it. The Monk now beheld, in the full glare of light, her
magnificent bosom uncovere<l, and slightly pendant, as she stooped over Uie
table ; one white and moulded arm gracefully put forward with the lamp,
the other thrown across her waist to supply the absence of a girdle, while
the full volume of her jet black hair, extending to the knee, almost embraced

i M

THE MONK KNIGHT OP fiT. JOHN.

with its luxuriant tuinoM, the mow-white tunic that was only partially
Tiaible.

Abdallah could endure thi« no lonfrer. Iiiko h mnn ruahing madly upoo
deetructioii. he (■ro«w>(l the Hlight iipacre that ii(!|)!iratri<l him froin liur. Ar-
rived at the thrpnhold. atrain he ^muiu'c*. TIip reiiiaie Unrncd her faco towards
him, and sturtrtd at tho nijjht ot ^ i!...!i w in ar her Tlui first ylanre ho ob-
taiiwMJ ol" her larc. amiired the Monk-Kninht «>( itu' |ireHcnee of IiIa former
Saracen captive. MaHdmied by the conteiiipiatiori of her b<>auty, thus again
brought slnkmglv Ixfure him. Ins own noblt> '■ouiittMiancr shone with an
oxproMiioii thiit wan indcscribablf. but winch brought the warm bItNid into
Zuleiina'e chpok, aa. recognizing the Monk. f.Ii.* raimvl her hands in mute
astonmhmont and joy. /VltdallHli put his tingt>r siginficuntly to his \i\)H. The
only reply of /uleniia was a smile, such an the llouns only Itostuw ujion
angels. The Monk-Knight was elootrihi^d. lie passed the tliroshold —
he threw a hurried glance around to see if she was alon(!, and that glance
sufficed to show hiiii the itosition <>'° all eouspicuoim obj(>cts in the t.^iit. She
hurriedly extinguished the lamp, when rdl b<>camc dark as midnight. Drool-
ing her flight, and yet reatisured by that enelianting Hiiiile, one bound brought
Abdallah to the 8|>ot where she still stood, trembling also with agitation and
excitement. With a groan that came from the deptlis of Ins now wild and
impassioned soul, he caught her in his anns from the carjict, and enfolded
lier to his heaving cheat.

What language shall pretend to paint the ecstatic feelings ot him who,
in the full vigor of his unbroken manhooil. first prewses to hi:) maddened
heart that angel, clothed in luxuri.-int and burpiutsing beauty, who has been
given to him to lie the pure and holy temple of his lovu. Fur some luoineotii
Abdallah could not sfieuk. His large frame trembled ; Ins hand earesAod ; ht)
drank in her murmurc<l sighs ; lier arms were around Ins neck ; her fragrant
kisses bcdewe<l his lips : her unbound h..;r floated over his shouldtrrs.

" Father, holy fiuher," murmured '/uleima, m Moorish, "do you, then,
at last, love her whom you saved from worse than death ' shall slie yet havs
a place in your heart'"

" Ijove !" said the Monk, fiercely . " profane not the term. What I feel
for you IS ungovernable passion provoked by an image that is even novr
floating before me in all the radiance of her 9urp.x8sing beauty."

Zuleima did not reply, but pressing her arm more fuudly around his neck,
faintly sighed.

" Nay, sigh not," whispered the Monk, in a milder tone. " It is not that
y<iU are not lovely also, but that she is herself alone — unapproachable. My
soul is hers."

The day was beginning to dawn. The Monk-Knight imprinted a last
proof of his strong desire upon the heaving bosom of Zuleima, who, in
her turn pressed him to her throbbing heart.

As he rose, she followed. She knelt at his feet — she embraced his knees
— then rising and taking a ring from her finger, and placing it on the IJttle
finger of the hand she had taken, she munnured,

" One last blessing, holy father, I ask of you. Accept and wear this ring
for my sake. It is that which I prize the most, and therefore 1 give it to

THB MONK KNJOHT OK ^T. JOHN,

you. It was my father's, eiitTimted to nip m pletig<> to restore it nhniild 1
ever meet his fimt-born son, loiijj absent from Ins fami)y ; but as time and
circumstances show that this may never h*\ I [ireseni it to you. When in
the anus ol" the La«ly Krnestinii — oh ' ha|i|i} . happy •'nriHtiiiii woman ! — you
chance to look on this, bestow. I pray, one passmp thoupht on me,"

Z'lleima wept, and her sobs were aiidibh' Ashamed ot the finry passion
wnieh had made him untaithlul to the wniiiuii lie udored. the Monk-Knif^ht,
still tenderly feeling for the evident norrow oi the Saracen at partinp with
hiin. pressed her once more to hi.n heart, itiid imprinting; a kiss u|>on her
beautiful and burning cheek, withdrew with cautious step, as he had entered,
in the dark.

CHAV T F.n X V n I.

Scarcely had ihc Monk-Knight time to resume his armor, when an
officer appeared to summon him b«jfor<i Saiudin, in whose presence the great
bo<ly of the Christian kiii),'lit<< were ut-Kembled to reo(3ive their doom. A
iiiurmur of disapprobation arose ainuiip hii^ eompaiiions as he entered. All
turned their looks liaughtily and glooinily upon him, and one stalwart Tem-
plar, more insolent than the rest, struck him a Idow with his ungloved hand
— an act that was followed by a smile of derision from the rest. But the
mortified and indignant Monk, ignorant of the cause of this gross outrage,
repaid the blow witli fearfully retriluitivc justiee. Hapid a.s thought his own
heavy hand struck the Templar on the iirow, and in the next instant he was
:i corpse at his feet. The other knights woiilil have interfered to avenge his
death, but .Saladin, furious with rage, comnnnded the guard to stay this un-
seemly conduct of the Christian knights, and to slay whomsoever ahould dare
to lay a hand \ipoii the Monk.

•' Well may the apostate from Ciod lind favor in the eyes of his Moslem
stKlucer," scornfully remarked the head of his own order. " But yesterday
and 1 would have defied all Chrislendoni lo produce a warrior of more un-
tainted virtue — of more unsullied lame."

" Yea, strange things have been since ycterday," replied the Monk, with
gravity, a faint and trn-isieiit glow jjassing over his noble and intellectual
brow. " But what means this' Wherefore atn I summoned here? Who
knows of my fall from virtue 1*'

" You admit it then ; it is no slander on the holiness of your past life?"
returned the Grand Master, lifting up his clasped hands, in wonderment, to
heaven.

" I do — 1 admit it," vehemently returned the Monk-Knight; "and my
soul glories in the divine knowledge. Up to this hour I have lived in vain.
Let fools live on regarding well those vows that wed them to monastic life
I'd peril all of hope a thousand tunes to taste again the joy the wondrouA
change has wrought in me. But who has so well u'lformed you, old com-
panions of many a toilsome hour ?'

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)

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

1 , ^11

• i

" Who should, but Saladin himself," returned the Grand Master. •' Who
else were conscious of the <juihy fact. His eye was on you from the very
first. He marked the cover', weakness of your soul, aud now tie triumphs in
your fall."

The Monk-Knight replied not. He was confounded. Saladin knew all,
and yet he lived. What could this seeming clemency mean ! or what hor-
rible fate was reserved for him, and, more cruel still, for Zuleima ' He
marked the kindling eye of the Saracen chief fixed on him, and for the first
time in his life, it cost him an effort to prevent his own from quailing beneath
his fiery glance.

" Christian Knights, no more," haughtily exclaimed the Sultan, who
clearly seeing, though he could not understand the purport, that the Monk
had misinterpreted the meaning of his comrades, was not desirous that
further converse should enlighten them. " Stand forth and answer, have
you thought well of our proposal, and do ye too acccept the terms V

" In the name of the One God, and of Christ the Saviour, no !" solemnly
pronounced the Grand Master of St. John's, stepping forward and bending
one knee, while he raised his hands and eyes to heaven.

" In the name of the One God, and of Christ the Saviour, no I" repeated
the Knights of the Temple and of St. John, kneeling also.

" In the name of the One God," commenced the Munk-Knight, to the in-
finite astonishment of his brethren in captivity.

" Stay, holy warrior I" exclaimed Saladin. " That vow is vain in thee,
and can but offer slight unto the Moslem Mosque — unto the religion of the
true believer. Christian Knights, let me do jnstice to him to whom I have
temporarily rendered wrong for right — evil for good. Know that it was at
my command the rumor ran throughout your ranks, that this holy and most
valiant Monk had abjured his Christian vows, and espoused the koran, and for
this reason it was, that I wished to place the strong example of so ^ood a
man before you. I had hoped the report of his apostacy would have influ-
enced yourselves. But I judged you wrong. You have mocked my deep
deceit. Knights of both Orders, and of the Temple in particular, cordially I
detest you ; but though the man may dislike, the warrior admires : therefore
one more chance I give. If there be any among your cruel and remorseless

ranks who have rendered service — evinced the commonest humanity of our
nature to a Saracen — let them stand forth, give such proof of the act as may
convince, and not only shall they not be called upon to renounce their creed,
but they shall go scatheless from my just vengeance."

The whole of the knights wefre silent, yet^^ooked more haughtily than
before. There was only one amid that assemblage of Christians who had
ever stayed his hand of blood, or who could adduce the slighest proof of
service or pity to their foes.

"Ha! by the Prophet, is it so then V exclaimed Saladin, his eye flashing
fire, and his hand dropping to his scimeter. " Is all that I have heard le-
ported so true ? Not mercy even to woman or child, and yet you call your-
selves disciples of One whose chief attributes you promulgate as those of
forbearance and mercy ! Then, throwing his keen glance upon Abdailah,
who stood with his arms folded, and a prey to deep emotion, which, however,

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

his placid brow denied — " ArttI you, Sir Monk," hare you no proof to offer,
wherefore a kindred death should not be yours 1 Methinks that noble mien
might summon from our camp, those who would gladly bear witness to your
forbearance, if such you have extended."

The Knight-Monk slightly bowed his head, but continued silent.

•'What!" continued Saladin angrily ; "dost mean, most proud and stub-
born Monk, to mock our kindness ? Speak ; what service have you done of
mercy, that it may redeem your forfeit life?"

" If] am silent," said Abdallah, calmly, " it is because I can adduce no
proof: my simple saying would avail not. But yesterday, 1 claimed for the
slain companion of my warrior toils, the rites of Christian sepulchre, for
having saved the wife of Saladin from outrage. Was this granted? Was 1
believed, proud Sultan ? What, then, the greater hope, that if my word was
heeded not yesterday in the battle-field, it will now find credit in the man
who is a seeming candidate for life before you?"

•' It will — it shall," observed Saladin, in answer to the latter part of his
observation. " There is that about you, noble Monk, which tells your
lips you never lie. Speak, then, the service you have rendered."

" Great Saladin ! I am your debtor for the high esteem in which you
hold me," replied Abdallah, in the same calm tone, while his usually placid
brow was tinged with a shade of melancholy. Had this been but yesterday,
I should have l)etter prized the boon you offer : to-day I heed it not ; I am
prepared to die with these, my gallant comrades, with whom — all praise
to God — I stand acquitted of the foul charge they wronged me greatly in
believing."

'* Noble Abdallah, forgive me — forgive us all," continued the Grand-
Master of St. John; " forgive me for the thought that one, so late the proud
example of us all, should have sold his honor for his life."

" I do forgive you — I forgive you all. Forgiveness we shall soon require
in heaven. The greatest boon the noble Saladin can yield, is that already
given — the repairing of his deep injustice — T aak no more."

" No words can repeat our sorrow," said one of the group of knights who
now surrounded and pressed his ungloved palms in theirs ; " we have done you
wreng — but heart and soul, while on the point of passing into eternity, we
abjure that wrong."

" Amen !" solemnly rejoined the Grand Master.

*' Ha !" said the Monk, struggling to subdue his emotion. " This, in-
deed, repays me with usury for wrong."

In the meantime, Saladin having given some directions to a principal
officer, he left the spacious tent, and after the lapse of a few minutes, re-
appeared, conducting in a woman clad in long white garments, so loosely
made as to conceal all the symmetry of her person. A hood thrown over her
head, hid every particle of her hair, and otherwise set recognition at
defiance.

" Woman!" said the Sultan to her, roughly, " what would you have?"

" I would save the life of one who saved mine," was answered in a
trembling voice that sent the blood thrilling through every vein of the
outwardly-unmoved Monk. " I understand that your Highness had promised

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

mercy to him who had extended, mercy to a Saracen — 1 came to see if the
preserver of my honor was here, and if so, to save him."

" Such is our design," replied the Sultan ; " look round, woman, and
see if, among these knights, you can recognize liim of whom you speak."

The female turned slowly round, and after leisurely passing her glance
over the group of knights, suffered her eyes to rest upon Abdallah, who
stood at that edge of the semicircle which adjoined the opening.

" Who could mistake that majestic form, that noble mien — that divine face
and brow," exclaimed the woman, almost passionately, yet in a trembling
voice, as she pointed towards him. " That, your Highness, is my deliverer.
He, it was, who, when a band of Christian ruffians had torn me from my
humble home, and were about to do me violence in a spot remote from aid,
suddenly, with his single arm, and when hope seemed lost, smote off
the head of six fierce ruffians, in less time, your Highness, than I take to
tell you of the deed."

" Well can I believe it, woman. The scimeter that clove but yesterday,
clear from the neck to the groin, and through the saddle of the strong armed
son of Baghorian, and in the next minute divided the body of Al Aphdal,
causing one half to roll upon the ground, and the other to be carried off by
his frightened steed, seated in his saddle as he had mounted him, would make
but child's play the cutting of half-a-dozen throats."

All the knights listened with surprise and admiration, for, althougli they
had often witnessed the prowess of Abdallah's arm, they had never kn wn
of a feat like this.

'* And was this done, great Saladin?" ventured the Grand Master.

" I saw it with my own eyes, and felt myself outdone," returned the
Sultan, " for never had I thought that human strength could achieve it.
Sir Monk, if you have studied holiness, as you have the scimeter, none can
be found in Christendom more saintly than yourself. But how is this? The
woman states it was you who rendered service to her — a service which
you see has impressed her with deep gratitude, put forth in language that
attests it, while you attribute it to the Order and exertions of your friend
who fell in battle yesterday ! Which, then, are we to believe? — the grati-
tude which never lightly speaks, or the generosity of soul which would in-
vest the memory of your friend with honor, regardless wholly of yourself.
Which, then, I say, are we to believe ?"

" I know not the woman," replied Abdallah, almost hoarsely, as he cast a
look of severe displeasure on her ; " I never did her service."

*' Believe it not, your Highness. His noble heart disdains the gallant
deed, that he may obtain attention to his friend, to whom he wrongly imputes
the act. Well do I know him. It was only after the men he slew, lay
bleeding on the earth, his brother knight appeared. He, too, had acted
nobly, if he could, but lime was not allowed him."

" It is wrong, great Saladin" — this woman raves — " they mistake me
for some other," returned the Monk-Knight. " I have no claim, whatever,
on your favor and prefer none."

" Nay, by the holy Mahomet ! I swear that it was he alone who delivered
me from the peril," energetically continued the woman. " He wore no visor

\'--m^

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

to his helmet, but his features were exposed even as now, and who, as I have
Just said, could fail to know them ever after? I'll swear upon the koran, it
was he."

" Enough," said the Sultan. " He is saved. By to-morrow'a dawn. Sir
Monk, we move from hence to the walls of .Jerusalem, which a holy inspira-
tion tells me, shall be again our own. As far as the Christian gates we will
conduct you. liCt this goblet be the pledge."

A page handed him a goblet of sherbet, of which he drank, and then caused
it to be taken to Abdallah, who reluctantly partook of it.

In obedience to a signal of the Sultan, the female turned to withdraw,
after humbly making her obeisance. As she passed close to the Monk, she
fighed ; and although her eyes were not visible through the thick veil she
wore, it was evident her attention was directed to him. Abdallah 's emotion
was unusually great, and when she had come opposite to him, he said in a
low tone, while his eyes were turned another way :

" Guilty wife of Saladin — beautiful enchantress, avaunt !

For a moment she stood transfixed to the spot, but suddenly recovering
herself, clasped her hands across her heart, bowed her head over her bosom,
and passed slowly out of the tent.

" And now, all that remains, is to decide upon your fate," said Saladin.
" Men of hardened hearts, whose trade is blood, your doom is sealed.
Oft have I sworn that when emmeshed within my toils, your heads should
answer the grave offences laid to you, and yet, more merciful than your-
selves, I give assurance of freedom, if but one single act of forbearance can
be recorded in your favor."

"Proud Saladin, we defy your power!" returned the Grand Master,
firmly. Act your vengeance as you may, you cannot wring a pang from
Christian knights and Christian warriors. It were more to your glory, and
nobler far, methinks, to spare these taunts, and straight pronounce the order
for our doom. We'll teach your Moslems how a Christian dies."

"Then shall the lesson soor be taught," returned the Sarac;.i chief.
" What, ho ! Let all the force to arms be instant summoned, and a space
beyond the camp selected where all may see the act of justice done."

The chief officer retired, and soon the sound of many trumpets rent the
air ; and the tread of armed men met the ear, in the short intervals of
their clang.

" Sir Monk," said Saladin, rising from his throne, " retire to your tent, I
would not have you to behold that which must give pain to your noble heart.
Retire, you have looked your last upon these cruel men."

" Then, since the boon of death be denied me," — he paused, for again the
image of the Lady Ernestina rose before him, in all her glorious beauty, and
seemed to reproach him for his willingness to die — " since you have granted
me life," he continued, " let me ask another gracc->-permis8ion to take a
last farewell of these my tried comrades in arms."

" Be it 80," replied Saladin ;" but be brief." > ' ."

First he affectionately embraced the Grand Master, who again expressed
his deep sorrow that he should have done him the injustice to believe that he
had forsaken the religion of Christ for that of Mahomet, and then addressing

1 1

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

the rest of his companions, of whom, from their numbers, he could not take
leave in a similar manner, he pointed out the slo''y <'f ''if''" martyrdom, not
only in this world, but in the next, and finished by sayinp. that he would
make known in the Christian camp the noble manner in which they had met
their fate.

A flourish of atabals and trumpets was heard without. An oflicer with a
strong guard entered, leaving others lin'ng the approach. Saladin gave the
signal, and preceded by the Grand Master, who walked with proud step and
undaunted mien, two hundred and fifty Knights Templar, and nearly the
same number of the Knights of St. John, looking more haughty even than
their chief, moved forth to the intended scene of their execution.

" God have mercy on their souls," fervently aspirated the Monk-Knight,
when the last had passed the tent. " I would not willingly behold their
death, even if the safety of the Holy City depended on my compliance. The
eight would for ever unnerve and make me a terror to myself "

And heavier in spirit than he had been since his entrance into Palestine,
he moved shudderingly to his tent, where he threw himself, almost in des-
pair, upon his couch, and listening, despite of himself, to hear the sounds of
massacre of his friends. But there was no evidence to mark the precise
moment when these brave knights fell victims to this black and ineflfaceable
stain upon the character of their conqueror. The scimeter silently performed
its horrid task of blood. Abdallah heard it not.

) ..' ,

• ..-IV

I " '• ^ ^f

CHAPTER XIX.

Deep anguish was in the soul of the Monk-Knight, as he half reclined
upon his luxurious couch, for guilt— stern consciousness of guilt— was upon
his troubled spirit. The calm of his nature had almost deserted him. For
the first time his noble brow was overcast, and his cheek flusheJ with
shame. What events had the las*, twenty-four hours produced ? His friend

slain — a battle decisive of the fate of the Holy City fought and lost nearly

the whole of the two knightly Orders destroyed— and himself, not only lost
to virtue, but with the crime of inconstancy to Ernestina already on his soul.
This was indeed enough to weigh down and oppress his heart, and to infit
him for communion even with himself. It was in vain that he recalled all
the irresistible fascinations of the bewitching Saracen, and recalled also liis
peculiar and almost frenzied state of mind at the moment when her beauty,
unveiled in all its glory, first burst upon his maddened senses. For a
moment this specious sophistry almost soothed his remorseful soul into
silence; but his was too high and brave a nature to long accept contentedly
such faltering compromises with conscience, such pitiful excuses for crime.
No, greatly as he had sinned, yet he derived a kind of sullen satisfaction
from confessing to himself the full enormity of his offence, and even ex-
aggerating its guilty details. In this contradictory and almost savage
frame of mind he received the command of Saladin to repair instantly
to his tent. Heart-sick and hopeless of future peace, and feeling that

THK MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

the Lady ErncsliiiFi was lost to him forever — that he had committed crime,
not only towards her, hut towards God, which nothing could atone for — he
hailed with salibf'action an order, which he fully expected was to lead to
death. But the resentment he had felt at the manner of his comrades, who
had charged him with apostacy, and even believed him guilty of that crime,
was so great, that it created a re-action in his mind ; and when he found that
Saladin was not only sincere in his offer of life, but determined he should
accept it, he resolved to avail himself of a gift which would afford him time
to expiate his great sin in penitence and self sacrifice. Then came another
re-action. In the woman who entered to give testimony as to the service he
had rendered to her. he had recognized Zuleima. A feeling of bitterness
came over his soul, for he could not but attribute to her, not only the crime
he had committed, but his infidelity to the Lady Ernestina, and in proportion
as she became warm in her acknowledgment, so did he feel his heart es-
tranged from her as the destroyer of his happiness. Hence his rude denial
of all that she had advanced to save his life. In short, the heart of Abdallah
was a prey to every sort of contradictory feeling, each based upon his own
weakness. The excitement of the scene he had passed through, had, to a
certain extent, sustained him while in the tent of Saladin, but now that he
was in his own, and alone in that vast camp, his spirits were depressed even
unto sadness.

That Zuleima really loved iiim he could not doubt. From the few words
she had addressed to him on giving the ring, he had gathered the leading points
of the beautiful and enamored woman's history. From what he had heard
he believed that she liad been carried off into the interior, unless, indeed,
Saladin had espoused her in her own native land, and during his earlier ad-
venturous course of war. He was most anxious to obtain further information
from her of her previous history, but how to accomplish this he did not know.
In two days, at the furthest, he would have left the camp of Saladin for ever,
therefore it was not likely that he should again have an opportunity of see-
ing her who had shared his guilty love. But as he reflected, he became
more composed in mind, for he argued pleasantly to himself, that though a
fearful crime had been theirs in fact, it was not so in intention, since neither
could resist the spell that bound 'them. The poisoned arrow of remorse
was, therefore, in a great measure, robbed of the keenness of its venom,
while, unknown to all the world besides, the recollection of the strange
circumstances under which they had first met, and last parted, would in dis-
tance serve to unite them in the tenderest bonds of fraternal and sisterly love.
Consoled by this reflection, the thoughts of Abdallah wandered less restrict-
edly to the Lady Ernestina, to whom he meant to avow his guilt, and in her
arms crave forgiveness for the indulgence of an infidelity his very love for
herself had caused. Abdallah had, since his iail, become a special pleader in
his own cause, and divided as he was between remorse for what he had done,
and that which perdition itself would not now prevent him from doing, he
sought to impart that ease to his ruflled conscience, without which his
future conduct must be, to a certain extent, embittered. Such was the
peculiarity of his feeling, that he would have deemed it an insult to the Lady
Ernestina — an outrage oflTered to her confidence, and a dishonor to his own

ff..

THE MONK KNrOHT OF ST. JOHN.

high sense of integrity and truth, were he not frankly to avow his fault, and
plead in extenuation, the strong temptation which he had been more tiian
human lo have withstood.

The day was long and dreary, and with these alternate hopes and fears, and
lamentations for the past, and glowing visions of the future, the bewildered
Moiik-Knigiit passtvl the intervening time till eve. Great was his delight
and surprise when, towards evening, Rudolpii, whom he had not seen since
their capture, appeared at the entrance of his tent. He bore under his rich
cloak a small basket of the richest fruits of Palestine, a golden goblet elabo-
rately carved, and a couple of bottles of sherbet, which he placed upon the
table.

" What means this, boy V asked the Monk-Knight, blandly, after having
ti'iiderly embraced him. " Already do I inhabit a princely tent, and princely
has been the food allotted to me. Is it to mock me, that Saladiii sends these
superfluities, so ill-conditioned to my captive state'"

" Not Saladin, but Saladin's best beloved wife, has sent these poor proofs
of her unfading gratitude lo him whom, even as a brother, with all a sister's
fondness, she treasures in her heart. These were the very words she bade me
use, Sir Monk."

" Not Saladin, but Saladin's wife!" repeated the Monk. " What means
that Moslem dress '"

" It means," said the blushing boy, '• that I am page to the Lady Zuleima,
that was once a prisoner in my dear lord's tent. Last night she queried as
to your health and whereabouts. I could not tell her where. Sir Knight ;
whereat she was very sad, but she discovered all from Fatima, her faithful
slave. This fruit and wine, she, fearful that those whose ofllce it is to
serve, may not have borne, prays you to accept, in dear remembrance of the
past."

" In dear remembrance of the past," again repeated the Monk-Knight,
while the usual placidity of his brow was deeply disturbed.

" Such were her words. Sir Monk," replied the page. '' No doubt her
meaning bore upon that time, when rescued by your arm, she poured forth
her soul in generous thankfulness in my dear — dear lords tent,'' and the
tears started to his eyes.

Abdallah looked at him silently for a few moments ; at length he asked
tenderly, " Any tidings of your noble master, Rudolph 1"

" Alas, none!" anl "^-'s pent-up grief broke forth in a paroxysm of tears.

'• Nay, nay, dear Rudolph," said the Monk-Knight soothingly, " regret is
vain. It is the fate we all expected. It had been nearly yours. Your lord died
the death of the glorious — on the battle-field. Let that recollection console
you. But tell me," and he looked at the youth as if dreading his answer,
" has the scimetcr performed its task of blood ? Are they all destroyed —
not one escaped?"

" A// are destroyed, Sir Monk ; the cruel order of Saladin was but too
lii...,.iilly obeyed. Not an hour elapsed between their doom and execution.
Not une escaped V

" liod have mercy on their souls I" exclaimed the Monk-Knight fervently,
and he rose from the couch and huniodly paced his tent. " Too (^nwl

! ' ■" ,?'

L m

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

tea,TA.

|ut too
Bution.

gently,
criiel

Saladin — I had hoped that some little mercy would have entered into your
heart at last, and that it was chiefly to put their courage to the test that you
had caused the scimctor to be upliAed over the devoted heads of those brave
and noble knights. Ah ! fearfully have you marred the splendor of your
victory. A life of brilliant deeds cannot remove the alaiu which you have
cast upon your own escutcheon. Am I myself ungratefull" he mused to
himself, after a short pause ; " no, wicked and proud Sultan, I owe you
iidtliinp — 1 saved her to your arms for whom the love of your heart wt.-
<,'reate8t, and the granting of life to me was but the payment of a righteous
'Itht — mercy fur meroy. Ought I to feel regret or remorse then for the
»HTurrence of last night! No ; it was a sweet revenge, an anticipated pun-
ishment for the cruel slaughter of the chosen — the most faithful servants of
God. J'or the adultery with your wife J mourn not — I rather rejoice in it. It
is ray infidelity only that harrows up my soul. Yes — sinful, most sinful, to
admire the charms of an unblessed heretic and unbeliever ; to be filled with
an impure desire fur the possession of her beauty ; and far more criminal
still, to have known it with all the wildness of reciprocated passion : and
yet again, can that be crime which is committed while the senses are under
the control of a delirium. Evil exists only in intention. That which we do
not consider to be guilt is not guilt. In like manner, although I have held
this Pagan in my arms, it was merely in madness — in an uncontrollable frenzy
that led my very soul astray. Therefore am I free of the crime — therefore
cannot my conscience reproach me. Therefore have we enjoyed all the
sweets of the crime without the bitter penalty which remorse of conscience
imposes. True, the sin of wilful adultery we cannot deny ; but this I do not
repent of, except as connected with the greater crime, inasmuch as in yield-
ing to it, I yielded to an impulse not to be overcome by any power of the will,
and because it was a just but imperfect punishment for the cruelty of Sala-
din." Thus, as it has been before remarked, had Abdallah, enlightened by
the emancipation from his vows of chastity, become his own special pleader,
not only acquitting himself of the greater crime, but palliating the lesser.

The boy, seeing him absorbed in thought, would not venture to interrupt
his reverie, but waited patiently until he should address him.

The Monk-Knight at length discontinued his walk, and seated himself on
.he couch at his side. He looked benevolently at him for some minutes, and
then taking his hand, said :

" Rudolph ! our gallant band destroyed, henceforward I have nought to
keep me here in Palestine ; and you, without your noble lord, must pine, to
see once more the verdant fields of rich Auvergne. My life, you know, is
spared, and instantly shall I quit a cause which now is hopeless. I go to
render to the Lady Ernestina that holy consolation for her husband's fate
which it was his great desire I should. Rudolph, dear boy, your noble
master charged me that you should be our mutual care, and, ere to-morrow's
sun shall set, I'll crave your freedom at the hands of Saladin."

" Ah ! Sir Monk, ask me not," exclaimed the boy, with deep emotion,
falling on his knees. I cannot — will not quit my mistress' service. I pray
you promise, holy Monk, that you will not require this boon of Saladin :
never can I return to France."

■Vi' '■'

-•m:.:.^X

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

.1 It''

"What moans this. Rudolph i" aaked the Monk, with some surprise,
and yet benignantly ; "not return to Franco — not return to the wife of your
kind lord — him whom you lovwl so well. 1 see it, boy," he added after
a paiitte, and looking atfectionately in his face ; " you love the wife of
Saladin."

" 1 do — I do,'" said the page vehemently, the color mounting to his cheek,
and overspreading his brow ; " I love her beyond all expression — all
thoutfht — I cannot leave her: she is my heaven — tho divinity of my worship."

A pang passed over the heart of Abdallah : it was but for a moment ; a
nobler impulse succeeded. He caught the boy to his heart. He loved him
far better than before — he loved him because he loved Zuleima.

" And does she love you in return '" he asked in a voice that trembled
from the emotion of his heart — " tell me, Rudolph, frankly ; it concerns
yuur future peace that I should know."

" Oh !" replied the boy, coloring, " I may not tell of that, even if it were
so ; besides, you know, Sir Monk, it is not because I love her, that it should
be supposed the Lady Zuleima loves m^— I wish she would ;" and he looked
stealthily into the Monk's eyes to see if he believed him.

Abdallah slowly and significantly shook his head. " We will talk no more
of this," he gravely answered : " but set your mind at ease ; I would not,
Rudolph, mar your dream of happiness, and therefore, will I not ask Saladin
to give you freedom to depart. Yet, ponder well the matter, and then
decide."

" Nothing on earth can change my resolution," returned the boy, eagerly.
" The answer I now render, I shall always give."

"Oh! de Boisoourt— dear de Boiscourt, friend of my soul, how deeply do
I feel your loss !" said the Monk-Knight with an air of abstraction, his
thoughts recurring to the melancholy fate of his friend. " Were it not for
the dear legacy you have left me, how blank, despairing would be the fu-
ture ? Then would I not have spurned my vows, but henceforth hid me in
the cloister's gloom. I had not thought Saladin so cruel as to deny the
Christian rites of burial to him who had lent his willing aid to save my
" he checked the word that was even then upon his lips.

" Nay, Sir Monk," replied the boy to his soliloquy, " you do the Monarch
wrong. Search was made for his body, but it was nowhere to be found.
The report was made to Saladin late last eve, and he directed me to accom-
pany a party by torch-light to identify the knight. At midnight we set out,
and not until the day had dawned did we return from our long and fruitlees
seeking."

" Then you know nothing of him 1"

" Nothing, Sir Monk-Knight. Jackalls had evidently been prowling around,
for the dead carcass of a horse, stripped of his trappings of war, told of their
orgies ; but the bodies of the combatants had been removed. Few had fallen
there, and those chiefly Saracens. Whether in the darkness of the night
my poor lord had been mistaken for an infidel, and carried off as such, I can-
not tell — but alas, he was gone for ever!" — and again Rudolph burst into
tears. . ' ..,-:. , , •

THK MONK KNI'tlir W ST. JOHN.

*>9

" Pour, ill-luted dt: IJoitscoun," oighed the Monk, " this iiiuttt not lie told
to the bilnvrd one."

" The Ix'loveii out;.'" remarked the boy, expresaivoly : " do you mean the
Lady lOruestiiui, Sir Monk '"

"1 mean the Liuly Ernesiina," replied Abdallah. calmly. " Jloar me,
Hiidolpli'"" and lir iifleetionalely pressed his hand — • you have intellect far
beyond your years. You have had the wisdom of manhood from earliest
boyhood, while I have lived to full maturity, in utter ignoiunce ot my own
nature. You are diserect. I may confide in you. I have lost tlu; friend of
my heart — the beloved of my aflecliouB. You shall supply his place, and the
world-taiiphl boy of sixteen — tht> noble, and the gentle, and the beautiful
boy, wlio has Iteen nurs*};! and eherlKlied in the lap of enlightening 'ovc, shall
hcnceforlli be theiViithful friend of the newly emancipated devotee to the cold
cloister. Hear, tRen, the sweet euntession which I make to you, Uudolph.
The veil that had so loui; obscured my just |)erccption of the true value of
existence, has been at l;;<igth removed. The glory of woman I acknowledge.
1 feel that (Jod never created the beautiful but to be worshipped with the
heart's iniensest aft'ection. The very mystery of their loveliness proves it.
Had I passed my youth in the familiarity of that knowledge, 1 should not be
inspired as I am. Deep reflection assures mc that all things are vanity in
life, but the earnest, the self-sacriticing, the undying love of woman. Even
as you adore Zuleima, so 1 adore the Lady Ernestina — with frenzy. I spurn
the self-denial of the cowl. I go to bask for ever in a beauty that intoxicates
and enslaves me — in a word, I go to woo her to prove my surpassing ado-
ration of her beauty."

The boy looked all the strong emotion of his soul. He knelt at the feet
of Abdallah. He blessed him for the change that had come over him, and
he finally wept tears of joy to think that one so noble, hitherto so insensible
to the fascinations of woman, should have yielded himpelf up a slave to the
unseen beauty of her whom he so deeply respected and loved.

" Ah ! how happy I am," he murmured. " What new delight you have
infused into my being ; but pardon the question, dear Sir Monk. Whence
arises this strong passion for the widowed wife of my noble lord — you have
never seen her?"

" From description alone,'' returned Abdallah, in a calm tone that belied
his feelings. *' Rudolph, our future friendship is the seal of confidence and
secrecy. What concerns your late lord will, I know, remain locked in your
generous bosom for ever. Is it not so, boy V

" Nothing on this side of the grave will ever tempt me to reveal it," de-
clared the youth fervently.

" Then," said the Monk-Knight, seriously, " learn that the passion which
rages in my blood for the Lady Ernestina, has been the effect of the Baron's
own words. His delight was to inflame my imagination with glowing des-
criptions of her unveiled beauty. The glorious picture which he drew of
her charming and voluptuous tenderness, first placed woman in a new light
before me. It seemed as if a dark cloud had been dissipated — a heavy mist
removed from before my eyes. I acknowledged that God had given to his
sentient creatures a holiness of desire, which might be prostituted, evea

%t-

■'',.;

100

rui; MONK KNIUHT OK ST. JOHN.

Sib

i| !'

«» lh«> huiiiiiii f'niiiic Ih altnrt^l t'toiii tlip divine and porfeot form givon to
Ailiiiii iiiid to \')vi\, and the doba»>d and frrovt'lling mind to n more passion
of the animiil, hiit which in itselfis holinew."

" Ail '■' said llic pag«, lixciledly, throwing himself upon the bosom of
the !*l(mi<-l\iu>;hl, " if thr Ijady Krnt'Miina i-an l)ut forgot her Iiord, in a
piuwion as groat aa your own, profound indeed will b« the mutual tnumport
of your souls.'"

" Duiilii it not, gentle Rudolph. The nohlo-hearted — tho generous du
JHoiHCOiirt Ifil not the work undone. His letters in my piaise have b4) pro-
j)arpd hits wifi- Cor luy deep and glowing love, that her affection, half mine
-already, will lie wiiolly so, after I nliall have iMirnu to her the painful tidings
of her dear lord's fat<\"

Oh, deepest joy '' (exclaimed the page. " One great causa, butiisyou know.
Sir Monk, a Meeoiulary one, for iny atayiug from my native land, when all
is lost, was dread to sec the great sorrow of the Lady Krncstinn, for him lior
heart adored. Hut now that the channel of her desire is partly diverted from
its course, without impugnment to the first love on which she live<i, ] glory
in the thought that she will be the bride of him whom best her absent lord
esteemed."

" Yet, understand me, dear boy. Never would the soul of the matchless
Emestina have glowed with passion for another, had not her noble husband
so desired it. It was his pride his friend should know and toate her loveli-
ness. He could not bear the thought that such vast treasure should be
lavished on himself alone, when its profusion of richness not only promised
abundance to the friend of his heart, but left him not poorer in the offering."

" I'neciualled Baron," said the page, again afl'ected by the recollection of
his lost lord's worth. " But few are they who would have the generosity of
heart to act like this. Believe me, Sir Momt, of this great confidence, in
one so young, so honored in the gifV, I shall mtver prove unworthy."

" Well I know it is a confidence not misplaced," said the Monk-Knight,
kindly. " I know your almost filial love for the Ijady Emestina, and I
wished to yield you comfort in the knowledge that she was not doomed to
pine in hopeless widowhood." '

" Words cannot tell," said Rudolph, passionately, " the joy you have
imparted to me. You will not now. Sir Monk, ask of Saladin to let mo
free. Bondage like mine no freedom could purchase. Even as your passion
is for the Lady Emestina, so is mine for the wife of Saladin."

" But," remarked the Monk, "smiling, beautiful as she is, the wife of
Saladin is old enough to be your mother."

" Ah ! dear Sir Monk, that is one reason why I 8b deeply love her," an-
swered the boy, coloring. " Besides, if it were otherwise, such beauty, fai
from being lessened, must be increased by years."

" Strange, precocious boy," said the Monk-Knight, regarding him at-
tentively, " come nearer and let me whisper into your ear."

" Impossible !" exclaimed the startled Rudolph, when the communication
had been made. " Forgive me — forgive me. Sir Monk, for my fault. Oh,
how could I ever have divined this to be the case V

" I have ample proof of the fact," returned Abdallah ; "yet how ob-

l V.

■ )

THK MONK KNIOIIT Of sT. JOItN.

lUl

taitiixV dear Rudolph, you must not ank mo — yot fi'ur not my tliaploaiure.
Tlio pa§t cannot bfl recalled ; therefore why poJHou the future with a vain
regret. Frankly toll roe then. I know from your v v\u lipu iImI you love
7iuIotma. Itan -^iix)f been given that ahe returns your love'"

" It hati," said the page, coloring deeply, beneath the inquirinj^ hslv of
the Monk-Knight,

" Finough, dear boy A deeper tie than friendship then ronnecln us The
voluptuoua mistress of Abdallah feeds her fond lovo within the arms of a
blooming page, whom he calls his friend, and who is dearer to his heart by
reason of the very love he bears her."

The ardent and beautiful boy threw himself upon the bosom of the Monk-
Knight, and reclining his burning cheek upon his ample shoulder, gave
utterance to the deep, the heartfelt gratitude that filled his soul at this gener-
ous -onduct."

" Nay, Rudolpli, as I said before, the past cannot be recalled ; what has
been cannot be eflaoed. It is for this reason that I rather rejoice in, than
condemn, tlie mutual passion you have conceived. Had it yet been ungrat-
ified, I could not have counselled it. But the fullest indulgence having been
given to the strong feelings of your hearts, I not only do not object, but I
approve. Rather would I that she were your mistress than Saladin's wife;
for there is almost profanity in the thought of her being pressed to the heart
of the cruel, the inhuman man, who bo mercilessly and so wantonly slew
hundreds of the noblest warriors of the Cross. Go," ho resumed, after a
short pause ; " go to the cherished sharer of your unlawful love, and without
making known to her our secret, say that much I desire an interview. Take
this ring and place it upon her finger. She will understand the token.
Let the hour be the first after midnight. You must keep watch and careful
guard against events. From my own lips must she know that we part for-
ever. One last embrace, dear Rudolph. Perchance this meeting is our
lart."

CHAPTER XX

AiiL was dark as on the preceding evening, when Zuleima, understandings
well the meaning of the return of the ring, through Rudolph, gently put
aside the curtains of Abdallah's tent. He stood near to receive her, and then,
in silence, led her to an ottoman at the opposite extremity. She was much
agitated, and as his arm encircled her as they walked, he could feel the
heaving of her bosom. For some time they did not speak ; a consciousness
of tho past, and of the guilty but dear and sacred tie which united them,
seemed to pervade the breasts of both ; but this, so far from inspiring Ab-
dallah with coldness for Zuleima, only filled him with the strongest
sentiment of a pure fraternal love. His feeling was so new, so strange^
that it was indescribable. No mere passion influenced him now, and yet

^^»- ^ ' mm mm

THK MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

,'■> i:

the repollection of his knowledge of her beauty, only rendered her the more
dear to him. That which had been done, had been done in frenzy and
Ihcrt'fori^ with no consciousness of wrong, he pressed her to his manly chest,
and covered her with endearments, that, unmixed with one impure thought,
were sources of the most exquisite pleasure to both. To the past they
scarcely dared to recur, and when the erring imagination would for an instant
prove recreant to their will, they as quickly banished the picture from their
minds, not shrinking coldly from contact with each other, but by increasing
their abandonment to the new and delightful emotion which had now displaced
all others in their hearts. Deep, therefore, was the tenderness resulting from
this. Passion had become love, less fiery, but more absorbing in its nature.
It seemed to them as their hearts throbbed againpt each other, as if they had
been intimate from childhood — never had been strangers. Anxious again to
behold the noble features of her lover, which she never yet dared to ex-
amine with attention, Zuleim^ lighted a small dark lantern which she had
brought with her. This she turned upon his face. A soil-toned and serene
expression of benignity met her gaze, so perfectly fascinating, that, despite
of herself, the soul of Zuleima was troubled. She threw her arm around his
neck and burst into tears.

" Zuleima," murmured the Monk-Knight, as he played with the redundant
masses of her beautiful hair, " I sent you the ring you gave me, tliat yon
might understand wherefore it was I sought you here, and at this hour. Ah ! dis-
appoint me not in this newly-created expectation of my longing heart, but as-
sure me beyond a possibility of doubt, that you will be my sister, that as a
sister I may adore you. Be what you will to others — aye, dearest," and he
looked at her with an expression she could not misunderstand, " what I know
you are — confess yourself to me as the ardent devotee of passion — tell me this,
and yet your sins shall, in my eyes, be white and chaste as the pure snow of
heaven, if that you prove to me also, that you are in truth the sister that my
long-desolated heart so craves to worship."

Abdallah spoke passionately, and yet the placidity of his brow was un-
changed, the expression of his features showed the calm within, while the
warm words that fell from his lips, marked the strong sentiment of his soul.

" My noble brother," returned Zulbima, with a trembling voice, and gazing
even as one fascinated \ipon his unruffled brow, which mocked the warmth of
the words he uttered, " blessed be the hour when I gave that ring — blessed
be the guilty happiness which led to its offering. It was ordained by fate.
Never wou4d the brother have embraced the sister, in that holiest affection
which clings around the heart, had not the strong desire of the man called
forth the undying gratitude of the woman."

" Thus it is," said Abdallah, as he enfolded her to his heart, with an
earnestness that he never showed before, " that good oflen results from evil ;
and what good so great, as that which gives to the lone heart the pure de-
votion of a sister's love. But tell me, dear Zuleima, where were you bom
— where were passed your early days?"

" Far from this, dear brother ; in Morocco."

"In Morocco!" repeated the Monk- Knight, with gratified surprise, and
pressing Zuleima closer to his heart.

■•'•• -'■"-**;-«» .

THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

103

" Yos; in Morocco."

" And your father's name?" inqnired Abdallah.

" Aph Saphadin, a distinguished warrior of the Crescent."

*' My noble countryman 1 " exclaimed the Monk, " I Imew and loved him
well. Zuleima — Zuleima — you are indeed my sister. Ah I what a tide of
overpowering joy rushes over my full heart, and makes me feel, for the first
time, as though I was something more than human. Can what I experience
be common to all men ? No ; it cannot be. It is the dawning of a new light
upon my long-darkened soul. Hitherto I have lived alone — almost hateful
to myself, but now — now, the heart that has been so long dead to every emo-
tion not inspired by the Church, is filled with two loves for those, whom, in
the strength of my bigotry, I so late abhorred. One maddens me with desire
for her beauty ; the other, suffuses my whole being with tenderness. But
tell me farther, my own cherished sister, of your father, and how you became
the wife of Saladin."

" The history is soon told," remarked Zuleima. " When I was ten years
old, circumstances connected with the service led my father into Syria, where
he took up l\is abode. No one remained of the family but myself, for all
had perished either by the sword or the plague. My father was old and
enfeebled, and having been !>. friend of Shiracouch, the uncle of Saladin, the
latter chieftain called to see him on his successful entry into Syria. I was
then eighteen ; he became enamoured of me, and soon obtained my father's
sanction that I should be his wife. Then, I liked him not, for he was too
stern of mind for me ; but my father urging the defenceless state in which
I should be left in the event of his decease, which was almost daily to be
expected, and the total loss of his own wealth, induced me to give my con-
sent. Soon afterwards, I was summoned to the death-bed of my father, who,
deeming from the high position I now occupied, that I should have ample
opportunity to become a permanent favorite, gave me this talisnianic ring,
which, on that delicious night, dear brother, I placed upon your finger, and
which I now beg you again to accept. Although you may spurn and laugh
at its power, yet my faith is firm that in the hour of trial and of danger, it
will keep you ever safe and harmless. You cannot know the delight I expe-
rience in transferring it from my possession to yours. Keep it, dear brother,
for my sake. At last, then," she fondly continued, " the great wish of my
heart is gra.nted. How long have I pined for the presence of a loved brother,
to whom I oould oonfide all my thoughts, my wishes, and my hopes — make
him the guardian of my heart's secrets — and here at length have I found
him in the noblest of men."

" Alas ! dear Zuleima, you have found only to lose him. After this night
we behold each other no more."

"Oh! no — no; she exclaimed, throwing herself upon his bared chest,
" it must not be ; I cannot bear to part with you. Dear, dear Abdallah, you
must not go."

" Impossible, my sister," be answered ; " Saladin has giveo ma until to-

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104

THE MONK KNIGHT OF .ST. JOHN.

morrow's dawn to stay within his ramp. Then, do 1 take nie hence irom
Palestine."

"True, I recollect," she returned, in a faint tone, and looking very pale
" you seek the Lady Ernestina. Tn her arms, all thoughts of Zuleima will
be forgotten."

♦' Forgotten — no ; but oft remembered,", mildly pursued the Monk. " The
Lady Ernestina shall know all — the unintentional crime she herself pro-
voked — its repentance, and the holy and fraternal love which now has puri-
fied our veins. The Lady Ernestina will surely love you."

" I know not how it is, Abdallah," she murmured; "but though my
thoughts, like yours, are chastened by the knowledge of the new and holy
tie that binds us, I could even wish I were that woman of the West — she
taking my likeness and I transformed to hers."

The Monk-Knight shook his head, and looked at her gravely, yet tenderly,
while he imprinted a kiss upon her forehead. " Zuleima, your soul is the
abode of a voluptuousness that well becomes the rich luxuriance of your
form. True, I am but a novice in these things, and yet, methinks, it were
impossible for one so framed to wake tumultuous passion in the soul to be
aught other than you are. Love as you will — let boundless pleasure wrap your
senses in delight — give fullest freedom to your desiring will — lavish your
beauties on him who most can prize them — not only does Abdallah, the
sharer of your purer love, counsel but approve this ; for your joy must be
his joy. Do all this then, or more. Be a woman in the dearest sense of
the endearing term, but outrage not the laws of nature by loving, where to
love is a crime. In future, as regards myself, you must ever deem as if the
past had never been."

" Nay, nay, my beloved brother," she murmured ; " that were asking too
much. I feel that the past can never be restored. I wish it not, but memory
will dwell upon the joy despite of every effort to enchain her."

" Impassioned woman, how differently has the past life of each been filled
up. Mine in abstinence and mortification ; yours in free and unrestrained
indulgence of the most endearing passions of our nature. Tell me, my
sister, whence has it arisen, that being of the same race, our natures were
so different?"

" Your own Christian hordes have done this," replied the blushing Zu-
leima. " They who came to propagate the religion of Christ, have rather
advanced the interests of Satan. Living temples of lust have they made of
the Saracen mother and the Saracen maid. Hitherto the minds of the Mos-
lem women had been pure, but eventually they became tainted with the
immorality of the wives and daughters of their conquerors. Women and
girls became so subjected to the will of the followers of tiie Cross, that that
which they at first regarded with fear and horror, became at length a desire,
a necessity. Instead of shrinking in dismay from a ravisher, maddened
with his gross desires, the mother, decked in gorgeous apparel, would
tolerate even in the presence of her daughter, those transports for the indul-
gence of which her soul sought an excuse in the violence that was threatened.
Excited and encouraged by the example of their mothers, the daughters sel-
dom failed to yield to solicitation, until in the end the land became one vast

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

105

theatre of rape and adultery. Nor was this confined to the lower classes of
Ihe people. The most favored by riches, and the most delicate by nature,
were willing sharers of the fierce passions of their Christian ravishers, and
many of them so loved those who had compelled them to their own happiness,
that they would make any sacrifice to serve them. "

" What a picture of our own surpassing infamy," exclaimed the Monk-
Knight. " Strange that I should have boon all this time in Palestine, and
remain ignorant of these excesses."

" Not strange, dear Abdallah," resumed Zuleima ; " for you were too
holy — too devout — too much given to purer things, to have obtained even a
knowledge of the evil. But now of myself. I too had witnessed those
scenes, f too had beheld voluptuous, and beautiful, and delicate women,
who afterwards complained of the violence oflTered to them, yielding them-
selves up, in fullest abandonment of gratified desire, to the fierce men who
possessed them. Young as I was, the recollection sank deeply into my
heart. I had always been of ardent temperament, and the increase of years
increased my natural tenderness of soul, which was rather fed by the. inten-
sity of emotion of the ravished than of the ravisher. Time passed — my
imagination only was seduced — I created to myself an image — a beau-
ideal, which I invested with every attribute of excellence, and to which, had
it been possible to endow it with vitality, I should have surrendered myself
body and soul. This was the dream of my girlhood, before I became the
wife of Saladin. Loving me for a brief season with all the ardor of his
nature, he soon developed the powerful and dominant passion of my soul ;
but he was not the ideal Christian knight, whom I had invested with super*
human beauty. After a few weeks' possession, Saladin's manner grew
colder, and he treated me with the same indifference which he extended to
his other wives. It was soon after that I became the inmate of the tent of
the French knight."

" In whom, sweet Zuleima," said Abdallah, as he clasped her closer to his
breast ; " you found your beau-ideal V

" I did," replied his sister, coloring deeply ; " but how know you that?"

" I saw it," said the Monk-Knight. " I saw, and knelt, and prayed for
forgiveness of your mutual sin."

" Ah, that cotiiu not have been a sin," murmured Zuleima. " For the
first time in my life I was happy."

" Let me not dwell on the recollection," exclaimed the Monk-Knight,
with sudden energy. " Ha ! Zuleima, my sister, this at least cannot be
crime."

His left arm encircled and drew her to his herculean chest. Her moist
lips were upon his. His right hand unrestrained, and trembling more and
more at every instant, wandered over her form.

" This to remind me ever of you in absence," said Abdallah.

Zuleima lay nearly fainting on his chest. Her only answer was a sigh.

" Oh t it is so sweet to have a sister — to press her to one's heart," re-
marked Abdallah, after a pause.

" Not sweeter than to possess and to take pride in the possession of a noble

lit

I- £.•.■<:./«-

"«:».,

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106

THK MONK KM'iMT OK >T. lOHN.

and generous brother," said Ziileima, tenderly- " Would that 1 had been
more like yourself."

*' Had you been other than you are, I should not have loved you as I do,"
said the Monk-Knight.

Zuleima, you love that favorite of your beau-ideal— and the dear object of
my own affection — the handsome Rudolph. Nay, blush not, sweetest. 1
know it all."

" I do, Abdallah — next to yourself, I love that dear boy more than au^ht
beside on earth."

" More than Salad in !"

" Yes, more than Saladin. The feelings they inspire are widely different.
The one passion ; the other tenderness, softness. There, do I not give you
all my confidence ! But ah ! brought upas you have been, my brother, in the
holy cloister — acknowledging not, sharing not the vices which the followers
of Christ have introduced into every dwelling of their Eastern conquests, you
must, you will, think me very wicked."

" Not so, my dearest Zuleima. There was a time, and but recently, when
I should have thought so ; but a new light has dawned upon my awaken-
ed soul. Never can that be wickedness which emanates from Natnre ;
nor can the sweet infidelity of a confiding woman, whose heart i? '"illed to
overflowing with kindness, be accounted crime by her. Nothing is criminal
that does not violate the natural law of God. Incest does infringe that law,
and therefore is it criminal. Not so with love. Nature recoils not from
the passion, and they who acknowledge most its influence are those to whom
God has given souls and feelings worthy rather of the possession of angels
than of human beings. ' -

"And do you really think this, Abdallah V said the wife of Saladin,
throwing her arms around the neck of her brother. " Ah, even so have I
ever believed, and hence it is I place no restraint upon my will."

"On my hope of Heaven, I do," returned the Monk-Knight, impressively.
" Rapid has been my enfranchisement from the fetters of prejudice. I believe
that in creating the world, the infinite God had for His ultimate object the
gratification and approval of the wondrous works of His will, and that the
crowning feature of his joy is in the contemplation of that mysterious and
hallowing love of sex for sex, which pervades His universe. Nay, more, I
believe He has given it only to a favored few to realize the full fruition
of that which we call desire, yet which, in fact, is a divine mystery without
a name."

" Ah ! how truly spoken," murmured the tender Zuleima. " But teli nit,
brother, can the violation of the shrinking maid and unwilling matron tind
favor then in the sight of Heaven 1"

" Most surely not," replied Abdallah. " The man who murders, the man
who robs, the man who slanders, does injury to his neighbor, which is for
bidden by the law of nature and of God. In like manner, the man who
compels a woman to his lust, does wrong unto that neighbor whom he is
enjoined to love even as himself. But it must not be said that Heaven dis
approves the utmost intensity of that passion, which emanating from God
alone, is mutually shared.

^ ' ' ■'•^AmiU)lltlKf*n»tim<mi mm v.

-\::- r--'

■_-'v*-~-'^.

THK MONK KNIGHT Ob ST. JOHN.

107

'• It cannot be said,' remarked Zuleima, srniiiug sweetly upon hor brother,
"that tlie practice which prevaila wilh tlie Christian women in Palestine,
diflers much from the lax principles of the warm-lem|>ered iSarae^n."

" No ; we all know, that from the (lueen downwards, there is scarce a Chris-
tian matron who has not committed error, or a maidc who has not sur-
rendered her purity. Still there is this diHorenoe between my theory and
their practice ; that tlic latter carries with it a consciousness of sin, while
the former views it in the light of a natural impulse. But to return to Ru-
dolph — You love him l"

*' Yes, tenderly do I love him — even as though he were my own child."

" Nay, naughty Zuleima," observed the Monk-Knight ; " there riots your
^'uilty and intemperate imagination again. But tell me. Were Saladin no
more, do you think you could love the boy sufficiently to become his wife,
according to the rites of the Christian church?"

■'Most joyfully," she answered; "but wherefore the question, dear
AbdallahV

" You would then forsake Moslemism for him."

" I would. Nor great would be the sacrifice. Too long have I beheld Chris-
tian and Moslem, deluging the world with blood, to believe in the usefulness
of either. 1 worship but the holy and eternal Allah. But since you will
that 1 should become the former, when Saladin is no more, it shall be done :
yet, again, wherefore brother?"

" That, as Rudolph's wife, you may quit this land of blood for ever,
and pass your future days in fair Auvergne, near your brother and his
Ernestina.'

" Will the dog follow his master? Will a churchmao look to his living ?
Doubt me not. I will.'

The Monk-Knight rose from the ottoman ; he went to the entrance of
the tent, and in a low voice, called the name of the boy. The watchful
page approached, when Abdallah, taking his hand, led him in silence to the
ottoman whereon Zuleima still reclined, holding the lamp, so as to throw its
light upon their faces, while her own remained partially hidden in shade.

" Zuleima," he said, as he placed her hand in that of the page, " with
the ideas you entertain of Moslemism the tie that unites you to Saladin is
but an empty ceremony — binding only as the heart dictates. You love
this boy?"

" Tenderly, sweetly, fondly," she replied, in trembling tones.

" You embrace Christianity then ; you renounce the creed of the
Prophet?"

" I do. Solemnly do 1 embrace the one, and renounce the other."

" My own dear, generous 'mother I" exclaimed Rudolph, excitedly.

" Then let the wife of Saladin, who is no wife in the eyes of the Christian
Church, seeing that she is one of many, be the wife of Rudolph. In my
priestly office do I pronounce you such. Rudolph, place this ring, the dear-
est relic of a departed father, upon the hand of Zuleima. There, the bene-
diction of a brother's love be upon you."

The boy threw himself upon her bosom ; he pressed his fresh and fragrant
hps to hers, and the joy of his heart was complete.

■■i-i.-S*;;''' isti;.

It'

f i

!t ' i\

108

THK MONK KNliJHT OK >T. JOHN.

" And in what relation do 1 now stand to Saludin V asked /uleima, when
she had freed herself from Rudolph's ardent embrace.

" In none the ('hurch approves," said the Monk-Kniglit solemnly. " Hut
the dawn is beginning to break. Rudolph, when Saladin dies, or even be-
fore, should it be possible, follow with Zuleima to Auvergne. 1 shall expect
you."

'* Ah ! tru^t uio well, Sir iMoiik. My impatience will not wait the
death of Saladin. The first occasion 1 shall seize and bear the wife you
liave given me far from his arms and presence."

" Enough !" retuined the Monk-Knight. " Time presses. If your ab-
sence from your tent be remarked, Zuleima, we are lost."

One last and final embrace, and Zuleima and Rudolph stealthily regained
the tent of the former.

CHAPTER XXI.

Six months had passed since the events recorded in the last chapter. It
was a beautiful evening in early autumn, such as has been peculiar to the
south of France throughout all ages. A great fete was in progress in the
chateau of Auvergne, for it was the anniversary of the marriage of de Bois-
court — the loved owner of the domain with the Lady Ernestina, and the
latter had resolved to commemorate the day in a manner worthy of her distant
and much-loved lord. Such nobles with their dames, of the province, as h?/^
not joined the Crusade, and a host of retainers who had been led behind to
till the vast extent of soil constituting the seigniory, were now present to en-
joy the fete, and the courts and rooms of the chateau were filled unto crowding.
Wine flowed in abundance, and the table literally groaned with food of every
kind, from the wild boar of Brittany to the delicate ortolan of Spain. The
fete itself was a masked one, and gay and fancy costumes among the higher,
(ind droll and grotesque caricatures among the lower, formed a motley
assemblage, wherein the pomp and ceremonies of rank were, for the mo-
ment, laid aside, while one united desire seemed to animate all — that of con-
tributing to the enjoyment of the hour.

The Lady Ernestina herself — the confessed queen of the fete — was gor-
geously, magnificently dressed. The bottom of her robe of rich purple
velvet was trimmed with strips of ermine of the most costly kind, and just
narrow and delicate enough to take from the heaviness which would other-
wise have been given to it. The front, cut very low, and displaying all the
rich contour of her glowing bosom, was bordered with wide and drooping
lace of the same texture, and in her dark, auburn hair, she wore a single
white rose. Her moulded arms were bare, and, like the full bosom, the
tight sleeves of her robe were trimmed deeply with the same rich lace.
Whenever she moved, the witchery of her exquisite form, fascinated every
heart, while as the half-closed and long-lashed eye, languishing even in
the excitement of the occasion, endorsed the sweetness of the words t%|t

.„.**«» ■• ^ .,r**' *«»ti*»--

»,mmm*^;

THE MONK KNrOHT OF ST. JOHN.

109

flowed from rosy lipb never opened but to disclose the rows of pearl that by
within the casket, the troubled mind would wander, and paint in imagina-
tion the deep perfection of the beauteous whole.

Near her side, and watching her enchanting movements with the anxiety
of V lovor, jealous that the regards of her mistress should be too much be-
3tov>nd upon another, was the gentle and dark-haired Henriette. Appa-
rentl /, and indeed avowedly, she was there to receive the commands of her
mistress in whatever related to the urrang«ment of the fete, but a close ob-
.sorver might have seen that a sweeter influence caused her to take delight
and gratification in the oflice, than the mere desire to acquit herself of
a duty assigned to her.

it was towiirds evening when the guests, the male portion tired out with
athletic games and wine — the female with rout and laughter, and romping,
and the e.vhilirating but fatiguing dance, began to withdraw. The hours of
rest were then early, and scarce had the twilight left them, when the va.st
chateau, which had hitherto resounded with the voices of hundreds, was
silent, as if a sudden spell had come over its now deserted rooms and corri-
dors, where the lightest footfall might be heard in sharp echoes from the
basement to the roof.

Henriette and the Baroness were alone. The eyes of the younger wore
bent upon the sweet form of her mistress with an expression of tenderness
and admiration, which brought a deeper blush — she could not tell wherefore
— to her already animated cheek.

" Well, dearest pet," she asked, " how did our litte fete find favor !
Was it worthy of my noble husband?"

Henriette burst into tears.

"What is the matter, love? The exertions of the day have fatigued
you — made you nervous. Compose yourself," — and she kissed her fondly
on the brow.

" Oh, no ! it is not that," she said ; " It is because I love you so much,
dear lady, that 1 feel thus. If I have done my little duty to-day, it has
been mechanically. My heart was not in the work. I was too much occupied
in thinking how unhappy I was, each time, in being away from you. Oh !
dear Lady Ernestina, I cannot find words to express the fullness of my re-
gard for you."

All this was said passionately, yet in a gentle tone of voice.

•' Henriette, my child," returned the Baroness, in a tone of deep emo-
tion, as she caught her fondly to her heart, " you certainly do love me very

dearly."

" Ah ! dearest Lady Ernestina, you cannot conceive how much I adore
you. I worship you — I always think of you. 1 could desire to do nothing
else in life than to gaze on you. Should I ever be so sinful as to entertain
the slightest doubt of the all-perfection of God, and of His goodness, I shall
only have to call up the image of the Baroness de Boiscourt, with her beau-
tiful and redundant hair flowing over her polished shoulders, and overspread-
ing her graceful form.''

"Dear, sweet enthusiast," said the Lady Ernestina, pressing her with
warmth, even passion — " what an extrordinary girl you are !"

'Mmm--

IS,

TH£ MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

> f

" Ah I purtiued Henrietu;, with momenturily heightening colur, " what
beauty, what holiness, what wonderfulness of conception of the glorious God,
who, to crown the loveliness of the daughters, to whom he hiis given every
otiier attribute of perfection, has added a power of fascitiation, which subdues
the soul — whicli angels even must adore."

Again the liaroncss pressed the lovely and half-fainting girl to her lieart
Heniiettus right arm was thrown around her neck — her left hand held and
pre8s<3d that of her mistress. Her own sweet lips met those poutingly offered
by the enchantress upon whose heaving bosom her flushed face reposed.

" Methinks," said the Baroness, playfully, and after a few minutes of un-
broken silfince on either hand — " that Rudolph, or even my noble husband,
would like to have pillowed on their ampler chests the burning cheek that
presses upon my own. What say you, dearest," pressing the hand she held
grasped within her own. " Which should it be — de Boiscourt or Rudclpli'"

"Neither,'" murmured Henriette, smiling, and looking into her eyes.
" The love I bear to you is sweeter, holier far, than ruder man can comprehend.
Rather would I view the loosened masses of that Madonna-like hair while
pillowed on the breast that heaves to mine, than seek idolatry from those
you name. ' '

" Child," said the Lady Ernestina, with blushing cheek and animated
glance, while a heavenly smile played upon her lips, " you will seduce me.
Yet be it so, love," and she wiped the juices of her lips away in her kisses.
" You shall sleep with me again to-night, and our thoughts and speech shall
be of Palestine."

"Of Palestine, ah ! true, I had forgotten. Dear Lady Ernestina, this word
reminds me of something I had injunctions not to break to you until the
guests had all departed. Alas ! but now I should have told you ; but I know
not how it is, I forget every thing when not near you — more so when near."

" What is it, Henriette?" inquired the Lady Ernestina, eagerly. " News
of my lord ? Speak, dear, what have you to impart ?"

" As I went to execute your message to the garde chasse for bouqueta
for the lady guests, I found him in conversation with a man of such noble
and majestic mien, that I was awed as one who gazed upon a superior being.
He was disguised, I presume, in compliance with the fashion of the fete, as
a monk, and bore upon his breast an iron crucifix."

" But his features?" interrupted the Lady Ernestina, with an expression
of deep interest.

" These I coulo not see," continued Henriette : " for, as I have just said,
he wore, in common with the guests around, a mask, which was of the same
dark color with his robe. There was something, my dear lady, so imposing
in his mien and stature, that I hesitated to advance."

" ' That, holy father, is the Baroness's friend and confidant,' said Picard,
evidently replying to some previous question. ' Since you will not enter
and partake of the hospitalities which are open to every body, this being the
anniversary of our dear absent lord's marriage with the Lady Ernestina, you
may deliver what message you wish to her, and it will be straight conveyed
to the loved mistress of the chateau d'Auvergne. Ah? fa, come forward.

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

Ill

MiidemuiHell IJ Annette, please, and take a lueesage from this holy monk to
the mistress.' '

" My heart beat, with 1 know not what ; the mild dignity of the stranger
imposed upon m" greatly. Tremblingly I began to advance, when he stepped
rather quickly forward to meet me, as I thought, in order not to be over-
heard by Picard, in what he was about to communicate.

" ' My child,' he said, in tones of such sweetness, that 1 loiigedto behold
the lips that uttered them. ' tell the Lady Ernestina de Boiscourt that the
Italian Monk, Gonzales, a friend of the noble Baron, her husband, brings
tidings from the Holy Land, which only can he breathe in secresy in her
ear. I would have entered even now to her, but fain would spare the joy
that reigns within. A morn of gladness may well precede a noon of lamenta-
tion. Tell, then, your sweet mistress, that at the tenth hour this night,
when all is still within the chateau, I will return, and, announced only by
yourself, make known the purport of my mission.'

" ' I will. Lord Monk,' I replied, in some confusion ; for I really was so
overcome by his manner, that I scarcely knew what I said.

" < Remember, child,' he added, taking and affectionately pressing my
hand, at which I was the more confused and flattered, ' what I say to you
passes but to . Ha !' he exclaimed, suddenly starting back and involun-
tarily removing his mask as if to obtain a better view. ' Who is that ?'

" Ah I my lady what a face. It was such a one as we see in representa-
tions of Christ. If I could love a man better than I do you, I declare that I
should have loved him. He was obliged to repeat the questions, for so
completely was I absorbed in the contemplation of his calm and saint-like
features, that I could not answer him. At last turning to see whom he
meant, 1 saw you standing at a distant window talking to the Countess of
Clermont.

" ' That, Holy Father,' I replied, ' is the Baroness de Boiscourt. Oh, if
you only knew how beautiful and how good she is, almost as ardently as I
do, you would love her.'

"' The Lady Ernestina," murmured the Monk, turning pale as death —
" beautiful — love her — did you say I loved her. God bless you, my child,'
and he imprinted a moist kiss upon my brow. * Remember the tenth hour —
yet speak not of this, I charge you, until the guests have departed.'

"Then hurriedly resuming his mask, he turned round, and slipping a
piece of money into the hand of Picard, walked slowly out of the garden
and disappeared, while I gave the necessary directions for the flowers."

" What can all this mean? Who is he, and what news can he bring
from Palestine that concerns me?" remarked the Baroness, with an air of
anxiety. " Henriette, you should have U,,.. me this before. But no, I
have forgotten, he desired you not.'"

*' True, my Lady. He seemed not to wish to interrupt the gaiety of the
entertainment."

" The Monk Gonzales — an Italian too !" pursued the Lady Ernestina,
thoughtfully, and speaking aside. " A man of noble mien and stature. Can
h really be he. Stop, beating heart. Gonzales Abdallah, or Abdallah
Gonzales ! But then he does not call himself more than a friend — an ordi-

\f^

•I

113

THE MONK KNIGHT OP ST. JOHN.

1 1'

in'

'«H,

nary friend of mj husband, while he, who saved hia life M oft in (MttteBt, ii
the second-aelf of ray noble and generoiia lord, Besidee, where should be
that holy ovin, on whom my thoughts have so long dwelt, but vvith the dear
Alfred, at whotte desiru these new wild feelings have entered in my soul.
But timo will tell. Some wandering monk, perhaps, who tired of his long
pilgrimage in Palestine, has sought repose within this peaceful land. Hon>
riette," she said, more immedialely addressing the young girl, " you say
this stranger will be here at the tenth hour!"

" He so stated to me, dear Lady." -v.' '

" Then, sweetest, assist mc to prepare in my ante-chamber above — the fittest
pluce tor secrcey, since secresy is sought by him — some small refreshment
for this sacred munk. Doubtless his fare in travelling through Palestine has
not been of the choice kind of our fete to-day. A portion of this, with wine
of the vineyards of Champagne, and of the generous and aroma-breathing
Burgundy, we will convey thither ourselves. Who brings good news
from those we love in Palestine, should find us no niggards in tender of hos-
pitality."

" And surely, not such a holy father of our church, and one so proper in
his manliness," replied the sweet Henriette, blushing at her own words.
' Take not the trouble, dear Lady Ernestina, that office I will so direct as to
■neet your fullest wishes."

" Nut so, my child," returned the Bareness, as she again embraced her.
*' It were well the serfs were not disturbed, but suffered calmly to enjoy the
sleep to which their recent toil so well disposes them. None, as you say,
must know of his approach, therefore none must witness the prc|>aration for
another guest. Come, girl, we must wait upon ourselves."

Soon the necessary arrangements were made in the room which has been
described in a former chapter as adjoining the nuptial chamber of the Lord
and Lady of Auvergne. The hour had nearly arrived, and with each suc-
ceeding minute, the Lady Ernestina, who had thrown herself into the large
fautcuil, was filled with an anxiety, she sought in vain to repress. Henri-
ette had gone below, to answer the first summons at the door, and to conduct
the Monk in silence to her mistress.

At length the light and subdued tread of human feet was heard without.

" Oh God, what a presentiment," murmured the Ijady Ernestina, with
irrepressible emotion. " My heart tells me that the Monk Gonzales is Ab-
(Inlhih, the \sarmfriet.a of my own loved lord. What means this ? Ah!
what is to become of me ? To what trials, to what temptations am I to be
exposed ? Come in," she said, in a trembling voice, in answer to the low
knoA of the cautious Henriette.

The door opened — the young girl entered, announced the Monk Gonzales,
still masked, and then withdrew.

" Oo I then, at last, stand in the presence of the Lady Ernestina de Bois-
rr .. *," said the stranger, after a short silence, and in tones that went to the
hear: of his auditor.

" I am, indeed, her you name," she replied, while, with winning gr«oe,
she moti med her questioner to be seated. " Holy father, I have received
your message, and gladly will I bear the ttews ftom Paleetine, if that nevi

THE MONK KNIOHT OF NT JOHN.

113

brinp tidings of my dear lord's health. Rut first, I pray you, let not the
featurcH of the friend of my iiol)lt! huaband longt-r wear disguise. Reinovo
your mask. Sir Monk, and taste of the poor hospitality the wife of the brave
de Boiscoiirt offers."

" Nay, nay, .nwi-et lady. I dofT the now unneedful guise at your cona-
mand ; but who eould hunger or erave the common food of nature, when in
the presence of rier who makes the heart forget all grosser appetite'"

As he spoke, tlie stranger removed tiie mask, exposing to her full and
startled view, a noble counlenanee. .Sho had ri.sen on his entrance, but now
advancing, and taking lier hand, he caused her to resume her seat.

The Lady Ernestina regarded him (ilosely. That placid brow, those bene-
volent and radiant features — that humble yet majestic mien, were even what
hci imagination had so long treasured — and when he took her hand, there
ran a lightning tremor through her frame, which caused the color to forsake
ner cheek, and her half-closed eye to sink beneath the calm, fixed gaze of ad-
miration, which seemed to penetrate her very soul. Suddenly making an
efTort to rally, she remarked, somewhat mockingly, yet in a troubled
tone :

" Mcthinks the Monk Gonzales has learned much courtesy in the blood-
stained fields of Piilestinc, and that the cowl has ot\ been thrown aside, to
tilt in honor of his mistress in the ranks of chivalry. You said," — and
she looked earnestly, yet modestly at him — " that Gonzales is your name."

" Even 80, noble lady. The Monk Gonzales, of no repute I grant, is still
the friend of the noble Baron dc Boiscourt, nor quite unworthy to expect
a fairer judgment of his heart and purpose than what these words convey."

" Nay, holy father, pardon me," she replied with a momentarily increas-
ing color, and in a trembling voice, for her soul was touched — mine were but
the words of playfulness. " But to your news from Palestine : I am ready to
hear it. Yet 1 pray you, ere you begin, let me pour forth a goblet of rich
Burgundy, since grosser food you shun. This should not be. As the friend
of my dear husband, it were meet you should partake even of the remnant
of a feast, given in honor of this our wedding-day."

" Nay, fair lady. I knew it not. Here is to the nuptials of the Lady
Ernestina de Boiscourt with the husband who adores her," he exclaimed, as
he drained off the full goblet she had poured out for him. " May to-mor-
row's sun not rise, before she presses to her panting heart him, whose love
for her will be enduring as the arch of heaven."

"Ah! what mean you?" almost shrieked the
news you bring 1 Is my soul's lord returned?
and are you here to prepare me for his arrival ?
you, speak, and yet kill me not with happiness."

Involuntarily she had risen, and now leaned her head confidingly — gratefully
upon his shoulder.

" Even as you have divined, lady," he answered with the same calm ex-
pression of face, while his breast was filled with the most thrilling sensations.
He felt her sweet breath fanning his neck, and saw her blue-veined bosom
developed in all its richness of luxuriance, as it rose and fell with her deep
emotion. " Yes," he continued, with a depth of intonation that startled her,

Baroness. " Is this the

Has he come with you —

Speak — speak, I charge

114

THK MONK KNHIHT OK ST. JOHN.

" thin night will your adoring huaband behold the gloriouB beauty of hU
long-widuwcd wilie— the divine treasure of her all-giorioua form Bhall be hi*
to-night and for ever."

Receding from the warmth of his language, and the passionate embraco
with which it was accompanied, the Lady Pirneatina drew suddenly back.
Gonzales remarked this, and immediately changing his tone and manner for
.1 bearing better suited to his holy character, withdrew his arm, and resuming
his placid exterior, said —

" Pardon me, lady, if in my joy at the coming happiness of my friend, I
should have seemed to forget myself by too strong an expression of rejoice-
ment for his sake. Lady, when you are quite prepared to listen to the intel-
ligence with which I am charged I shall reveal it."

" Quickly, then, Sir Monk," she returned. " I languish with impa-
tience. But where is my lord 1 Why comes he not ''

" Not two hours hence, and you shall hold him to your loving heart,
lady," said the Monk, struggling painfully to subdue his inward emotion.
" Meanwhile, I will recount both the cause of his coming, and the necessity
for strict secresy which attaches to his being here. Listen then, lady, I
shall be brief, for 'he night already wanes."

He drew his chair near the fauteuil of the Lady Ernestina, and thus began.

CHAPTER XXII.

" Has the news yet reached Auvergne of the battle of Tiberiaa, aad
the subsequent fall of Jerusalem, sweet Lady ?''

" Of Jerusalem ! of the holy city !" repeated the Lady Ernestina, with
astonishment. " Can this really be ?''

" Alas !'' returned the Monk, " the mother of Christian Palestine is no
more. Where late the Cross triumphant floated, the hated Crescent now
unfolds its emblem to the eye."

" Sad news, indeed," she answered ; " but what of my husband? He
has escaped, has he not ? The giant arm of Abdallah ; he whom, pardon
me. Sir Monk, I had hoped you were, that noble, that majestic man to
whom my grateful heart does homage, next akin to love, defended him
in peril. Was it not so ?"

" Lady," said the Monk, again taking her hand and smiling one of his
subduing smiles ; " you forget I have stated that, ere two hours have ,
passeci, your noble lord will taste of Heaven in there arms."

" Trae, true," said the Lady Ernestina, coloring deeply, " but the tid-
ings of the loss of Jerusalem have so confused me, that I scarcely know
the words I utter."

" At the battle of Tiberias — ^the most fearful onset of the war in Pales*
tine — the noble Baroa's life was three times saved by the Monk-Knight
Abdallah, of whom you speak. Alas! taken prisoner, with three bun-

THE MONK KNKIHT OK sT. JOHN.

115

Jreil Kni^lita of tlie T«inple, and an equal number of St. John, that bosom
friend of your lovod lord, for a while spared by the cruel ordnrofSaladin,
perished witti his fomradeii by the s' nntfr."

'' Abdallah Hlam! Oh God !" idinok.il the Lad' '.nestina, falling up-
Ofi hor knees, and raining her clanped b^ndi, irdon, holy Monk, this

weaknoBs, but in your charat'ter of coiin's^or 1 icvual to you my inmost
Boul — I have taught myself to Iovp that wanior wit! ^ lote not inferior
to that I bear my lord. My secoiu! nif was his Had you boon he —
and such I ever deemed he wiis — then ...id my happinesg [teen complete,
even though a thousand Jerusalems had fallen''

The Monk rose — he paced the room — and witii an air of agitation that
caused the Baroness to apprehend she had done wrong in avowing the
secret of her feelings to one wlio seemod desirous of creating an equal
interest in her bosom. The conflict of her emotions was severe.

" Tell me again," he almost whispered, so low yet clear was the tone
in which he spoke : " Repeat to me, that had I been Abdallah your soul
would have been my own. That you would have had him to resemble
me !" •

' '' Oh! ask me not, holy father, what I would have done. It is enough
that you know I love him, and that I have always fancied him the
noble and majestic Monk, which it were vain to deny you are."

"In Palestine we have passed for twins," returned Gonzales. "So
much resembling tliat our brethren in arms have scarce distinguished."

"Ah! but you are not Abdallah," sighed the Baroness; "you are not
the same valiant Monk-Knight who stole into my heart through oil-re-
peated saving of my husband's life, whose battle cry in war of late has
ever been my name. Yes! yes, holy father, with a strong love I loved
him!"

'• Well have you been informed, noble lady, It is not for a brothet
monk to wrest one feather from the plume of merit that adorns Abdal-
lah's memory. In feats of war be had no equal, wliile the prowess of his
gigantic arm was the admiration and the wonder of all who witnessed it.
lu the great battle of Tiberias his war-cry in the thickest of the fight,
and side to side with the noble Baron, your husband, was " the Lady
Ernestina," and not until vast numbers had overpowered him, was he
compelled to yield himself up a prisoner."

'■ Ha ! can you then wonder," said the beautiful wife of de Boiscourt,
as the tears coursed slowly down her cheeks, " that such a man, sinful
though the weakness of my heart was, should command my warmest
love and gratitude? Hear me, Gonzales, while I confess it. Had you
used deceit ; had you come to me as Abdallah, the bearer of a message
from my lord in Palestine, and wooing to your love. I should exult-
Ingly have fallen. I feel no remorse — no shame in avowing this, for
■well am I convinced that the generous de Boiscourt would approve rather
than condemn. Holy father, you have now my secret, which no mem-
ber of the Church may venture to betray.''

" One word more," asked Gonza'as, as he threw upon her an expres-

116

THE MONK KNlliHT OF ST. JOHN.

\i(

aion of such anxious love, that iti her inmost heart she wished she had
not divulged his name. " What would be your choice, were it possible
to bring Abdallah to your arms this night? The Baron or the Monk?"

"The Monk ! said you. Oh ! tortura me not with the vain thought !
Make me not say that which shows inferior passion for my noble husband."

" And what, dear Lady Ernestina. should he my own reward ?"'

" I cannot name it to you," replied the Baroness, after a short pause,
and with a crimson brow. " You must imagine it."

" All ! that I had the power to raise the dead, dear lady," and Gonzales
knelt at her feet and pressed her knees : " can you not teach your love
so to impress my image on your heart, that you may in me bestow your
sweetness on Abdallah?"

" Never, never ! — hope it not," she returned ; '• I should know it was not
Abdallah, and no spuciousness could impose the cheat upon me. Yet
CLiuld you, by art of necromancy, remove the warrior of the past, and
make rae see in you the noble Monk-Knight of my love, and him
alone, you should not even now be without the price of your great
power, or go unrewarded hence to the presence of fhy lord."

" Ernesti4ia ! oh glorious Ernestina ! you will destroy me," fiercely
uttered Gonzales, while his brow and countenance were strangely serene.
'■ But to my message, incomparable woman. Should I longer tarry to
Kiaddeu on your beauty, not your husband but Abdallah, forced upon you
in myself, shall break the seal of widowhood this night.''

" Proceed then,"' said the Lady Ernestina, not quite comprehending
him, and in a voice broken by emotion. " The night, as you say, wanes,
and fain would I press once again my loving lord to my aching bostm."

" You must know then, lady, that the Baron is here, a sort of truant
from the post of honor and of duty. He was severely wounded, and
numbered among the slain at the battle of Tiberias, but contrived in the
night of that fearful day to creep away unseen by the fatigued and care-
less watching Saracens. Long he wandered until he met with one, who
also had escaped by miracle from that blood-stained field. Soon we
learned the fate of Abdallah, who had suffered after his brother knights,
by the command of Saladin. Weakened from loss of blood, disheartened,
miserable at the death of the friend of his love, and most of all, longing
to behold and press once more to his heart his beloved wife, the Baron
resolved to avail himself of the report prevailing in the Christian camp
that he had been slain, and return to his chateau in Auvergne — there to
remain a few days — returning thence to the war in Palestine. To favor
his disguise he, too, adopted at my instance the monkish dress. In a
word, we reached the neighborhood of the chateau this morning at early
dawn, and he despatched me here to apprise you of his comi^ig ; the
whole must be kept secret from every other human being, the maiden
Henriette excepted. He waits for my return, to glad him with the re-
port of your well-being, and to assure him that in utter darkness he will
be admitted to your chamber, and there kept concealed until we both 8»t
out again for Palestine." . ,; ■■ »■ " ' -

I-

" l^ipiJK^*'

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

117

"Oh ! glad tidings, even of so brief a joy !" exclaimed the Lady Er-
nestina with animation, " Quick, my loved husband, to this impatient
bosom. Holy Gonzales, if love I cannot yield in sweet return for this,
all the warm feelingof a grateful heart at least is yourswithout reserve,"
and then she warmly pressed his hand.

" When next we meet, we shall meet in Paradisie,'' returned Gonzales,
in a tone that betrayed deep emotion, and yet with unruffled expression of
countenance.

" Do holy monks and erring women meet within the mansions of
the blest ?'' queried the Lady Ernestina, half smilingly, as she rose
to ring the bell for Henriette to conduct Gonzales out. " I fear me I am
too great a sinner in the nature of the love I bear Abdallah to hope for
entrance or for mercy there. Holy father, you will pray for me !"

She stood before him, rich in all the loveliness of her perfect grace,
the outline of her figure admirably developed by the dress she wore, and
the elegance of her contour almost dazzled the sight — hei eyes half
dimmed with a voluptuous languor, insensibly induced by the nature of
her recent conversation with the Monk, seemed to invite to tenderness,
while the gentle heaving of her dazzlingly white and rounded bosom told
all the deep agitation of her excited soul. Her gaze was fixed upon the
face of Gonzales, seemingly as if she would have impressed upon her
memory the image of Abdallah, and such became at length the intensity
of her regard, that her lips unconsciously parted, disclosing in the act the
moist and pearl-like teeth which contrasted ravishingly with the coral of
her balmy lips. All this Gonzales embraced at a glance, but most his
eye dwelt upon her magnificent hair, the very length and redundancy of
which seemed to give her a wickedness of thought, a determination of
purpose, which, more than all that host of charms, acted like fire upon
his brain. It seemed to him to impart a character, a fixedness of will
to her retiring womanhood, that in the very contrast of its strength with
all else feminine, subdued the soul with astonishment and surpassing
wonder.

"Adored woman," said the Monk, catching her in his firm embrace,
and enfolding her warmly to his heart ; " 1 have heard of beauty made
to madden and enslave, to stir each wanton pulse to sin, but never could
have fancied such transcendent charms as yours. Would that I were
Abdallah in Auvergne. Pardon me the bold assertion," he added, "but
you will think this night, even in your husband's arms, that Gonzales in
the semblance of Abdallah will possess you yet."

"Nay, Sir Monk, "she answered with gentle reproach, you impose
upon the secret I have revealed to you. Neither such act nor language
can become the friend of the noble Baron de Boiscourt. I will not call it
insult, for such I know is not intended, but still it is advantage taken of
the weakness I have confessed. Do not ! do not 1 entreat you, I implore
you ! Let me respect my husband's friend !"

" Love, angel, goddess ! nay, more than all these ! voluptuous soul-se-
ducing and gentle woman," murmured Gonzales, with every pulse beat-

118

THE MONK KNIGHT OK ST. JOHN.

ing violently, and yet with seemingly uuexcited manner, " mark well
my words ; you love me not, because I am not Abdaliah, and yet the
love of your husband this night shall infuse such passion into your soul,
that, ere to-morrow's sun shall set, you will pray my coming to your de-
siring arms, as even now you pray for your Abdullah. To-morrow you
will be mine — not one of all these soul-entrancing beauties, but shall be
mine, and, wholly mine. Then come what may, the man you spurn even
now shall be pressed to your leaping heart in all the intensity of the love
of which you are so capable."

"Nay, hope it not, presumptuous and too confident Monk. Abdaliah
dead can leave no substitute, however much resembling, for living not
himself, the reflection of himself were but a cheating shadow. My
noble lord alone is now my all in life."

" I have said it lady, and yet I urge no more to shake the image of
Abdaliah from the throne it occupies. But another duty waits my poor
performance. Even now I go to bring to your chaste arms your noble
husband. You will not deem it so, but remember I have said it. The
love I bear to you, you shall quickly share."

'•'Never, never !'' she answered with emphasis, " shall the Monk Gon-
zales find a place within my heart. Surely you do not take the Baroness
de Boiscourt for a wanton, that she should change her lover as her glove.
If I have felt for Abdaliah strong preference, it was the holiness of gra-
titude for his many services to my noble spouse. It has not been
the mere love a woman bears to man, but that of an idolatress to the god
of her mind's creation, and yet I have arrayed him in human attributes
faultless as your own."

'• Then, why not deem me him !" passionately returned Gonzales, as
he knelt before her and pressed her robe to his lips. " Not now I ask it,
but later, when grief for the lost one shall have grown dull, and the still
loved image retains all its undiminished power over your soul."

" Nay, nay, Gonzales, rise ; it is in vain you plead your hopeless cause.
What of my heart my dear and much-loved lord hath not is buried
with Abdaliah, and naught shall render me unfaichful to his memory.
Yet think not, Gonzales, that I hate you for the love you bear me, for
though a monk, you are still a man, with the strong passions of a man,
and she were less than woman who did not glory in the power to
merge the former in the latter. Go then, there is my hand — we part in
peace, friendship if you will it. Conduct my noble lord. Tell him that
Henriette shall in darkness lead him to the well-known nuptial cham-
ber."

'• One thing I had foFgotten," interrupted the Monk. " He, moreover,
wishes, dear lady, that with the dawn no light shall be seen in the cha-
teau — not even to guide him to the bridal bed, nor must a menial know
of his return."
" And why this great precaution," asked the Lady Ernestina. ' i

" The mass of curious loiterers, who, seeing lights within the castle at
that late hoar, might seek to know the cause, and thus mayhap lead to

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

119

the knowledge of his presence here, vrhen duty enjoins that he should
be in Palestine."

" Tell my dear lord, Gonzales, that his slightest wish shall be obeyed,
answered the Baroness. " At the private entrance near the armory
Henriette will wait for his approach, and straightway lead him thither.
Holy monk, farewell !"

" Heaven and its angels guard you in all happiness !" returned the
Monk impressively, imprinting a kiss upon the hand he still retained.

The Lady Ernestina replied not, but taking up the small silver bell,
opened the door of the apartment which communicated with the spaci-
ous corridor, and rang it gently.

"Henriette, my love," she said, as the sweet girl made her appear-
ance, " conduct the holy father, Gonzales, hence, and use all caution that
none of the sleeping household be disturbed. That done, return to me,
for I have further need of service, which duly I will impart. Again,
holy Monk, I thank you for the tidings you have borne of the health, and
safety, and loving impatience of my lord."

Gonzales threw upon her a look of doep meaning, and then having re-
sumed his mask, followed the gentle Henriette, who led him by the hand
throughout the darkness, until they had gained the door indicated, near the
armory, opening upon the spacious garden.

" Within the hour," said the Monk, as he departed ; " he who is to
lie within your mistress' arms this night will bear him gladly to this
portal unto heaven. Fail not, sweet Henriette, to undo the door and
guide him to all happiness. — Good night."

" Henriette, my love," said the Baroness, when the former had again
ascended to her room : "what think you was the message brought to me
by that holy monk ?"

"Nay, lady, he strangely spoke of one who was to lie within your
arms this night."

" Even so. You will rejoice with me, Henriette, even when I tell
you, my child. My loved lord has returned from Palestine."

" My lord returned ! How can this be, dear lady ?"

" Impatient with his eager love, he stole away under cover of a report that
he had been slain in battle, A few short days he tarries in secresy, and
then returning to the Holy Land, sustained by interchange of mutual
lore, will join the Christian camp as one just freed from the bondage of
the Turk. And now, sweet pet, prepare me for the bridal feast."

sfc) •; jv '

120 TBf: NQNK KNIGHT OF ST. iOJOii.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Again, and with the same careful hand ascribed to her on a former
occasion, did the gentle Henriette peirform the pleasing task of unrobing
the charms of her beautiful friend and mistress. It has already been
shown that she almost idolized the Lady Ernestina. There was a depth
of passion in the very act now which had not then been awakened, for
the young girl knew, as she gazed upon each chastely swelling and vol-
uptuous beauty, wherefore they were thus unveiled, and what agony of
bliss they were to bring to tlie soul of him to whom they were to be
given. Her heart beat with emotion, for the joy of her mistress was her
joy. The same pains were taken to loosen the wavy tresses of her

hair, securing their fulness only with a single fold of ribbon, which suf-
fered them to descend in all their gorgeous length. But there was no
time now to lose in worship of her glorious perfection. The night
waned. She led the glowing Ernestina to the nuptial bed, rejoicing, yet
trembling even as when five years before she first had known the charm
of wedded and confiding love, and then imprinting on her fragrant lips
a kiss that expressed the fulness of her soul, descended to fulfil her mis-
sion.

No gleam of light was there within that chamber dedicate to love.
All was deepest gloom ; and as the Lady Ernestina pressed the snow-
white sheets which reposed against her polished limbs, deep thoughts
were in her mind, strong images before her eyes. Her bosom heaved
with that dear and fond expectancy that ever fills the matron's loving
heart, when after long absence she awaits the certain coming of her
lord ; and her lips half parted, as if she already felt upon them the mois-
tened kiss that sends its deep vibration to the soul. Warm feelings sway-
ed, but not oppressed her frame. They were of so subdued a character
that she rather languished under them than felt excitement. Her strange
conversation with the monk Gonzales — the boldness of the passion he
had expressed to her — ^his likeness to Abdallah — his confident declara-
tion that he would yet make her love Abdallah in himself — all these
things had tended to produce so confused a traiA of thought, that the
only one point on which she could rest with certainty was, that in a few
short minutes she would press to her beating heart her long desired lord
and husband, and that their new marriage would be consummated.

Steps were now heard cautiously approaching. The heart of the Lady
Ernestina beat violently, for she heard the door of the ante-chamber open,
and soon the footsteps were on the threshold of her own sanctuary.

"This way, my lord," whispered Henriette; "this is the chamber,
and according to you. directions, gloomy enough. You may feel the
Lady Ernestina even as you have felt me in aaceiiding, but I think I can
defy you to see her. Good night, my lord. I shall keep watch until
dawn, and then apprise you."

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

121

Presently the door of the antechamber waa again opened and closed.

What pen shall venture to describe with any thing approaching to
fidelity, the warm, the impassioned feelings of a tender and all-confiding
woman who, after years of separation, presses once more to her throbbing
bosom the adored husband who first awakened there those tender
feelings, divest of which her sex were but a name. Not meretricious love
can render this — not the cold and hackneyed seemingness of the wanton
whom desire would ennoble even in her fall — not the dissembling virtue
of the cold and prudent wife, which inspires disgust on the one hand, and
on the other chills passion in its bud — neither of these can afford the
most remote idea of the truthfulness of desire such as it ought to be —
such as it could be made to exist between those of ardent soul, whom
the church has united. As there is no pleasure so sweet as that which
is enjoyed without remorse, and without a fear, so is there greater rap-
ture to be found in the arms of a wife, whose every thought and wish,
however extravagant the promptings of her nature, is her husband's, than
in the possession of a host of mistresses, were they multiplied as those of
Mahomet himself. But the bond of confidence must exist, gentle as a
silken cord, and yet strong as a band of iron — it must unite heart to
heart, or it is nothing.

Were the secret of happiness in the wedded state properly understood
— were there more liberality on the part of him who arrogantly, but
falsely deems himself the first of creation, how different would be the
condition of the human race. They who now pine away their lives in
regret for the chain they cannot break, and in dread of the bugbear they
themselves have raised up, wouM then only entertain the fear lest
some untoward cause should le. \o a disunion threatening annihilation
to their hopes of happiness for ever. As it is, what are women ? Slaves,
literally the slaves of men, and regarded principally because they are ne-
cessary to their own selfish ends. Few is the number of those, among
the millions of the earth, who love woman for herself alone — the
perfection of God's will, made manifest in her surpassing beauty, and
who are willing to make all sacrifice of self, that not a wish of her soul
should remain ungratified. No man better appreciated the worth and
excellence of woman than the celebrated poet, who has shown, that nine-
tenths of mankind only look upon the sex as like beasts of burden,

" To laekle fooli and chroniole imall b«er."

Never was the sentiment of love more profound, more thrilling in its
development than that which now bound the heart of the Lady Ernestioa
to that of him to whom she had offered up her soul. From the first mo-
ment of their being alone, he had whispered an injunction of silence.
Her heart was too full, her happiness too complete to desire to waste it-
self in words ; and, therefore, she found it no effort to obey, but while
speech was prohibited, the caresses they exchanged told more than
speech could the strong excitement of their feelings. Never had the
Lady Ernestina been so suffused with tenderness — never had her full
heart so glowed with adoration of her husband. The early dawn stdl

f^.

1 1

■ I'l

4 I

122

THE MONK KNrGHT OF ST. JOHN.

found them fast locked in each other's arms, and. in despite of herself
she broke the silence but in a whisp«r.

"Loved de Boiscourt,'" and she pressed him fervently to her heart
"adored husband! Lord of my soul ! Oh! grant the prayer of your
Ernestina — leave me not again to return to Palestine ! Let love, thus
sweet renewed, drive from your noble heart all fruitless thought of war.
What boots your presence now — Jerusalem is lost ? Ah I go not, I pray,
to share the fate of him — that dear, that noble Monk-Knight, whom you
had taught my heart even more than half to love, that sorrow for hia fate
alone should be the fruit. Nay, nay, dear lord, overwhelm me not with
a double grief. I ill can bear but one. Yet, holy virgin, what means
this ? You are not my lord. Those features are not his. Ha ! traitor,
you are the monk Gonzales. By my faith, wken my lord arrives he shall
know this outrage !"

What a revulsion of feeling. Almost quicker than thought, the love of
the Lady Ernestina was succeeded by scorn and indignant hatred. She
felt humiliated, crushed even as one who could never rise again.

' Stay, stay one moment, stay I Hear and forgive me," said the Monk,
as she struggled to free herself from his embrace. " Oh, he»r me ! you
whom my soul adores — you who have confessed how exceeding is your
love for me. If I am not your noble husband, and my much-lamented
friend, I am not the more Gonzales. My wife, my matchless wife, whose
love is paradise, believe me when I swear that I am Abdallah !"

The Baroness started — she attempted to read his features in the gloom,
but in vain. Doubt, uncertainty, agitation^ mingled hope and fear, in
turn assailed her. Her every sense was tossed ^ven as a bark upon a
troubled sea without a helm to guide her. At length she said, with much
emotion —

" Nay, then. 'Gonzales, seek not to guile me with these words, as base
as the heart that uses them for its vile purpose. Did you not tell me
tliat you so resembled the noble knight Abdallah that none, the most in-
timate, could distinguish you?"

" Dearest Lady Ernestina, that I have, for the first time in a life of
forty years, employed deceit, I blush to own. It was ignoble, unworthy
of my rectitude, and yet the love I bear you was the prompter. I wish-
ed to try your feelings for me before I ventured to avow myself — nor
this alone. I sought to cheat you into one more embrace in the arms
of your beloved lord, and Abdallah's sainted friend. Alas ! you weep —
you believe me now. That noble hero — ^that generous-hearted friend
lies cold beneath the surface of that soil from which I have returned,
forsaking war and the holy church for ever, to supply his place in your
exceeding love."

" Ah ! can such ''omfort ! such happiness, then be left to me ?" ex-
claimed the Lady Ernestina, sobbing amid the tears that coursed rapid-
ly down her cheeks at the thought of the death of her beloved husband.
" Forgive me, if I have done you wrong ; but if, ' .deed, you are Abdal-
lah, which now I scarcely dare to doubt, there iu one mark you bear w\\[

THE MONK KNIGHT OK ST. JOHN.

123

• dissipate all uncertainty. II" you are he who now reigns sole master of
my heart, you have a scar upon your left brow, left by a, Turkish scime-
ter, aimed at poor de Boiscourt's life."

" Behold it, my own loved Eriiestina," said the Monk, pointing with
his left forefingor to a spot just above the eye-brow.

She raised hnr head, eagerly examined, but could see nothing of the
kind. Her renewed tears expressed her disappointment, and yet, strong
in the conviction that she was not deceived, she now pillowed her head
upon the ample chest of him who had declared himself as having left
Palestine lor her arms for ever.

'• Nay, the day is not sufficiently dawned," returned the Monk, as throw-
ing an arm round her symmetrical and yielding waist, he enfolded her al-
most fiercely to his throbbing breast.

In a few minutes she looked again. '* Ah ! I see it now,'' she ex-
claimed, flushed and excited by the certainty of her own happiness.
*' Dear, dear Abilallah ! noble Monk whom I have so long loved with a
heart-consuming love, how strangely do I feel. Regret, deep sorrow for
my dear de Boiscourt, who has, however, long prepared me for the blow.
Joy — supreme joy that yau are now mine for ever. Poor, lost Alfred.
Let us both pray for him — let us consecrate the mostgenerousfeelings of our
80\ils to his memory. Yes, Abdallah, if saints are permitted to watch over
those they have loved upon this earth, even does he, whom we so lament,
watch over and smile upon his Ernestina and Abdallah."

" He does," returned the Monk-Knight, sadly. " The realization of his
stronp desire that I should press to my maddened heart the cherished object
of his love, left pining in her grief, was ever such, that his troubled spirit
could not rest in peace unless he witnessed it."

'' Ah ! Abdallah, how often in imagination have I painted this my union
with your noble self. Yes, most holy husband, for such, indeed, I now re-
gard you : how often, in the dead of night, has my lone fancy called up the
same image that appeared before me first as the monk Gonzales. I have
worshipped and hoped."

•• Angel of surpassing beauty ! wife of my impassioned soul I" he re-
turned with a calmness of tone strangely in contrast with his glowing words,
'■ bless you for the avowal you have made — hear my own.

" Even such was the fire enkindled in my soul, by the Baron's warm paint-
inff of your surpassing tenderness and beauty, that I believe I should have gone
mad, had I not been sustained by the half hope, half fear— fear, because it
involved the death of my noble friend — that I should yet press to my heart
her, for whom it yearned even unto sickness."

The Lady Ernestina replied not, but she pressed him more closely to her
heart, and covered his strong chest with kisses from her moist and fragrant
lips.

The day had now fairly dawned. The Monk-Knight rested on his elbow,
and, raising his hand, gazed on the blue and half-shrinking eyes of tiie Lady
Ernestina, with an expression of such holy benignity and tenderness, that
she lay as one fascinated by more than human power.

" It was on the night of the last day of the great battle of Tiberius," he

' i

114

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

.'.I

continued, in the same calm, low tone, " that as I sat a pi'i80H»il[the tent
which Saladin had assigned to me, 1 thought of you until JfeTMSraiili^ waa
maddened with hope. Wherever I looked, whichever wray fln||MM, I saw
but the vision of yourself, wooing me to your arms. Thir'gMVtKBto of ex-
citement was tu me insupportable, andl groaned in anguish o/i»djptfeed de-
sire to behold you. I had put out my light. It was past i\\«fmti^t hour,
and yet I could not rest ; my blood was on fire, for knowing ^C' poor de
Boiscourt had fallen, I looked upon you as my wedded wife, wpoM charms
were to my soul as the joys of Paradise. Judge my surprise, vhenltaddenly
1 saw a light reflected through my own tent from one I had not hitherto no-
ticed, yet which stood but a few paces from me. That light xevealed the
figure of a woman of perfect symmetry of form, in the act of unrpbing. I
will not dwell upon particulars. You may suppose that I stoppet) not to
consider if her f;ice corresponded with the perfection of outline of her body.
With the exception of her tunic she was now wholly undressed. I stole out
of my own tent ; I entered hers. She was in the act of ^i^inguishing
the light, but I had time enough to see that she was as perfect. ip feature as
she was in form, i caught her in my arms. She was mine. Oh ! Ernes-
tina, then, for the first time, my soul knew the nature of the burning love
with which it was filled for you, and frantically on her bosom I invoked
your name."

"And who was she?'' tremblingly and rapturously inquiirad^e j^ady
Ernestina, while she covered the Monk-Knight's lips with kisaM^

" It was my first lesson in God's holy mystery of love," sajd ,4N^ll^h;
clenching his teeth at the recollection. " But ah ! she whom I gossessed
was my own sister."

"'Vour sister!" exclaimed the shuddering Lady Ernestina, Pyo^Diqe
by her emotion, her heart beat tumultuously. , t^ ^ ^ .

" Yes ! my own sister ! but there is a step. At another and mo)W fit-
ting moment, love, I will tell you all."

" It is Henriette," murmured the Lady Ernestina. " She comes' to ap-
prise you that it is dawn."

" Even so, my lady," returned the girl, the shadow of whose figure now
obscured the doorway. " The day, my lord, is breaking fast, and I am here
to take your orders."

"Rather take my orders," said the Lady Ernestina, rallying; " com»
hither, child."

" What, my Lady 9nd my Lord not risen ! Fie, fie ! 1 should die with
shame."

" Rather would you die of sorrow, were it otherwise," playfully returned
her mistress. " Come closer, dear."

" Oh ! dear me, what will become of us? Not my noble master — not the
Lord de Boiscourt, but that handsome monk that so flurried me yesterday.
Nay, nay, my Lady, how could you be so wicked?"

"Wicked — child!" said the blushing Lady Ernestina; "call you it
wicked to spread the nuptial feast before the husband of our love ? Alas !
Henriette, poor Alfred has been dead many months : he has fallen in Pales-
tine. This, sweetest, is Abdallah, him of whom we nightly spoke."

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

125

Henriette turned pale, fell sick at heart, and burst into a paroxysm of
tears, for, in truth, she loved the noble and generous-hearted de Boiscourt.

" Nay, my poor Henriette, weep on. I could weep too, but my heart is so
full of other thoughts and other feelings, that I have not time tu weep.
Sorrow is checked by joy. When we are alone, and apart from this exceed-
ing happiness, we will mingle streams of tears together ; and now, dear
Henriette," she continued, enfolding the sweet girl to her heart, •• you must
prepare the morning meal even with your own hands, in the small room
that adjoins the confessional. There we shall be safe from all interruption.
What seems mysterious to you, 1 will explain later. At present, in every-
thing but form, 1 am again a loving wife, but it must not be known in the
chateau that the holy father, the second husband of my adoration, has lain
within these arms, until the Church hath set its seal upon our mutual love."

" Sweet Lady, you shall be obeyed," said Henriette, seized with sudden
passion at her noble mistress's happiness, and pressing her bosom fondly to
her own, " The meal shall bo prepared, even as you desire, in secresy and
abundance — succulent food and rare wines will best comport with your appe-
tites I take it, and these shall not be wanting" — and waving her hand grace-
fully to Abdallah she withdrew."

'* You forget, adored Eniestina," said the Monk, when they were alone,
and in a calm, yet rich and thrilling tone, " that only yet you have pos-
sessed de Boiscourt, but now that the darkness favors not the cheat — now that
the soft blush of day enables the fascinated eye to gaze upon that surpass-
ing beauty which has hitherto been rather imagined than known, be in all
the &weet abandon of your glowing soul, my wife — not the noble and

high-minded de Boiscourt's wife — but the wife of Abdallah of him —

the holy monk, whose chastity, with only one exception, has never known a
woman but yourself."

" Oh God ! my husband," murmured the Baroness, as their hearts throbbed
audibly against each other, " your Emestina — your fond, your devoted
wife is yours, and yours alone for ever."

When, two hours later, the Lady Ernestina took her seat at the breakfast-
table in the elegant robe-de-chambre, in which the provoking Henriette, deeply
sympathizing in her joy, had only half shadowed her beauty, she was very
pale — two small spots of hectic alone being visible on her cheelis, while her
long dreamy and languishing eyes were only half seen below the drooping
lids. The Monk-Knight, on whose arm she entered the room, and who wore
a large crucifix of iron suspended from his neck, was pale also, but no-
thing could exceed the dignity and imposing grace of his carriage, while on
his noble brow could be seen traced, as with the impress of a divine power,
that mingled expression of calm benevolence, goodness, gentleness, and ab-
sence of excitement, for which his features always were so remarkable.

Henriette — the dark-haired, and usually pensive Henriette — who presided
at the breakfast-table, declared with a significant smile, that they both looked
fatigued as two penitents who had passed the night in the adjoining confes-
sional ; and while pouring out a cup of coffee for her mistress, strongly re-
commended to the Monk-Knight a goblet of the best old Burgundy within

126

THK. MONK KNUiHT (iK ST. JOHN.

the oliuteau, a bottle ut which bIic liad taki-ii care to pruvide, and which was
there sparkling before them.

But the Monk-Knight and the Lady Erncstina were so absorlwd in tiieir
passion for each other, their earnest gaze so devoured the soul that lingered
in the eyes of each, that it was long before either could be made sfu-sible,
through the grosser appetite of their nature, that they really rt'iiuiii'd ilie
nourishment the gentle and considerate ilenriette sought to force upon
them.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Who shall say, that where there is true love, possession ever palls upon
the appetite, or that passion, originally strong, is not increased by intimacy
with its object' No; the superficial in feeling — the weak in intellect — the
mere impulsive animal may feel thus — but the educated, the refined, the deli-
cate, the loving man clings to the wife of his adoration, as a devotee
clings to his saint. She is, as it were, his god — his divinity — the beii\!z to
whom he offers up the idolatry of his soul. He lives only in her, and for
her. His heart softens, his eyes overflow with tenderness. A slave only
to the burning desire he entertains, to devise new and unheard-of pleasures
for her whom he adores, he racks his memory and imagination to invent
them. He kneels at the feet of her he loves — he feels that it is a duty which
he owes not only to herself but to his God, to cherish and protect her weak-
ness. In his eyes she is without a fault : her feebleness, her delicacy, are
what compose her strength. She is to him a thing so lovely, so perfect, that
she scarcely seems to him formed of the same gross material with himself.
He can only wonder that the great God of the universe shoul;\ liuve conde-
scended to bestow upon him one who might be deemed more fit i .i to consort
with angels.

Such are the feelings of the man who sincerely loves. True, it must be the
love of the educated and strong in mind for the beautiful ; but it is to be as-
sumed that all women capable of inspiring love as a mystery, are beautiful
In such event it is unfair, unjust, to charge the nature of man with incon-
stancy. Not woman herself is more devoted or more true, and so far from
proving faithless to her who is really gifted with Circean yet intellectual
power to enchain the soul, he thinks, and acts, and feels as if there was no
other object in the creation but the enchanting, the beautiful, the soul-
seducing partner of his happiness.

Thus it was with Abdallah and the Lady Ernestina. With each succeed-
ing day, their passion grew more intense from fruition. They had been
privately married on the evening of the day following that of Abdallah's ar-
rival from Palestine, the rites having been performed in the confessional of
the chateau, and by the venerable Bishop of Clermont. The very act of
marriage had increased the passionate character of their attachment. They
were seldom asunder — the same air — the same presence was necessary to

THK MONK KNIGHT OF >T. JOHN.

147

them both, ko iiiiirh hu, that the tender Henrieite, with heavy heart and tear-
ful eye, coiniiliiined to the iiiiatreits she adored, scarcely lees than the Munk-
Kriiyht did, that Hht; no longer tiuw noticed, or seemed to return htir alfec-
tion. The Haronesx eoviired her wiih caresses, promised to devote more
time to her youn)^ favorite, l)nt the power of Aliflalhih over her soul was too
great — the pledj^e was ever broken.

Six months had passed in this manner ; the whole nei^hborliood of the
chateau rejjfarded as somethinj? marvellous the daily-increasing attachment
of the [jady Krnestina for the majestic and powerful Monk, who, it was
whispered, was still a member of the Holy (!hurch. Some even went
so far as f(» assert that he had had dealings witli Satan while in the land of
the Infidel, and had brought with him a charm which had exercised such
power over her heart, that she had literally become his slave, having no joy
but in his presence, and the contemplation of features, to which liad been
given by the Evil One, a power of fascination, that no woman could with-
stand. How else, they argued, could one so young — so retiring in her
manner — nay, so noted for her strict morality and attention to religious ob-
servances, espouse a renegade from the purity of the Church, and withal, of an
age 80 much more mature than her own. All agreed that their constancy,
their devotion to each other was the result of some hidden inttuencc of a
superhuman kind ; for amid the general looseness of manner of the times,
strong attachments of this nature were looked upon rather as spells, than
as principles of right implanted in the human heart.

Six months had passed. The exciting fulness of the Lady Ernestina's
round figure became yet fuller still. She carried proudly beneath her heart
the fruit of the strong love she bore to the Monk-Knight, who still retained
his name, while she was yet known and addressed as the Baroness de Bois-
court. It had been a nmtual arrangement between themselves, the better to
provoke the keenness of their excitement. Both loved the unseen child ; not
because they believed it to be their own, but because each ascribed it to the
other.

It was a beautiful evening in spring. The trees had put on their summer
foliage. The meadows were green and redolent with sweetness. The air
was balmy — the sky serene, and the forest around them, alive with notes of
many birds telling their mutual tale of love. The Monk-Knight and his
adored Lady Ernestina, his heaven-bestowed wife, siit upon the shaded
margin of the brook which meandered thro\igh the grounds, and to the sur-
face of which many varicolored fishes rose in pursuit of the fly, that,
(mconscious of its danger, skimmed the surface — thus breaking its mirror-
like smoothness, and covering it with innumerable circular ripples. They
sat beneath an expansive oak, which tliffew .,d shadow far around, and tem-
pered the warm atmosphere with its vastness. The sloping bank on which
they sat was covered with sweet verdure even to the water's edge.

The left arm of Abdallah was thrown around the waist of his beloved.
Her left hand was in his right. Their gaze was mutually fixed on each
other— their hearts throbbed — their breathing was deep — their love was
stronger far than in the first days of their union.

" Mother of my child— oh, what a world of deep and divine thought is

128

THE MONK KNtOHT OF ST. JOHN.

cttmprist'd in tllo^^o fi'w words" — iiuirinnrfil tin- Monk-Kiui{lit, o;ilmly, ynt
with niiirkfd iiitoiialinn, :is he ruined Ins rasciriiitinK (jlaiiri' rniiii lur iwcllmg
fi)rm to till' loriff lashed Itliie eye, that now fired anil now dissolved in tender-
wi'^n bciiealli his jja/.i'. " Can this he real, or have I dreamed it all ! ( ^an
it he iiosHJhle that you indeed are mine — that I have, in truth, drank iiitu my
(ill! soul the intoxication of your more than earthly beauty — that beauty,
whieh ill my Imurs of solitude in J'alestine, ajipeared to me afar otV as an
cmaiiatiiin from (iod — unapproaehahln in its frorj^eousnesM,' and its loveliness'
Oh! this is too mueh, I shall die. I feel myself sinking' beneath this
niiiiiily weiiflil of happiness. — Possession does not sati.sfy me — it maddens ;
but the ilesiro remains stronijer than ever, i drink of the overnowinjT cup,
but my thirst is never quenched. 'I'he more I taste of the sweet joys which
emanate from my heaven-born wife, the more self-annihilating are my
desires for them. Ah ! holy and adored one, my love for you is destroying
me," — and he wept.

" .\bdallah, dear and superhuman Abdallah — my lord, my life, my
husband — even as you feel, so does your Krnestina feel. Touch there," she
continued, wildly, as she placed his hand tipon her throbbinjj bosom — the
niadnefs of love seeking love is there also. Yes, not even the devoted ardor
of your <j;real atlection ever can quench the fire that rages in this bosom for
you, and you alone. I would be a part of yourself, identified, infused into
the holy father of my child, and because 1 cannot reach this keen acme of
my happiness, that happiness ia incomplete." She threw her arms around
liis muscular neck, and joined her tears to his.

Ah, with what madness each pressed the other to the bounding, aching
heart. Ardent as was their love, so was their embrace. The Lady Ernes-
tina glued her lips to his — she inhaled his breath. Her eye, usually
so soft in expression, looked into his with a wild fire, which carried intensest
tumult to the Monk-Knight's heart. One glance at the swelling shape that
overwhelmed his soul with unutterable thought, and again the beauteous and
sobbing Ernestina was all his own. Such love as theirs could only come
from God.

So full was the intoxication of their souls — so absorbing was their mu-
tual love, that they heard not the rustling of the leaves and the twigs of the
forest, which, extending to the margin of the brook, afforded them its tem-
porary shelter, until a piercing cry from the lips of the Lady Ernestina, and
a sense of sharp and suii Inn pain from Abdallah, told them they were not
,'iione. Quickly the Monk-Knight sprang to his feet, and confronted a itiaii
wearing a pilgrim's dress, of Moorish complexion, who had evidently aimed
the blow just received, for he held tightly grasped in his hand a poignard,
which was red and dripping with blood. Uttering a piercing scream the Lady
Ernestina rose also, and with bared bosom and disordered hair, threw herself
between the Monk-Knight and his assailant, clasping and uplifting her hands
at fir ^ame time, and praying the latter to take her life, if he so wished, but
to spai • that of him who was dearer to her soul than heaven.

The stranger gazed long and anxiously upon that interposing form. He
seemed alingetliLr ui !iave lost sight of his victim in the contemplation of the
singular attitude of the lady, for at each moment her agitation b-^came

i '.-

jT-vari-i-sB

THK MONK KNtOHT OK ST. JOHN.

129

greater ; and well wa.i the appcaraone of the Daronemi calciiiatfd to attrao*
attention. Her hair loosely floated over her nhoulderH — her oheek wan
fliu'hed — her eye lull of oxcitemcnt — her manner wild with alarmed love.
These, with the full exposure of her white blue veined and nwelliiijy bosom,
and the commanding <har;u>ter given to hir half-matured pregnancy, formed
a whole well calculated to arrest the eye and absorb the senses.

** Ha !" he observed, in a smothered voice, which the Haronew thought
sounded familiar to lu-r f-ar, " you pray for your paramour, and he indeed
were a devil who eould rf^tuse you." Then fallmg on one knee, and raising
his clasped hands, he adiled, " I have seen all, heard all, and the desire of my
own soul for you has infuaed the pangs of madness into my veins. To possess
you is to inherit eternal happiness. That happiness shall be mine — ay, look
not indignant — I repeat, it shall be mine. The child of hiin whom I would
have slain, but spare for your sake, may be at your heart, hut not the less
shall you be mine. I go ; the hour of my own triumph is not yet come :
yet expect me."

And rising and casting a look of intense hatred upon Abdallali, who,
strango to say, attempted not to interfere with, or follow in pursuit of, the
assassin, ho quickly disappeared in the forest from which he had emerged.

The first impulse of the Monk and the Lady Ernestina, when left alone,
was to rush into each other's arms. Their souls were filled to overflowing
with renewed thanks to Providence that the blow had not been u mortal one,
and that a better feeling had come over the heart of him who had not re-
peated it. The joy of the Baroness was the most unmixed with apprehension
for the future because there was less apparent cause. She mocked at the
wild threat of the stranger, even as she had lightly treated that of Gonzales,
and considered it but an idle taunt, springing from disappointment — in whom
she was wholly at a loss to divine. Her concern now was for the condition
of the Monk-Knight, whose wound she straightway examined. The poig-
nard had passed even up to the hilt through the fleshy part of the body
under the shoulder, but the ribs had only been slightly grazed. A good
deal of blood had followed the withdrawal of the weapon, and the linen of the
Monk was saturated. Pale and anxious, even while sensible that there wa.s
no ground for serious alarm, the Lady Ernestina insisted on hi& having the
wound instantly dressed by her own hands, and accordingly to her boudoir
they slowly walked, fllled with deeper passion for each other than any they
had yet entertained.

Painful thoughts — staggering doubts, were mixed up in the heart of tha
Monk-Knight, as he pondered on the scene that had just occurred. The
wound inflicted upon him affected him not. He was rather glad that, being
so imperfectly done as to fail in tearing him for ever from the arms of his
beloved, it had been done. At a single blow of his giant arm he could have
struck his assailant lifeless to the ground, despite of the weapon which he held
dripping with his blood, and such was the course he had first meditated : but
as he keenly glanced into the eye of him, who in his turn seemed fascinated
by the beauty of his wife, his purpose was changed almost as soon as formed,
for through his disguise he knew the man — one long known to him, and a
hair of whose head -he would not have injured even to save his own life. For

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

the first time since his union, Abdallah was ill at ease. The first bitter had
been infused into his cup of happiness. One secret he had which he dared
not reveal to her who in all others possessed his heart's undivided and entire
confidence. The necessity for concealment rendered him unhappy, for it ill
suited with that expansion of the soul which made the mutual interchange
of thought nearly as rapid as thought itself.

Such were the feelings of Abdallah on entering the chateau, but so far
from causing any abatement in his intense passion for his enchanting wife,
it only rendered him the more keenly susceptible of its influence. Hitherto
there had been no fear, no apprehension of his losing her, but on that score
he now felt not the same security which the Lady Ernestina had expressed.
There was a possibility, and that possibility tore his heart with agony.
Had she whom he so passionately, so madly loved, lain cold at his side, it
would have been joy to him to have embraced a death, which would have
placed their bodies even in the tornb near each other ; but to know that she
lived, and apart from him, would have been torture of the deepest kind. To
die was nothing, when her love was wanting to give value to life. To live,
and live apart from her, whose soul was the fountain of enduring love, and
whose frame was fashioned to speak more warmly than words can tell the
sweet abandonment of desire, were to entail the loss of reason and the death
of joy. Never had he believed it possible that woman could obtain such ex-
clusive worship from the soul of man — never had he so rejoiced that God
had blessed him by emancipating his mind from bondage, and bestowing upon
him that true knowledge of human happiness which he had acquired by his
marriage with the Lady Ernestina.

" Who, lord of my heart, could have been your cruel and unprovoked assail-
ant?" tenderly inquired the Lady Ernestina, as she proceeded to remove the
blood, and apply emollients to the wounded side. " I should have deemed
that one like you could have had no enemy in life — that even the tiger and
the panther, so far from seeking to injure would have crouched unharming
at the aspect of that noble and benignant countenance."

" I know not," said the Knight-Monk, enfolding her to his heart. *' True,
I had no enemy on earth — none, surely, have I willingly offended, thus to do
me wrong."

The reply was correct as to fact, but it was evasive. Abdallah felt it to
be such, and he was humiliated in his own eyes. It was only the consciousness
that he had spoken thus to give balm to the idol of his soul, that at all justi-
fied him to himself.

" God grant that no evil befall you," sighed the Lady Ernestina. " As
for myself, fear not. No, holy Monk-Knight, if beauty, indeed, be mine, as
your great partiality so deems, that beauty shall be yours alone. The
stranger mentioned that I should yet be his. Again, fear it not. I never
had the courageous soul to dare, yet before another wantons in these charms,
which love holds consecrate to you, the father of the child which fills me with
a mother's pride, I have a remedy will preserve my faith."

" Nay, nay, my noble Emostina," he said calmly, yet pressing her warmly
to his heart, " fear not so rude a trial. Shall I not be for ever near to guard

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THK MONK KNIUHT OF ST. JOHN,

13t

the precious casket ol my lavish love, from aught that could sully or defame
the polished mirror of its beauty 1 Alas, there is but one — "

". One, said you, Abdallah ? What one? Who shall hope to wed with
Ernestina,prho acknowledges but one absorbing love to o.ei whelm her soul?
No, pardon me, shade of my departed Alfred, but to faithfully have you
done your glorious work. Hear me, Abdallah," she pursued tightly grasp-
ing his hand, " were it possible that de Boiscourt should ri<ie from the dead
and woo me to his love again, I should reject him. I could not commit the
loathsome infidelity. My very soul revolts at the thought, and yet deeply
do 1 still regard him. No act of mine," and as she spoke, a voluptuous
languor dimmed her closing eye, " shall ever give token of my soul's most
deep delight, but that in madness ssliared with the father of my child — the
first of men, the favorite of Heaven."

" How, how," murmured the Monk-Knight, looking all his soul through
his mild eyes — " how shall 1 repay this great devotion of your love?"

" Oh ! 1 am repaid already," she answered, with a winning and a
meaning smile. " You are with me, and I am happy — safe from the assas-
sin's knife — I ask no more — since that I cannot enter into your being, and
nestle ever near your heart."

" That happiness be mine, sweet wife," said the Monk, eagerly. " Ever
blessed be that heart that, all confiding and impatient now opens its mine of
richest treasure to receive me."

" Yours, for ever yours," she faintly sighed. " Ah ! Abdallah, dear Ab-
dallah — mighty lord of your Ernestina's glowing soul, do with your adoring
slave even as you will."

CHAPTER XXV.

A FORTNIGHT had elapsed since the attempt to assassinate AbdalK^h, and
yet nothing had transpired to throw farther light on the mystery. The
superficial wound was soon closed, and all fear of the future had been
utterly banished from the mind of the Ijady Ernestina. Abdallah thought
much, but said nothing on the subject. Meanwhile the cup of love was
overflowing to the brim. If possible, the intensity of the passion which
consumed them, even in the fulness of its gratification, was increased. For
hours they would linger in each other's arms, gazing away their souls through
their eyes, and looking thoughts, that in keenness of happiness aie rarely
indeed entertained by the human heart, and which scorched up the blood
in their veins. Then, when their feelings were strung to the highest
pilch of admiration and love for each other, and when the half fierce, half
humid eye expressed the inextinguishable fever of their souls, what human
pen shall paint the delicious tumult of those heaven-bestowed raptures which
blended them in one mystic identity, and drew from their trembling lips
thanks of gratitude to the beneficeut God of all nature, for having given
them power and the will so to appreciate his blessings.

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vat; MONK KSKiur ot st. john.

Oh ! how they lovei each other; tiial nobie and powerful Monk-Knight,
whose strength had never been wasted by intemperance, and the gentle,
the delicate, and the gracefully yielding Lady Ernestina. Even as the fair
snow-white, and drooping lily clings to, and breathes its swee* upon the
vine-covered trunk of the tall, dark, gnarled and majestic oak, so was the
fragrance of the caressing and intertwining wife emitted ia sweet abundance on
the strong and muscular trunk of the husband she loved. If angels had sought
the most radiant, the most perfect picture of happiness i^on earih, that
which the most reminded them of the power and wisdom and goodness of
God, they would have found it here ; for neither man nor angel, in the
fullest power of his imagination, could have conceived anything more illus-
trative of the ineffable love of God himself, than was afforded by the sight of
this strong man and delicate woman, wrapt up in the intensity of their re-
fined feelings for each other.

Their passion had now become so boundless — so completely were their
senses steeped in the all-absorbing love, which placed no limit to its indul-
gence, that their appetites failed them, and the common rest of wearied
nature was denied to them. One only thought, one only image, one only
desire, filled their souls — it was that of the unceasing interchange of their
mutual and quenchless affection, which circulated keenly, exquisitely, sting-
ingly through their veins, and produced an excitement that never slumbered.

One beautiful morning, after having partaken of a slight breakfast, they
sauntered into the adjacent grounds and forest, passing through the garden,
perfumed with the scent of innumerable choice flowers on their way to them.
One arm of Abdallah was thrown around the pliant waist of the Lady
Ernestina, while his right hand was lowered at intervals to pluck an offering
for his beloved. At the farthest extremity of the ground, and just within the
skirt of the forest, near the spot where Abdallah had received his wound,
was a small trellised arbor, which commanded a view of the chateau, and
its open domain. Perceiving that she was rather fatigued with her walk,
which, although not very long, had been more than sufliciently so for one
in her present condition, the Monk-Knight insisted upon her entering and
seating herself.

The interior of the arbor was fitted up with every regard to luxurious
repose. It was hemmed in on every side by trees whose foliage emitted a
fragrant and delicious odor, which was wafted at each undulation of the
branches, and formed a sanctuary devoted to those who loved to luxuriate in
the song of the birds that peopled the forest without, or to watch and listen
to the murmured rippling of the small stream, which, it has already been
shown, meandered through the grounds, and was occasionally seen from the
summer-house as the sun's rays danced over its silvery surface. The floor
was covered over with the same matting that ornamented the bed-chamber ;
while easy chairs, and chaises longues, and a couple of small sofas, or rather
settees, very narrow and elastic, composed the chief part of the furniture.
A few rudely printed books, chiefly works on theology, and the events wtiich
had been enacted in Palestine, filled the shelves of a beautifully-carved cabi-
net of black ivory, the lower part of which contained liaueurs, and wine*,
anH various descriptions of cakes.

THE MONK KMGHT OF "sT. JOHN.

133

Hand in hand Abdallah and the Lady Er.iestina sat on one of these low
sofas, drinking into their souls deep draiitriits of love from each other's
eyes, and embalming their souls in the overflowing passion that consumed
tiiem. Soon footsteps were heard approaching the summer-house, and Ab-
dallah rose to ascertain who thus intruded on their privacy. It was one of
the domestics of the chateau, who had come to announce, on the report of the
messenger who had galloped over, a desire on the pan of the Bishop of
Clermont, that he should come to him immediately, on a point of the utmost
importance. The emergency seeming so great, the Monk-Knight took a ten-
der leave of his beloved wife, whom he recommended to rest, until Henrietta,
whom he promised to despatch as soon as he reached the chateau, should
have time to join her.

Left to herself the Lady Ernestina had gradually fallen into a refreshing
slumber, when, suddenly aroused by the opening of the door, she looked up,
and to her horror and astonishment, beheld the very man who had so recent-
ly assaulted her husband. With an air of impatience he closed and bolted
the door, and then advancing to the sofa, on which she sat, threw himself
upon his knees at her feet, and embraced her waist.

The first act of the Baroness was to call out with affright ; the next, to
push with all her strength from her the daring intruder. This was no diffi-
cult task ; for no sooner did he perceive the look of loathing with which he
was regarded, than he drew back from the pressure of her hands, and cover-
ed his face with his palms.

" And is it so, then, Ernestina 1" he said, in tones of deep affliction and
sadness, and in a voice too familiar not to be recognized now ; " is what the
whole of Auvergne asserts so true? Is your devotion to this Monk-Knight
Abdallah, whom my soul sickens ever to have known, so great that you have
not eyes to penetrate this poor disguise — to recognize the once deep object of
your love — him who has so adored you ; who even now so adores you —
bearing even as you do the fruit of adulterous love :" and he glanced mean-
ingly at her altered figure."

But the Lady Ernestina heard him not tp the end. From the outset of
his address she had fainted ; for, even as Abdallah had on a former occa-
sion, she had now fully penetrated the disguise of his dark-stained features,
and found fullest confirmation in the rich, sweet tones of his voice. Awhile
de Boiscourt gazed fondly upon her, and he almost wished her dead, but the
feeling was transient. Other thoughts were in his soul, and had that mo-
mentary and vague wish been realized, the next minute would he have been
a corpse at her side. He chafed her temples from a bottle of peifume that
lay upon an adjoining mosaic table — he rubbed her hands — he called her
frantically his beloved wife — his own Ernestina, and swore eternal worship
and devo\ion to her every wish.

There was no marked emotion of joy or sorrow, or even of surprise, when,
at length recovering from the shock she had sustained, the Lady Ernestina
calmly remarked, as she allowed him to take her passive hand, " How is this,
de Boiscourt, they told me you were dead !"

" Even so it was thought," he replied, deeply wounded at the coldness
of her manner. "I lay on the field of Tiberias among the slain, but a

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THE MONK KNIGHT OK ST. JOHN.

guardian angel, in the form of an Infidel maiden, while roaming the field
that night for plunder to support a hungry and dying father, saw me — suc-
cored me — led me thence, and took me to her bosom, lavish with much love.
A month I tarried in the tent apart from the camp of Saladin, in which she
lived alone with the father who died on the next day after my arrival. I
wished not life : my whole desire was death to ensure your happiness with
Abdallah. But Heaven willed it not: I was doomed to live.''

"Hal" exclaimed the Baroness, eagerly interrupting him; "you say
you sought my happiness with Abdalbh, and yet you came to slay him even
in my arms — him who is dearer to my soul than life — whose minion, slave,
I am in love, and ever shall remain."

" Ernestina, oh Ernestina, is it even so ?"

" Yes, de Boiscourt, once master of this full heart, it is so ; and my deep-
est blessing on you for having made it so. Our love for five long years was
innocent and mild. Such it would have continued, had not yourself awakened
in my soul such sweet yet strong desire for your more than mortal friend."

"Friend !" groaned the Baron, in agony of spirit; " call him your own
paramour ; " but no, no, I rave : he is still my friend ; the lover of my wife.
He shall be all, everything to her."

"He shall!" said the Lady Ernestina, with marked emphasis. "But
hear me, de Boiscourt !" she slowly whispered, with features set in intensity
of excitement — " so well, in so masterly a manner did you instil the delicious
poison into my soul, that often, in the dead of night, panting, shrieking,
adoring in Henriette's confiding arms, have I lain, cheating myself into the
wild belief that I held the herculean Monk-Knight, whose great goodness
you so truthfully painted, to my bounding bosom, and gazed my soul out
through my eyes dissolved in his. Even as you wished — implored me — so T
acted."

" And is it possible," exclaimed the unhappy de Boiscourt, " that I have
done all this?"

" All, all !" replied the Lady Ernestina. " Ah, repent it not, de Bois-
court; a hundred years of life will ill suffice to pay in gratitude my soul's
deep thankfulness for the consuming bliss you have bestowed upon me. Yet
wheVefore is it," she continued, resuming her original coldness of manner,
" that you sought the litis of him you gave me with your own free will 1 In
slaying liim you would have slain me — slain his child ! Yes, de Boiscourt
— hi? child! Oh, think of that. There is madness in it."

" Are my senses leaving me 1" groaned the now wretched, once gay and
generous Knight. " Oh, God ! this is too much. I !ud not thought of
or looked for this."

" Then why, if so careful of my happiness," resumed ihe Baroness, " did
you seek to tear from my wildly clinging heart the only born of woman who
can yield me happiness? — ay, de Boiscourt," and she convulsively grasped
his arm while she looked coldly in his face — " him, that more than man. who
is slowly killing me with his intensity ? Wherefore this, I ask ?— .why deny
me the death I cr^tve myself?"

De Boiscourt sprang to his feet. He paced the small room hurriedly—

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

135

noadly, and yet with an expression of deep agony, while large drops of sweat
stood forth from his handsome though discolored brow.

" Ah, that I had died in honor upon that field of blood, knowing not the
hands I loved so soon would aim this dreadful blow. Heart, heart, foolish
heart — break, or be still ! Yes, then had I been spared a torture worse than
death : and yet," he added, more composedly, " even what you would say is
true. I have dug the grave of my own happiness. Yet hear me, beloved
wife, adored Ernestina — yes, still adored, still beloved, even were your heart
a thousandfold wedded to the manly virtues of Abdallah. What now I
speak is true as Holy Writ. When I wrote to you as I did, it was my
strong desire that the Monk-Knight should revel in your matchless beauty if
that I fell in Palestine, for well I knew such love as that you now avow
would fire your heart to madness. He himself can tell how much I wished
it. But ah ! I had not meant this, my life, preserved by Heaven. That life
I could have surrendered up to God who gave it, but never could I resign my
right to you while hope remained to me. When cured of my wounds," he
resumed, after a pause, " the Saracen maiden, while weeping tears at my
departure from my low concealment, led me on to Antioch, which I reached
in restored health and safety from the enemy. At Antioch I tarried many
months, not knowing that Abdallah had left his brother knights, and hasten-
ed on to France. At length a rumor reached the good king Louis, whose
lovely consort — the majestic and graceful Elenora — had at my first arri-
val sought and won me to her love ; that of all the knights who had fallen
into the hands of Saladin at our great defeat, one only, Abdallah, the Monk-
Knight, had been suffered to live, and, forsaking t^cowl, had departed for
the West."

" What my feelings were," pursued the Baron, " you well may under-
stand. I felt that I had ruined myself by delay, and yet, although painfully
assured it was too late, instantly started in this poor disguise, breaking,
without regret, the spell which the really loving Eleanora had thrown around
my senses^ As I journeyed, I thought unceasingly of you and of Abdallah.
I saw hio^our husband — enjoying all a husband's rights in your yielding
arms, and my soul was filled ——' '

" With hatred," half sneeringly, interrupted Lady Ernestina ; "Generous
man."

" No, not with hatred. I could not then hate the man I once had loved.
1 could not hate him of whose great passion I felt assured already you had
tasted, and on whom you had sweetly lavished all your own. Hear me,
Ernestina," he concluded, seizing her hand and tenderly pressing it to his
lips—" the longer I journeyed, the nearer 1 approached Auvergne ; my regret
at my delay was turned into rejoicing ; my love for you both — my desire to
see you both happy, was as great as it had been when I intended that my
certain death should be the condition of your union. All I desired was to
be fparod to be a second in that love, of which I had so recently been the
sole possessor."

" Indeed," said the Lady Ernestina, with sarcasm ; " and so, in order to
be that second, you had nearly destroyed the first. This, it appears to me,

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ^T. JOHN.

i8 somewhat contradictory. Perhaps the Baron de Boibcourl will be good
enough to explain."

There was a coolness, a calmness, a severity of satire in the manner in
which the usually gentle Baroness expressed herself, that caused the unhappy
Knight to gaze upon her with rising tears, and with deep sorrow at his
heart.

" These," he resumed, while a slight frown gathered on his brow, '• were
my feelings on entering Auvergne, which 1 did on the night previous to my
rash attempt upon the life of Abdallah. No sooner had I entered Clermont,
when, although known to no one in my true character and name, my ears
rang with titterings and gibings, and wild reports of tne strange love that
had come, over the heart of the lovely Baroness de Boiscourt for the great
Monk-Knight, who had mysteriously and suddenly appeared from Palestine
— no one knew how — and whom she had married on the day following that
which brought to her the intelligence of her husband's death. This," con-
tinued de Boiscourt, " I confess, annoyed and mortified me, not because it
was so, but because the prying vulgar should have been afforded the oppor-
tunity of saying it was so. Still your fair fame was even deaier to me than
your own. Heaven knows that I would, with my own hands, have filled
your cup of happiness to the brim, but I would have had no other to know it
but our own mystic triunion. Again I repented me of my long delay, for
had I arrived before Abdallah — in time to prevent the publicity of the private
marriage, then I should still," he whispered, in conclusion, " have been
your husband, — Abdallah, the chief lord of your changing soul, the wild and
most deserved revellei. in the beauty I had taught him to adore, even as he
now does."

The glow whieh suddenly animated the speaking features of the handsome
and imaginative Knight, and which was strongly visible evev beneath the
deep dye of his disguise, as he then expressed himself, called up correspond-
ing feelings in the heart, and a hectic tinge on the cheek of the Lady
Ernestina.

" Had you done this, de Boiscourt," she said emphatically, and speaking
for the first time, with animation, " had you preceded Abdallah to the nup-
tial bed, and taught my heart by slow experience the value of the love you
had provided for me, this could and should have been. Then duty as a wife
had been observed, and love for both alternate swayed my soul."

" And why not now, my Ernestina? Wherefore the change 1" and again
kneeling at her feet, he seized and pressed her hands in his.

" Hear me, de Boiscourt," she returned, calmly. " When first Abdallah
ravished my full soul with his exceeding love, it was in the dead of night.
He came to me as you. He filled my imagination with you. Never had 1
loved you so deeply, so fervently My wantonness found speech. I breathed
into his ear, thinking it was you I addressed, every tender and sweetly
voluptuous word which you so well had taught me ; and, oh ! the effect.
Methought some Eastern sorcerer had sold for gold some priceless love
potion, a present for your Ernestina. That then i loved you is most true,
seeing that then 1 held you with unabate'* warmth to my desiring soul.
Morning dawned ; its beams fell upon a Christ-lme countenance — sweet, holy,

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

137

caim, benignant. It was Abdallah ; who, great and generous to your me-
inory — for he believed you dead — had soiiplit to fill once more the bosom of
your wife with sighs of rapture for yourself alone. The change was instant.
All my preceding love for you perished in its bloom. I could not even shed
a teai . liis recital of your fall upon that bloody field. Nay, shall I con-
fess ? T rather joyed than sorrowed at a fate that kept me wholly for the
strange wild love, with which, new to my soul, that holy father had loved
me — with which, even now, he loves. You see then, de Boiscourt, how
stands my heart. I could not be false to him even if my sense inclined.
J love him with a holy love, which would kill me with despair, as after
memory of guilt with you reproached me with the profanation.''

;lll

CHAPTER XXVI.

De Boiscourt had listened with the most intense interest to the exciting
confession of her, who despite of the report of his own death, and her con-
sequent marriage with the Monk-Knight, he still regarded as his wife. More
tenderly than ever he loved her. More fiercely he desired to possess her.
Her very situation added to his passion.

" Be your soul Abdallah's," — he said imploringly — " love him as you will
— make him lord and master of your desires — but oh ! Ernestina, surely you
will not forever close the door of paradise against him w*ho has so often
sipped of its sweets, and worshipped and adored all that is within. How have
I sinned against yourself that I should be thus treated and expelled from the
heaven I once inhabited ? Let me but share your love with the holy father
of your child, and I shall be content."

I'he bosom of the Lady Ernestina rose and fell perceptibly ; her cheek
was flushed with the wild ideas called up by his language ; her dimmed and
half-closed eye told all the excitement of her soul.

" Hear me," pursued de Boiscourt, perceiving that she was moved ; " no
one knows of my arrival as the lord of these domains. Nothing therefore
so simple aa to sink my name and title, and leave Abdallah in undisturbed
posset, ion as your lawful husband, rendered such by my decease. I will pass
as a member of your household, in some capacity exempt from base, dishonor-
ing toil. Oh ! beloved one, consent to this, and my love for you will not
be more powerful than my increased friendship for Abdallah."

" Friendship for Abdallah !" said the Baroness, once more resuming her
coldness and forbiddingness of manner. " Ah ! I had forgotten. You have
not stated why, with that exceeding love for him and me, you sought his
life. Will thf Baron de Boiscourt be good enough t» explain, as briefly as
he can, the curious association of love and hate V

" I have already stated," returned the young Knight, again much dis-
couraged by her satire, " that I approached with sentiments of love for
you both. Alas ! I came by the summer-house ; hearing voices I stopped,

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THE MONK KNIUHT (K' ST. JOHN.

for they sounikd familiarly to tny ear. i looked tliruuijh tiiu trei's, and be-
held — ah ! what a sight ' — I stood transtix'^l willi such coiifuaed It'eliii!,'.^,
as never yet had entered in my breast. Then first the fiend of jralousy, like
the lightning's flash, entered in my soul. 1 could have killed you both, even
as you were, so sudden was my hate ; and yet I checked the im|)ul8e, iiut
when after pressing your balmy lips with wildest ardor to his own, and leav-
ing there the deep impress of their sweets, you whispered loud enough for
me to hear these words, which ever fired the languid channel of our veins,
and which, when murmured by yourself, proclaim the absence of all re-
straining thought — when to this was added the sight of your gracefully-
swelling form — my jealousy attained such pitch, that I, who had come to
greet and love him, now thirsted for his blood with the bitterness of hate.
Hence, the blow I struck him, even in the fulness of his transcendant passion.
It was a momentary madness which induced the act. Bitterly have 1 since
repented it."

" It was the result of your first knowledge of the difference which exists
between theory and practice," said the Lady.Ernestina calmly, when she
had heard all.

The Baron was deeply mortified, b'or a moment or two, he covered his
eyes with his palms. At length he remarked, in a voice in which chagrin
and disappointment were blended :

" Ernestina, what I have done in regard to myself, I repent not ; I only
regret the outrage committed against AbdaUah."

" Upon him," said the Lady Ernestin? slowly, and with sarcasm ; who
has, I believe, preserved your life, at least at various times."

" True, there was a period when you regarded this in a rather different
light," said the Baron, with profound sorrow in his tone.

" There was — I loved you then. Now, I scarcely know that I regard
you. You have altered the whole current of my life and thoughts. I am
no longer the wife of a mortal — I have exchanged him who was my husband
for one who is only second to a god. His slave I am, lk>dy and soul, for
ever."

For some minutes the Baron felt too disheartened to speak. At length he
said, in an ill-assured voice — " But Ernestina, you will not refuse my pro-
posal : you will not reject my offer ? AbdaUah shall be your husband still
— the master of this wide domain, if I but share your love with him.
Recollect, I asked not the same extent of love. That, you say, is wholly
his. Hear me, then, dearest. If you assent, in no way shall I act to set
aside your unlawful marriage with AbdaUah, nor will it be known to any
besides ourselves, that de Boiscourt yet lives. The Monk-Knight may
esteem me his officer, his page, anything that will give me the right, in being
near his person, to approach your own."

It was sometime before the Lady Ernestina answered. She regarded him
earnestly, then said seriously, and in an imposing tone, " Baron de Boiscourt,
so free a course as that you offer may be approved by you, but not by me.
Doubtless, this lesson may have been learned in Palestine, where, if report
speak true, all women — Christian as well as Turk — are so depraved, that
each has a lover for each night, or it may be, that our licentious Queen, who,

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first the noblp Conrad, and then youraelf, li;ui taken into the royal bed of
Louis, has made you deem me wanton ako, and wiUinfr tliat passion alone
should be iny (riude to happiness If such be your thought, de Boiscourt,
you have judged me wrongfully. Not France, in all its length and breadth,
can show a heart profouiider in its mighty depth of love, but as its depth so
is its constancy. The man to which 1 yield my love, is orily second to my
God. Such love as you could render me sufficed for all my heart then knew,
nor once could the tempter — and there were many who boldly pressed their
suit — win me from fidelity in your absence, to the love I bore you. Such
^id ever been that love — such would have been my sweet contentment, but in
a , »vil hour, you yourself seduced my soul from its allegiance, drove thence
your own long-cherished image, and filled it with a phantom, which imagi-
nation moulded into such life and strength, and beauty, that my sick soul
languished for the embodiment. It came at length, and under your own
sanction. From that hour you were dead to me. My heart was tilled to
repletion. I could not wear a second wooer to ray heart — the thought to
me was sacrilege. It would have destroyed the charm, the mystery of the
fierce passion that overwhelmed our souls. Neither could offer enough to
the other. With constancy like mine, then, which is the sweet life of love,
hope not ever to renew the rights which once were yours, but now, sur-
rendered by you, are Abdallah's."

" Is it possible — uan this be real! do you then reject my love, Ernestinal"

*' De Boiscourt," she answered calmly, " I do not reject, but I cannot re-
ceive. My soul revolts at the very thought. Think better of it. Henriette
loves you, and well do I know that she is beautiful — ay, sweetly beautiful.
Espouse her."

" Espouse Henriette ! and is this the language you use — the counsel you
give to your lawful husband — your husband in the sight of God and man ?"

" Lawful or unlawful," she replied, " it matters not. The marriage was
performed under the impression that you were no more. To my second hus-
band I owe all the fidelity I bore the first ; and, therefore, I swear it, no man
can share the love of Ernestina, but the father of the child in which she
glories. Leave me, de Boiscourt. What you ask never can be granted."

'» But, Ernestina "

" I have said it," she interrupted, emphatically. '• Fulfil your threat —
avow yourself as the Baron de Boiscourt, falsely supposed dead. Drive
us from the chateau as paupers and wanderers. The forest shall be our
home. We will toil for life, with our own unaccustomed hands, if only that
it may be spent in the endearments of our surpassing love. The depth of
our affection will give us wherewithal to sustain our strength, and with
that and health what care we for the vain superfluities of the world ? One
only thought animates our being — for one only object do we live. Take from
us that, and the cord of existence is at once snapped asunder."

" Have a care, Ernestina !" he exclaimed wildly, •' that you do not drive
me to desperation. There are bounds to human fortitude and forbearance.
Sooner," he added, raising his clasped hands to heaven, and shedding tears
of agony, " would I have believed in the crushing of the world around me,
than in the possibility that you could ever be false. But again," he resumed

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

fiercely, and in the despondinc voice of one utterly withont hope — " I care
not how much you love Abdallah — let this Hercules, this Samson — whose
strength you so dote on, censume you with it if he will, yet that will I
also— nor shall any humpn power .prevent me. Emestina, you have been
candid with me, I shall be equally so with you. I do not say that notwith-
standing the past, I do not still love you to a certain extent ; but my will
is greater than my love. Nay, look not grave, as though the power of
love was a stranger to your heart. Mine you shall be even at this moment,
so submit, willingly as women sometimes do in Palestine — unwillingly, as
oftoner I have seen them when forced within the embrace of men whose
passions were aroused, made mad, even as I am now, by gazing on their
beauty."

" And do you really mean, de Boiscourt?" continued the Lady Ernestina,
shrinking from his determined look.

" I mean," he answered, his eye flashing Are, and his face crimsoning,
even under his disguise, " that Abdallah shall not pillow on that bosom until
my head has been there. Come then, sweet wife, that art no wife ; in spite
of fate and ten thousand Monk-Knights, once more, at least, you siiall be
mine."

He threw himself at her side, upon the couch, caught her firmly round
the waist with his left arm, and attempted to loose her morning and unbelted
dress with the other hand.

" Abdallah ! oh. Abdallah ! she shrieked, '* where are you ? — Tioatbsome
man, unhand me. "

" Heed not Abdallah," he interrupted. " It is by my device he is away,
and by my device he will yet rerodin. But, ah I what a treasure has he
garnered here. By my soul I could love him for this. Nay, sweet one, you
cannot reproach yourself with the sin, since such you deem it."

In vain the Lady Ernestina struggled. De Boiscourt tore open her dress,
from the bosom to the waist, but ere he had accomplished this, she had fainted.

De Boiscourt was no sooner aware of this than his noble nature reproached
him. True, he felt that he had perfect right to act as he had acted ; but it
was, nevertheless, revolting to his feelings to resort to violence for that which
love alone should accord, and yet worlds could not have stayed the wild im-
pulse of his excited soul.

" Oh ! Ernestina, forgive me," he said. " I knew not what I did, or rather
knowing, I had not the power to .'esist the fascination of these well-remem-
bered charms. Well can I conceive what must be the love, the rapture of
Abdallah."

" Monster !" she exclaimed, forcing herself with a violent effort from his
embrace, and starting to her feet, " my curse upon you for having thus pol-
luted me. My peace of mind is gone — my purity destroyed. How shall I
ever look again on him, whose child, once bright and holy, is tainted with
this sin. Hear me," she said, sinking and raising her clasped hands,
" even as once I loved you, so now I hate. To live beneath your roof were
lingering torture worse than death. This night Abdallah and myself will
leave it ; for I should die to meet once more the author of my shame, the
man whose boasting eye should tell me at each turn his guilty knowledge o^

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141

my husband's witV . Ijoavo me, false knight alone," ulie concluded, rising,
for should Ahdaliah enter, he must know the crime, I fain would hide from
him, and then what can save you from his vengeance V

" Ii«!t him come," said the Baron, with excitement. Let him show to us
whether ho bears a charmed life. Listen to nic, wife of two husbands, who
has tasted of more joy in five and twenty cummers, than over fell to the lot
of created woman in fii\y. Let Abdallah come, and in the death struggle
contend with me for mastery of your peerless person. Tell me, shall the
victor have the spoil ? Will you be the wife of him who conquers '"

"Your wife' never, de Hoiacourt. No man's wife but his; it were
mockery of love to take another. Abdallah's arms or the grave !"

" {)h ! what exceeding lewdness," said the Baron, fiercely as he tiglitly
grasped her arm. " You pretend it not, and yet you unblushingly avow it.
Why did you first love and wed this Monk ! Shall I tell you ! Because
your wanton and dissatisfied soul, sought unlawful pleasure in the arms of
one whom I had painted as cold and stern to woman. Your inmost soul
has revelled in the vast joy ; and the fulness, the endearingncss of his [Mjwer
has shut your heart to every other mau. This," he continued, fiercely, " is
the true oause of your conduct to me ; not love, but passion usurped domi-
nion over your soul. A greater love cannot admit a lesser. You have
no time for weaker joys than what Abdallah yields. Nay, even now, while
revelling in your unwilling arms, your very hate of me could not restrain
your love for him. I but pronounced his name, coupled with endearing
whispered words of tenderness, when, even amid the seoming loathing of
your heart, you repeated it, and first suspending your resistance, became my
own even of your own accord."

" 'Tis false, I never did."

" You do no' recollect it," he answered, with a bitter smile. " At first I
feared your struggling would baffle me ; but, no sooner did I pronounce the
Monk-Knight's name with otherwords, when, with a deep sigh, you fainted ;
then my happiness was complete, for it was mixed with your compelled though
unconscious sighs."

" 'Tis false, again. I never did so," she exclaimed. " Ijeave me, traitor,
leave me, instantly, lest ill result from this. De Boisf'ourt, words cannot
tell with what hate I hate you."

" Is it even so," ho said, fiercely. " Then, since this may be the last
chance aflTorded let me not play the fool."

At that moment the door of the summer-house opened, and Abdallah ap-
peared at the entrance. Stupefied at the sight he covered his eyes with his
hands, and stood for some moments buried in calm but profound thought.
When he at length spoke, it was serenely, not in anger.

" De Boiscourt," he said, " you have provoked the fate you are now des-
tined to suffer. Never after this shall you behold the Lady Ernestina more.
Even as Rome could not contain two Caesars, so can her beauty not contain
two masters. It was yours, it is mine. Of your own free will you gave it
me. You seduced my soul to adore it. 1 have done so ; oh I how wildly,
how dearly. And yet I am not jealous. Ah ! no : neither am I a mere boy
to punish rudely, what well I know your inmost soul must die to lose. Who

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THE MONK KNIUHT OF M'. JuHN.

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of Ilia own wilIin((n<>M leaves heaven fur hell must feel but aiiKui8li :inJ de-
spair — the tormenui of the damned. Nay, by my »oul, I am glad lliai, not
consenting, you have taken that will make your knowledif^o of our joys more
perfect, and stin^ the memory to madness."

The unhappy Knight folded his arms, and stood upright, and with ron-
temptuous look gazed on him whom he had onoe loved with u warmth wnd
tenderness surpassing those of man for man.

" Most proud do 1 feel," he said, with an attempt at Marcasm, " to be thus
lectured by the friend-^the holy, scrupulous, and conscientious friend — to
whom 1 gave my all on earth, reserving not a corner for myself in the
once faithful heart of my wife ; but this, remember, on the sole condition of
my fall. I trusted in his honor, even as I trust in heaven, to restore her,
polluted or unpolluted, with his passion, should I return. Would, would that
I had been left to die upon that fatal field !"

The Monk-Knight covered hie face with his hands, and seemed deeply
agitated. Then collecting himself: ♦' De Boist^ourt," he said, " I feel this
reproach bitterly. I felt it when you aimed the death-blow at my heart ; for
at a single glanje, even under your disguise, ] knew you, and was deso-
lated by your presence."

" What has been done," returned the Baron, with sudden animation,
" cannot be undone. You have revelled in the matchless beauty of my
wife. I have tasted that of yours. The past cannot be recalled ; therefore,
even as I proposed to Ernestina, so do I propose to you. She shall be your
wife by holy rite of Church, the last performed, while I, sinking my name
and title, and all claim to these estates in favor of her child, remain your
faithful squire. She will then be the wife of two husbands who long have
loved each other with more than a mere human love, and therefore but of
one "

The Monk-Knight started us if a serpent had stung him. He looked at
the features of the Lady Emestjna, as if to gather there her answer. Unut-
terable scorn was upon her brov. His answer was in accordance.

" Baron de Boiscourt," he said, gravely, " well it is that you no longer
form a portion of the high-minded knight force of Palestine. What, pander
to your own dishonor, or deem such course to fasten on Abdallah ? Never.
This may be the Gallic creed — a creed intended to descend to ages, yet un-
born in France, but it is not mine. The Moorish blood that flows within
my veins, and which, once ice, the perfect knowledge of the sex of her we
both do love hath turned to scalding lava in my veins, recoils with horror
from such foul admixture. No matter how obtained — in error or in wrong —
the sacred treasure of her love where God has set his mystic seal is mine, and
deep remorse, and guilt, and shame, would overwhelm my soul, could such
baseness enter it. Hope it not, Sir Baron. If I had not crushed you for
that which passed beneath my very eyes — this violence done to her who was
your wife and now is mine — it was because it was too late to remedy. No
punishment of mine could ever unmake the past. There was another reason :
forbearance was in mercy due to one who had laid the foundation of my own
wild happiness, even at the utter sacrifice of his own. Go, then. Baron, yet,
for the last time — see, behold," he said fiercely, aa he caught the Lady Er-

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THK MdNK KNKMIT OF ST. JOHN.

143

nestina to his heart, wilCuliy and wuntnnly dimirtlcriiii; 1 1 or already disordered
dresH ill llio act — " y<'H, I'vt'ii tortln' lant liinf. do you ^aze u|)oii the madden-
ing Iteauty o( her lor whom y<'ii yoiirsflt have cauBf<l iiic to lenoiinco
religion, chastity, and the <'rn8R, for ever. 1 pardon your conduct to my
noble wife. All, I forgi'vis in consideration of the pawt ; but tiie seal of our
onee strong friendHliip ia broken — the tie u snapped anunder, never to he
reunited."

" (io," Hiiid the Lady KrneMijiui. haughtily, yet wieeringly. while she
(suffered the Monk-Knight to torture the unhappy de Hoiscourt with the rich
display of her fascinaiing beauty. " Here in my lover, my husband," she
continued, throwing her right arm round his Herculean neck, without alter-
ing a position, which carried madness to the soul ol the forsaken one. " Be-
hold ! I am his — go, and carry with you, the recollection of the past — en-
shroud yourself in the anticipation of the future Think ever of what you
have lost — of what I have gained. Let it be y(uir never-ending punishtnent
in life to behold me in Abdallah's arinti, wantoning in bliss, and without
words to tell him the magnitude uf happiness with which he fills me."

De I3oiscourt's hair appeared to stand on end — his face was distorted
— his eyes wild and glowing — his breathing dilficult — he dropped on his
knees — he raised his clenched bands to Heaven.

" Do I live." he exclaimed, with unearthly hoarseness, and gnashing his
teeth, "or am I in hell, and sutfering the torments of the damned? But
ha! 1 have it. Thank Heaven,! am iu)t dead. 1 will live; yes, I will live.
That will do. Oh ! damnable wife and friend, whom I have loved, so loved,
that self was annihilated in my deep regard for you. Look not it me so,
with such treacherous compassion — 1 hate you both."

He rose wihily from his knees — he staggered to the door, which AJbdallah
opened for him. He rushed forth with uncertain steps, even as a drunken
man, and with a piteous heart-rending groan of anguish, disappeared in the
depths of the forest.

There are sudden and unaccountable changes in the human mind which
fill the man of reflection with deep enduring pain, mixed with mortification
at the construction of his own nature. This was an instance. A sweet illu-
sion had been destroyed, and with it, one of the noblest hearts that ever
throbbed in the breast of man.

CHAPTER XXV II.

Upwards of three weeks had elapsed since the strange, exciting, and
even fearful scene, recorded in the last chapter. It was now midnight, as
two men might be seen crouching in the shadow of the summer-house, and
heard conversing in a low tone.

" Is all prepared t" inquired he who seemed to be the master. Are the
rooms furnished with all possible luxury, as 1 ordered V

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

" They are, Monseigneur," was the reply. '• 1 superintended the furniah-
ing myself, and took devilish good care, while providing the eatables and
drinkables, to lay in a good stock of that Cyprus wine he relishes so much,
and his fondness for which had well nigh cost me my life — you know where.
Dame ! that will serve to increase his punishment by giving more fever to
his blood, without the power to quench it. Oh! howl hate that Monk-
Knight. I have been longing for his life ever since that night before the
battle of Tiberias."

" True, Cceur-de-Fer, it cannot be denied that he used you harshly on that
occasion. How you came to survive the blow is miraculous."

" It was a long time before I recovered," returned Cceur-de-Fer ; " how-
ever, that is another affair — we'll talk of that later. But now, Monseigneur,
,^ visit the secret chambers. Ill show you that everything id done to your
satisfaction, and as you desired. Please to follow me. I have a dark lantera
to light us through the passage that opens from the forest, and conducts to
the cells of the castle. You shall see for yourself how I have managed
matters."

De Boiscourt followed his guide and former groom, who, after arriving at
a small open space in the front, removed a quantity of dried leaves and
branches. This act discovered a small trap-door, about three feet square,
imbedded in a framework of stone, and provided with a strong ring, by meana
of which he lifted it up. Descending first, he lighted his lantern, when he
thought he had got sufficiently far to prevent the danger of the reflection
being seen by any one who might be in the neighborhood. The Baron
taking the trap-door flat on the upturned palm of his hand, and suffering it
to descend as he descended, finally closed the aperture. He followed Coeur-
de-Fer through a long, winding and labyrinthan passage — the aide-walls of
which were of such massy thickness, that no sound could possibly have been
heard through them. They had proceeded about half an hour through
winding corridors and intersecting branches of the same passage, seemingly
built for the very purpose of misleading those not thoroughly acquainted with
the intricacies of the cavern, when Coeur-de-Fer stopped suddenly, and
sounding with a huge hammer, with which he was provided, stated that they
had reached the point desired.

*' Ah ! ^a, Monseigneur, hard work it will be for others to discover the
entrance here, even if tlipy should find the way in from above," he remarked,
cxiiltingly, " since I scarcely can discover it myself."

" It is a place just fitted for the purpose, Cceur-de-Fer," remarked the
Baron.

" So, so; how nicely that spring answers to the touch of my nail, and
then the door opens without noise upon its hinges. One would have thought
it had been in daily use for the same purpose for a century at least. Ah,
ca, here we are. A little more light, though, would not be amiss."

■ur-de-Fer now took one from a heap of torches that lay in one corner
of the room, and having lighted this from his own lamp, the whole space was
soon illuminated, ?nd even astonished the Baron, who had in some degree
been pre;)ared foi it. The walls were strongly built, and almost hard and
polished as aiarble, and where not covered with the most voluptuoii repre-

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

145

sentations of the loves of the heathen deities — as well as scriptural subjects
— was of the most perfect workmanship. The floor was covered with small
mats, like those of the principal rooms of the chateau. Easy chairs, otto-
mans, tabourets, music, paintings, books, some of the latter of a very equivocal
character, were strewn about the tables ; wines, of all kinds and vintage ;
preserved meats, water, bisc\iits, fruits — almost every viand exciting to the
palate, which could be imagined, were piled up on shelves supported by
strong brackets driven into the wall ; and everything was in equal proportion at
either side of the room. This again, divided from one end to the other by
a strong, open iron railing, about three inches in thickness, firmly welded
and soldered into the extremities of the wall at many points, was further
strengthened by strong stancheons, let into the floor, and made to support
the vast pile, at every six inches of its length. It reached to the very
roof, and was riveted to the ceiling in the same manner as to the siaes. The
bars were just sufficiently asunder to admit a hand, but not always that, for
except when the blood was driven to the shoulder by holding the arm in a
perpendicular position, this was diflficult of attainment. At one extremity of
each division of this apartment, some forty feet in height, a sleeping apart-
ment had been put up, with a smaller room within, luxuriously furnished
also, and provided with open gratings, set in the stone also, and communi-
cating with the vaults beneath. A fountain of clear and running water
supplied two branches ot a pipe that conducted into marble baths. This
water, when used, was let off through other pipes into th« gutters, through
which it passed away.

•• You have done well, Coeur-de-Fer," said the Baron, approvingly. " I
could not myself have planned a place more suited to the purpose. Little will
thev think, on entering it, how fearful a place of punishment, notwithstand-
inir its seeming comfort, it will prove to them. But how will you manage
the abduction T It must be done in all s"'-Tesy, and will require not a few
stout hearts to secure Abdallah."

" The whole of the men-at-arms, Monseigneur, are eager to join in making
captive the man they hate for his foul murder of their comrades. He will
have some trouble to escape their strength and vigilance."

'• ('ceur-de-Fer," said the Baron, gravely, " mind that they obey my
orders. Nothing of violence, recollect, beyond what is necessary to secure
his person. Should I hear the slightest complaint of unnecessary rudeness
10 either, beware of my displeasure."

" But, Monseigneur," returned the ill-looking Coeur-de-Fer, " suppose all
do not entertain the same fear of your displeasure. There are some spirits
that thirst so deeply for the opportunity of punishing this Monk, it will be
hard to restrain their desire for vengeance."

" Sirrah," said the Baron, impemtively : " you have had my orders — i
shall make you personally responsible for any unnecessary violence that maj
be offered. All I require of you is the security of their persons. No injury
must be inflicted — no word of insult offered. They must," he pursued,
almost savagely, " be in the Ml enjoyment of their perfect health. Do you
understand me V

" I dOjMonesigneur. Depend upon it I shall watch thera as the tiger does

matVi •fiiiag'iftaiirAiBV.

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THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

its prey. But faith, your cruelty surpasses mine. Yes," he continued,
exulting at the thought, " they shall have the most nutritious food. From
the garden I will supply them daily with the most sense-subduing flowers.
Wine — ah ! that Cyprus sticks in my throat yet — shall be ever near to tempt
him. See that trellis-work, Monseigneur, it is so managed that a long and
narrow flask may be passed through it, and the Lady Ernestina made to glow
with deeper passion for her paramour."

"Stop!" thundered de Boiscourt, fiercely, "do what I command, but
cease your vile speech. Presume not to speak of your mistress but with the
respect her position and rank demand."

" My lord shall be obeyed," said the fellow, sullenly ; " and now will
Monseigneur give me my last orders."

" First, I must know how you propose to act. to secure Abdallah."

" I have arranged all that," was the reply. " One of our men is to go as
their postillion from Clermont. They do not start until evening, so that at
midnight, by stopping frequently and driving slowly to preserve their horses*
feet, which it is intended slightly to lame, their journey will not have ad-
vanced beyond the centre of the forest, where a dozen men will be placed,
dressed as peasants and wood-cutters, but with their trusty arms and thongs
of strength concealed beneath their simple garb. They will so manage, that
when the heart of the forest is gained, a wheel of the carriage shall come off,
which will compel the parties to alight. That will be the moment chosen
to spring upon him, and bind him with the cords provided by them. I
confess, Monseigneur, I should have liked to prick his throat a little with
my bodkin, but since you say no, no harm shall come to him."

" And what do you intend to do, when you have bound him?" again
questioned de Boiscourt, less with a view to information than to know if
C(Eur-de-Fer rightly understood the part he was to act.

" When we have secured him, the carriage-wheel will be put on again —
the purposed laming of the horses rectified, and their heads turned to
the spot through wiiich we just now descended. First, the Lady Ernes-
tina will be lowered, and the Monk will freely follow. One trusty man
alone will go with me, for I suppose Monseigneur would not like many to
know the secret of the door. The cells shall be as palaces, the lights therein
bailliant and dazzling to the eye — all rich with luxury and temptation to the
sense."

" Right," observed the Baron ; " but how will you manage to separate
them? Like a lion raging in his den will Abdallah be, when he finds hi»
mate not with him."

" That, Monseigneur, I have provided for. When first he enters, the
Monk-Knight, dazzled by the strong light, succeeding darkness, will not
perceive the two cells, or rather the separate rooms. Confidingly he will en-
ter, believing that the partner of his guilty love "

" Hold, rufl!ian !" said de Boiscourt, grasping him by the throat; " speak
not thus slightingly of the Lady de Boiscourt — of my wife. It is enough for
me to think and feel as I will ; but, fellow — recollect the diflferenoe of our
position."

" Well, Monsiegnetir, pttdor if 1 kave ofieaded — I meant no harm.

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147

Well, as 1 was sayinn;, when he eiilovs, liiis cage shall be instantly closed
upon him. and locked and ijarred, never more to open Then, when he
thunders out his fury and his grief, the Lady Ernestini! mil be conducted
to her room, the door of which, when she has enter . will quickly groan
upon its hinges for the last time, unless, indeed, Mons igneur pleases "

" I understand you — no more of that. But how will the enrds of Abdal-
lah he removed ? he must not do it himself; and even if the delicate fingers
of the Lady Ernestina were strong enough to untie those rude knots, she
could not do so through the bars."

" For that, too, Monseigneur, I have provided. When once the cage of
the second prisoner is fastened, I shall hand her, through the bars, a long
sharp knife, wherewith to cut them when alone. Don't you think that will
do admirably, Monseigneur?''

Again the Baron took a minute survey of the furniture of the two rooms.
Everything appertaining to comfort — nay, to luxury, had been provided.
Two trap-doors, of about eighteen inches square, had been cut in the ceiling,
which was of a sombre cwlor, the better to prevent them from being seen
below. Those, particularly, drew the attention of the Baron, who declared
them perfect, and most difficult of detection.

" All this is well, Coeur-de-Fer,"' he said ; " nothing of the kind could
have been more adroitly planned, and well have you deserved your hundred
crowns. You have the guardianship here, and the only punishment I would
inflict upon the Monk-Knight, besides that most cruel which these sepa-
rate chairb"-" arn meant to impose, is that of seeing, ever and anon, in close
attendant'" - i? oerson, him whom he knows to haveso much cause to hate
him."

'• Ah ! . '.ou ! I can I'ancy he will look surprised when first he sees

me as one risen from the dead to reproach him for the foul murders that he
oommitted in Palestine, without other cause than drinking a little of his
wine. Pardieu ! if 1 refused him there, 1 ^lali make up for it now. He
shall have wine enough to turn his blood to fire."

" But no violence, recollect. You must treat him even as you do the Lady
Ernestina — with deference and gentleness.''

" Well," answered Coeur-do-Fer, scratching his head, and looking puzzled,
" that is a hard condition, to keep from telling him what I think of his bru-
tal murder of my comrades- \.:d attempt to destroy myself for merely taking
H cup of his wine."

*' That is false, knave I" said the Baron sternly. " He nearly slew you,
and you richly deserved it ; not for the wine, hut beca\iso you were about to
murder the poor boy — the gentle Riidolph. I have a reckoning yet for that
with you."

" Did he say that I intended to nuirder him 1" (juestioned CoRur-de-Fer,
with atfected astonishment. " It is false. It was hiin that attacked me.
You would not have thought it. Mon.<«Mgneur, hut he jumped at my throat
like a young tiger."

" Poor boy! I only wish he weie here to tell his own story," .said the
Baron. " But he was wounded even before myself in the next day's battle :
1 fear he has been slain."

J»'rt

148

THE MOVK KNKiHT Ol sT. JOHN.

" Tt is false as hell I Monsiegneur," he continued, asaumi! j confidence in
the absence of all contradictory testimony against him. " He hati tne by the
throat when I was down, and would have strangled me had not the cursed
Monk made short work of the matter with his damned acimeter. He gave
me a scar, the marks of which, will remain for life."

De Boiscourt replied not. He knew that the villain was telling a gross
falsehood, but as he was necessary to his purpose, he thought it better not to
provoke, by appearing to mistrust him.

" Well, no matter who was the aggressor," he continued. The poor boy
was no match for you, and you ought to have avoided all struggle with him,
if only for my sake."

" I will make up for it," he answered, " by my conduct to the Monk.
He shall not complain, I warrant me, of not overdosing him with wine, and
all the good things he may want but one," and here he grinned horribly.

" It must be near day-break," said the Baron, interrupting him, and if we
linger longer, some peasant, bound to liis daily toil, may chance to pass as
we ascend to earth, and discover our retreat. We must be speedy and
cautions."

Again the lamps, all of which had ^een lighted to show the Baron the
effect of the artificial day, which in future was to continue unchanged in
the cavern, were put out, the door bolted, and the entrance from the passage
hcnnetieally closed.

As before, Coeur-de-Fer led the way. He raised the trap-door in the
forest, looked eagerly round, and perceiving that there was no intruder near,
bc^ckdiied to the Knight, who vaulted lightly to the surface. The dour was
then dropped into its grooved frame, leaves and branches were spread over it
as before, and in less than three minutes, there was iiothina to l)etray its ex-
istence. Cautiously, thus, they wound their way along ;i narrow path,
which led to some distance in the rear of the chateau. In a lonely part of this
wood, and branching off al)ruptly fifty yards from the scarcely distinguishable
path, rose a small rude cabin. This was the place of concealment of de
Bniscourt, who was still disguised as when he had first made his appearance
Itetbre the Lady Ernestina and the Monk-Knight, not a month before.

' -^ '^M

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TIIK MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

149

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The Monk-Knight and the Lady Ernestina were in the secret rooms which
had been assigned to them. The artifice of Coeur-de-Fer had completely
succeeded. Even as he stated would be the case, was their capture and de-
tention effected. They had now been ten days in their confinement. Ten
days ! What an eternity of separation for those who truly love. Bitter,
indeed, were tlieir sensations when told by Cceur-de-Fer, as he closed the
door leading to the passage, that they were condemned to live for ever thus,
and that their tormentor — he, on whom they had lavished all manner of abuse
— was the injured husband, who, unrelenting in his vengeance, had pro-
noimced their doom irrevocable and perpetual.

Ah ! how their hearts died within them, when first the vastness of the pri-
vation tliey were to endure struck with all its force upon Iheir minds. They
we^e a/paraly/ed — incapable of judgment or of action. But by degrees, :is
the stupor of surjirise passed away, the fierce reaction of mind succeeded.
Then came the wild expression of the full and desiring heart. They
called upon each other by the most endearing names. These witii their
glances of fire caused them to precipitate themselves against the barrier ihiit
divided them. Tiie hands of Abdallah were lacerated in his impetuous and
vain efforts to force them through the strong bars, and clasp the waist of
the beloved one. The Lady Ernestina was near frantic, her delicate hand
and arm were, after a few unsuccessful efforts, passed through, even up to
the shoulder. Ah ! what words can express her delight. Again siio lived
a new life ! To be permitted the happiness of simply touching the form of
him she so wholly loved, was a madness of rapture she would not have
exchanged for the possession of the universe. Her arm was ever there, and
it was only when Abdallah urged her in the strongest manner to take nour-
ishment and repose that she finally consented to part with, what she seenieil
to fear would, when once withdrawn, be lost to her possession for ever. Even
this, though a source of joy, was such only to one. The madness of disaji-
pointment came over the soul of the Monk-Knight. His veins became fiili>(l
almost to bursting. The calm, the benevolence of expression of his nohlf
countenance had wholly vanished, and was replaced not by the pure, and
holy, and refined passion which had ever hitherto been reflected from it, but
by the strong desire of the mere animal. He knew it — he felt it — he almost
loatlied himself for it, but he could not resist ; for, stung by her own feelings,
the Lady Ernestina, whose increasing pregnancy gave her tenfold beauty in
his eyes, so added fuel to his fire by the fond manner in which her caress-
ing arms were thrown around him, that, had the sense of touch remained,
he could have cut off his right hand with the knife that had been used to
Bever his bonds, and deemed the apparent sacrifice a blessing

Maddened, infuriated, excited beyond all power of control, several times
he mduced the Lady Ernestina to withdraw her arm — withdrawn only for the
purpose which he named — and then, stepping back the full breadth of the

•

130

THE MONK' I.MUIIT OK ST. .KMI.N

a|)artmeiit, riislu-d witli ;riaiit strcumii m tin liarritr, and darti'd I'lirioualy
aiciiiiitit it willi liis now hIi(»iij( and luusciil ir siioiildcr. I?ul llic coiiiiiacl muss
rcdi&ted all his ollbits, and was scarce shaken l)y llie alleuiiH. Then, with
despair in his heart, lie cast himself furiously upon the lloor, lore his hair,
and fjruaned in doep apfony of liis .spiiil. eallinL: on iiis v\if(! to take [jity on
hiin — to save him fnitn the hell that was eonsnminjr iiis very entrails.

•' What is the. matter, Sir Monk '" once askeil a rnlliaii voice — " doing pen-
ance for your Palestine murders. JEardly worth alicmptinjf that, they are too
many. Bettt?r console yourself with a flask of ( 'yprus wine, tiiaii rave at what
cannot be helped. See, I have sent yon a supply of evorythin<; good. Pates,
roast capons, oysters, lobsters, everythinpf that can tickle the appetite iu the
way of eating; and then to wash them down, there is in tln^ other hamper
(.'hambertin, Cloix, Vogos, Burgniuly, and what you know you used to like
very much in Palestine, Tuscany and Cyjirus wine. Surely, with all these
good things to stir your blood, you can aHbrd to forego one lust of the flesh.
Eh, Monk, remember the fate of Thibaud!"

The Mouk-Knight started to his feet with a vivacity, that in a man of his
size, was more remarkable than even his prodigious strength. He glanced
around with clenched hands, as if eager to seize, and destroy, and rend asunder
the wretch who could thus taunt and insult him iu the hour of his profound
misery, but he was nowhere to be seen, nor was it until he had remarked a
basket, containing provisions, descending immediately over his own room, that
he could understand whence the voice proceeded. When the basket reached
the floor, a sudden spring released the rope, which was hauled suddenly up,
and the trap reclosed. The voice had seemingly come from the open-
ing in the passage ; but now it was clear, although nobody was seen, that it
had proceeded from above. The conviction that they were thus to be con-
fined and nourished through life, or until .some unforeseen (^hance should
deliver them, was now apparent. It struck upon Abdallah's heart with
fearful force, and alternately ho raved and wept, aiid frantically paced the
apartment.

The Lady Ernestina, leaning her head against the bars, watched his
every movement. As he moved, her glance followed. She had no eyes but
for him. They could not rest on any other object. At length a sudden
thought occurred to the Monk-Knight. He darted, almost flew to the inner
chamber, and drew from it the low but capacious couch which nightly re-
ceived his limbs — this he placed against the grating.

" Let us wring comfort from despair, beloved one," he said, in a deep and
hollow tone. '' At least we may always be near each other — to gazt^ into
each other's eyes — to speak to each other's heart. If then those fair and
fragile hands can find the strength to do even as I have done, that even do.
If we are doomed by de Boiscourt, whose cruelty I scarce can credit, even
though much I have deserved it, to perish thus, let not a moment of our lives
be lost in tasting of the shade of joy that yet remains."

In some degrqe comforted by the new thought, which she wiis astonished
had not sooner occurred to either of them, the Lady Ernestina, after some
little time spent in the effort, succeeded in drawing her own couch, similar
in height and size and form, opposite to that of Abdallah's ; both leaving a

THK MONK KNIGHT OK ST. JOHN.

1.51

spaco l)etwocn thr lu-ails of the bcdstcad.s and the wall large enough to con-
tain a table, on which, in order to li.sc as little time as powible from each
other, they placed such refreshments as they were likely moat to need.

And thus, oh heaven ! they lay — the majestic husband and the glowincr
but much-exhausted wife, side by side, and separated only by the cold, un-
feeling iron that seemed to frown displeasure on their murmured prayers for
its removal. A space of not a span in breadth divided them ; and yet, had one
been cleaving heads and counting beads in Palestine, as had been his wont ; and
the other, toying in tender dalliance with the sweet Henriette, in the boudoir
of the castle, while sighing forth her soul for the absent one, they could
not have been more asunder. But the one redeeming joy remained, and with
tears of gratitude the Lady Ernestina thanked the God of all goodness for its
possession. Her arm extended so far through the bar that she could embrace
the fevered foma of her husband, as thrilling under her touch it heaved con-
vulsively. But then, as she gazed into his eyes, and marked the large dropa
of agony that lingered on his not now benignant but distortp' >. .^, her emo-
tion became intense, and often would she shed tears upon t. .nsensate bars,
in the vain hope, sustained by love alone, that rusting beneath the oft-repeated
moisture, they might be made to yield to the strength of Abdallah's arm.
But no such comfort came, and, in the end, the wild feeling of their misery
became unendurable.

" I can no more," groaned Abdallah. " Could I even pass my hand
through these most cruel and unpitying bars, one half this monstrous weight
of misery would be removed. We then, sweetest, should be half, if not
wholly comforted. But ah ! it cannot be — and yet, there is no sacrifice
short of Heaven, that I would not make to press that foi'm once more to
mine— even to the rending of my own flesh with my own nails, till scarce an
inch remained upon these aching bones."

" Oh ! what shall I dot" frantically exclaimed the Lady Ernestina. " In-
spire me. Providence — teach me, Heaven ! Pour into my soul the undis-
covered knowledge of the means to spare his torture. My thought is wild.
His head must pillow on my burning bosom. Relief he must find within
these arms, or both must surely die."

" One hope more !" he resumed. " Here are two tubes of parchment :
take one, place it to your lips, and let me inhale the ambrosial breath of my
beloved."

Eagerly she seized and applied her lips to one end of the tube. The
effect in their excited and restricted state was startling. Their breathing
into each other's lips was like liquid fire distilled into their veins. It was
the first ti ne since their confinement that they had tasted each other's breath.
Instilled as it now was into their already burning souls, it set them wild.
Both, as if actuated by one common impulse, sprang from their couches, and
stood facing each other through the open bars. Their excitement was ifear-
ful, and yet they gloried in the poison that was slowly killing them.
Again the tube was passed that they might the better approach each other,
sUnding as they did. The Lady Ernestina was compelled, in order to pre-
vent her from sinking to the floor, to cling with her left hand to the bars,
while her right arm was passed through to the very shoulder with such

! :

152

THE MONK KNIGHT OK ST. JOHN,

eanestoess of desire to embrace all she could ot the I'urni of her beloved,
that her breast was indented with the shape of the interposing iron. Almost
fainting under the intensity of his vast love, he devoured her hand with
kisses that were of\en turned into bites, while the strange admixture of calm
and passionate expression om his brow, on which, moreover, stood large
drops of agony, was fearful to behold.

Despondency was in the inmost heart of the Lady Erneatina. She sank
on her knees in bitterness, and wept profoundly.

Anxious to console her, and heedless of the futility of a hundred previous
attempts to accomplish the same object, the Monk sank on his knees also,
and endeavored, with his soothing hand, to reach the object of his soul's
worship. To his astonishment, he partially succeeded, the hand and arm
passing through as high as the joint of the elbow, but no farther ; and when
the Lady Ernestina, whose head was bowed in unutterable sorrow to the
ground, first felt his hand upon her shoulder, she started a» if some sharp
instrument had pierced.her ; then, uttering a siiriek of ugonized delight, she
lay clinging to the bars, trembling, palpitating, breathing, as if those mo-
ments were to be her last. It happened that the perpendicular of the bars,
still firmly imbedded as ever, had not strictly been preserved at this point,
so that the Monk-Knight had managed to get his naked arm through as far
as the elbow, but no farther.

From that moment, the couches were made to occupy that spot, and oppo-
site to each, and no language can paint the depth of the emotion of both,
when the Monk-Knight's hand first, after such long privation, wandered
over the bosom of the mother of his child. All other senses were absorl)ed
in that of touch. The most passionate endearments were theirs, lor n)iitually
they caressed each other with a tenderness unequalled, and the more in-
toxicating by reason of the limit imposed upon the means of gratification
of their tempestuous love. Their sighs of hapj>iness at this new and precious
discovery were breathed through the tube that connected lip with lip.

'■^'k

. »nwi*<*> tm » 'U, i^i^ti^^-^ ^i^Td -

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

163

CHAPTER XXIX.

For more than a fortnight had matters remained in this state. Daily the
Lady Ernestina was advancing in her pregnancy, and Abdallah s mind was
distracted not only by his forebodings, but the stingings of his increased love
for her. She had become so dear to him, that it was agony to continue
longer asunder from her. Language cannot depict his feelings, or tell how
vast was the extent of his love. It was a disease — it carried slow death in its
suppression — for, if possible, his position had become even worse than it was
when he was without the power to pass his arm through the bars. Now, he
was tantalized by constant recurrence to those well-remembered charms which
hourly maddened him on their utter removal from his possession ; he became
absolutely ill, and a high fever coursed through his veins.

" Abdallah ! oh Abdallah ! what can I do?" exclaimed the Lady Ernes-
tina, as she wound her arm around him with all the energy of deep passion,
*• what — what can I do to cool this fever of your blood 1 1 would sacrifice
life a thousand times — aye, dearer far than that, I would sacrifice these
charms — my child — to the most loathsome thing that ever wore the human
form, if my reward were but the rendinfr asunder of those hateful bars. Oh '.
know you not," she said fiercely, pressing the hand that lingered in hei
own — " know you not some words of sorcery in your own Eastern land, that
might call down a ghoul — a vampire — Satan himself— unto my arms, that by so
overloading him with my sweets, my teemiiig woman's love, 1 may win
him in blissful dalliance to rend these bars, and bear us hence for ever ; or,
let him assume the shape of a toad, or the serpent that wooed the tender
Eve to passion, and I will so gorge him with plenteousness of delight that
very ugliness, fostered by myself, will become exceeding beauty."

Suddenly as she spoke these words, fiercely, and with strong excitement
of manner, the trap-door above her own head was heard to open. Both she
and the Monk-Knight looked up, hoping yet fearing, they knew not what.

" A temporary relief from the purgatory to which you have through your
own will subjected yourselves, may be yours on one condition," said a well-
known voice. It was de Boiscourt's.

" Name it," said the Lady Ernestina eagerly, and half rising from her
pillow. "Anything — everything to bring comfort to my soul's lord: ay,
even though it be — as well 1 know it is — to receive into these arms the
man I most hate."

" It is !" said de Boiscourt, fiercely. " From this I have watched you
throughout ; and hate for the very love you bear that treacherous Monk
which would induce you to do this, gives a piquancy to my desire, such as I
never felt for you, even when you loved me most. As ghoul, or vampire,
or Satan, is not here, to quench the tumult of your passion, far better take a
goodly and a proper man — one most meet to riot in your woman's gorgeous-
ness."

" Then, come, mere lecher — hated of my soul, Enjoy your triumph.

151

THE M(>\K KMiill I

lOlIN

Revel in tiiis beauty if V'"* will ; l)iii know ili;it m llic liiiiieiM ol' tlu' l'i!t;liii^
you piKvoke I imomI ttliall loatlu^ you — inont sluili l)i' AlMlailiiirH. Only iny
stroiit; lovt! for him iiuiutTs* my ooimcnt."

" Ml' it HO,' said tlie IJiiroii, " I hccil ii u<ii ludecil I rathur like tlui
]>it]Uiiiit tli()u<{lit. It will in suinc dc^rt'c rcaliM' tlie double inarruge I pro-
posed to you.''

'■ H»'8ot me not with speech, de Uoiwcourt. Your wnrda and voice sound
/latcful in my ear. When come you' Let it be instant or my resolve may
chanffi'."

"This night."'

" This nigiit I The night iis long, and love's impatience great. Each
instant of delay is I'raughv with death to him I love. Come quickly— come
within the hour — come now !"

" Within the hour expect me," answered the Baron.

" Then within the hour extinguish every lamp, which, 1 perceive, is
lighted from above. In utter darkness you must come, for else each sense
unwilling would hate to ratify the compait which my lips pronounce. It
you have pity stay not past the hoii' — ay, within the hour I pray you come.
But liohl, how often then am I to see Abdullah thus? — him, my soul — the
dearest heart-string of my life. Remember, put out the light."

" Yes," said de Hoiscourl, bitterly, " even that your licentious soul may
fancy the obscene ghoul feasting on your sweets, or the winged vampire fed
by suction, drawing that blood which should go to the nurture of the priestly
l«ad you bear. Or, mayhap your imagination loves to mate with Satan,
while the woman's soul triumphs in the power to draw a fallen angel to her
arms, and gloats incessant in comparison."

" Your idle words alFect niu not, de Boiscourl. Ransom you have asked
—rich ransom shall you receive. But you have not said, how soon that debt
being paid, the portal of his heaven shall be opened to Abdallah."

" By to-morrow's dawn you shall be joined with him, and for ever, but
only in these subterranean tombs of happiness. By my knightly spurs I
swear it."

" Ha ! blessings on you for that. Heard you it, Abdallah, my lord, my
husband. I shall go mad. Come quickly," she said to de Boiscourt, " not
as one hated, but even as one to whom 1 owe the deeiKist gratitude of a wo-
man's soul. But you will ask no more ?"

" No more than what your free consent may yield. Far within the hour
expect me."

" Tell me," she said wildly, to Abdallah, as the trap-door closed upon the -
departed Baron, "have I done right! Oh! my Abdallah, for you I have
consented. For you I will slay him if you prefer. You have the knife.
Even such was my thought when I proposed the darkness."

" My angel, Ernestina," he replied, with more of hia wonted calm, " I
know not how it is, but I delight to see some better spirit has changed your
hatred to more gentle thoughts. The feeling that absorbed your mind was
strange aiid most unnatural, and much I pitied to perceive it. De Boiscourt's
heart was open as his brow. He loved you to madness ; he gloried in your
beauty, and excellence, and constancy, and sought to reward all these by

■«y , ■ ■ -w^

nil, MONK KNI'JUT OP ST. JOHN.

ir,5

giving A now dosirn lo llui Iwiiri Iw loved How have we repaid hini ' siiid
yil W(- rail luiu crui'l, bfciiixt! Iin ilid Iml ulij^ht iiv«Miffo sucli mijjlily wroii){
as lliat 1)1' ilu! HiMiiliMij of Ins own ha|»piiifHrt. AiwayH for ihm has my con-
8*M»'iuT Ml r»!|iroii(!li(ul lilt!. All' you Iwl the truth of my words — you
w'H'j) — your heart -sol'lfim."

Suddenly the Monk Mtopimd. 'I'ho [\fi\nn wcri; extinguishwl, loavinf,' ducp
darkntss in their :jtead. A weight waa heard det^-ondiiiK from tlio trap-door.
Deep einolioii was in the hearts of the hustiand and wife. The arm of the
l>ady I'irnestina wound itwdf inoru clusuly round the heaving form of the
M(ink-Kiii),'lit. The tuho pasaed from lip to lip, conveyed words that maiie
Abiiailah press more fervently to his boating heart, the hand he held a will-
ing prisoner. In another minute that hand trembled in his own, signifutrntly
giving; warning that the Maron had come to claim the price of their re-union.

Oil what further passed on thai eventful night — v\hat explanations were en-
tered into renewing the broken bond of love and fnendsiiip, or on what arrange-
ment made, the manuscript is silent ; further than that, :is the distant castle
clock discoursed the early hour of dawn, the Uaroii and the Monk might be
aeen by the faint light of a lamp, which the latter had brought with him,
with hand clasped in hand, and bending over the pale face and motionloss
form of the Lady Erncstina, who, with an enchanting smile upon her lips,
and slight contortion of the brow, which those well read in love would at
once have pronounced intensity of feeling, had fainted in the fulness of her
sudden change from despair to h»\H'.

The next day (lillowing that dawn was one of great rejoicing in the cha-
teau. The return of the Haron de Boiscourt from Palestine wiis publicly
announced — his claim to the Lady Ernestina's hand made good — the second
marriage annulled by the very bishop who had performed the rite, and the
Monk-Knight had disapptiared. But soon in his place there came one of
equally stalwart frame, and much resembling him in feature, but of a deeper
complexion of the Moorish dye. Many opened their eyes and stared, and
wondered at the great resemblance in dignity of demeanor of the stranger
with the second husband of the Ludy Ernestina ; but when they heard him in-
troduced publicly as the Italian Monk Gonzales, by the Baron himself, an
old brother warrior, who had more than once interposed between himself and
death in Palestine, and wh.) had now left the sword for the cowl, and for
ever, there no longer cxistec a doubt, and content and happiness, such as fall
to the lot of few women, in u world in which man's will rules predominant,
wae the lot of the Lady Ernestina.

Strange, indeed, are the vicissitudes of human feeling — wayward and er-
ratic the course of the passions, which, like fiery meteors, scorch up the soul
they first enlighten. It seeme<l to the Lady Ernestina like the faint memory
of some distant dream that she had ever ceased to regard the generous de
Boiscourt but with that ardent friendship which his noble self-sacrifice so
well deserved. Her estrangement had been a disease growing wholly out of
the intensity — the exclusive intensity of her love for Abdallah. Carried
away by the increasing waywardness of that love, she had only become iii-
<hfferent lo him on his return, because her constant nature could not endure
the thought of a second breathing in her ear those words of passion, which

IflC

THi: Mf \K KVl.lIT ( !•■ ^T. JliHN.

I V1

her (It'licafvof apiirt'lH'riHKiri laupht Ikt wire «iiily iiriceless in their exclu»ive-
lU'Ni. By ilegrt'«'8 this Cwliiig increiuwtl, aii<l aeciuiriMl a certain aurerbity,
which (iiially, Miing as she was by tlie keen sarcaMn of Iht! Baron, settled in
u Benliineiit of tlerj) hatred and aversion. Hut when he ((hiddened herheart
with the intelli(;eiire that Ai)dallah and iiersi'if were to be united that night,
never more to suffer the tortures of the daiiwied behind those unpitying bars,
lier soul, as if aete<l upon by enchantineiit, worned and loathed the un-
worthy s<-ntiinent, which her intense passion, and indifTerencc to all but the
one ol)ject of her devoted love had led her to entertain. Often in the presence
of her confessor, the Monk (.Joir/ales, would she weep tears of regret on
his hosorn, for the cruel language she had used to her husband on his re-
turn. But de Boiscourt would fondly press her to his heart, and a»jk Gonzales
if all was not for the best, inasmuch as the very course taken by events had
led to .>50 happy a termination. The approving smile and voice of the now
again serene and benevolent Monk, would, as often, and in various ways,
endorse the opinion of his friend, and then the Lady Ernestina, her features
radiant with tiie full and unrestrained glow of happiness, and looking more
lovely and impassioned than ever, exclaim, as she fondly pressed a hand of
ei'ch :

" Ah I what have I done to deserve this vast, this unspeakable bliss !
How is it that sucli intense, such strange, wild, mysterious, hallowed joy
has been given to me in the possesssion of the enduring love of two such
noble beings?"

A grajid fete was given iit the chateau, in honor of the Baron's re-itiarriage,
UQ the very day when the Monk Gonzales first made his appearance. On this
occasion of ceremony, he wore, in compliment to the re-united couple, not
the plain dress, that ever after distinguished him, but the magnificent habit
of a Monk-warrior of St. John, which exceedingly became his tall and ma-
jestic person. An eight-pointed cross, of purest white enamel, and emblem
of his/position in the Order, depended from his ample chest.

De Boiscourt himself was dressed in the costume of his knighthood, with
all the stars and badges of distinction, and these were not a few, which he
had won as the leader of the brave but diseidute men of Auvergne. Once
more his spirits were light, and his manner animated, and many a soft word
he breathed in the ear of the gentle Henriette, now grown into the fulness
of womanhood, and evidently not untouched by the words of more than mere
gallantry, which the Baron whispered into her ear.

On her part, the voluptuous girl was beautifully dressed also. Her long,
dark and luxuriant hair fell in a profusion of rich curls, over her snow-white
and but partially covered shoulders, while lier costume, enaliantingly fitted,
and of a light material, admirably set off the contour of her form. In her hair
was a single white rose, so piquantly disposed as to give, from its proximity
to it, additional lustre to her dark and peculiarly expressive eye.

As for the Lady Ernestina, she has been described once, and in such
colors, that to repeat would be to mar the picture of her loveliness, such as
it must even now linger on the memory of those who have perused it. The
perfection of her beauty, and the excellence of lier style of adornment must
be lelt to the imagination of those who, like ourselves, have so half fallen in

r I'-ft «» ■

r'A.'Mit-VifrA fc*-*- - — • •• ■

THF, MONK KNIiiHT OF .sT. lOHN.

i«r

love with tht! iii)l)li' jiiiaiii', Id which lite ami siihstaneo han been given, tha
Ihny ii»'i 111 liiT, whi'ii ji.-iial adoriRMl, adoriioil tins most.

Tht; I'i'te was a brilliant oiii>, and nil the va«aal» of the Baron had been in-
vited, as well as thimo of more noble birth around. All had (,'ladly aceepled
an invitation so ciirimis in its eaiise, and ptomisiny' the fullest i,'ralification
•ind amusement. As the dan'-ini,', |)ei'uliur tu those days, eonminnced, iho
\i\inif crowd [loured in, and as the Lady Krnesliiia led oif the fete, she was
the admired of all admirers. Many a brilliant comiilimcnt was paid tu h)!r
mirpas.siii^ beauty by the young nobles around, iiiit these she regarded only as
so many otrerinj^s to bo laid at the feet of Abdallal., who, loaninif majestieully
against an oaken panel, found no pleasure so jjreat as that priMlueed by
the admiration of others for the beloved of hi.s .soul. Fre(iuenlly as she glided,
rather than danced, for her situation rendered strong exertion undesirable,
anri replied to the vapid eompliments poured into her oar by those who \\er«
the most earnest in their expression of adoration for her beauty, she would
turn her speaking eyes upoi. tionzales with such a volume of meaning, that
the Confes.sor could with difieulty refrain from carrying hor off i.. his arms
from the meaningless festivity in which she was engaged.

Hul ho was not always lef .ilonc to indulge his me(Jitatioii8 Many a
beautiful and captivating dame oi' Auvergne, of high degree, cast, some their
brigiit.and some their languishing glances over his manly form, and clo^'.iy
watched his bearing with the Lady Ernestina. They knew that ti .c monk
had revelled in her arms, and therefore, with monkish taste .so formed, why
not another? No time or age had been marked by such cxtrenu; licentious-
ness — not love, not desire, for one loved object raged within the heart, but
sheer liccntiousneBs.

One there was within that festive hall who danced not, spoke not, but ke ,1,
her eyes riveted on Gonzales. She saw the glances of intense Ittvc ili .t
passed between the Confessor and the Lady Krnestina. She saw in his eyes
the fire of more than mortal man. Her own fierce passion was enkindled.
She moved towards him, and as she moved she looked a queen.

" Holy Father," she said, in a low but decided tone, as, drawing her arm
through his, she led him through a corridor to the garden, where hatPber .>
erected many arbors of luxurious repose — " I have much to confess to you.
Pardon the occasion of which I would fain avail myself."

" All times and places are suited to our holy duty," returned Gonzales,
cahuly. " Yet be brief. Lady, the festive party waits."

" That is to say, the Lady Ernestina — the Baroness dc Boiscourt waits,"
significantly replied the Countess of Clermont, a most lovely woman.
" Hear me, Monk," she said, when they had seated then . '■' 's in one of
these little bosquets, " I am not jealous of the Baroness, ii..; ;oo love you ;
my heart is torn with desire for you, and I have beauty equal to that of the
Baroness, which I know will be yours this night."

"This night!" said Gonzales, startled at the stru.ge announcemeiit, so
strangely made.

" Yes, this night." '

" But, findy, how know you this'"

•

168

THK MONK KNIOHT Of ST. JOHN.

" Yoilr eyes thpmeelvcis informed me — your mutual glances kindlod my
desire. Oh .' have pity, but for once, and then absolve our mutual sin."

" It cannot be. Lady," said the Monk, with dignity. " I pray you return
with me to the chateau. The gueets will wonder at our absence, too long
delayed."

" Oh ! yet one minute stay," entreated the Countess. " Only grant my
prayer. I ask no more."

" Impossible," said the Monk, utterly confounded at her perseveraiwe
" Reaillect my sacred calling — my duty to the confessional."

" Even promise," resumed the Countess, with the deep intonation of
aroused passion, " that to-morrow eve shall make me sharer in the bliss
designed to-night for her for whom your soul is now enkindled ; say — say,
will you, to-morrow eve, repair to Clermont and seek my confessional.
Oh ! do, in mercy do."

She knelt at his feet — she placed his hand upon her throbbing heart, but
Gonzales, with a shudder of disgnst withdrew it, aud hurriedly re-enterod
the chateau, slowly followed by the disoomfited and revenge-breathing
Countess.

h:f'

; I

CHAPTER XXX.

h i)

In the interim of Gronzales' short interview with the Countess, some ex-
citement had been created by the arrival of two strangers from the Holy
I^and, attired in the garb of pilgrims and deeply sun-burnt. The travollors had
sent in the announcement of their condition, but not their name, claiming
hospitality until dawn. The Baron, ever interested in all things connected
with the Holy I^and, in which he had so long served, hastened himself to
greet the new comers, who were even then crossing the lawn in front of
the chateau.

" Oh I my dear Lord, I am so glad to see you once again," exclainr-Mi the
more youthful, bounding forward to salute the Baron, " for I feared we
should never reach Auve r'e. How delighted I am."

" Good hepven, Kiidolpi. ! My dear boy come to my arms."

The page did as enjoined, and tears of happiness coursed rapidly down his
cheeks, as he felt the well-known embrace of his master whom he had so
long lamented as dead.

" Ah ! is it possible," he exclaimed. " How long have I mourned your
loss ?"

" Miraculously preserved even as yourself, Rudolph, it would seem, but
we will talk of this later. Who is your companion ' and he looked intently
at one who, habited in the same garb, was more matured in person. " Can
it indeed be possible. Is it shel"

" Even so, my Lord, The favorite wife of Saladin that wa»— the only
and adored wife of Rudolph that is."

" The wife of Saladin your wife '—what bmu> you. Rudolph <"

<^1

•iw

fWML

THK MONK KNIOHT OK ST. JOHN.

159

" I mean — but ah' where is Abdallah?"

" Hush ! not a word of Abdallah, as you love rae, Rudolph. Him whom
you will soon sec, you must know as Gonzales. Remember Gonzales — the
Italian Monk Gonzales. Answer then : how is the wife of Saladin your
wife?"

" Have you not htiard of his death T''

" Say you so ! Never knew 1 augrht of it until this moment. And is,
then, the preat warrior dead ?"

" He is ; ols*; had not Zulcima left him. He was too kind, too good, too
penerou.s, to be basely abandoned by those whom most he loved. At his
death he gave me freedom and great means to return to my native land,
but what were means and freedom witiiout the gentle Zuleima? She con-
sented to become mine — embraced Christianity, and now awaits the priestlv
action of her brother to make her Rudolph's wife."

" Of her brother I what brother ! You have returned full of mystery,
Rudolph, or surely too much joy has made you mad."

" What ! has not Abdallah told you that Zulcima — she whom you both
saved from Thibaud and his vile associates, wasdear to him as his sister?"

The Union reflected a moment. There was a reason for Abdallah's si-
lence in regard to one whom lu; never expected to behold more. He recol-
lected the adventure in his tci't. He was aware that Abdallah knew it also.
This, therefore, accounted for his silence in regard to her.

" Go, dear Rudolph, embrace the Baroness and Henriette. They will not be
a little surprised to sec you, and in that gwirb ; but no matter, cover them both
with kisses and good greetings, while I take charge of this your bride, and
introduce her to the company. Say not a word of her arrival, or who she is."

So saying, he advanced towards the expectant Zuleima, and sinking at her
feet, fervently kissed her hand. Her intercourse with Rudolph had given
her a tolerably fair knowledge of tlie French language, so that she could
sufficiently understand him, when with a pressure of her hand, which threw
the crimson into her cheek, for it brought back to recollection all the past,
he told her that he would present her to his wife, who would be as a sister
and a friend to her for ever.

Gratefully kissiig liis hand, she took the profl'ered arm of the Baron, and
they entered the crowded halls, wlierc giiety, in all its manifold forms, wa»
doing jusiico to the intentions of the princely entertainer. When they crosse*
the tiire.shold, the eyes of Zuloiiua, accustomed even as they were to Eastert
splendor and magnificen^ie, were dazzled at the sight. Soon, as she glanced
around, she saw a crowd surrounding one object of curiosity and interest. A3
she drew nearer she observed Rudolph, who presented a marked cotitrast ia
his pilgrim's nArh, and with a iai^.: pack upon his shoulder, hanging round
llie neck of u woman, whose exceeding loveliness so excited her interest,
kH unmixed wilii a scarcely acknowledged shade of jealousy, that she in-
quired of de Boisconrt, eagerly, who she was.

" That, duarest Zuleima," said the Baron, " is the lady to whom I am
about to present you — my wife, the Lady Ernestina dc Boiscourt. Is she
not very beautiful ? You must lovo her, Zuleima— you must love her verv
dearly, for she will lore you."

160

THE MONK KNir.HT Or ST. JOHN.

P' 1

mi.

W:^;

'a,

■ '

" Ah I the Lady Ernestina,"'st)e repeated. " Happy Abdallah ! Oh ! yes,
she is, indeed, l)eautiful — I love her already, she looks so good. But see,"
she said, " pressing de Boiscourt's arm with much significance, under the
pretence of hanging over and kissing Rudolph, a woman raises her hand in
which is a rose, and pours from one of its leaves, some drops of lii\uid in her
ear. There are so many heads together! cannot see her face. There — there,
again ' <>od grant my fears be idle, Init such things are often done in
Palestine.*'

" What do you mean, dear Zuleima," said de Boiscourt, eagerly and with
a voice of deep alarm, " I can see nothing — it must have been your fancy."

" Perhaps it was." she returned with a sigh — " God grant it was. So
beautiful, so sweet a woman. Ah ! let me not have loved her as I do —
loved her as God has intended one woman should love another — only to lose
her for ever. But still my eyes are very good, they seldom tell mo wrong."

Almost wild from apprehension at her words, de Boi.scourt rushed towards
liis wife, w ith Zuleima still hanging on his arm, and inquired eagerly if she felt
unwell. Alarmed at the iiucslion, tlie Monk, who had just entered the room
from his oratiuy. whither he had tor a moment gone on leaving the Coimtess
of < 'lermont, both with a view to avoid her, and to prevent remark, by the
appearance of undue attention to the wife of his friend, now .ipproached the
group. His tall figure was conspicuous above those who surrounded the
Lady Erncstina. It was the first time Zuleima had seen him sinoe his de-
parture from the camp of Saladin at Tiberias, on the day following his last
interview with her. Unfortimately de Boiscourt had forgotten to caution her
as he had Rudolph, of the necessity of concealment of his true name.

" Abdallah !" she shrieked, rushing towards him with uplifted arms.

All was consternation and dismay. The Monk-Knight rejected her as
one whom he knew not. The Baron cursed his own folly and forgetfulness.
The Lady PIrnestina, foreseeing something dreadful in the termination of
all Uiis, had fainted.

" A gla.ss of water for the Baroness," said the Countess of Clermont,
handing it to the Monk. '* From no hand will relief come to her more grate-
fully than from that of him she loves."

In the agitation of the moment, AWallah, for the first time in his life, lost
his self-possession ; scarce knowing from whom he received it, he took the
glass and applied it to the lips of the pale and senseless Baroness.

" Ha I Abdallah, you have destroyed her you love," again exclaimed Zu-
leima, astoni.shed at all ''• 't ha»l passed before her. " That glass," she added,
turning to de Boiscourt, • came from the hand of the woman who held the
rose-leaf to her car."

" Say you so !" shouted the Monk, in a voice of thunder.—" Seize that
woman — seize that murderess I Even now she threatened vengeance to the
Lady Ernestina, whose s il she falsely deems is guilty as her own."

" Who dares to charge to ine, is her paramour," haughtily exclaimed the
Countess, as she came forward, holding in hei hand the unemptied glass
the Monk had returned to her. "That nothing but the thought to

wl.

yield ,,iy little aid to the Baroness as the faintness that overcame her beheld
the prjof. See, friends, how falsely they accuse me.

THE MONK KNIOHT OK ST. JOHN.

161

So .saying she deliberalely rais«'d the glass to her lipvS and slowly swallowed
its contents — then threw herself into an attitude calculated to awaken sym-
pathy.

" A noble and a falsely ace Jiset I voman," said one,

" The niece of our holy Hishop of Clermont," added another

" A paragon of female virtue," vociferated a third — a colossus with an
arm like Vulcan, and hair like the bristles of a wihl boar, who usually passed
the night in her boudoir, when she was not otherwise engaged.

" What she siys is true." roared out .some fifty voices, the majority of
which came from the lungs of men, while the ladies joined in their cry.
•• This is no place for moral people to be found in. Let us go."

" Stop!" thundered the Monk-Knight, half maddened by the condition of
his beloved, yet perceiving thi; necessity for prompt explanation to save the
honor iind peace of mind of ilu>se whom he most loved on earth. " That
strange woman raves, or at least mistakes me. I am no other than Gon-
ziiles, so like unto Abdalhh, that we have passed in Palestine as children of
the same womb. Where is the page Rudolph? you see I know him: let
him declare."

" What am 1 asked V said the boy, speaking from a distant part of the
room, and coming up at the same time.

" We will question him ourselves," said one of the more noble guests.
"Interrupt up not, Monk; your innocence of this charge, which involves the
respectability of the noblest family in Auvergne, will best be shown by
silence. Rudolph, we all kno'v and love you, boy, and glory in the high
spirit that sent you forth, so young, to fight for the true faiih in Palestine.
Know you that Monk ?"

" Know him !" said the boy, running up to, and embracing him. " By
my faith, and if I did not know the Monk Gonzales — stay, \dl me look again
— yes, the Monk Gonzales, who saved my life on fierce Tiberias' battle-
field — I were indeed ungrateful," and he flew in the Monk's arms, and
clasped his hands around his neck.

" The boy speaks truly, and with warmth," shouted one. " We believe
him ; yes, we believe what he has said is true."

'■ True !" said Rudolph, indignantly ; " and who shall dare to doubt the
statement that I make? and yet, I well might pardon it, for there was ano-
ther in Palestine — Abdallah his name, and a Monk-Knight, too, of such re
semblance to Gonzales, that scarce his friends could tell them separate.
Wherefore this question, dear countrymen of Auvergne, I know not; but
Imlievu me when 1 say, oft have I slept in the same tent, and battled at the
side of this same Monk. It was he who, when the scimeter of the Saracei:
cut me to the shoulder-blade, 9a>ed my life, that 1 might vindicate his trutl.
in fair Auvergne."

" Amiracle!" amiracle!" shouted the fools of the village, for all villaget<
have their fools.

" Ah! pardon me. Sir Monk!" said the graceful Zuleima, kneeling, and
with a manner implying deep sorrow for the mischief she had so uninten-
tionally created. " The first glance I obtained made me think that you were

162

THE MONK KNKiHT OK ST. JOHN.

r''

>y -> my brother, but now I look again, I see my error ; you are much darker than

Abdallah — oh 1 yes, a good deal darker."

" Then, if the one is so much darker than the other," interposed a wise-
acre of a country lawyer, scratching his head to stir up his addled brains,
" how comes it — listen to this, ladies and gentlemen, it is an important point
in the chain of evidence — how comes it, I say, if one is so much darker than
the other, they could not be distingushed even by their friends ? "

" Oh ! that is it, exactly, Monsieur Renard," said Rudolph, sneeringly,
" and you have started an objection that would be unanswerable — only that
you have not properly understood the question. They could be known well
enough when together ; but not when seen alone, could any one tell which
was Gonzales or which Abdallah. Do you understand me now ?"

" Most brilliantly explained," said a multitude of voices. " Hurra ! Gon-
zales and Rudolph for 3ver ! The Countess is wrong : our morals are saved.
Better one than the other."

The cause of excitement over, the whole attention was directed to the con-
dition of the Lady Emestina, who had slowly recovered from her faintingfit,
but who, finding herself too much exhausted to sustain the requirements of
the hostess, was even then in the act of withdrawing, supported on the arm
of her husband, and followed by Henriette and Zuleima. A gloom was
thus cast over the entertainments of the evening ; and finally, the guests
overcome by ennui, and plenteously stuffed with food and wine, gradually
departed : all, moreover, perfectly impressed — and that was the main point
of interest at the chateau — that Abdallah was not Abdallah, but Gonzales,
the preserver of the life of their little favorite Rudolph.

Left to themselves, their reunion with the long-absent strangers would
have shed uninterrupted joy over their souls, had it not been for the condition
of the Ijady Ernestina, who had received a much more serious shock than
had at first be«n apprehended. To what comments were passed without, on
the strange scene which had taken place, they were not indifferent, merely
because of the position they held as the head of society in Auvergne, and
the necessity tor sacrificing something to appearances, in a world made up of
ap[iearances and falsehood alone. But Rudolph, who it has been seen was
well known to, and a great favorite with all classes of people in the neigh-
borhood, had of himself taken great pains to ascertain the eflfect produced
by the singular scene so publicly enacted at the chateau. The result of his
indirect inquiries and close observations went to satisfy him that the whole
aflfair, like the nine days' wonders of the fools of the present age, had to
tally passed away from their recollection. He had sagacity enough to pei-
ueive, from the anxiety manifested by tlioso who were immediately interested
tlie precise footing on which .Mxlallah stood with the sweet wife of his
friend, and indeed it could not well have been otherwise, for it will be re-
memliered, he had been informed by Abdallah himself, that he was to espouse
the Lady Kriie.stina — the Baron heinj,' auiiptiaed slain — on his return from the
Holy Lund. That lie had done .so, and that tint evils had resulted wiiich it
h;i8 been shown did take place, his ready perception enabled him correctly
enough to judge. It was this quickness of apprehension which, awuru at he
of course was, of tite Baron's marital right, had led him at once to umlersuou

I'lM

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'• •■ 'ii

T-iV. MONK KMOHI

'T. J(iH.\.

103

the motive ol <l<' IJn.scoun's itijuiiction lu si'>'ii'-.y in rtJi^anl ;ii tlie true iinmc
of the confessor Gonzales. Tliis, also, it was, whicli liad ' (nieo pointed out
the important servic' he should render to all parties, h\ : iiiaining that lie
was not Abilallah. Kudolph was the soul ot truth v re it eoneerned liirn-
self. To depart from it, where a woman's honor rei(( red the sacrifice, was
virtue. His education in the school of chivalry hud not be 'i loft imperfect.

Meanwhile, the Lady Ernestina tecaine daily more fohd of Abdallah ;
while his tenderness for her t'ound, in his new character of confessor, a thou-
sand different occasions of bein<^ inanifestetl. The madness of passion had
passed away. The more exquisite calm of ripe affection remained, and
the one acquired greater force from the absence of the other. Their feel-
ing had a pungency known only to the refined and intellectual. To gaze
into each other's eyes, and read there all that was being enacted by the ima-
gination, had a thousand times more of blissful enjoyment in it, than actual
possession could yield to the merely sensual. Kven in possession, it was not
80 much the gratification of desire that constituted their happiness — their
most exquiste felicity — as it was the charm of voluptuous thought, arising
from that possession. The mere fact was nothing in the scale <»f comparison
— it was the knowledge — the reflection of the soul's confidence, which was
mutually reposed — the utter surrender, as it were, of the identity of each
to the other — the very assurance that God himself inspired them with the
sublime feelings which they gloried in attributing to Him — these were the
sentiments that most impressed them, and infused such voluptuousness into
their veins, that even thus, they could have calmly exhaled their souls in
death. Never liad Abdallah and his friend loved each other more than at
this period — each rejoicing in the joy of the other, and glorying in the
greatness of mind of her who so could appreciate and impart it.

It was at this epoch, that the Baron de Boiscourt had ordered to l<e (larved
in ebony, by a leading artist of the day, the group of three figure." whicji has
been described in the opening chapter.

CHAPTER XXXI.

Anotheh month passed by. Tlwre was but one in tliat little re-union of
friends who foresaw, m the future, .hoithw tis 1 rjp ni» the joy of the pres
ont was striking. This was Zuleima — the tender, iho beautiful, the im-
passioned, Zuleimn — who liml been won to the Ludy Ernestina m n
mnnnor the most irresitttiblo. Often as she i;:izeil iiiuiii her with an ex-
pression of the most touching tenderness, her eyes, while throwing her-
self uiMin the boaom of lior whom she had leiinied to love with nil tlio
fervor of her Euatorn heart, would fill with tenrs, until the BiironesH, iilf.-ct-
od to the uttermost by the ningulnr sympnthy she niiiuil'osted, would el.iap
her in her arms, and eutreat lier to expbiin the cauee of her emotiou. But

I :.

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fl'

164

THK MONK KNIiiHT OF M. JOHN

Zuloimn, always Hnxiou.i to avoid that explnnntion, only the inorfl cloanly
hug4,'ed her to iinr heiir^, iind tho inoro profoundly wopt.

'■Sweot Zuleitna, you are very good to Idvo mn thus," siiiJ the Lady
Ernnatina one pvtMiiiig, after the fair Suriicun had inanifested more than
usual foaling ami emotion ; " nh .' boiieve tnu, 1 feel it deeply, and I ton love
you very nmch"

" And would you lovo me if you knew I had loved Abdallah, even as
you have loved him .'" ;Oie askpd. '• Would you love uie, as you do now,
if you knew lliat, takin" pity on the inudnnHs with which his aoul was
filled for your beauty, I received hiui to my heart — to my arms, oven
while I made his lips pronuunco your name. Ti^ll mcs Kriiestina, my owh
beloved sister — the adored one of my noble brother — would you love mo
Btill, as you do now, were all this the case ?"

"Is it so," said tho Baroness, eagerly. " Oh, my sweot sister, come to
my arms ; ton thousand times better do I love you now ; for you know my
happiness; the secret has been reveuleil to yourself ; you know his great
love; y<iu can enter into my soul, and trace u. its most exquisite feelings.
Ah, think of it! think of it I"

She drew lier passionately to her heart. She covered her with kisses,
and long wore they locked within each other's arms.

'■Do you know, dear Zuleima," said the Haroiiess, when the first pas-
sionate interchange of their feelings hud been somewhat cuhned, " I have
a strong presentiment that 1 shall not live long. It seems to me aa though
tliis ha|)i)ine89 woie too exquisite to last."

The tears of Zuleima poured like a torrent down upon the heaving
bosom of her sister ; her heart was too full for utterance.

" Why do you weep, my beloved ; why weep thus, my Zuleima ?"

" I weep to hear you so calmly speak of death. Oh God, forbid I — and
yet — and yet^ih, it must be so. I fear it I"

'' God forbid I and you fear it I Dear Zuleima, by the love you bear
me. explain all this. Vour weeping — your prophetic thoughts — my own
belief; — surely there must be something in all this. Come, tell me. I
have tasted of such hap|)ine88 as never y^t fell to the lot of created woman,
and although I am not anxious to ila.sh the sweet cup from my lips, still I
shall always be prepared to die, if such be r y destiny, with the conscioiM
ness thiit I have qua/led of it as never yet woman quaflTed. Vet where-
fore die — and why apprehend it ?"

•' Ah, dear, dear sister !'' said Zuleima ; " do you recollect what occur-
red on the day of my arrival ? Alas, I have not forgotten it. It has been
a fearful source of disquiet to me since, for most surely I saw something
poured into your ear by tha^ bad woman."

" Vou do not utter but you look your meaning, dear Zuleima. Vou
think still that it was done, and that the drops were poisofi. If so, ' she
said, taking her hand, and pressing it atTectionatoly, " why has it not
shown itself before. Trn^ 1 am vary languid ; but that may be owing to
another cause ;" and she glanced at the marked alteration in her shape-

" I have always avoided asking you ono question," remarked Zuleima,
as she imprinted a kiss of love ujion her lips, " for I did not wish to alarm;

: i

' "k

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TliK MONK KNKiHT (-K ^ r. JOHN.

165

witli kissed,

but now thn nifniieiit ina iirrived wlion dis^iiiHe iind Corbenrance would be
erunl. Di) yon ever ffcl u soothing HoiiHation in the right ear .' — yes, it
WHS the liglit — and lemhing from th»'nc(^ to the brnin ?"

" Yes, flveii at thin inomont, I feel it. It Ih delicious. It seems tosten.
one's very soul away in languor."

'• Oh, my sistor, suuinioik all your courage," returned the sobbing Zh-
jeimu, as she sank on lii'r knees, and throwing her arms around her,
pressed her convulsively to her heart, " ert' lonsi you must die I"

"What, and leave Abdallnh !" remarked the Baroness, mournfully.
'•Death is nothini; in itself; but I cannot part with him. Where ia
he .' Bring liim to nip, love, that 1 may entwine myself around him,
even as the drooping vine ombiacos the majestic oak. Let me breathe out
my last breath upon his bosom, dying oven as we have so long lived, in the
embrace that maddens. Oh, bring him, bring him quickly ! Life is too
short to be one moment from him.

Zuleimn iiad buried her face in her hands. Her weeping was codvuI-
eive — her sobs were painful to liear.

" How long hnve I to live .'" suddenly but calmly inquired the Baroness.
■ Perhaps another month. If it be the ])oi8on I suppose, it is so gentle
in its elVect that it will not cause death in less th;in two months from the
time when it is taken into the system. It is well known in the Kast, and
chieHy used hi the harem, by women jealous of each other. It causes do
change in the person, and the death, which sure as fate ensues, is so gen-
tle in its approach, that no one would ever suspect poison to have been
taken. Beauty and liealth, and strength, and the power of enjoyment re-
main even until the last breath has passed away."

'' This at least is con8')iing," said the lovely woman, rallying; "I would
be beautiful in Abdallah's eyes to the last. Death is only to be feared in
its loathsomeness. At\d yet I could live an age of love for him. But it
shull be so. Zuleima," she said, pressing her fondly to her heart, ''pro-
mise me one thing — that, until I am dead, you will not reveal this subject
to any one. Pledge mo, sweet sister."

" On my soul I will not !" answered the sobbing Zuleima. " Ah, that I
had the power to avert your destiny. Would, indeed, I had never seen
you, if oidy thus to know you and deplore your loss."

'• .My beloved sister, be calm. 'Tis well you came ; let that console you.
Hud I not been warned, as now, deitth, sudden and unexpected, would
have come to cheat me of the bliss I yet shall taste. Another month is
l^ft mo ; and in that month warm souls like ours can live another life of
jiiy. Throe days before my death the secret may be revealed. The
loved ones besides Abdallah must be in some measure prepared. Is it not
strange I feel so calm — so inditferent to my death 1"

" Ah !" remarked the sobbing Zuleima, " it is the very nature of the
poison to lull the senses, and induce this apathy."

■Then was the Countess charitable, else had she chosen a more tor-
turing death."

"All' not charity, but policy, dictated her conduct ;" was the sad le-

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166

THK MONK liNli.nr Oi- sT. JDHN

' Tliiit liai;oriiig. Hootliiti);, iiIiddbI volii|)tuii'ari poiron

ply of Zuloiiua.
lonvHS no trace."

" But wlioiefore bruugbt ahv wiitor to relievo me when 1 fninted .' Had
ahe dpsigncd to poison, metliinkfi 'twere atrangn to give what iniglit have
proved an antidote !"

" It was cunningly devised," returned Zuluima. " She knew that she
bad been near you, and might be suspected. By tendering water it might
teem a tiiodoess. In 9very way this served her purpose. It not suspect-
0d of foul treacbuiy, she gained the merit of a desire of service to her
whose death she sought ; and, if suspected, her own draining of the cup
disarmed suspicion."

" Moat cunning woman, truly ; and yet, Zuleima. do you know I do not
hate her for the act?"

Zuleima made do answer, but looked at her with an expression of deep
surprise.

" I cannot hate the woman whom deep passion for Abdallah alone moves
to crime against her rival. And yet I would not, even to preserve the life
I am about to lose, that her art had triumphed."

" Her art?"

" Yea : that night Abdallah told me all. To the aummer-houae she led
him, under pretence of confession. Once there, her true design was soon
unfolded. She supplicated him to her joy. At this his soul, wedded to
my own and constancy, revolted. Irritated at his refusal, she spoke of me
and vowed that I absorbed exclusively his love. Disgusted with her wan-
tonness he left her with contempt. You know what followed. She has
revenged her vrrong."

" Ah, what misery has resulted I Would to Allah that Abdallah bad
promised what she asked !"

"No, Zuleima, no ! I can die, but I cannot share his love — least with
the CountesB of Clermont than all other women. Her beauty is ttw
haughty — too insolent — too overbearing — moreover, in her amours she is
known to have no delicacy. It is well us it is. Lot no one know that she
was my poisoner. Will you promise mo that ? IVIy death must be attri-
buted to never-ending love for Abdullah."

" Since you ask it, I promise," replied tho alfectionate Zuleima, in a tone
of oxpostulatioD ; " but indeed it is very wrong to let her eacape the pun-
ishment of her crime."

"Zuleima, sweetest!" and she tenderly kissed her, ■■ in this I must be
obeyed; and now send Abdallah to me. You know the power of his love,
and I rejoice that you, and you alone, do know it. I rejoice thnt ynu should
know it, because you are a part of himself: and becausn, having known it,
you will comprehend that which no one else can — the redeeming liappi-
noss of the month of life yet left to your dear sister. Forth from this room
again I stir nut. In his arms I would breathe out my last breath. Strange
enough, but I have often wished that it could be so. And now, what was
then my fondest wish ia about to be realized."

•^

THE MONK KNIOHT OK ST. JOHN.

167

One long embrace, and Zuleinia departed (o deliver her mesange, and
Boon the CoufesBor and his beloved were again alone.

Shall we dwell on the month that atill remained to the Lady Erneatina.
Prepared to die at the expiration of that time, her only anxiety was for the
grief of those who, she well knew, would ho struck down as by a tempest
of desolation to the earth. A month is but a second in the calender of such
love as consumed both her Confessor and herself. The days passed rap-
idly by. Abdallah was never five minutes absent from her couch at a
time — never more than an hour of the entire day and night. Their pat-
sion grew at every moment stronger from fruition, until finally it became a
perfect delirium of the senses. It seemed to them that they had never
sufficiently loved before ; and even now the intense devotion of their souls
seemed only half to meet the intensity of their desire. The raptures
they tasted were not of earth — they were of heaven. Their depth and
fulness had nothing human in them. They would have grown into each
other if they could.

At length, and yet too speedily, came that fatal morning so full of woe
and bitterness to all but herself. She reclined, negligently, almost voluptu-
ously clad, upon a rich crimson ottoman. She was somewhat pale, and
slightly, very slightly emaciated. Her eyes were full of a soft fire that fas-
cinated the beholder, and the extreme clearness of her complexion, gave
her almost supernatural beauty. Her friends were grouped around her,
and these consisted of her husband, her lover, Zuleima, Henriette and
Rudolph, who were greatly affected. Intentionally, and with a view in
some degree to prepare them, she had announced that she felt alarmingly
ill, and wished the presence of all at the side of her couch. This evident-
ly induced apprehension, and all hastened to obey her summons.

" Nay, look not thus gloomily," she enjoined, " else you will unfit me for
the duty I have assigned myself, ff you but knew the luxury of feeling
I now enjoy, you would not pity but envy me. My dear, dear friends,"
she continued, " I have long since been aware of my approaching end, but
why afflict you sooner than was needful ? Better far to die amid smiling
and well-remembered faces, than have one's Inst few days of life embitter-
ed by the sight of grief in those a (Mwerful and divine impulse tells me I
shall yet behold again, where all the future is love and love alone. Nay,
Henriette, my child — my pet; do not weep. You shall be de Boiscourr'a
wife ; you long have loved him — and he "

" Oil. my (Jod !" exclaimed the agonized girl, " talk not of love to me,
who. in you, love nil that is dearest to me. Not Gonzales himself glories in
you more than I have {jloried — loves you moro tenderly than I have loved."

Abdallah spoke not. He stood rigid as a stotue. The pores of his fore-
head distilled drops of agony. He was almost suffocated with his emotion.
The Lady Ernestina dead, or ' rn from him forever, filled his mind with
horror. He could not even imagine so astounding an evil.

" I then," he exclaimed, fiercely, " have, in the fulness of my own
might, destroyed you. But ha! the work is but begun— it shall be finish-
ed."

108

THK MUNK KNIUHT OK M. JOHN.

No one rc4fili«(l. The im|M)rt of lilu Wdril;* whl< ovidHnt. All knew the
fact of tliat tu whicli Iih iiiluded, but mine liiul over thought of giving ex-
pr«>8ioii to the observation.

A HuddtMi idea occiirrod to the niiroiipsri. ■' Alidiilliili," nhn said, " all
this IB for the best. None there ore here who do not know or Huroiise the
relntions tfaut exist between us ; for, although not bold or rogardless of
uppearances, I htivo not had art enough to dii<^uiH«> my fuelinriH. Come
nearer, Abdalluh, my husband that wao, and now my lovor. This is your
child : never could it have succeodi'ii to thi^ nnmo mid title of de Hoiscourt.
It was the growth of the sweet lovo tliiit for montliH has consumed ua.
Had I given birth to it, its position would, in tlio <«yi'S "f the cold world,
been one of disgrace. Better that it should dlf> with mt> than Hurvive to
embarrass the generous, the noble de Boiscourt. wh»m once, made mad by
you with overwhelming love, I so greatly wronged."

As she uttered these last words she held out her arms to the sorrowing
Baron, who knelt at her side, and, passionately einbriicing her, shed many
and bitter tears upon her bosom.

Unable to command his grief, or to hide the desire that even at that mo-
ment came over his soul, the Confessor had ru^ilied from the room.

" Follow him, de Boiscourt ; follow and comfort him. Say that the
three days I have to live I devote solely to him. But one thing before you
go, you must promise me. Henriette loves you- She is a dear and charm-
ing girl. 1 know your taste, and you may rely upon it, she is in person,
oy, and in heart too, all you can desire. You must marry her within a
month after I am in my grave."

"But, dearest Lady Ernestina !" exclaimed the sobbing Honriette,
throwing herself at her feet.

" Not another word, sweet child, if you wish me to die happily. 1 de-
sire that it shall be so. What says dear de Boiscourt ?"

The Baron was too much absorbed in his grief to reply by words. He
took both Henriette's hand and his wife's tenderly in his own, and pressed
them silently but fervently to his lips.

"Where is Abdallah gone?" she inquired, after a pause of some min-
ntes. Dear de Boiscourt find him. Hf may do himself injury. His
emotion was very great. Besides," she said, significantly taking his hand,
" you know 1 have three days of perfect health left to me yet."

"Ah, would they were yeors," said the Biiron, vehemently, " and de-
voted to the same purpose. God bless you, my love, forever and for ever.
Certainly, as you say, we shall meet in Heaven. Who so weak as to
doubt it?"

He enfolded her to his beating heart. He imprinted a last and chasten-
ed kiss of love upon her lips, and then hurried forth in pursuit of Abdallah.

It was not until a late hour that the luttcr returned. He was wild —
liaggard — looked much older — as though he had gone through years of suf-
fering. The benevolence of his brow had fled — its expression was en-
th-ely changed. On the contrary, a halo of calm spread itself over the
countenance of the Lady Krnestinn — a voluptuous languor crept through

THE MONK KNIOHT OK sT. JOHN.

itiy

h«r Teini. She was alone when he entered, One glance at the perfect
abandonment of her whole being whb sufficient.

" Three days of bliss, and wo ui« toj^other," Rronned Abdallah. He
rang the bell furiously, and Henrietto ii|)pi<ur<*d.

" Child," he said, " let refreshments bu taken into the ante-room.
Wine, plenty of Cyprus wine — whatiiver nmy stir the blood to inadiiess —
all manner of succulents. Wo have a fenst of love to keep. Here is
Semel^ and I am Jove. Sweet Heb^, bring wine — bring nectur ; bring
anything— bring everything that will administer to our burning luve. —
Quick, quick ; there is no time to Ioho. Cuinu not in yourself, but place it
in that anto-room. Krnostina ! oh, my Krnestinn !"

And before the gentle llenriette, so rocently bntrothed to de Boiscourt,
had time to leave the room, in execution of his will, her cheeks wure
crimson with blushes as she saw him wildly rush into the willing arms of
her he loved, heedless that another than themselves was there.

" There's blood upon your brow, dear Abdallah ; how camo this ?" re-
marked the Lady Krnestina, after a long lapse of time devoted only to the
stormy passions which rent their souls.

" It means," said Abdallah, hoarsely, " that you are revenged. But,
come, dearest, talk not of the hateful past ; let us live while we may in
the present. There is no time to devote to others. Ernestina, my child,
my love, my wife, my iidored one — our days are numbered, and they two
brief. Oh, pitying sainta, but one week longer !"

CHAPTER XXXll,

When, at the expiration of the last three Hays, which the Lady Ernestina
and her Confessor had devoted so unceasin^rly to their love, the sorrowing party
at the chateau had entered the nuptial chamber which has already more than
once been described, and to which they went unsummoned, they found the
former almost in the languor of duath ; and the latter, so far exhausted from
the (tflects of a poison he too had swallowed, that he had only strength to
watch over the last moments of his adored. The liquid he had taken was
somewhat the same in effect with that administered to the Baroness, by the
revengeful Countess of Clermont. Like that, it was eastern, and had pro-
duced the .soothingnesB which had been so remarkable in the Lady Ernestina.
The calm and benevolent expression of his features had returned, and there
was a holy resignation — a repose of countenance, as he gazed intently on the
beautiful form of her who would be soon hidden from his sight, that seemed
utterly at variance with the intensity of the love he bore her. His hand was
tightly clasped in hers, whose breathing was now low and faint, but whose
eyes occasionally opened upon him with such an expression of resignation
and gratified love, that all, aware of the manner in which the last momeuts

170

TIIK MDNK KNli.HI' O. ST. JOHN.

of her liftt Usui been piisMMJ, Iclt st'trrt joy and I'xiiltntiiin that mieinii ,;!*
nothing now roniaiiied tu her to iIohih' on rsirlh.

" What oan tliiit mean ' ' a«kc<l df Uoiwoiirt, aiixiouHly " .Snroly tlioi' •
art; not tlit< \iHual iniheutiona ot'diM'aito What has caiiMeil thi.s '"

*' Poi.Hoii '" answered the Munk-KniKht, Holeninly. " Who tuM<m of iht-
Hweet narcotic that courscit voluptuounly through each vuin, wonhl kis-t the
hand of the inurdnrcM who gave it, not in I'rD'ndHliip hut in hate."

*' Hut, drar Abdallah, what mean you, in there ruusoii to twiievu that Kr-
nestina is a victim of poison, and [w>t of coiisuroptiun, ati she announced '"

" l)e Boiscourt," replied the Confessor, " you recollect the Hcene that oc-
curred in your festive hall, and in memory of your proclaimed return from
Palestine'"

"I do : what of that'"
' '' Then, do you not recollect the charge I made against the Countesrt of
Clermont — that she had administered the slow but deadly drug'"

" Good God ! what mean you, Abdallah '" returned the Baron, with a pale
cheiek, and faltering voice, as he advanced, and knelt at the side of his wife ;
" I do recollect the charge too well, but then ahe gave denial— proof of
innocence."

" And yet she did it — even then iiad she done it."

" Ah !" groaned the Haron in deep agony ; " had 1 been warned by you,
dear Zuleima, then had this terrible evil htieu avoided."

" Reproach not yourself," answered the tender wilo of Kudolph. " It
could not be avoided. It wa» already ilone when I ijavc you notice I knew
It w;i8 in vain to seek a remedy Only to the Lady KrntMtiiia did I tli.silose
my fears. Ah ! with what sublime courage mIip bore the tiding.s of tin.' death
that was so near. Nay, even slu- forfjavc the (JountesH, and won my pledge
that I would not betray her ^'uilt."

" .\n(l did she pray forgiveness of tliu Countess '" said Abdallah, wildly ;
and yet with his gaze .still bciit upon the beloved and dying one.

" She did. She said she could not hate the woman, whose strong dosire
alone for him she loved, had made her seek her life."

•' Said she so'" fiercely excliiimed Abdallah. " Oh ' what an angel, and
what a fiend who tore her from my too insatiate love ' You see blood upon
tht'w hands," lie continiird liiriously, as he iicid tliem forth. " Well have I
avenged her fall. Not hell it.-^elf could devise a fate more horrible than that
which now is hers."

" Alidallah, my dear friend, you rave," said the Baron, endeavoring to
.soothe him. You have not left the chateau once these three weeks ; nay,
except to take a portion nl the I'oml whidi was piaccij m the ante-room at
your desire ; not once have you been absent froin the confessional."

"Ha!" returned the Monk-Kiiijflit. fiercely; "you are right — 1 rave.
L«'t ine then, for tlie few hours I have y<'l to live, tell you how I rave.
Sfc — see. she turns her lyes in supplication on me — her glances tell of the
opening beatitude of her spirit. Oh ! Ernestina, go not yet. Without you
the world is hell. I must die in your embrace, straining you to my iron-
breast until the very heart-strings snap asunder, and bear us away in the
very tumult of our love to life eternal, where enjoyment is for evermore wi«li

niK MONK KNIiillT OK ^T. JOHN.

171

thoM! who love likrt us. Dear, twMt Eriiuitina!" and he devoutlykneh
and UiHm'd her utill wann Ii|>h ; " nnver iiiitii loved aa I liav« loved — never
woman drank into h«T luvinK !t»d tund noiil tli)! inUixii'ntiii^; nwnnta of paitaion
»H you iiav« done. Oh ' uicrry, ran it be' Ih it, indeed — ih it hut a dream'
MuMt it end' nainned— liainned C'ountcMl Ha* she livea — she hroathei
— the yanprene thou^^ht is at her heart ' She liven to know each moment of
my life in ('onneerate to hate of her aceiirHed self. S|)eak, dear Krnoetina,
apeak : one laHt emhrane of h)ve, and then, let all thiiiK" perinh."

The HaroncMii rould not answer, hot nhe CHHt a dying look o( such deep
love upon him, while xhe gently prtHaedhitt hand, that the strong man wept
like a ehild.

" Oh ' damned, damned woman !" he purmied. again relapsing into fury,
" rould nothing Htay your cruel purpits«> ' Would that I had yielded to
your lewdness — ay, even though my soul had been covered with the hilter-
ne« of dentil in the art, before the fiend of hatred dire had entered into your
heart to crush so sweet a flower. But I have revenged V"". Listen, dc
Boiwourt," he said sternly, " it was fate, it was providenee interfered to
punish her infamy and avenge the lost one."

" When 1 went forth from this,'' he continued, " on the announcement of
her danger being made, it was with madness and det'perat ion of purpose at
my licart. A wild desire to taste the breeze of heaven, and wring sad (•f>ni-
fort from the stings of fallen hope oppreswid my soul. 1 knew what I w,is
about to lose, and horror was in the thought. My feet wandered most un-
consciously to the summer-house. As 1 was about to pass it, the sound of
voices from within arrested me. 1 felt that one at least was not unknown, and
I stopped, mechanically, to listen. A vsgiio presentiment that 1 was in some
degree interested in tl»e conversation, compelled me, as it were, to an act
which otherwise I should have considered discreditable.

" If you recollect, there is a slight rise just behind the summer-house, where
it borders on the thick skirt of the forest. I placed my toot on this, and thus
elevated, e.isily looked in at the window. I sicken at the recollo<'tion of
what I saw ; it was the brutal (.'oeur-de-Fer in the arms of the (Countess of
Clermont. There was no doubt of the nature of their intimacy. Nothing
was lel\ to the imagination. Oh I I cannot find language to express the
loathing which I felt at the sight. In my view she was perfectly unwoman-
i/.ed. 1 could iis soon have mated with a she-bear, as with that sliamul(«Bs
fiend.

" As I was about to descend, and plunge still deeper into the forest, al-
most humiliate<l at the thought that such love as I had witiicsMCil was even
the .•iaiiie in reality with that wiiic^h bound me lo the dying beloved of tny
soul. I telt humbled, annoyed, disgusted, and 1 hated the (^uintess with
a hate no language can convey. While about to disceiid, I rtpetit, I In ard
her dislinelly say, although in a voice broken by her recent detested iiiuUion :

" ' And is tilt poison sure f it seems to me to work but slowly.' '

" A thousand thoughts crowded in one upon my brain, but uppermost rose
apprehension connected with the idol of my .soul — I lingered — listened. "

" * Its efTecl is certain — slow, hut sure. I pundiased it in Palestine to

172

THK MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

administer to the accursed Monk-Knight, but never found oceasion. I have
prescrvrd itcantfuliy since. Two drops in the ear uroduco certain death.' "

" Oh, Cod ! who can understand what 1 felt. To lose thus the woman
that I loved with a love indescribable, who was more myself than myself;
for whom I would liave shed my blood, drop by drop — to poesesu whose su-
p«'rliuman beauty, I alone lived and breathed and found pleasure m life, nnd
for whose posses.sjon I nursed tiie most inordinate and unsatisfied 'longinjg;
v<\vi\ most possessed. 'I'o lose her, to be certain as the sun of heaven that
rolled over my distracted head, that she must die, and rot, and liecome a
thiiin' (It i(i:iiiif )inencss for worms to revel in, all this was more than madness
— a world i;f time passed before me. The summer-house turned around. The
trees of the forest seemed to stand with their roots in air. A flood of crim-
son sparhhvs shot forth from my staring; eyes — my heart fainted with fear
— I scarcely breathed. Again I made an effort to remove or confirm my
strong; suspicion, and again the damned and harshly grating voice of tiie
Countess of ("lermont arrested my ear."

" ' And yet nearly two months have passed since 1 poured it into her ear.
Still she seems not even to suffer frora the effect. You have mocked me,
Cceur-de-Fer, to gain your end. 1 pino for this Abdallah, and fain would
have her dit>. that lu;r image being absent, nothing may interpose between
me and the ai jmplishment of my desires.' ''

" ' But even were she (had, how wi!l that advance you ' The Monk has
no eye.s — no soul, but for her. The Baroness in her grave will be dearer vo
him far than j'll of womankind beside her.'

" ' I know him hotter,' was the rejoinder. ' Take from him that lap of
love, on which iiis madness riots — destroy the creeping flesh, to which he,
like the vani|iire clings, and soon his passion must find the fellow of the joy ol
which he hiu< been robbed. Mark me well. I shall take the occasion when
his moixl is strongest to win him to my will. My charms, at 'east, are
etpial to those of her whose death I seek. If he but beholds them as even
now you do, iny eonqiiesl is complete. The man is all-powerful within him.
Despite even of himself he must yield. Once mine, I doubt not my power
to transfer the boiling love he now lavishes on my rival to myself

" ' Then dei^pair not,' answered the brute. ' She may live another week,
not more. Hecollect, my (,'ounte.se, it is not this alone contents ine. Your
love, pardieu, i.*> swe(?t enough, but the thousand crowns are sweeter. Kx-
cus».' my frankness, but we soldiers are generally straight-spoken fellows.'

" ' The day aftjir her death is made known to me, the thousand crowns are
yours,' resumed the harlot ; ' b\it you have said you have another powerful
poison, which causes death within a shorter |)eri(Kl, and is more potent if
tak^n inwardly."

" ' I have brought it with me,'' said (Jour-de-Fer. 'The price is fifty
cro.^'ns.'

" ' Then, ere you leave give it to me. Ju.st fifty crowns are in my purse.
You say that its soothing influence is oqual to the first, but that it sooner
kills.'

" It doee. A iiow drops of any acid taken while it lingers in the system,
produces death within the hour.'

tit

I (

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

173

" ' (luod , there is my purae. If that you doubt the sum contained in it,
pray (Miuiit the crowns. For me, my longer alwence may create suspicion,
and I must licncc at once. Farewell.'

" ' Presently, fair ('ountess. I'll count the crowns before you go, and if,
perciianr*', the sum is short, wiiy I know where to call upon you for the re-
maiufler. We, c!'l I'alestine warriors,' he continued, grinning hideously,
' are fellows at n bargain, whether in love or in gold. You'll find the Monk
a lover cheaply purchaeed at a thousand crowns though. 1 wish you joy of
him. He would surely have killed the Ijarouess if you had not. Living in
the chateau as I do, 1 know all that passes within it. (ionzales, by wiiich
name he now goes, has n^X once within the nu)nth [tassed the ihreslioid of
her confessional which adjoins her ehamhcr. Little do they tiiink how soon
their love-feast will cease lla ! that is iny revenge !

'• Oh ! what were my feelings' is it pos.sil)le (or any other man to un-
derstand them ! My finger-nails sank into tiie tlesh of my convulsively closed
hands. I was tortured with fierct: impatience. 1 died to see her dcjtart.
Ah ' joy, she went at last. She stole cautiously through the forest — she be-
held mo not. A mountain weight fell from my breast ; I sank on my knees,
and, with a gush of tears, tlianked the great God who thus had indirectly
befriended me.

" Soon afterwards the mutilated villain came forth gloating with .satisfied
sensuality and avarice. I was glad to me this ; I loved that life should have
a charm — a value in his eyes. lie stood before ine. It was the first time
we had met, since he had conducted the Lady Emestina and myself to the
subterranean chambers. 1 know not what he read in my countenance, but
he looked pale, and ill at ease when he first beheld me — even afterwards ;
he uttemp'ed to put on a bullying air, but it would not do. He drew a
poignard and held it threateningly in the only hand that was left to him. I
felt :is though a child had been before me, and I laughed in dension. There
must have been something hideous in the expression of my countenance at
the time, for I could feel every nerve playing convulsively, and 1 saw that
he wn» fascinated — sptOI-bo'ind by the singularity of my manner.

" • And .so you d«al in poison'' 1 said calmly. — ' That which you had
purchased for me you have sold to the Countess of ("lermont — nay, deny it
not, villain — 1 have it from your own lips: just now, you sold her more for
fifty crowns. The price is in your gaberdine."

" He was evidently confused, and yet he sought to make the most of his
(Misiti.'in.

" ' Hy what right. Sir Monk, pretend you to interfere between a lady and
h(!r lover ''

" ' (Ml I yes, the right — I understand. But then, you know, you desire me,
the Ijady Krnestina l>eing dead, .o follow ic the path wliieh your loathsome-
ness has traced. Have I not right then to regard you as a rival, and interfere
accordingly.'

" The calmRCss with which I uttered these words astonisheil even myself.
Cceur-de-Fcr Ptade no reply.

" ' Fiend of hell I — agent of a polluted devil, wearing the adored form of
womanly beauty !' I resomed, after a short pauae, and with almost aepulchral

174

THE MONK KMUHT OF ST. JOHN.

voice — ' better had you never forced your way from your mother's* womb,
than lived to sec this day. Do you see my fingers' ends — mark how convul-
sively they play — see how they manifest impatience to clench themselves in
your throat. Come, then, to your fate — follow me. I would not strangle
you before this portal.'

" My eyes looked into his soul.

" Like the trembling bird, fascinated by the serpent, he dropped the hand
which held his knife, and followed me. A spell was over him. He could not
resist. 1 saw the giant turn pale. His knees trembled as he walked. Had
he been the devil, I think I should have compolled him to my stern will.

" We were now about twenty paces from th"! trap-door leading to the
subterranean apartments.

" ' Lift that door,' I commanded, calmly, but in the tone of strong deter-
mination.

" ' What do you intend to do '' he asked in trembling accents, and quail-
ing with fear.

" ' Lift that door,' 1 repeated in a voice of thunder.

"' I must have looked more terrible than ever, for he gazed into my face
with increased horror in his own. The brushwood was removed — the ring
found, and the top lifted from the entrance.

" ' And now,' I said, in a more subdued tone, ' what does not that rnan
deserve who could find it in his heart to destroy so sweet and so pure a
being as the Lady Ernestina de Boisoourt ^'

" He was silent.

" ' In taking her life, you have taken mine ; yet what is my life wiien
compared with hers' Oh! God.' 1 pursued, 'that one so lovely. 8<i un-
olTending. should have had her days cut ofTby such a thing as this I It is a
dream. I cannot believe it. It is too horrible — too incredible I' and I
groaned in agony of spirit.

'' After a pause of a few moments, I resumed —

" ' Pray while you can, for you surely die the '^»ath of the damned.'

" His agitation increased — he trembled violently. Still fil!c<l with the
instinct of seff-preservation, he again raised the knife, and assumed an atti-
tude of hostility.

" ' Fool !' 1 muttered sneeringly. ' what hope you to do witli this''

" I caught his arm, and wrung the weapon from him as easily as I should
have taken it from the g'"asp of a child. 1 flung it into the cavern.

" ' Ah' pardon,' he cried, raising liii* solitary hand in su|)|)lication ; ' if
you hop' for mercy hereal'tcr, pardon — I cannot die here, as 1 should have
died upon the battle-field. In memory of the Crrtss, and of PalcvStiiip. pardon.
I cannot die — I am not prepared to die !'

" ' Ah I joy." 1 exclaimed ; "repeat ihut admission — it soothes my stui I.
IjCI me see you suffer the torments of hell even before you r^'acii it. Krncs-
tina. beloved and dying mistress of my mm], let me thus avenge you !'

'' I approached him slowly — my eye w;is rivetted upon him. He could
not even make an effort to escape. Giiijually my open palms clutched his
brawny neck. My pressure was slow but vic<!-like. More ami more com
presded o?came my hand at each moment ; his hair seemed to stand on end ;

*■- h

THK MONK KNi'iHT OF ST. JOHN.

176

the blood filled up the dark and swelling veins of his brow ; the eves, red
and swollen, were soon like glassy and protruding balls without expi^^sion.
Oh I he was horrible to look at, and yet I loved to look upon him, as I
should have loved to gaze upon a beautiful picture, for 1 felt that 1 was
offering atonement for the wrongs of my beloved, and every pang inflicted
upon her murderer was one atom taken from the load of my own heavy afflic-
tion. At last, with the rattles in his throat, he fell ; but death had been
too merciful to him. I did not intend it. Lifting him in my arms, I
dashed him with all my strength to the bottom of the cavern, and replaced
the trap-door, which I carefully covered as before.

" ' Horrible, yel most just fate !' sighed de Uoiscourt. ' Well — well in-
deed, had he deserved it.'

"'Horrible enough,' remarked the Monk-Knight, calmly: 'and yet it
was mercy compared with that of ;' b accursed C3ounteae.'

All shuddered, but no one offered a remark ; and thus, the Monk-Knigiit
continued :

" My vengeance was yet only half complete. I hastened to the fiishop's
mansion at Clermont. I asked for the Countess. She was in. She had
just returned from .'lor damnable appointment with Cceur-dc-Fer. I sent up
my name, with a mejiaage that I had come to confess her. I knew what in-
ference she would draw from this, for 1 have iuid experience enough to know
that when one of that brotherhood — whose vices tiad onc<» filled rne with
horror — sent to a woman a communication of this kind, it was intended to
convey that another should be added to the sins for which he gave her abso-
lution.

" Promptly was 1 admitted into her Iwudoir. She was there. My soul
was filled with loathing for the wretch, and yvl 1 dissembled. There she
s.at or rather reclined — that gross and sensual woman — still flushed and reek-
ing from the arms of C(Bur-<le-I''er. As I wanted thu poison she had obtained
from Cceur-(le-Fer. it wa.s essential that 1 should play the hypocrite. 1 did
so. Oh ! lu>w I loathed myself for it. I protended thai she had guessed
right as to my i)ar8ion for the Lady Ernestina, but that now my feelings had
entirely fhanged, that 1 had become sated with her posse-esion and desired
her. Tl il in order to effect this with security, it was necessary to put the
Barones out of the way ; that 1 had some poison, but wanted more, with
which nil*' iiuist immediately supply me.

" Unsuspecting! V, she went to the spot where she had deposited (hat which
hud purchased from Coeur-de-Fer, and handed it to me with a meaning
sinilf.

'• ' 'I'hire IS death in that wiihm ilu twenty-four hours," she exclaimed,
'then am i yours, without interruption, a,. >i lor ever' Hut oh ! I caiinnt
wail until tiien. First, lot me indulge, ;ui(l then impose ponance upon the
overwliiliui'.ig love I hear you.'

" Shr was partly uiidross^MJ. She < aiiglil me by my rob*;, and drew mo
to her side on the couch, manifesting a passion so uiifeminine tint my disgust
increased. With a cold, calm eye, 1 surveyed the <;harm8 she forced upon
Tiy attentioD. They might have found favor in the eyes of anr)tlier lu

17<i

TIIK MONK KMlJlir Ol >r. JOHN.

mint', they were hideous. 'I'he inliimy of the iiiiiul had iie«lroyed all
oeaiity ■

'• ' Not here,' 1 said coldly. ' Forgive me it I am weak eiiuu^'h to have
some wriii)le. I eannot desecrate the coiifesisional. The nii^hi is waning,
(io forlii, even as you are, and we will seek the cover of the forest. 'I'hat
ample cloak and cavalier's hat will sutfieieiitly dittguise you : it looks, in-
deed, an if it had heen often used for the same convenient purpose — perhaps
this very night,' and I looked (ixe<lly at her.

" ' By all the saints of Paradise I' swore the lying woman, ' hence I have
not stirred this night.'

•■ • J3y all the fiends of hell, you have !' I responded savagely, striking
my hand heavily, at the same time, on a table that stood near.

•• She started, looked surprised, hut answered not.

"' Nay, nay.' said I, calmly; tor I felt that [ had committed myself —
' ihtnk not that I mind those little infidelities. You know the man is strong
within me, and heeds not of the woman, but her se.v. What care I,
though a sctire of others feed ii[)()ii the dish of which I taste. Hut come — I
have a great fancy for de Boiscourt's summer-house. The air is cool, the
scene is .still, and fashion«d most to love — perhaps to crime.'

•• • And where is tiiat?' she aaked.

" • Nay, nay, sweet innocent, you do hut jest. Even where the love you
deiiin to offer me was tirst bestowed upon the menial, ( 'oeur-de-Fer, and that
within this hour. A ^ood and proper man is Coeurde-Fer, and om; well
fitted to a lady's titate litit come, fair f'ountess, let me don your cloak.
Ah' there, you look most bravely. That hat and plume right weM b<!c.omes
ycHi. ''ome ciuickly — my ravishment of joy at what awaits ii.s both will
scarwtiy kee|) within r.s Uiuiids.'

•' • ^m. dear Monk." she expostulated, ' why to the forest of ,\uvergne'
See you u«t here all to warm the soul to sweet desire ! Ah I do not go, I
pray you. It will be too late before I can return.'

'• • Ijat*" erwKigh.' I muttered fierci ly , and between my clenched teeth
* (.'ome — come,' 1 continued more calmly ; ' Come, wed you to your future
mate. The love that is ui reserve lor you never had its parallel.'

• 1 grasped her iiriii rudely : 1 luade her follow me. My steps were hur-
ried but measured. She iiad some dilHcully in keeping up with me. At
length, and m silence, we rearhed the summer-house.

" • Not ht'i-e," I (tbsfi- ivl, a^ | sj^w her about to enter. ' There is a spoi
li.ird In . ..I' --iiiled Xo the j.i.rpose. that nature herst-lf will oe startled at what
shall be enacted there."

" I now nould (H-rceive from lier hesitation, that she l>egaii to entertain
some slight distrust of my purpose. I threw off the mask : its load was in-
supportable, i dragged, rather than led, her to the trap-d<K)r.

■ • What.' I .laid to her fiercely, ' do you repent your promise ' — come,
^unii','

■ Ve vrere near the entrance lo the subterranean passage. I lifted the
tdiHJor.

' Fiend !' I said, pointing to the cave, ' ihe court of love is thei9>'

■^ '4ibe otaiad Jowa — the place was black as Erebus.

THE MONK K\I(!MT OK ST. JOHN.

177

" ' Ah ! I ff-ar — I tremblo^I know not what to think — it appals me."

" • Nay, iht! placo is n«;i;l, mnat meni, for KiiultT lovers like oiirselvwi,' 1
hoarsely whiMpend. ' roiuc my iinpaliiiicf rannot wait I have not time
to wa8t(.' ill empty wiirds.'

" i stood upon ihf iliinl .^tep Ir-adiiin; to lh(! cavern Her liiind w;w in
nnine. I drev. iitr dowiiwardn with a Mlront; arm .She uttenni .i loud
shriek, and my impatuiiico redoubled. 1 had been well tutored how to act
111 that abyss ol' darkiie.ss : I had provided a dark lantern on my way to the
residence, and this 1 now lijrhled.

" The murky ploom gave to the [dace the apj>earance of a |mndeiuoniuiii.

" ' Oh, (J(k1 ! where am I ' — wiiai do you inlrnd to do ' (iood Heaven '
wlio is that'"

'• ' That,' I said steinly, still retainiiif; my tirni firnap of her hand, • id one
you ou('lil to know Look at him wt;l!, murderess. Of a verily he is a
handsome rogue, and much improved since he dallied in your arms this day,
Ij«)ok well at him, 1 say.'

•' HoldinfT the light low, I pressed her head downward also. .She wiild
not but recofjnizo l\w feature.'), horribly distorted even as they were Oh !
happiness to my.self ; he was not dead ; he still breathetl and mr)ved.

" ' That IS your lover,' I remarked, calmly. ' I have brought you here,
not to Med with me, but with him.

" The Counters now began to comprehend the full extent of her position.
She uttered piereinp shrieks, which i feared might be heard from without.

" In the violeiiee of my hate and rage. I damned her, and struck her on
the lips. The blood gushed forth upon my hands, and so filled her month
that she could not repeat her cries.

" • Now woman — accursed woman,' 1 muttered through my clo8«<i teeth,
' know that 1 have enlrapi)wl you to your destruction. Never again shall
you behold the sunliglu of (Jo.! i heaven. In bitterness and in anguish, worse
than deatli. shall you pay the penalty of the black deed which, to gratify the
wishes of a devil, hiis robbed me of an angel — ay, basely killed the Bweetoet
flower that ever shed iIh sweetness on a lover's bre.ist. Yf :>, inhuman
wretch. cnv)-nomed toad, upon whom I i<pit, I know it all. I know you
purcliused poison, and poured it in the ear of her I loved, entailing certain
death. But 1 have no time . deal in scolding words. You have destroyed
two glowing hearts, thai (ipo i iiad knit in 'iolit!:i love together You have
quenched two fires, that but fir your vile an and practice had been nmiuench-
able ; hut I ' n- rcTcnged. 'I'hm is your fate. Iiel lh<- woi.ns that crawl from
the vile l)'('_ of your confeder;>t(! in blood, pander to and siing you m your
lewdness. There is your loathsomo lover, cling to hiir). S«e. there la
breath in him yet. Try your .lez^^bel arts upon him Renew his liti and
vigor that he may, for once again, minister to your wicked will, bin so
feebly as to leave the craving deathless at your heart while life remains.
And think, while life remains to you, that thuH the li-ady Ernestina ih
reventred . '

" I threw her on thn d&mp earth — 1 spat upon her an upon a toad, then
placing the lantern on the ground, drew fmin betieath my nu)nki»b garb
strong thongs I had prepared for the i>ur[KMC. 1 laatted her, Mtrugglmg to
12

178

TH'/ MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN.

^'' hi

free herself and howling in her despair, face to face with Cour-<le-Fer, and
uttering curses upoi thorn both, consigned them to their fate.

" < All (his may seem cruel, unqianly,' ho continncd, aAer a pause ; ' biit
who, like ine, has sulTered — who, like iiic, has had each fibre of his heart torn
asunder' — -."ho, liki me, has lost an Eraestina' The damp dungeon the
Counters n«<w inhabits would be paradise, were she but spared to »bare it
with me. Ah, what is this love, this tremendous emotion, this remarkable
desire- -•"bat is it, I ask, if it be not a portion of the Divinity — a part and
parcel of God himself, who in all love. Were it not so, the mere possession
were sufficient to eiisurc the perfect joy, But it is not that — not possession a
thousand-fold repealed — but the subtlety of pleasure th;it kills with languish-
ment, ;t:id myi. :v, and delight. All this have I felt, all this do I acknow-
ledge ; for Ci'od made man and woman in original beauty and power, that
most they might evince their adoration and gratitude for the mysterious and
divino boon, and if, while degenerating themselves, they have suffered pus-
»iun to degenerate into mere animal desire, it is by reason of the depravity,
wjiich has been the growth of civi'iizallon and its consequent crime. As
first given to man it is the essence of purity itself.

'• ' There was a time,' pursued the Monk, who spoke wi'.I great solemnity
and emphasis, and feeling, • when I thought differentlv- -when the hook of
knowledge of the divine goodness was closed to me. I had not kucwn
woman — I hud not learned the fulness of God's love to man by her crcativjii.
Hut ab ! It is vain to think or speak of these things. The cup of deep
hun.j.n joy has been exhausted, de Doiscourt ; my soul thanks you for the
lesson you have taught me even in t.h^ irms of your adored wife. Ernes-
tiua ! oh Krnestina,' and with a will j/joan, he sank at her side, once moro
And forever.

" ' Ab<lallah, dear Al»dallah,' murmured the enfeebled voice of her whom
he mourned, and who had only awake:ied from a delicious reverie, in which
visions o( future love and existence with him were up|)ermo8t — ' give me
your hand '

" She pre4B.sed i! faintly yet forvcrilly to her lips, muttered a few cheering
words, rai8«'d her blue eyes to his, while :i rich glow tinged her cheek, sank
hor head upon her bosom, and breathed her last, looking in death as beautiful
as in life

" • So, so -even so,' said \bdallah, wildly ; ' then the dream is over, J
cannot wrop~ my tears are dried : yet who shall separate us''

" T.ikiuR suddenly I'roin liis biciM a .small vk.I, he applied it to his lips,
ih'r, threw hiuiself prostrate iijion the bo<ly, around which he firmly entwined
b .4 arms When de lloii-court, seeing all waa over with the Ijatly Kriu»
lina, apiiroaeliiHl fin the pur|>o!U! of gently removing Uie Monk Kni/^'l.t
he to<j wa.** dead."

THK MONK KNKJMT ^^ >-T. JOHN.

179

CHAP r E 1{ X X X 1 J J

Jjono and de«;p was t)ie M>rruw titut rei|;ntMi in the chatif..(i of Auvert^no,
after tlie iin.'laiicholy dpailm of tlu' Mohk-Krii)»lit and th«; l,adv Krnestina.
A heavy and auiul>ilatiM(; blow hud bci'ii Htruck iipnii tin lirariM of their
friiMidn, and Un a aeasoii de|iriVHd ;ne alniust siultifird iiiiiid ol the power of
leactinii. ['\>t inoiitht> nil within wa.s civeii a.>- a di^titirt. 'I'lic dt^'pest monin-
ing had liettn ordt-rt'd hy ih." Hanm lor iim iiiiiin;di;ae hoiiM'hold and fL'taniiTS.
and many and rt^verentia) ma»eoN, at winch the tantilv soleuiiily ausiuted,
were said lor tin; r<'pos«' i>i' liie Monjy of tht; (lt;ci';ujf'd. No one wpoke to the
other of tix' deparl<'d, hut it was ele-ar to all that the luind of each was al>-
Mirhed in refieetKiiis, t*priii<;in^r noi only from the intensitv of tlieir ill-eon-
ceai- I love, hnl from the Had fvcnlii whieli had folloaed its ohntrneiion.

Time. Iiowever, which a wise dis[>ensation of th« Holy One hah willed to
Miflen and allay the nuMt terrible (d all ^riels ineidtiiit to man, aceoni|j|i»hi!d
ll« usual la.^k. and i;radnally tin- re«'olleelion of ihe loved and refjreltfd
wa.s aeeoin)ianiiMl liv ;i H(Miiiiin<.; and suh.hi' d ruijret thai wa.-; i-ather melan-
chuly than painful 'then, for the lirbt tune, they bo^aii to live again in
iheniBflves and for carh othei. Hiiherto not a word rrkitiiii; to ilu- enwaf(e-
nieiit <>xactt'd for their ha|ipine»a by the Lady Krnetilina. h:ul been littered by
de ])oitK!oiirt lo JInirieite. Iiiit now that the tcimion ot their ^nef-devotod
feelin(i>< had been in some de^jree relieved, the heait li'lt doiildy impelled
lo teiiderni'.sh ami love.

" Henriette, deareat,' said the Baron, as they Hatahnie on the eve of their
marriat;*'. m the moonlight, whieh eaitt itb p.ile rayw ihionuh the opened
lattice ol ihe liudy l'',riu'.sliii;rs lone uii<H>ciipied boudoir — " tin- pa.sl setiniB to
me to ha'.e itecn u ilif.ini. in which I had loraolten not only ntyself—tlial
were nolhiiiK — hut ihc dear heijuesit so generouslv iK^stowed by her wIki.sc
m<;i«ory we yet nuiiirn, as ihc best and sweeteMt of wonunlviiid. I'urdoii
me, dear Henrieile, if iny lips have not spoken the love 1 now most deeply
feel for yon."

" \iui had \ou, de lloiscourt, spoken to me earlier, the illusion would
have li'.H'ii di'stroyed. i coulil no) Irive piBUlied my love for him who could so
soon tear from hm heari iiio iniaijt! of such ;i wif- aa he:-, the friend I deeply
lovi'd invsell' — ay, Willi all I he love a man eoiild entertain."

" 8ome words eseaped her onee, vvlieii, strange sh^ hat.;d nie," said the
Harou, as he ei. folded the anunaiiJ ,iiul ardniil yitl lo hi:* throbbing heart,
" whii'li then porplexe.il, hnl now enlighten."

'• And thesi- were'" queried Henriette, ail, leaning forward, she Kioked up
into his* eyes.

"That ol\."n in yiur arms, love, :>iid before ihe Monk-Knight's visit lo
\uvergiie, the had sijjhed her soul fonli to luni m passionate desire."

The cheek o( ihe vouiif; giil hei:am ■ cnmaon. tihe dropp-vl her eyea **e-
ueath ihe.jr lonjj dark liu»l.es, hui hei inee ou hi« SjBom. liul replied nol.

i Ik

180

Till, Mn.Nh h\l<iHr m ST. JOHN

luit

•' I inultTMiiiil !l all, (lt;irt>Ht,' iiid iln- Itiiroii, m he proMpH her InnHly to
his heart. ■ In ilic .ilroiiy i xnicnicnt nt y<"ir rfclmRs, vmi uitli woril.-* of
fire calk'd u|i tin- iiiiaf;e ot' AImIjiIIuIi Iti'tort' liir cluwiiii; Henm', wliiln aUc,
not jri'iiertms l<"».s, (Vd the yiiiiq paH.xKin yon hail (■oiicnvi'ij for rii*' '"^ay,
swfcU'Ht, 1,-i 11 not HO '"

Sill! HenritUf was siU'iii, hui the lieavinij of Udt bosotn a^niiinl ht.s own,
and the incrcasiiin and involiiniiirv chwiciH'.-ts of htr cmhrac*!. s.ilisfii-d iho
Haron lli.il ii'' had corrfclly Mtiriiu«<d.

" Ttdl m-. ' hf |iiirsu»'d, temifrly, and fiilcMJ with a d.'«ir«' to ohiam a full
avowal froiu Iut own li|it(, of iht> pa»«ioii »\\r had ih'vci adiiiilti'd to imii,
" that It wa:^ not iMraiihe it waw the wish of the dtsar KrneMnia iliat yoii
should Im! my lindf, that you have coiisi.'iiU'd to U'coim- such."

" Ah, iny own heart loo fully rc-tpondi'd," she iiiurinurcd. '• I loiiLf h iVf»
lovt'd you, di' IJoi^-ourt. Hi'liurt: you left for l'al('«liiif my heart waa yourn.
And mucli as I adored the dear Ija«ly I'lrnc8iina, iny love for her waa the
greater, becauw M\v had been filled with yours. Mill, even wilhoul that,
there wan soiiiethiM<; ho .superhiiinaii in her lovelinesjs that — uh ' I cannot
speak it," she eoiitinued, huryimr li(;r face mure deeply on hm (;het<l

" Tell me. love — tell me all you felt, all you lhouj»hl. What bond no
Bwoct as confidence between those who truly love ' I'ell me, dearest, I im-
plore you — you know you are to lie mine — my w.fe, l4i-morrow."

" Sn deeply I loved her beauty — with Miieh passion," stie returned, assunj-
in^ a sudden eouraf;e, and raisiiii; hur.ielf up to H'aw, still blushing', into his
face, " that I wished myself Kudolph to supply the absence of her lord."

" You did I ' exelaiinod de Hoiseoiirl. with an emotion ho had yet never
manifested since the death of the Baroness, and claspinR Henrietteeoiivubively
in his embrace, " what a Rift has she bequeathed to me. Now, then, I love
again — tlie desolation of my heart is poiio, fur Krnestina yet survives in tlx;
mind and person of hor friend and pupil."

" All the fondness that one woman could lavish upon anotlier," pursued
the open-hearted and ijenerous jrirl. ' we exehauf^ed. Oh ' what passion —
what fervent, yet endearing pa-ssioii, j^lowed in the soul of the preceptrest* tu
wiioin 1 owe all of love I ever felt. S wool , sweet wore the words of tendernc*
that, spoken ihrouRli me to the-siroiif; imaije called up to her mind. c;ime .m
from an anRel. What she said 1 knew must be rii»ht — what she rlid I knew
must be good. Yes," she continued in a tremulous murmur, •• when Iv.njf
at my side, with loosened hair, which she |M?rmitted so lo remain, bin-au.^e
it was passion to behold it in all its fulnesu and beauty — her features ealui,
and holy, and serene, even as were .\lMlallahs, and her eyes filled with a
humid fire that t<dd all the aotlness of her .soul — nay more — for why should I
hiile It from liim who wears my fullest confidence, when excited with
adoration of the warm, glowinp heart of her who seemed utterlv tincoiiscious
of her own transcendent charm.s, I bared with trembling himd.s, hi-r beauteous
form, and found those the perfection ol' (rod's crowninfj work ol" loveliness,
no lanpuage c-an tell the einotion of my heart — the deep and uiwelfish love
that filled my .soul for her."

" Sirin^re, .stiantje. yet most adorable ^\t\,'' said ihe Karon, as again he
prefstnl her madly to his iieart.

ri'

>!' \t us:: t'r (•^ sr, john.

181

•■ I liavi' Huid ili;.i ! M>lii.| iiivh, ii i;.i(ltilj.|i." t.|ie rrBiinn-*!. hliitiliinK, ye'
avrrtiiit' not liir <r.iw Irum liin, " Oh ' tliix wan not Cor my wikc. Itnt liorx
Y'vr myHflC 1 ciind nut. 'I'd luok ii|m>ii Ikt Wi.& tn int; suffloipiit. To leaH*
my ••¥">< ii|)oii III r Ixiiuly was all I asktd lor mysolf; lint ! would Imvo
fiiin |po8SCHMf>(l till! [lownr to iciu'W in licr thoH' hv/vvI scnKalioiiH wliicli
kriowl('(!>{i' iiiailn ho tirccssary to li<!r lia|i|iiinn(i. Ilati I had a hivcr whiiin
I Jovcd III iiiadnr.vt, my prtiatfist joy hail hri'ii to fi-r him, not my own, hut
iliawini; 'loiii that h. avi'uly form. thuM lantruoi-lioamint' cynH, and thuv
viiluptuoim Imsoin. th» IuIih-nn oC the I'urhantintJ lovi; that wantoiipd in her

Mill! "

" lnroni|)arultl(^ j»irl !" said do Hoiwourt, hall wild with imnsion, " I never
kni'W you until now. Oh ! KrnRHtina, hloRwd KriifHlina," and he raiwd hiH
rlii^ficd hanilH to hoavi.'ii. How I Uivi- her, even lor her very lovfl for you.
Suy, HWeetest," he (Hiiitimied, addreHKinfr the agitated Hcnriettf, " even iu
the liiituwa 111' our love we will think of her, shall we not'"

"Oh' yes, de lioiM'uurt, yes," she murinured — "no love m) sweet an
that wliieh her ehetmlied image Manctifies and approves Not dearer to yourjMsIf
ii- her memory than to me. ('ould I call her hack to earth thiK hour, t«i taste
<>iioe more the cup of liuppineMi, freely would I conM'nt to yii.'ld you to her —
anil yet, de Hoiseourt, not slipht is the love I bear you."

" Knell word you titter enters into my soul, like a new-enkitidled passion,"
rxi'laimed the exeited de Hoiseourt. '' Kill me, torture me with the
happinesK to feel that there is one yet livm^f, »<i like in tlioutrhl unto niyself,
that scarcely seem we separate. Your wohIm, tar more even thati your
cxeeedinj( beauty, nedueo my soul. I love, adore that woman beyond all
human precedent, wlio so confides, before the iBarriaRe hour, in hint to
whom she yields her all."

" Nay, what nierit in that '" said the still blushin(> ami generous girl.
She loves but weakly — has poor opinion of her lover's honor, who would
bury in her secret heart, the day precedin^r the fulfilment of the nuptial rite,
that which she pines for the morrow to unfold."

" In all iliiii(j8 are you still myself, dearcjit love. 'Tis rank hy|HM'risy in
the maiden of today to seem ifrnorant in the eyes of the in:m who i.s to be
the future partner of her life, of that which she will lulinit as the wife ol
lo-niorrow. Dear, dear llenrietle, your feclmjfs, your wMitiments, madileii
me in their likeness to my own , to-morrow is an age asunder from the pre
will , I eaniiDt wail for it."

'The p.a88ioii which her strange yet endearing admissions had been gradu-
ally raising, now knew no bound lie caught her to his heart, he impriiitcil
|ias.Huiiiate kisses on her lips, and while exciting her, not more by his cu
resjMS than by his burning words, bore her fainting in his arms to the nuplial-
UmI, hallowed by the endearments which »o often had been exchanged belwoeii
her and the mistretu* she so loved.

There was no upbraiding — no struggling— no reproaching — no hypocnsy
with her who knew that she wiin to be a wife in name even oi; the morrow.
She made no attempt to arrest her own confiding love, as with envious eyes
he suiveyed the diaptry that veiled the beauty of her whom he roparded al-
ready ;it"liif wle. One image, it was a vivid one. he painted to her imagi

IK.

THf M >Ni. KN.'llir OK nT. 'OHN.

.,><^

iiaiion, in ^lowiii!' l.iii.;ii:ii;o The tender .turf voluptu.nm Hnnne'tc iromblwl
»f ^hr lie-tril il 'riiiu'.uiii; litr :triiis :ir<i ui<l Iilh i)««-k, and .iii.twerini; Iii4
PHjier kiwMV from Iht inniM iiiid ^\v»>llii)t> lip". tiT I'lnbratv, if not no ettufr,
\^ iH y>'i iii)|):<<«»iiii<.)'il it* Ills >iMii

•MviutM iilii|itin>iih wit'f." Ii>' »xrl:iuiu;<l (u'f«'»'lv, in the agony of Uid
ihni)i.'lrt ili;ii alu! w;m wIkiIIv lii-

•• !\1y tiuslmnd," »ln' imiimurfil — '• uh ' inv liimhind.'

■• W'hni ;i lifr of |);iN!tiiiii -«liall be iiiirs,'' ;i!,'iiin ri'nnrk'*d di' lioiw^our!, in
tlir- saint' tniic,

Ifrnrirlif (•('itid iini sj)i;ik- tyiihf, of it'iidiTin'ss wi'rr lu'r only anRW«r.

•• And all iliiH ul.'vviiii,' bciiiity sli'tll Ik- iiiiiii' bv riif ofrhun'li lo-inorrnw,"
said the MiMDiii, iraziii;: lii!< >«iul throii:,'li litM' liiill'-cloM'd eyes

At that iniiiiHMil a licaw and iiiicrriain fixiiHtcp wa;< hoard oroMinfl|^ lh«
llmir of the Imudoir. and iiri'scntly llir haiirllr <if ihi" dcnir of the bi-d-rooin
WAH vioji'nlly Inrncd, but in »o ronfiiitcd a niannrr iliat it w:ui not until the
iaiisc of iiHarlv i niiinMc. that il vifided to tin' trial Tlit! <loor wa« nn-
bolted, bill even ifi ihi.H MJiorl interval Kenneitc and her hnnband bad tim«
to regain llieir coinpowiire. the former inoviiip forward to awertain who
w,i,-i there The liorror of both may be eonceived, \vh<*ii. as the door (lew
open, the < 'oiinlf.s.« of < 'lerinoiil. pale. ha);<;ai'd, di vented of all her former
beauty, and wrinkled with Neenniijr ane. app.ared with (flaring hvcm before
them, her dr('s.>< .soiled and torn, her richi and Hhriv«lled arm iipliftiiif; a rusty
knu'ti-biailf, .\liieh wa.i peniited threateiiiiit>ly forward.

'• Vi-nneanee upon the fiend Monk '" she lioarselv eruMl, and foaming ;it
the incnilh — " death to Ins detested pai iiiiour ''"

ShcNiriiek t'ranlieally at \\v boNoiii 4if llennetie, who vva8((M» terrified at tlie
.ippariiion to think ot her own d»n<;er. and had HJie not at the mumiMit aiink
.iwoonin^^ iinthertoor. not even the (|iiiek and iinpetuoiis aetioii ofdu Hoi.<u-oiirt,
who ruHlied fnrwardio iroeive the blow inten(l<><l for the affrighted girl, would
have prevented the oiij<f"f of the enranjjnd woman Ironi b«Mnjj attained. As it
w.i.-., ;hi knife en'cred nearlv an inch hi.-< own bie:i«t, aini had wrtainly inflicted
a more dan^^eroim if not i i.^il wound, had he not rapidly thrown up lii» arm m
defenee. Th*' iiige of the Harnn was terrible, not lieeause of the injury in-
ili-ii'd on liimsi'If. iint at the .^ijjht of the dpiiion, wlio had not only destroyer!
(I'le anqel ol love, but inine«l a' the extiiu-tion of another. What fiend of
nnlice eonid liave induced her ihim to attempt the life of one who had never
Hijiire<J her e\en in ihoii„'lM, he was utterly al a low< to divine. 'I'liis, how-
e\ir, wa.s an cvane.venl rellei-tiun that pasned like li^htiiinf); through hid mind
He did not K'lve himself time to dwell either iqwu that oru|Kin the incotnpre-
lionnible fact of her re-appearance — -Iiik only «*are wa.-< lo remove fur from her
dangrrouH prijiiene' her he loved lli.s (irst :iri, lliereforo, after viewing ihn
wound was to wnsi the knife 'Vom her jfruxp, then lo gain time and freedom
of iU'tioii. by luirling her with \iolenee arrainflt the opftoBite wall of the bou-
doir. Ill- then ciuglii up the fainting l{"nrielte, and plueing her u|Min the
III d, bathed her iein|ili^ with a stiinulat.vt; eitse.nce whieli hapi>eiitMJ to be
wiihin hiK r'-aeli .\s .she gradually revi7e<l. he tenderly bade her to remain
•juiet, and tlnn removing the key .ind loeking thi; duor on the outiiide, ap-

THE MONK hMuin OH sF.

)IIN

\h:i

proachtMi the body ol' tlie (iui({U8tmg lo<>kin)( t'ouiiU*mt, wlio, rix;overin(( Inmi
tho vioIliico uf h*!i t'ull, wm to tlif act ofriHiiiK

l)(isirou8 ol' nttnoviiiK httr, yot uiiwillinf; to (xime p>-r-)onally in (-iii)t<tct
with (tnc whom Uv luathfil nearly at* nuirh :ih Ahiiallah had, h<- ran^ the
boudoir bi'll turioualy for hia nervantM itut vain tud without rcault wan
t\\^ summons Ap:aiii and again he ran)(. but no on«' ap|H;ar(Ml. I'nablc U>
a(;couiit tor thiH ain^'iihir (conduct in hut douitmlifit, Ik. opuned tht; door of the
boudoir leading u|Njn thu corridor, and nalif<l through the vacuum formt'd by
the winding Htairs from the top to the bottom, in a voice that refunded fear
fully throughout the chateau. Nothing but echo reopondcd to hm call, and
the tnaiiduin seemed detierted. At a loss wiiat to do, the liaron wa-s alinuHt
frantic. He could nr deacead to look for hid people, leaving behind him
the hateful and feariu 'jnemy of hiu wife, whom ahr might reach and doatroy
before hia return, and yet hia repugnance to touch her wait almoitt iiLSur
mountablr. Aa he turned to re-enter the boud«ir, the blo«)d from liia wound
wati now strongly marked upon his boauni. Thit, for the tintt tim<', attracted
her notice.

" My hand lacked quickness," she muttered with a deinoiuac frown , " il
was not that blood but hera — that of the iKlioim, the hateful Baroness, for which
my soul thirsted."

'• Wretch !" said dc Moiscourt, compressing mort ly his convulsively

closed hand, " and was not one victim suflicient ' VS a.s not the poisoning of
the noblest woman that ever lived on I'urth — tlie tir»t llanxiess de Hoimx>urt,
Bufiicient, that you must glut your vengeance on tin; sucond '"

" What first — what s«.'cond'' she said wildly. "'Do you mean,' site
said sternly, yet anxiously, and altcinpting to placi- her hand u|Min hiin — a
movement from which he shrunk with loathing — " that the first Baronoas,
the i^dy Krnestiiia de iioiscourt, is de.id '"

" Do you ask the question, murderess ' even by your own damnable hand
you know stie died. It was you distilled the poison."

" And the Monk-Knight^" she qutsstioned, wihlly and hoarsely.

'• What ! prelend you ignorance ' but I had t'orgoiten . you coino from the
sepulchre in which he h:ul buried you. What hoous it to you t» know iluU,
even by the poison you gave him for your rival's more «(x't'dv death he (wsr
iahnd and by his own iutnd

•• ila !" slit! said, with a feartul exultation, " then 1 am revenged litHli
are dead ' 'I'lit; u'cursed lovers who filled my .soul with hate no longer live
to bl;uit my .^i^'ht with joy 1 miglil not share, ami I am iMinteni. But say,"
she iiiuo.ied eagerly, '• who is the second Baroness' Blindi-d by my rage 1
distinguished not 1 mjw she w.ia ;i vvoinan, and being in your nuptial
chamber, more freiiiieiilly filled by Abdallali than yourself, I took lor granted
that I had disturbed them m their dallianc*-. .Since neither you imr her then
I distinguished in my erring judgiuent, who wa» sin; — iliw .■second Baninuus
do Boiscourt — whom, thinking her I hato«i, 1 sought U) slay'"

'• It can matter not to such as you," replied the Baron, w^ornfully — one to
whom, being compared, you arts even as a Hetiate to a Hebe."

" And yet melhinks," she replied, with .savage triumph, her every

4 ".

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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Photographic

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Corporation

23 west MAIN STRKT

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4S03

184

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

lHlt

feature distorted with the malevolence of her nature — " that your Heb6 issued
from the womb of a Hecate."

" What mean you, woman?" said de Boi court, eagerly^and paling as he
spoke.

" I mean that I am doubly revenged if it be Henriette, and now, that I am
somewhat composed, I am inclined to think it is. Know, Baron, whom now
I hate nearly as much as those who with subtlety i have slain, that she who
is called Henriette de Gaston is my daughter."

" Your daughter ! God of Heaven, your daughter !" exclaimed de Bois-
court, with a look of horror. " 1 believe it not — the proof, the proof— I
want the proof"

" Nay, Baron," retorted the Countess, glorying in her power of annoying
him. " Was not Henriette left an orphan in infancy at the door of the cha-
teau de Gaston, and did not the detested Baroness obtain her thence to bring
her up even as her own child ? She was mine, when I was scarce seventeen.
To save my honor she was left there by her father."

" And who is her father? 1 never heard of him — not even that you had
had a lover then. Who was he ?"

" Can you not divine ? I lived, you know, under the roof of (he godly, the
pious Bishop of Clermont. At sixteen I was a woman ; at seventeen a
mother."

" Surely you do not mean," said the pained and excited de Boiscourt,
"to insinuate——"

" Not to insinuate," she interrupted, with indescribable and triumphant bit-
ternem, " but to assert the father of Henriette is the most holy a"d reverend
the most godly, the Bishop of Clermont, who stole my soul even before he
seduced my body, and made me that which I have ever since continued to be.
My child," she added fiercely — "the child of crime, the proud Baroness de
Boiscourt, this is well ! Now can I afford to lose in death the keen desire I
mingle with my hate, for the memory of Abdallah. Ha !" she said, as sud-
denly she caught sight of the blood-stained knife, which de Boiscourt had
thrown upon the floor of the boudoir. She stooped and seized it.

Immersed in his own strong and painful feelings, de Boiscourt had not
noticed the action. At the same moment the sound of many feet were heard
ascending the stairs. Distracted at what he saw and heard, the Baron
turned to see who were the intruders. This was the occasion taken by the
Countess to accomplish her purpose. The sound of her falling body caused
him to turn and ascertain the cause, when to his dismay, and only that be-
cause he hated that she should choose that place to die, he saw that she had
inflicted a deep wound under her left breast, and was bleeding fast. The
knife she still grasped tightly in her hand, and fortunate it was, perhaps,
that it was so, for just at this moment the party, whose footsteps had been
heard, and some of whom were not particularly friendly to the Baron, entered
the room, and witnessed the tragic scene. At the head of all was the Bishop
of Clermont himself, holding a crucifix.

Distracted with his own feelings, dreading lest all this should reach the
ear of the dear and innocent girl whom he still loved, despite of her unhappy
birth and connexioa, de Boiscourt was torn with anxiety to have the body

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

185

of the dying woman removed. Under the circumstances there was but one
course for him to pursue, to have his purpose effected promptly. Calling
the Bishop aside, he said a few low but energetic words in his ear. The
Bishop turned red and pale by turns, and when de Boiscourt had ceased, he
bade the domestics, who had brought up the rear, to form a litter of one of
the long cushions of the ottoman, and carry her forthwith to Clermont, his
own outer clerical habit having been thrown over to conceal the body.

Oppressed by feelings impossible to describe, the Baron, when they had
departed, entered the chamber where Henriette was yet lying. The
alarmed and fearful expression of her face assured him that she had heard
all. She scarcely dared to look him in the face. The Baron was not slow to
remark this. He threw himself upon his knees at the side of the bed and em-
braced her tenderly, exclaiming as he did so, and with deep feeling — " Perish
the man who would cruelly and unjustly visit upon the innocent daughter,
the sins of the mother, however infamous or steeped in guilt the latter.
Henriette my beloved, look into the eyes — into the heart of your de Boiscourt.
You are still his wife — in the eyes of God and man you shall remain so."

Her bosom heaved almost to bursting. She gave a loud and starting shriek,
m which gladness and sorrow so blended, that it was difiScult to say which
predominated. She was overwhelmed, subdued with his generosity, and
never did woman feel, more devoted in the warmest affections of her heart
than Henriette de Gaston, as her beloved husband raised and pillowed her
aching head upon hie generous, open, and manly breast.

body

CHAPTER XXXIV

Tbb excitement that prevailed at Clermont and its immediate vicinity at
the sudden apparition and tragic end of the niece of their pastor and most
pious father in Grod, was very great. All knew that she had suddenly and
unexpectedly disappeared ; noae knew positively how, although some had
ventured to affirm that she had been seen to depart in the neighborhood of
the foreet with a tall and herculean monk, who much resembled the Confessor
Gonzales ; but as he had been known to perish a few days afterwards, that
impression had been removed, and the whole aflair was involved in mys-
tery. As for the Bishop himself he was by ne means sorry at the event,
whatever the cause, which had rid him of the presence of a niece, whose
gallantries in the neighborhood, and even under his own roof, were subjecting
him to a scandal he little desired. His own intimacy with her had long
since ceased, or rather was continued only at rare intervals; but he was in
constant dread, lest that in some moment of unguardednees and imprudence,
for which she was remarkable, she might betray the secret on which the
preservation of her honor and his position depended.

When the Countess first appeared at the chateau de Boiscourt, in the
strange and wild manner we have seen, and fiercely demanded where the

■«;fiiSOTipf^ffS^_

/ y

1S6

THE MONK KNIGHT OK -ST. JOHN.

4':

if'

Baroness de Boiscourt was to be I'oiind, the terrified domestics scarcely
doubting that they had seen the ghost of the departed woman, ran with all
the speed they could commaiul to the residence of the Bishop, whom they
chanced to find alone and disengaged, and who, when informed of what facts
they could relate, prepared to return with them, and exorcise the spirit,
which all agreed in stating had entered the chateau at their departure. Imme-
diately they set out, the Bishop fearing that in the state of mind ascribed to
his niece, she should make such communication to de Boiscourt as would
prevent him from fulfilling his engagement with Henriette de Gaston — the
offepring of his guilty love — whom, in her assumed name and character, he
was engaged to wed to the lord of the domain on the morrow. The scene he
witnessed has already been described, and time had been afibrded him to be
present at tliis in consequence of the ^half-maddened and bewildered woman
having consumed more than an hour in vain attempts to discover the private
stair-case which led to the boudoir, and which alone had been used since the
return of the Monk-Knight and the Baron from Palestine. The few words
whispered in his ear by the latter on his arrival had been more than sufficient
to satisfy him the danger he feared had occurred, and glad was he to with-
draw and hide his confusion with the disgusting victim of his sensual and
unholy passion. The Countess was placed in a room where no one had access
to her but himself, and a favorite and trustworthy servant of his own imme-
diate household. The wound the wretched woman had inflicted was mortal.
Life was ebbing fast, and great weakness had subdued her fierce temper
into something like calm. When a little more composed, she became sen-
sible that her hours were numbered, and the pangs of remorse — the fear of
dying even without hope — took possession of her soul. On the Bishop
expressing a desire to know everything connected with her strange absence
and stranger re-appearance, she narrated all, and then, after having confessed
intrigues and adulteries, as numerous as her years, asked for and ob-
tained absolution. After this she became more calm, and spoke of the bright
destiny that awaited their child, whom in the blindness of her rage she had
so nearly murdered. The Bishop shook his head, and repeating the words
de Boiscourt. had communicated to him, gave her to uoderstaod that her own
indiscretion liad spoiled all, since but for that the Baron would have known
her only as the orphan Henriette de Gaston, but that h was impossible to
suppose, the true fact of her birth and parentage being known, he would not
discard her with ignominy from the chateau.

Suddenly on hearing this, the rage and disappointment of the dying woman
resumed their empire. She rose in her bed with features still ghastly in tha
ferocity of their expression — tore her hair out by the roots — snatched the
bandage from her wound, from which the dark, polluted blood gushed froth-
iiigly — and cursed and raved against her daughter, de Boiscourt, and her
uncle. As the latter stooped over her to soothe her, she grasped him by
the throat, und would have strangled him, but for her failing strength. Sud-
denly her <'ye became fixed — a deeper and bluish pallor overspread her
fact — her hnnd» n^laxed their grasp— one heavy sigh she gave that forced
the blood in a .itream from her gory breast, and then sank her head upon
the pillow, and died.

■ -l^ii**,,^. -y^mme , ,i |iiii n i n<i ii»ii

TilK MONK KNi(-;ir Or SI. JOiiN.

187

It was a horrible sight. Tlio pious Bishop of Clermont, for the firiit time,
felt the keen stings of remorse, and lie passed the night without sleep. At
an early hour the next morning, he received from the Baron a summons to
repair instantly to the chateau. He felt the influence he had lost — the forced
absence of self-dignity, involved in this unceremonious demand for his pres-
ence. But he knew that he was in the power of the Baron, who would doubt-
less heap upon Henriette and himself every possible indignity. Aller giving
instructions for the disposal of the body of the Countess, he went forth.

For two hours he remained closeted with de Boiscourt, and when he came
forth, it was with tears in his eyes — the first that proud dignitary had ever
been seen to shed — all who saw him marvelled at the sight, but none, of
(;ourse, offered a comment: the assumption was, that they had been drawn
forth by the dangerous conditioa of the Countess, for as yet none but de Bois-
court knew of her positive death.

When the interview of the Baron with the Bishop had terminated, he
sought the chamber of the trembling Henriette. How differently are men
constituted — how noble, and generous, and self-sacrifising, some hearts — how
narrow and selfish are others ! So far from the sweet girl losing power over
the Knight, by the painful facts which have been made known, his love for her
was increased. Burning with desire to relieve her mind from any latent
doubt she might entertain, the Baron rushed to her boudoir, where he found
her reclining on an ottoman, and regarding with an air of melancholy and
distraction the wedding trousseau which had been prepared for her, and
which lay untouched in a cistant corner of the room.

'^ Nay, love," said the impetuous Baron, throwing hhnself at her side, and
pressing her fondly to his heart, " why this serious mood — this seeming
mistrust of myself — of my desire to make you my own adorod and honored
wife!"

She burst into tears and pillowed her face upon his bosom, sobbing violently.

" Ah I what but disgrace can I bring you after the past' I have been
thinking seriously of this. De Boiscourt, dear de Boiscourt, I am yours, you
know how dearly ; but let not a mere sense of honor and delicacy induce you
to fulfil a vow made under far, far different circumstances. I will be still
yours, but without the form of :i marriage, which must later bring regret
and repentance to you."

" Noble and devoted girl !" rejoined the Baron, with unspeakable tender-
ness of voice and manner, again, and afTcctionalely, lie drew her to his heart,
" ten thousand times more am I wedded to my purpose No woman but your-
self, wears the proud name of de Boiscourt 's wife."

"Oh, God! is it possible?" she exclaimed, clasping lier hands, and rais-
ing them with her dark and humid eyes towards Heavon. " And shall I,
the imhappy child of crime and shame, !)0 indeed so e'lerished, so regarded,
BO honored? Ah! no; for the moment, de Hoisi uiirt, you think so, but
when time shall have sated your ardent desire, and the offspring of our pas-
sion stands before you in licentious blood, will you not then curse its mother,
even as I have reason to curse mine?"

" Nay, dear Henriette, can it be possible that you thus misjudge me.
Listen to me, dearest, and you will learn liow little cause there would be

)

mStUMi 'I ihiiiLfc t"i8Mfai ii«i Am. J*

*»- ^1ft fc fcu- i ii ^< M .i ^i i J ' fc i'O l' i

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188

THE MONK KNIGHT OK ST. JOHN.

for me to pursue so inhuman a course, even were it possible that 1 should do
so. No one knows the secret but your mother, and him whose name I.will not
raise the blush to your cheek by naminif. The former, 1 am {(lad to say, i»
dead, and no human consideration, you may be well assured, will induce the
latter to betray or even expose himself. If. therefore, no one but ourselves
possess the secret — what fear of the opinion of the world — the bug-bear that
men most shun upon earth ? No ! my beloved, you were my wife yesterday
and shall be so to-day. All is arranged. This night the Bishop pionounce*
the vows with which we cheat the world into much belief of virtue, and never
after that approache.s us.

" Oh ! generous, noble de Boiscourt," said the agitated girl — " how, how
shall I repay this nobleness of soul ? Some relief it is to know that guilty
man, whom I abhor not for myself so much as for you, shall never more
address me. I cannot bear to look at him, and only your presence, and the
rite he desecrates, could sustain me now."

" Then let me see you brilliant in smiles, and forgetfulness of all that has
occurred to distress you. Think of yourself only as Henriette de Gaston,
the charming, chosen of Ernestina — the gentle dove brought up by her to
nestle later in her husband's bosom." ^

" Oh ! how good you are — how you bring consolation to a heart that else,
indeed were most truly wretched, De Boiscourt, you will make me love
you very much."

" Besides, what matter, love," he returned smiling, while he pressed her
fondly to his bosom — " what matter even were the Countess guiltier far than
yet we know. Not the birth itself but the manner of our days must form the
test by which all human worth is judged. Have we not watched you as our
own, and made part and parcel of ourselves. Mere birth enlarges not — en-
nobles not the soul. Education does. But hush, love, there is some one at
the door. — Come in."

The door was opened, and the gentle Zuleima, who had in some degree
been made acquainted with the events of the morning, appeared at the
entrance.

" Ah ! rny dear bridesmaid," said Henriette, rallying — " come to give me
courage to don these trappings, which tell the world Henriette de Gaston is
this night to be the happiest of women."

" Then will I leave you with her to talk of this," said de Boiscourt, im-
printing a kiss upon the cheek of his beloved. "Zuleima, it is long since
our lips have met, and strange things have happened since they did. Rudolph
must not bo jealous of this. I have, you know, a prior claim."

Tiie heaving of the bosom of the Saracen, and the crimson which gathered
on her cheek, proclaimed how deeply she retained the impression left on her
mind by the recollection.

" Oh ! Rudolph will never be jealous of those he loves," remarked Hea-
riette. " You will not let him, dearest, will you ?"

" Rudolph loves the Baron too dearly for him ever to be jeulous," said the
Saracen with a sigh. " Can Henriette's husband say the same," she added,
laughingly.

THK MONK KNItiUT OK ST. JOHN.

189

I should do
le I.will not
id to say, in

induce the
It ourselves
ig-hear that
e } esterday
pronounces

and never

how, how
that guilty
never more
ce, and the

ill that haa
de Gaston,
I by her to

t that else,
me love

)re8sed her
er far than
St form the
you as our
is not — en-
sme one at

>me degree
red at the

to give me
Gaston is

court, im
long since
. Rudolph

i gathered
eft on her

ked Hea-

" said the
he added,

»«v

"It is as Henriette shall decide,'' remarked de Boiscourt, as he pressed
the glowing cheek of the charming bridesmaid.

" Nothing will I interpose to prevent a repetition of that kiss, or make out
«mion any but a happy one," said the young girl, with animated look and
voice. p ,>

" You hear that, dear Zuleima," said the Baron ; " but I must leave you
to aeltlc what is the true point of jealousy between yourselves. I must with
Rudolph to superintend the arrangements for our marriage ;" and once more
fondly embracing the young girl, he departed.

CHAPTER XXXV.

While Henriette and Zuleima are forming, in all the generosity of heart
peculiar to them, their delightful plans for the future, and the Baron and
Rudolph are engaged in superintending the preparations for the grand cere-
monial of the evening, let us take the opportunity of briefly narrating to the
reader, the manner in which, as stated to her uncle, who in his turn had
communicated the facts to de Boiscourt, the Countess of Clermont contrived
to escape from the gloomy tomb into which she had been introduced by the
unhappy and heart-broken Monk-Knight.

When left alone, in utter darkness, with the dying Coeur-de-Fer, to whose
body she was too firmly secured to hope for a release, the agony of her fear
was such that for some time she had lost her senses, and when she did re-
cover them, it was only to yell in fiendish hate against the authors of the
anguish that filled her soul. Desperation gave her the strength of a lioness,
and with prodigious eSbrta she managed to gain her feet, dragging up in the
act, to her side, the heavy body of her now dead paramour, and, moving step
by step in the utter darkness that prevailed, sustained by the hope that she
might encounter some cutting instrument, or sharp and detatched stone,
which might rend asunder the strong bonds that united them. By a
refinement of cruelty in the just punishment he had inflicted upon her, the
Monk-Knight had left her the complete liberty of her hands, being well-as-
sured that she could find nothing in that damp cell to undo the Arm series of
knots in the small but strong cord, which bound waist to waist, in the
closest possible contact, and therefore she was enabled to grope with her
hands along the wall, still dragging the heavy corpse along with her. At
length she came to an opening, which, from her description, must have
been one of the cells in which the Lady Ernestina and the Monk-Knight had
been confined. This opening she entered, and a ray of hope entered her sick
soul, as she felt for the time the iron railing, which seemed to promise the
approach to some spot where relief might be obtained. Suddenly her pro-
gress was stayed by an obstacle striking against her knees. She put her
hand down, it was the low bed which bad been occupied by the Lady Erneth
tina. The body of Coeur-de-Fer struck against it also, and, overbalanced,

-'-■'•"-'•• ' ''*"~i'iTirf'-*-rt ''^-•■1 ' ::

illM'' ■

190

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

foil over, dragging her this time over with him. Fatigued as she wsm with
the superhuman etTortB she had made, her senses could not resiot the luxurious
inducement to repose. Scarcely had she touched the soil cusliions when she
fell asleep, with her anna involuntarily thrown around the nock of the dead
man, in Order to obtain more room on the narrow couch. According to
her belief she must have slept for days and nights ; for although she had
not felt hunger before, the gnawings of appetite were now so fierce upon
her that she groaned in a new agony. The ferocity of her hunger hourly
increased. She attempted to rise to distract her attention by motion, but
she found this to be impossible Her strength was gradually lessening, and
the fast stiffening body of ( 'leur-der-Fer opposed a resistance she had not
hitherto experienced. The burning pangs of hell were (!von in her heart.
Hunger seemed to scorch up her very entrails. She shrieked mjully through
the sombre vaults. The echoes of the curses and cries she uttered were the
only response. Had the Lady Ernestina been there she would have lorn out
her heart with her fingers and devoured it. Suddenly a new idea took pos-
session of her soul. Had there been light it would have betrayed the fiendish
expression of her glassy eye. It endeavored to penetrate the darkness but
could not : she tore the covering from the upper form of Coeur-de-Fer, and
fastened her teeth into the cold and lifeless, yet still quivering shoulder
The blood came slowly, yet did not appease her appetite. The rage of
hunger grew more ardent, more intolerable. She gnawed into the fast
corroding flesh, and greedily swallowed the nauseous food. She appeased
her hunger, but soon a sickening sensation of loathing came over her, and she
disgorged the putrid mass. In her agony and disappointment at not being
able to retain the disgusting nutriment, she uttered furious shrieks and threw
her arms wildly around. As they fell, exhausted with her strong action,
over her head, her hands suddenly rested upon the table which had been
placed there by the J^ady Ernestina. A new hope now stirred within her.
She passed one hand rapidly over the table, and the revulsion of her mind
from despair to hope may be conceived when it encountered the knife which
had before been used, although she knew it not, to give freedom to the limbs
of the tenants of that dark abode. In the fierceness of her surprise, she grasped
the blade unconsciously and inflioted a slight wound upon her hand, butsooa
possessing herself of the handle, cut away the cords which bound her to the
loathsome form of Coeur-de-Fer.

She breathed, and freely, for even in her anguish she had found a joy —
bl;e was a shade less wretched than before. She rose from the bed, and
with light head and trembling feet. A secret instinct told her that the table
might supply her with other means of relief. She approached it, and
groping, placed her hands upon what appeared to her to be, and what on
smelling it, she found was, u pig's cheek. This she greedily seized and
devoured, until scarce a particle of flesh remained upon it. Pier raging
hunger appeased, she sought for water. Again sha groped along the table :
her hand now encountered a bottle filled with liquid. With the knife she
still held in her hand she knocked off the neck. She smelt it ; it was wine.
She knew not of what precise quality, but still it was wine. She pIaoe«i

Pit

THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.

191

the sliatiered neck to her lips, nor did she remove it until she had drained the
whole of its contents. Revived by thJB, she proceeded to grope for an exit,
which alie thought could not be far distant, seeing that there were such strong
evidences of sonio of the conitort^ — even luxuries of life around her. Still
all was dark as midnight. Again she groped along the bars which conducted
to an opening which led ajjain to a wall of*8ome extent. On arriving at
the extremity, she was iistonishcd on looking up to see the light of day ad
mitted through a small square aperture nearly over her head. A human face
was looking down into the darkness. She uttered a shriek so startling that
the whole cavern resounded with it, as with the explosion of a mine. A cry
of terror was answered from above, and the face had disappeared. The
wretched woman examined more closely, and found that instead of going
deeper into the grated rooms ahe had turned upon her own steps, and was
even now at the very spot whence she had set out. It was evident to her tha*
this was the only clianco of escape, and that it had been alTorded to her by
some passing peasant who had seen the ring and lifted up the trap-door, in
order to indulge his curiosity, but who, alarmed by her terrifying cry, had
suddenly fled, leaving the door unclosed. With horror at her heart, lest
some unforeseen occurrence should again close the means of egress to her,
she rushed up the stops like a maniac, with the knife still tightly grasped in
her hand, and fired with jealousy and a desire of vengeance, whicii were
rendered more fiendish by the fumes of the strong potion she had taken,
repaired to the chates'u, terrified the servants, who, believing her to be a
ghost, fled at her approach, and entered the boudoir of Henrietta, whom she
mistook, for the rival of whose unhappy fate she was, of course, ignorant—
and enacted the scene which has already been described.

CONCLUSION.

Scarcely need we dwell upon tiie particulars of the union of de Boiscourt
with his beloved Henriette. The ceremony was performed with all the
pomp and dignity usual to people in high condition in similar circumstances,
and little did the mass of guests there assombled, imagine that the retired and
modest-looking bride who entered, leaning on the arm of the man she adored,
already carried beneath her heart the foundation of a noble line, they were
there met to see legalized by the forms of the Church. Henriette looked
absolutely luvishing in her beauty, and /I,., ,ima, who regarded her with
great admiration, whisjjered in the ear of Hudolph, while she pressed his
hand, that ho seemed to tiiink so too The handsome Page, now fully grown
in manhood, acknowledged with a deep blush, that he did, but slyly retorted
that his beloved wife seemed equally impressed with the commanding form
and manliness of de Boiscourt. Zuleima looked up into his face and smiled ;
then when she saw a very provoking expresssion in his wicked eyes, she
dropped her own and colored up to the brow.

:„-' 'Itatgjjfe?

1 OJ

r}IK MONK KNKiHT OF ST. JOHN.

i:|

Tlie (vinnony wa^t |W!rlbriiiL'(l witii jjrcat soltsiniiity and dignity hy thft
Hisliop of Clonncml. who, altor rt!ii(lin(f a j;ravc homily »» the purity, and
aanctily. ami i-xelu.iivcnt'.sx of tlie inarriafrc-bi'd, and ooiidomninf; ffuilty in-
diiljjLMnv' ill llic fli'sii. wtMil throiiuh tlu> ('ormula' u.siial on thes(< occasionH.
'I'hc most hnlliant H'Mlivititia succciMlfd, bill ion;^ pw, tliem' were ondod, tlm
wile and the luisi)aii(i, wild with impetuous love, liad disappoanul, leaving
Hiiilolph and the lender '/uleima to finish the honorH they had bepun them-
.-(elves. \i li'nsrtli. to tlie (Treat relief of tius latter, the puests departed, well
pleased with the manner of their entertainment, and all the old maids of
the vilheje — for stranf»oto say, there were still some in Aiiverpno — enchanloil
with the sermon on eonlinenen, which had been so eloquently proucliod by
the Hishop, very properly looked upon in his diocese as an uncompromising
enemy to the lusts of the flesh.

In the whole of Auvergne — nay, in the whole of France, there were not
two happier eouples than those of whom we reluctantly take our leave,
or whose imaginations dwelt mor dfeamily on the charm of that indiasoluble
wedded love linked their glowing souls in confidence and friendship. From the
hot loves of the Baron and the charming Henriette sprang a long and honorablfl
line, the last of which perished in the last of the hundred revolutions of
France — thus relieving us of onr pledge to the old garde-chasse.

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TRIBUNE BUILDINCS

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PRIOB 50 OUNTS.

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WILL BE PUBLISHED IN OCTOBER.

TIE G'lAtl OF NEW YORE

a Nooel.

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.ft^ B U N T L I N K ,

^ i,J^." :ii»<*»r (/••'"TAe M^mritt and MinrUff New Ymrk."

mpt pnbliaiMd in thk country entted more exoilemmt or met with • more •sten«ii>> mI<
then ttif tAK-ri^uo Mtstuiu and Misbkus or Niw YokX ; ud the reaeon is oh*ioMr->they p.oMDt
in 8 form eaijr to be nn<lerttood, a most stastuno Pictum of the VioKa andthaViftTUta, theMoRiui
and the Mannim of tha large part of our oommnnitjr who are sailed the Woanif* Clam ; and no '
99*^ haa had mor tJ ipp oW nity of becoming aaquafaited with the daUiia of thefar life, in all ita lighuiud
ttifiidta, than Ur.' JtidiM. who haa been emphatioally called the Fiiihd or xn Woaciiio Man. The
pr iaeat .Wdr^ the ,Q!ha^V I*kw.Xo»k, abosnda far more than " Taa Mtstibiu" in all thoM startling
manifaif^j}pap of raaogth, vividnaair and powar; and that keen indght into and rapid appreciaticm of
^hUMl^.'i^haie die alrikiBf ^tat^oleriatioa of itarfopdlw author, who lays open to our view, with
<■ JWWtiflilig baatf, the ha'iahM' "iii nXwrlea of our «ieial ayatem ; ezhiUto in ill ita vatlad phiues, the
Liri or WiM^. hi our gteat MettupoUa ; and we qoealien mneh whether a more toM«hing acene has
eve^ been painted than that in which the Orphans, Mary and Susan, beautifiil, poor, but yet Tirtuous, ire
compelled by their terror of a grasping landlord, and the cnTiap of hunger^-Hiot of tfaenuelves, but of
their little helpless siatersr— (o surrender op that Tirtoe which they prised mare than Ufe. And particu-
larly at the praaent time, w4Mn public attention is strongly tuned to the autyect, and the working man
is diing inJAi might to ahske off the elriiilldiat weigh him to the earth, and to demand a just equiva-
lent for hia labor.thla hook which pfeseMa such a sUrtling view of tiie vice and misery engendered by
the poor-paying aii4 Mn-paying system, is calculated not only to gire the laboring man a just appre-
ciation of Wi righu, but also for the employer, that he may see the justice of the n\axim— " the
Laborer b^^Oirflly of trie hita." It is, in fact, the book for the fatfJ*,

Agents and thd Tnde will please forward th«r Orders etrljr^ aid Ana prevent
delay in executing them.

2CtttJ Cork:
0EWITT & DAVENPORT, TRIBUNE BUILDINGS.

180 0.

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