busy in its tabernacle dealing with high thoughts. Nor could any one who looked upon him suppose those thoughts were other than sad ones. Intense they certainly were, and certainly they were not gay.

Yet Bernard de Rohan had no remembered grief. Fate had indeed once struck him severely, but ever after had spared him altogether; had plucked not a flower from his bosom, nor cast a shadow on his path.

In early years he had lost both his parents, but that was the only misfortune which had befallen him, and it was long ago. He scarcely remembered them; and all that remained was a soft memory, affectionate but not painful. Since then his course had been from one bright thing to another. Wise and tender friends, the amusements, the sports, the studies of youth, virtue and honour, wealth and station, praise, success, and glory had been his. He had no thirst for power: so what could he want more? Had any one asked him that question, he would have replied, Nothing: nothing but what he might well hope to attain; and yet, about an hour before the sun reached the edge of the sky, a fit of gloom fell upon him, dark, vague, unaccountable, like one of those mists that in mountain lands suddenly surround the wayfarer, shutting out the beauty and the brightness, and leaving all around dull, chilly, vague, uncertain, and confused.

For nearly half an hour he gave way to the sensations that oppressed him. They seemed at first too mighty to be struggled with. It was what, in the language of Northern poetry, is called "having the cloud upon him," and he could not cast it off; till at length it seemed to rise gradually, and the power returned, first, of arguing with himself upon the unreasonableness of such feelings, and then of smiling—though with a mingled smile—at his own weakness in giving way to them.

The effect wore off; but he was still communing with himself on the sensations he had just experienced, when the page called his attention to the clouds that were gathering round the mountains. With that quick transition so common to hill countries, especially in the south, the sky was becoming rapidly obscured. The lurid masses of stormy vapour writhed themselves round the peaks; and, although beneath their dark canopy a gleam of intense red light was seen marking the far western sky on the side of France, the whole heaven above was soon covered with a thick expanse of deep gray cloud. At a considerable distance, in the more open part of the country, which lay beyond the mouth of the defile, stretching in long lines of dark purple towards the sunset, appeared a large square tower, with some other neighbouring buildings, cutting with their straight lines the rounded forms of the trees.

"That must be Voiron," said the cavalier, as if in answer to his page's observation regarding the coming storm. "We must quicken our pace and reach shelter, or we shall have to pass half the night in cleaning our arms, if yonder frowning cloud fulfil one half its menaces."

"Voiron must be ten leagues off, sir," replied one of the attendants; "we shall not reach it this night."

"Then we must find some other covering," replied the master, gayly; "but, at all events, put to your spurs, for the battle has already begun."

Even as he spoke the large drops fell slowly and heavily, denting the dusty covering of the road. Bernard de Rohan and his followers rode on at full speed, though the descent was steep, the way bad, and the gray twilight creeping over the scene. Five minutes more brought them to a turn where they could obtain a wider view; but, alas! no place of refuge was to be seen, except where the same tall dark tower rose heavily across the streaks of red light in the west, marking the place of some distant town or village. The attendants, who had pictured to themselves during the morning's ride all the comforts of the cheerful inn, the good rich wine of Dauphiné, the stretching forth at ease of the strong, laborious limb, the easy gossip with the village girls, the light-hearted song in the porch, and all the relaxing joys of an hour's idleness, now begun to think of the long and tedious task of cleaning arms and clothing, and spending many an hour in rubbing the cold steel; and, to say sooth, their lord also would have been better pleased with fairer weather.

The road, as such roads ever must do, wound its way round many a turn and angle of the rock, so that it was very possible for several persons to be within a short distance of each other, without the one who followed ever seeing him who was but a few hundred yards before him. At the spot which we have mentioned, Bernard de Rohan paused for a moment to look round for some place of shelter, and the road before him seemed perfectly clear and free. He could see completely into the valley on his right, and across the plains beyond, while the path which he was following could be traced along the side of the hill, round two or three sharp angles of the rock, about two hundred yards apart from each other. All at first was clear, as I have said, when suddenly there emerged, at the salient point which cut that part of the sky where the light still lingered, the figure of a human being, which was lost again round the turn almost as soon as it was seen.

"There is a peasant on a mule," exclaimed the cavalier, gladly. "We cannot be far from some village."

"It looks more like a priest on an ass, my lord," replied the attendant who had spoken before.

"Well, well," said his master, "we shall find the better lodgings."

"And the better wine," rejoined his follower; "but, perhaps, not the better welcome."

"Oh, they are good men, these priests of Savoy," replied Bernard de Rohan, spurring on; "but we must not lose him again."

In a few minutes they again caught sight of the object of their pursuit. He was now much nearer, but still it was somewhat difficult to distinguish whether he were priest or peasant, till, coming up with him by dint of hard riding—for his long-eared charger was bearing him on at a rapid pace—they found that he was, as the attendant had supposed, a jovial priest; not, indeed, extravagantly fat, as but too many were in that day, but in good case of body, and bearing a countenance rosy with health, and apparently sparkling with a cheerful disposition. He seemed, indeed, to be of a character somewhat eccentric; for, contrary to all clerical rule, he had covered his head with one of the large straw hats of the peasantry, which accorded but ill with the rest of his habiliments. His features, which the young cavalier thought he had seen somewhere before, were good, with an expression of much sharpness; and, though undoubtedly he heard the tramp of horses' feet behind him, in a land and in times not famous for safe travelling, either his conscience or his courage were so good, that he turned not his head to see who followed him thus closely, but kept his ass at the same brisk canter, while the young cavalier rode up to his side, and gave him the ordinary salutation of the day.

"A good-evening to you, father!" said Bernard de Rohan, riding between him and the edge of the precipice.

"Pray let us have it quickly, my son," replied the priest; "for the one we have got seems likely to be as bad a one as ever I saw, at present."

"Indeed it is," answered the young gentleman, smiling at his somewhat cynical reply; "I am heartily glad to have met with you, my good father, for I trust you can show us some place of shelter."

"Good faith," replied the priest, turning for a moment to look at the cavalier's followers, "I cannot say I am so glad of the encounter; for where I am going we cannot be sure of finding too many of the good things of this life, and the lion's portion is always sure to go to the fighting men."

"Nay, nay! we will share alike!" rejoined Bernard.

"Ay! but I am a king in those matters," answered the priest; "I do not like to share at all. But come on, come on; I am only jesting. We shall find plenty, I doubt not; for, when last I passed that little inn, there was good