awaiting the result—that deep and thrilling interest, in fact, which has nothing to do with fear, and approaches perhaps even nearer to joy—the interest which can only be felt in the anticipation of a fierce but noble strife, where, knowing the amount of all we risk, we stake life and all life's blessings upon the success of some great and generous endeavour. He felt all this, and all the emotions which such a state must bring with it; and thus, longing to throw the die, he found the moments of expectation long.

Now seen and now lost to his sight, the party continued to advance, and yet his strange companion did not make his appearance. The young nobleman judged that he could not be far, indeed, for once or twice he heard the bushes above him rustle, while a stone or two rolled down into the bottom of the valley; and he thought he distinguished Leon's voice murmuring also, as if talking to himself. At length there was a clear footfall heard coming down the steepest part of the mountain, and in another moment the stranger stood once more by Bernard de Rohan's side. As he came near, he threw off the cloak which he had hitherto worn, and cast it into one of the bushes, saying to it as he did so, "I shall find you, if I want you, after this is over."

His appearance now, however, left Bernard de Rohan scarcely a doubt in regard to the nature of his usual occupation. When his cloak was thus thrown off, his chest and shoulders were seen covered with that peculiar sort of corslet or brigantine, which originally gave name to the bands called Brigands. His arms were free, and unencumbered with any defensive armour; and over his right shoulder hung a buff baldric, suspending his long, heavy sword. This was not all, however; another broad leather belt and buckle went round his waist, containing, in cases made on purpose for them, a store of other weapons if his sword blade should chance to fail; among which were those long and formidable knives which, in the wars of the day, were often employed by foot soldiers to kill the chargers of their mounted adversaries. Daggers of various lengths were there also, together with the petronel or large horse pistol, which was so placed, however, as to give free room for his hand to reach the hilt of his sword.

In this guise he approached Bernard de Rohan, saying, "You see, baron, I am better prepared for this encounter than you are. You have nothing but your sword: you had better take one of these," and he laid his finger upon the butt of a petronel.

"My sword will not fail me," replied Bernard de Rohan, with a smile. "I see, indeed, you were better qualified to judge whether these were brigands or not than I was."

"They are no brigands," replied the other; "brigands know better what they are about;" and, as he spoke, he threw away his hat, and tied up his long black hair, which fell over his ears and shoulders, with a piece of riband. "I cannot very well understand," he continued, in the same low tone, "what has become of your people and the priest: I could see nothing of them from the height, and I almost fear that these villains, fearing pursuit, have broken down the little wooden bridge behind them, at what we call the Pas de Suzzette, where the stream falls into the river."

"Hark!" said Bernard de Rohan. "They are coming up;" and, grasping his sword, he took a step forward.

"Wait," said the brigand, laying hold of his arm. "Give your people the last minute to attack them in the rear. By Heavens, they ought to have been here by this time."

The sound of horses' feet and human voices now became distinct from below, and oaths and imprecations were still heard loud and vehemently, as the captors hurried on their prisoners.

"Get you on, get you on!" exclaimed one voice: "don't you see how quietly your lord is going."

"He is not my lord," cried another, in a faint tone. "I am wounded and hurt, and cannot go faster."

"Get on, get on, villain!" reiterated the other voice. "You would fain keep us till the fools behind mend the bridge and come up with us. Get on, I say! If he do not walk faster, prick him with your dagger, Bouchart. We will skin him alive when we get to the end of the march! Drive it into him!"

A sharp cry succeeded: Bernard de Rohan could bear no more, but, bursting away from the hand of the brigand, he sprang into the road. Leon followed him at once; but, even before he was down, the young cavalier's sword had stretched one of the advancing party on the ground, and was crossed with that of another.

"Hold, hold!" shouted the loud voice of the brigand. "Hold, and throw down your arms! Villains, you are surrounded on all sides!"

For a moment their opponents had drawn back; but the scanty number of the assailants was seen before Corse de Leon uttered what seemed so empty a boast.

"Cut him down," cried a voice from behind, "cut him down!" and one of the horsemen spurred on towards him. Another, at the same moment, aimed a blow at the head of Bernard de Rohan from behind, which struck him on the shoulder and brought him on his knee, while a shot was fired at the brigand, which struck his cuirass, but glanced off harmless.

"It is time we should have help," said Corse de Leon, in a cool tone; and while, with his right hand, he drew a pistol from his girdle, levelled it at the head of one of those who were contending with Bernard de Rohan, fired, and saw the man fall over into the valley below, with the left he applied a small instrument to his lips, producing a loud, long, shrill whistle, which those who have heard it will never forget. It is like the scream of a bird of prey, but infinitely louder; and the moment it proceeded from the lips of the brigand, similar sounds echoed round and round from twenty different points above, below, and on the opposite side.

When Bernard de Rohan staggered up from his knee, the scene was completely changed. Corse de Leon stood no longer alone, but with three stout men by his side armed to the teeth. The fragments of rock and large stones that were rolling from above showed that rapid footsteps were coming down the side of the mountain. Up from the rocky bed of the stream five or six other men were seen climbing with the activity of the chamois or the izzard, and, to complete the whole, the whistle was still heard prolonged up the valley, while, from the same side, the ear could distinguish the galloping of horse coming down with furious speed.

The party of the adversary, however, was large. All were well armed; all evidently accustomed to strife and danger; and had all apparently made up their minds to struggle to the last. They accordingly made a fierce charge along the road, in order to force their way on; and the strife now became hand to hand, and man to man, while, above the contest, the loud voice of the brigand leader was heard shouting, "Tie them! Tie them! Do not kill them if you can help it!"

Nor was his assumption of certain success unjustified. Every moment fresh numbers were added to the party of Corse de Leon. The adversaries were driven back along the road, dragging the prisoners with them some way, but were stopped by fresh opponents, dropping, as it were, from the mountains, and cutting them off in their retreat. They were still struggling, however, when at length eight or nine horsemen, the sound of whose approach had been heard before, reached the scene of combat; and then, seeing that farther resistance was vain, several of them uttered a cry of "Quarter! quarter! We will throw down our arms."

"Here, take my sword, Doland," said the brigand leader to one of his men. "Wipe it well, and go back for my hat and cloak, which I left among the bushes by the cross of St. Maur. Well, baron," he continued, turning to Bernard de Rohan, "I am afraid you have to regret the want of your armour: that was a bad blow on your head."

"No, it struck my shoulder," replied Bernard de Rohan, "where my buff coat is doubled. There is no great harm done."

"You had better keep behind," continued Corse de Leon, in a low