"Thank heaven !" he murmured.

The lady laid her finger upon her lips, in sign of caution, and motioned to him to proceed. Although the danger, personally, to her was the greatest for love as well as liberty depended upon the success of their scheme-she was far the more self-possessed of the two. Her conductor did not venture to look round again till they reached a wood which intervened between the chateau and the Loire, where he had concealed the horses.

Releasing the steeds from the tree to which he had fastened them, he silently assisted his companion to mount; then, vaulting into the saddle, he gave the horse the spur, and set forward on his way, carefully keeping the river on his left hand, and riding along the bank. Fortunately, the night was a moonlight one. After riding about two miles from the outskirts of the town, the page ventured to draw rein.

"We have escaped them, madame!" he observed, with an air of exultation. They must have fleet steeds to overtake us!"

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Thanks, my gallant Roland!" replied the lady. "Let me but see the walls of Bordeaux, and my own hand shall dub thee knight, for thou hast well deserved it."

It was not the recompense the young man sought; still it was the stepping-stone to his ambitious hopes; for in those days of chivalry and romance, knighthood was a field in which all were equal.

"How expect you, madame," he demanded, "to find the barque ?" The duchess informed him that, previous to her landing at Blois, she had given directions to the captain and her men-at-arms to drop down the river six or seven miles below the town, and there wait in the hope of her arrival-to keep careful watch, and be ready to lift anchor at a moment's notice.

"In less than an hour-by the aid of our Lady and our good steeds we shall reach them: Tristan"-the name of the captain -" is one of the best pilots on the Loire."

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"He was born upon it," observed the duchess.

"And in your grace's cause will be ready to die upon it," added Roland.

"You may trust to his fidelity."

"And yours?"

"With my life."

"each minute seems an age

"Ride on !" exclaimed the duchess; till I am once more embarked upon the stream. There is not an echo but I dread to recognize in it the steps of my pursuers."

Once more the page set spurs to his steed, and, followed by his fair companion, continued his route towards Amboise, the limits of the county of Blois : although the passionate and ambitious Thibaut had he been aware of the flight of his fair guest, which, fortunately, he was not-would have hesitated little at violating the territory of his feudal neighbor, most probably as unscrupu lous as himself.

After riding three miles further, they espied the barque lying like a living thing upon the water. The captain, who was on the watch, hailed them from the vessel. The joyous duchess answered in her native language, and a boat was instantly put off to bring them on board.

"Up with your anchor !" exclaimed Eleanora, "and make all sail; we shall soon be pursued!”

"Never fear, your grace," replied the man; "let us but once pass the Port of Piles."

"The Port of Piles!" interrupted the horror-stricken page, recollecting the conversation he had had with the men-at-arms, and their proposal to him. "Alas! gracious lady, the danger is

not over yet!"

"What mean you?"

In a few brief words he related to her all that had passed. Despite the double danger which threatened her, Eleanora could not avoid a smile at the idea of Geoffrey Plantagenet aspiring to her hand.

"What can be done ?" demanded the page.

The duchess looked at the captain.

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I have it, madame !" said the old sailor, after a few minutes' reflection; 66 we must take one of the windings of the river on the left bank. I know the course it has only this inconvenience —that it will prolong your journey several hours at least."

“No matter, so I arrive at last!"

"For that I pledge myself!"

The sailor kept his word. By following a branch of the river instead of the stream itself, he contrived not only to escape the ambush of Geoffrey, but the pursuit of the Count of Blois, who started on the following morning. It was a proud day for all when the long-absent sovereign of Aquitaine entered once more the capital of her dominions—the flourishing city of Bordeaux.

CHAPTER VI.

Strew the bridal path with flowers,
Fill the cup with ruby wine;

Lightly pass life's fleeting hours

Pleasure and love, fair bride, be thine.

OLD PROVENCAL SONG.

GREAT were the rejoicings of the citizens of Bordeaux, on the arrival of their long-absent sovereign. The inhabitants of the south, through all the strange vicissitudes of her fortunes, always remained faithful to the interests of Eleanora, whom they had loved for her talents, and as the descendant of their ancient princes. The first days of her return were employed in fêtes, and in’ giving audiences to her ministers and the magistracy of the various towns, who crowded to her court, to present addresses of congratulation.

Poor Roland-who, during their flight, had seen only in the sovereign a lovely woman, dependent on his arm and courage for support-no sooner beheld her on her ducal throne, surrounded with all the pageantry of royalty, than he fell from his aspiring day-dreams of love, to the stern reality of life. There was little chance, he acknowledged, with a sigh, that the wealthiest princess in Europe would so far forget her state, as to bestow her hand upon a simple page.

Still Eleanora was not ungrateful. The second day after her arrival, she sent for him.

When he entered the presence-chamber, he found the idol of his dreams seated upon her chair of state, surrounded by a bevy of ladies, the noblest and fairest of the sunny south. Gravebearded councillors were standing round her; he thought he had never seen her look more lovely.

"Roland," said the duchess," in the joy of our return, we have not forgotten our debt of gratitude to our gallant deliverer! Look upon him, my lords and gentlemen," she added; "it is to his prudence and courage we owe our liberty; but for him we should have been the prisoner of the ambitious Count of Blois !"

"A hundred lances would have been laid in rest at the intelli

gence," observed a young noble, "and the chivalry of the south marched, as a single man, to the rescue of their sovereign!"

Eleanora smiled graciously. With a woman's tact, she knew how to enlist the sympathy of the young, as well as the zeal of the old, in her favor.

"We doubt not, my good lord of Bastide," she replied, “the devotion of our faithful subjects, nor the well-known loyalty of your ancient house we have had too much experience in both for that."

The young noble bowed.

"But it is fitting," she continued, "that we mark our sense of the service rendered by our faithful page to his sovereign in the hour of danger, by a recompense more solid than thanks. As his duty has been devoted to a woman, it is but just that women should reward him!"

At a signal from the speaker, two of the fairest ladies who were standing behind the ducal chair, approached the youth, and led him towards the throne. A deep blush suffused his handsome countenance, as his eyes met those of Eleanora. He felt assured, from the glance with which she regarded him, that she had read his secret, while, at the same time, the smile upon her lips told him she was not offended at his presumption.

Few women hate the man-especially if he is young and hand

some—who loves them, no matter how disparaging the distance which birth and rank have placed between them.

"Kneel!" exclaimed the duchess, in a gracious tone of voice, which fell like the sound of music upon the ear of the enamored page.

He obeyed, his female conductors standing on either side of him.

"And now, my lord, your sword!"

This was addressed to the seneschal of Aquitaine, an aged noble, who had been the companion in arms of her grandfather, Duke William. The old man drew the glittering weapon from his side, and, bending his knee before the throne, placed it in the hands of his sovereign lady.

"In the name of God, our Lady, and St. George," exclaimed the duchess, striking the page thrice upon the shoulders, “I dub thee knight! and, to maintain the dignity, our manor of the Sauve we bestow, by these our letters patent."

The chancellor of the duchy placed in the hands of the newly. made knight the parchment which conferred the grant. Poor boy! his heart was too full for words—it was not the payment he had dreamed of. Still it was a royal one.

With her own fair hands, Eleanora passed over the shoulder of the new-made knight a baldric, which supported a magnificent sword, and gave him her hand to kiss.

During the entire ceremony, Roland had remained as pale as death, without uttering a word. As he bent over the fair hand, to press it to his trembling lips, a burning tear fell upon her fingers. Eleanora's woman's heart was touched. Had it not been already filled by Henry Plantagenet, the page might have stood a chance of wearing the ducal coronet of Aquitaine.

"Can I do aught else to insure your happiness?" she demanded.

'Nothing, gracious lady-nothing!" he replied.

A deep blush suffused his countenance as he spoke. Eleanora -without knowing why-blushed, too.

"And my debt of gratitude is paid ?” she added.