seventeenth year, and to the graces of her person was reported to add endowments of mind and manners of a no less transcendent quality. She was accustomed to take her seat by her father's side, when the discharge of his functions as Constable of the Tower called upon him to act in a judicial character, and often performed the offices of the Angel of Mercy in tempering the stern and severe, although rigidly just and impartial sentences of her father.

tr

"Sir Alan Buxhall," said the Duke, " produce your prisoner." Sir Alan immediately stepped forward and produced the disguised serving-man to the Constable.

"Sir John Shackell," said the latter, in a severe tone, "it grieves me to be called to sit in judgment on so renowned a knight as you, upon no less a charge than that of treason. You have wilfully denied and resisted the King's authority, have drawn your weapon upon His Highness's officers while in the execution of their duty, and even now, as I am informed by the good Knight Sir Alan Buxhall, continue contumaciously to reject the King's offers of the kindest terms, by accepting which you may regain your liberty. Speak, are ye still determined to reject those gracious offers ?"

To this wily address, in which the grossest and most outrageous tyranny was coloured as a distinguished piece of grace and favour, the prisoner made no answer. Indeed the purport of the address scarcely deserved an answer, even had his situation been such as to enable him to give one ; but the truth is, that neither his critical situation nor the nature of the Duke's harangue was the occasion of the prisoner's silence, for he was rapt in speechless wonder as he gazed on the features of Elizabeth Holland. "Speak!" repeated the Duke. "Sir Knight, are ye still determined to reject those gracious offers ?" "'Tis she, 'tis she!" exclaimed the prisoner. "What is't ye mutter?" said the Duke. Alan, have ye brought me a madman hither? Neither this demeanour nor that voice belongs to Sir John Shackell. Unbar his visor-let me see his face."

"Sir

The Duke's command was instantly obeyed, and the prisoner's visor being unbarred, discovered features which were totally unknown to all but two persons in the apartment.

""Tis the Knight's serving-man!" exclaimed Sir Alan Buxhall: "by Heaven! this knave has tricked me by smuggling his master out of the Tower, and remaining himself in his place."

"Say you so!" said the Duke, rising from his

seat and stamping violently on the ground, while his lip foamed with wrath: "then, by St. Paul ! he shall supply his place in the halter as well as in the dungeon. Away with him to the rampartshang him there till every breath in his serving-man's carcase has mingled with the element that floats above London town."

"Nay, nay! gentle father," said the Lady Elizabeth, whose blushes and whose air of surprise when she first beheld the features of the prisoner, had fortunately passed unobserved, except by him who had occasioned them, and now faded from her cheek and gave way to an expression of the utmost anxiety and alarm: "Hear the young man, ere you devote him to a cruel and ignominious death. Speak, young Sir," she added, addressing the prisoner, and seeing that her father did not forbid the course which she was pursuing: "what were your motives for assisting the prisoner in making his escape from the Tower ?"

"The prisoner was my master, my patron, my preserver," said Alfred; " and my motives for assisting his escape were gratitude and esteem, in addition to that motive, fair lady, which binds to thee so many devoted adorers,-admiration of excellence and virtue."

"Prisoner!" said the Duke of Exeter, " your master is a traitor."

"I am no logician, my Lord Duke," answered Alfred; "but I will grant you, that if a loyal heart and a valiant arm, and a head grown grey in the service of his country, constitute a traitor, that then my master, Sir John Shackell, is one."

"Who in the devil's name have we here?" said the Duke. "This is not the language of a servingman; nor are those the features of a low-born hind. Sirrah! tell me thy name-who, and what art thou?"

My name, great Duke," answered the prisoner, "is Alfred Bohun; and I am the poor slave and serving-man of the valiant knight Sir John Shackell." "We will talk to thee more of this anon," said the Duke, whose admiration of the self-devotion and bold bearing of the prisoner, had already extinguished the feelings of anger and exasperation which had at first been enkindled in his bosom. In the mean time, Sir Alan Buxhall, see that ye take better care of the serving-man than you did of the master. Conduct your prisoner back to his dungeon, and await our farther orders as to his ultimate destination."

Alfred was again conducted to his place of con

finement, again heard the harsh grating of the dungeon locks, and found himself the solitary tenant of the same low, narrow and melancholy chamber as before. He found his spirits, notwithstanding, comparatively buoyant and exhilarated, on account of the conviction which he felt of the safety of his master; and he began to perceive that his own share of punishment was not likely to be very overwhelming. His mind, therefore, had now leisure to expatiate on more agreeable ideas than such as had lately occupied it. It was now filled with the image of Elizabeth Holland: once, and once only had he beheld that paragon of female beauty-their eyes had met for an instant, but that instant had sufficed to fix the image of each on the soul of the other. That sylph-like form, that sparkling eye, that high pale brow, had lived in the memory of Alfred Bohun ever since, and the perilous adventures in which he had been subsequently engaged had not been able to erase them. The undefinable impression which the first sight of the lady had made on his mind, was deepened by their recent and unexpected interview. To her intercession, too, on that occasion, he was indebted for the preservation of his life. Can it therefore be wondered at, that with a youthful and susceptible heart, with so peerless