telling, and will leave to Uncle Harry what I should utterly spoil. From Jessie's bright eyes and Midsie's attentive look I fancy he is relating this very tale to them now.

MILLISON GAYE.

CHAPTER VII.

ROLANDSECK; OR, THE STORY OF A BRAVE KNIGHTE AND FAIRE LADYE.

E are steaming on pleasantly towards Andernach. A warm sun has driven everybody under the awning: half a dozen bare-headed peasant girls on their way to Remagen with geese, are sleeping on the lower deck; on the upper, you hear no sound but the turning and fluttering of a dozen Murray's Guides; for the English tourists, as Jessie says, 66 seem to have left their tongues at home." Shall I give you the love-story of Roland and Hildegunde, the brave knighte and faire ladye, whose romantic lives began and ended amid these scenes?

I.

One stormy night, hundreds of years ago, when all young ladies were beautiful maidens, quite untaught in the use of the globes, history, crayons, and perspective, and all young gentlemen were knights, riding rampant on the face of the

earth, thinking nothing so delightful or so heroic as to kill the Saracens, or help their Baron to steal his neighbour's cattle, there arrived at the castle of the noble Baron Stromberg a young knight, weary with travel and seeking shelter.

Now Baron Stromberg was a cheery, open-hearted man, and most hospitable of the hospitable. True that he had the day before made a rush upon a convenient flock of sheep that were no more his by right than they were mine; true, that he had compelled his widowed sister Adalheit to marry knight Braubach, whether she loved him or no, just because Braubach had offered him a nice little bribe in the way of marks for the lady's hand-ah! well, we won't say anything about these faults: remember, he lived in the glorious feudal times, when such naughty practices were approved of and encouraged.

Very kindly and courteously did our worthy baron greet the stranger knight.

"We are new acquaintances," he said, shaking him by the hand in quite a fatherly manner, "but that should not hinder our finding pleasure in each other's company. To the very best of my meat and drink, sir knight, I bid you heartily welcome."

So the stranger seated himself at the table, whereon soon appeared a goodly boar's head, and a quail pasty of delicious odour, to which, being young and hearty, he began to do ample justice. He had just entered into the spirit of the thing, and was biting the meat off the crumbling incrustation of pastry (there were no forks in those days but the five-pronged forks that we were born with), when down went the quail-pie on to his metal plate, and he half rose, in his astonishment and admiration.

For there entered, softly and noiselessly as if she trod rather on a Turkey carpet than on a rush-strewed stone floor, a beautiful girl, perhaps about eighteen, certainly not more, with the loveliest meek blue eyes, long lustrous auburn hair, and delicate white skin that could be imagined.

She was dressed in a flowered brocade skirt of purple and black, a dress that had been her mother's before her, and was rather threadbare in places, but was still very becoming; a splendid girdle embroidered with jewels encircled her waist, and a pointed head-dress like a small crown of pearls glittered on her bright hair. Her pretty little naked feet were encased in morocco shoes with sandals, for stockings had not yet come in to add to ladies' expenses. In her hands she carried a bottle of Rhenish wine and a glass goblet, on which were cut the baron's coat of arms; you must know that such armorial bearings were very handy things in those days, when the noble bearers could not write, and used to seal their letters or papers with them instead of signing their names. Now-a-days, when we go abroad, our faces are not encased in helmet, in visor, or in morion, and every one recognises us at once; but then the case was different, and had it not been for the device engraved on the shield, the public would never have distinguished Knight Smith from Knight Brown.

Advancing with a shy blush to the guest, Hildegunde-for such was the name of the baron's daughter-poured out a goblet of wine and presented it.

Right hearty thanks, noble maiden," said the knight, bowing almost to the ground; "I drink to the hospitable barons of the Rhine and to their lovely daughters."

This compliment pleased the old baron mightily, and the young man could neither eat nor drink half enough for him.

When the meal was over, the two entered into conversation about the wars of Charlemagne, who, at the time we are speaking of, was as great a hero in Germany as Napoleon was in all Europe forty or fifty years ago. Their conversa

tion turned also upon politics, as is the custom when two gentlemen meet now, and Baron Stromberg was pleased to find his young friend well able to give an opinion upon all that was going forward.

It was late when they went to rest; even then, tired as he was, the young knight lay awake till past midnight, thinking of the pretty maiden with the blue eyes.

Early in the morning he was up, and having breakfasted on wine and boar's ham, thanked his kind entertainer for his hospitality, and prepared to take leave. Pretty Hildegunde was present, but stood by, blushing in silence.

"Not so," cried the baron, eagerly; "no, sir knight; at least let me know whom I have the honour of entertaining. By your look and bearing I take you to be one most worthy of any hospitality of mine."

"My name," said the young man modestly and yet with dignity," is Roland, and I am the nephew of Charlemagne the Emperor."

"Roland!" and the baron looked dazzled, as if by a sudden flash of lightning; "Roland! is it really true that I see before me the hero of a thousand songs, the flower of our best and bravest knights, the victor of countless fights, the protector of the weak? Roland, Roland-is it really Roland who has been my guest?"

He seemed quite bewildered with surprise and delight, and even the quiet Hildegunde opened wide her blue eyes, as if she shared her papa's feelings.

"Indeed, sir, you do me much honour; I am far from

F

deserving such praise," said Roland, who, like all true heroes, was humble. Of course, in his heart he felt glad that Hildegunde was present to hear his commendations, but he kept this feeling to himself.

"One thing you must grant to me, refuse it if you can, my young sir," continued cheery old Stromberg; "remain here for a day or two. We can offer you hunting of the elk for sport, or perhaps a wild boar or two may turn up in the forest; and there is my daughter Hildegunde, who can play on the harp to as pretty a ditty as one could wish. Nay, you consent, without further words."

Knight Roland seemed nowise unwilling to consent; why should he? He liked hunting the elk and spearing the wild boar he liked to be in young ladies' society, it was so delightful a change after those rough days in Palestine; he liked good cheer, and he enjoyed talking over the conquests of his glorious old uncle Charlemagne-all these were offered to him in the invitation of the baron, and he accepted them.

I don't know how it happened, but the days passed so quickly and so pleasantly, that when a week had elapsed, Roland still seemed in no hurry to go.

One evening when the moon lay softly on the river, and the stars twinkled like so many joyful elves' eyes in the clear sky, Hildegunde and Roland met quite accidentally on the battlements. Now, the young ady was rather fond of teazing in a girlish, mirthful way, so she said

"Dear me, sir knight, I thought you were gone! How you frightened me!"

"I will never go till I win the love of a lovely maiden," he answered, "who shall give me a scarf of her own broidery as a token to wear on my arm in Palestine."

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