his men-at-arms and bade them get ready to start at once for Montaigle. Accordingly he set out at nightfall, and before dawn he had reached the valley of the Molignée. Soon he made a fierce attack on the fortress; arrows and darts flew like hail, and red-hot missiles fell hissing on the battlements. But De Berlaymont had not allowed himself to be surprised. The battlements of Montaigle were manned with fighting-men, and when the assailants scrambled like cats up the steep rock and gained the ramparts, the defenders shot them down like pigeons, and they fell back wounded and dying into the river below. De Bioulx urged them on, and twice they bravely scaled this impregnable rock, and mounted the battlements which rose from it bristling with lances. In vain-they were thrust down with lance and sword thrusts, or blinded and stunned by flights of bolts and stones.

When De Berlaymont saw this, he called for his horse, and, followed by his squires, he flew like a falcon down from the heights of Montaigle into the meadow below, and fell on the flying men of Bioulx. There was a fierce fight, a terrible slaughter; the river ran red with blood; but the men of Montaigle triumphed, and the followers of De Bioulx fled or were left bleeding and dying in the valley.

Arnolf of Bioulx stood alone; he would not fly. Covered with blood and dust he advanced on Gilles de Berlaymont. They struck fiercely at one another, but as the swords clashed together, a figure clad in white came flying down the hill, and flung itself between the combatants.

It was Midone-pale and terror-stricken, her golden hair streaming over her shoulders, the sight of her husband and father in mortal combat had agonised her gentle soul. She flung herself on her knees, clasped her arms round her father, and implored him to forgive her and to give her back his love.

De Berlaymont stood still, deeply moved by the sight of this angel of peace, an irresistible herald, he thought, of union between the two families. Surely De Bioulx would yield to her entreaty? But Arnolf de Bioulx was not to be appeased. Maddened with rage, he struck Midone fiercely with his sword, and the girl fell dead at his feet, her golden hair and white gown dabbled with blood. At this sight De Berlaymont felt the old hatred spring to life anew; he threw himself with mighty force upon De Bioulx and plunged his sword into his heart; the wretched father fell lifeless on the body of his child.

Gilles De Berlaymont left his desolate home; the

scene of his brief happiness and of Midone's death had become intolerable; he gave up his possessions, and, putting on the Cross, went to fight the infidels in the Holy Land.

But it has grown late while we have been pondering the sad fate of these lovers. Unwillingly we say goodbye to the charming ruins and the luxuriant wilderness of blossoms and beauty among the mouldering stones. As we drive home, the moon is setting behind the hills, purple-black in their depth of shadow; poplar-trees against the hills are olive-tinted; now a mist rises from the fields below, and a foreground of rich, newlyturned earth is chocolate in its warm colour.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CHÂTEAU OF VÈVE-CELLES.

For over all there hung a cloud of fear;
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,
The place is haunted!

HOOD.

A FEW miles from Dinant-sur-Meuse is the Château of Vève-Celles, deserted some years ago, while still habitable, by its owners, for no apparent reason, unless it be because of the obscure yet fatal doom which has seemed to follow the fortunes of those who dwelt within its massive old walls.

We had already driven along the road beside the lovely Lesse; now it was proposed to follow this route. as far as Château Walzin, and from thence to take an adventurous and almost unfrequented way to Vève through meadows and across rivers, so as to get the best possible idea of the scenery of the Lesse.

Fording rivers in a cumbrous char-à-banc, with four

horses, seemed at first a hazardous proposal, but we were assured there was no danger.

The appointed morning looked heavy, and threatened

rain-one of the

party said she

hoped there might

be a storm when we got to Vève, as she should like to see lightning flash and hear thunder roll through the deserted old rooms; others demurred about weatherbut our friend, the bright organiser of the expedition, was hopeful and de

termined, and at

ten o'clock the

char-à-banc drove

up to the door of the Hotel of the Golden Head.

We were nine, and there was some little delay in arranging the party to the best advantage. Our