Sketches | Page 2

we not hate each
other like our fated race? My heart is distracted. Can this misery be
love? Yet I adore thee------'
'Lady!' said the page, advancing, 'the priest approaches.'
The Lady Imogene rose, and crossed herself before the altar.
'To-morrow, at this hour,' whispered Lothair.
The Lady Imogene nodded assent, and, leaning on her page, quitted the
shrine.
CHAPTER II.
A Pert Page
'DEAREST Lady,' said the young page, as they returned to the castle,
'my heart misgives me. As we quitted the shrine, I observed Rufus, the
huntsman, slink into the adjoining wood.' 'Hah! he is my father's most
devoted instrument: nor is there any bidding which he would hesitate to
execute--a most ruthless knave!'
'And can see like a cat in the dark, too,' observed young Theodore.
'I never loved that man, even in my cradle,' said the Lady Imogene;
'though he can fawn, too. Did he indeed avoid us?'
'Indeed I thought so, madam.'
'Ah! my Theodore, we have no friend but you, and you are but a little
page.'
'I would I were a stout knight, lady, and I would fight for you.'
'I warrant you,' said Imogene; 'you have a bold heart, little Theodore,
and a kind one. O holy Virgin. I pray thee guard in all perils my
bright-eyed Lothair!'

'Lord Branchimont is the finest knight I ever set eyes upon,' said
Theodore. 'I would I were his squire.'
'Thou shalt be his squire, too, little Theodore, if all goes well.'
'Oh! glorious day, when I shall wear a sword instead of a scarf! Shall I
indeed be his squire, lady sweet?'
'Indeed I think thou wilt make a very proper squire.'
'I would I were a knight like Lord Branchimont; as tall as a lance, and
as strong as a lion; and such a fine beard too!'
'It is indeed a beard, Theodore,' said the Lady Imogene. 'When wilt
thou have one like it?'
'Another summer, perchance,' said Theodore, passing his small palm
musingly over his smooth chin.
'Another summer!' said the Lady Imogene, laughing; 'why, I may as
soon hope to have a beard myself.'
'I hope you will have Lord Branchimont's,' said the page.
'Amen!' responded the lady.
CHAPTER III.
Love's Messenger
THE apprehensions of the little Theodore proved to be too well
founded. On the morning after the meeting of Lady Imogene with Lord
Branchimont at the shrine of Charolois, she was summoned to the
presence of her father, and, after having been loaded with every species
of reproach and invective for her clandestine meeting with their
hereditary foe, she was confined to a chamber in one of the loftiest
towers of the castle, which she was never permitted to quit, except to
walk in a long gloomy gallery with an old female servant remarkable

for the acerbity of her mind and manners. Her page escaped
punishment by flight; and her only resource and amusement was her
mandolin.
The tower in which the Lady Imogene was imprisoned sprang out of a
steep so precipitous that the position was considered impregnable. She
was therefore permitted to open her lattice, which was not even barred.
The landscape before her, which was picturesque and richly wooded,
consisted of the en-closed chase of Charolois; but her jailers had taken
due care that her chamber should not command a view of the castle of
Branchimont. The valley and all its moving life were indeed entirely
shut out from her. Often the day vanished without a human being
appearing in sight. Very unhappy was the Lady Imo-gene, gazing on
the silent woods, or pouring forth her passion over her lonely lute.
A miserable week had nearly elapsed. It was noon; the Lady Imogene
was seated alone in her chamber, leaning her head upon her hand in
thought, and dreaming of her Lothair, when a fluttering noise suddenly
roused her, and, looking up, she beheld, to her astonishment, perched
on the high back of a chair, a beautiful bird-a pigeon whiter than snow,
with an azure beak, and eyes blazing with a thousand shifting tints. Not
alarmed was the beautiful bird when the Lady Imogene gently
approached it; but it looked up to her with eyes of intelligent tenderness,
and flapped with some earnestness its pure and sparkling plume. The
Lady Imogene smiled with marvelling pleasure, for the first time since
her captivity; and putting forth her hand, which was even whiter than
the wing, she patted the bright neck of the glad stranger, and gently
stroked its soft plumage.
'Heaven hath sent me a friend,' exclaimed the beautiful Imogene; 'Ah!
what--what is this?'
'Didst thou call, Lady Imogene?' inquired the harsh voice of acid
Martha, whom the exclamation of her mistress had summoned to the
door.
'Nothing--nothing--I want nothing,' quickly answered Imogene, as she
seized the bird