A vow, a vow — I have a vow in Heaven.

Shall I bring perjury upon my soul?

No, not for Venice.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

The conclusion of the last chapter contains the tidings with which the minstrel greeted his unhappy master, Hugo de Lacy; not indeed with the same detail of circumstances with which we have been able to invest the narrative, but so as to infer the general and appalling facts, that his betrothed bride, and beloved and trusted kinsman, had leagued together for his dishonour — had raised the banner of rebellion against their lawful sovereign, and, failing in their audacious attempt, had brought the life of one of them, at least, into the most imminent danger, and the fortunes of the House of Lacy, unless some instant remedy could be found, to the very verge of ruin.

Vidal marked the countenance of his master as he spoke, with the same keen observation which the chirurgeon gives to the progress of his dissecting-knife. There was grief on the Constable’s features — deep grief — but without the expression of abasement or prostration which usually accompanies it; anger and shame were there — but they were both of a noble character, seemingly excited by his bride and nephew’s transgressing the laws of allegiance, honour, and virtue, rather than by the disgrace and damage which he himself sustained through their crime.

The minstrel was so much astonished at this change of deportment, from the sensitive acuteness of agony which attended the beginning of his narrative, that he stepped back two paces, and gazing on the Constable with wonder, mixed with admiration, exclaimed, “We have heard of martyrs in. Palestine, but this exceeds them!”

“Wonder not so much, good friend,” said the Constable, patiently; “it is the first blow of the lance or mace which pierces or stuns — those which follow are little felt.” [Footnote: Such an expression is said to have been used by Mandrin, the celebrated smuggler, while in the act of being broken upon the wheel. This dreadful punishment consists in the executioner, with a bar of iron, breaking the shoulder-bones, arms, thigh-bones, and legs of the criminal, taking — his alternate sides. The punishment is concluded by a blow across the breast, called the coup de grace , because it removes the sufferer from his agony. When Mandrin received the second blow over the left shoulder-bone, he laughed. His confessor inquired the reason of demeanour so unbecoming — his situation. “I only lavish at my own folly, my father,” answered Mandrin, “who could suppose that sensibility of pain should continue after the nervous system had been completely deranged by the first blow.]

“Think, my lord,” said Vidal, “all is lost — love, dominion, high office, and bright fame — so late a chief among nobles, now a poor palmer!”