Arnold had now reached the meridian of life "Over his brow not time alone A blight had in its transit sent, But harrowing griefs and cares had gone, And left their foot-prints as they went." Jocelyn felt involuntary respect mingle with his natural hatred against the murderer of his mother, as he gazed on the martial figure, the noble bearing, and the proud appearance of the count. This was so manifest in the obeisance he paid that Arnold noticed it, and was delighted as all men are with the real homage of the soul. "Young page," said he, "thy services must be paid to the ladies of the castle during my absence, but I will give orders to the castellan that thy chivalrous exercises shall not be neglected, and if, on my return, I find thee perfect in the use of arms, thou shalt accompany me, as squire, to the Holy Land, whither our good King Philip and the Lion of England purpose, ere long, to lead their forces.' Jocelyn bowed in silence, and the count, turning to his squire, D'Arblay, said, "To thee, D'Arblay, I entrust the wardship of this castle, and if, on my return, I find thy duty faithfully performed, the honour of knighthood shall be thine, and I will myself be thy godfather in chivalry." D'Arblay promised that all his exertions should be devoted to the safety of his charge, and the count soon after departed. The hours spent by Jocelyn in the company of the countess and the Lady Emmeline fled by, winged with pleasure. The countess knew that she possessed not the affections of her husband he had married her for the sake of the broad lands to which she was heiress, and when, after the lapse of two or three years, he found that their union was not likely to be blessed by a progeny, he withdrew himself from her society, and scarcely honoured her with the ordinary forins of civility. The heart of the countess yearned for some object on which she might bestow her love, and she found in Emmeline, her supposed stepdaughter, one every way worthy of her affectionate care. The circumstances of her early life had cast a shade of melancholy over the mind of Emmeline: she had a faint remembrance, somewhat like the impression produced by a horrid dream, of that night of terror which had deprived her of a mother, and her imagination loved to dwell on the gloomy topic. The stern dulness that reigned in Count Arnold's castle increased the sombre cast of her mind, and the countess was but too ready to deepen this tendency to sadness. When first Jocelyn arrived at Count Arnold's seat, full of youthful spirit, and animated with the prospects which the magic of hope opens to all in the dawning of life, the melancholy of the ladies made him wretched in their company, and he scarcely could force himself to fulfil the duties imposed on a page by the custom of the time; but when the dangers to which he stood exposed were revealed-when, by unaccountable means, he had become acquainted with secrets of terrific import, the disposition of the ladies became more accordant with his own, and he found delight in congenial gloom. The change was soon observed by Emmeline, and she bestowed more attention on the grave and serious Jocelyn, than he could have gained while he continued the merry and jocund page, who thought every hour that brought not some new source of merriment a blank in his existence. The increasing similarity of disposi tion led to an intimacy which the countess sanctioned and encouraged. Its daily progress rendered Jocelyn unwilling to send to his father, as he had at first intended, an account of what he had witnessed in the chapel, and before he had prepared an epistle, he received intelligence that his father had embarked once more for the Holy Land. The absence of Count Arnold was protracted for several months, and during this period the intercourse between Jocelyn and Emmeline had rapidly assumed a more tender, and even affectionate, character. In an hour of confidence, she revealed to him the strange suspicions that some times floated across her mind, that she was not really the daughter of Count Arnold. "A chill comes over my spirits," she said, "whenever he speaks to me, and my soul feels a horror in his presence; yet my heart yearns for the ideal authors of my being." Jocelyn felt some difficulty in framing an answer; to tell the history related by Ayubi he dared not; but he suggested to her the possibility of some mistake having arisen on the night that the castle in the east had been stormed, and was rejoiced to find her eagerly grasp at the idea. "Some events that I cannot explain," she said, "have been pictured to my sleeping fancy with all the force of reality. I have dreamed of a battle-field, where lay a noble warrior weltering in his blood, while over him stood another whose horned bonnet showed him to be one of those assassins, of whom the crusaders tell us such horrid tales. I once caught a glimpse of the features that the bonnet shaded: they were-I shudder as I tell it-those of Count Arnold! At the same time it was whispered in my soul that I saw my father and his murderer!" Jocelyn frequently recurred to the subject of this dream, and endeavoured to suggest additional doubts; at length Emmeline became firmly persuaded that Arnold was not her father, and eagerness to discover her real parents became with her an absorbing passion. The departure of the Kings of England and France to recover Palestine from the dominion of Saladin, collected the best warriors of Europe on the shores of the Mediterranean. But neither religion, nor even the thirst of military glory, could be assigned as the motive that influenced many sol diers of the cross. Several of the adventurers were bankrupts both in fortune and reputation; they hoped to acquire broad lands in Syria, perhaps to become the founders of new dynasties the authors of new races of kings. Count Arnold had declared his anxiety to proceed to the Holy Land in the train of King Philip, and had sent home orders to arm his vassals; but months rolled away, and the expedition had sailed long before he made any effective preparation to perform his promise. At length he returned home when he was least expected, and issued orders that instant levies should be made, and that all his warriors should be ready forthwith to march towards Marseilles, where he purposed to embark. At the same time he declared his resolution to take the Lady Emmeline with him, but peremptorily rejected the petition of the countess to accompany her lord and her adopted daughter. Jocelyn was placed in command of one division of the count's vassals, and was ordered to lead them on their way to the seaport a few days before the baron proceeded thither also with the main body. Nothing remarkable occurred to our hero on the march: he reached Marseilles on the evening of the fifth day, a little before sunset, and, having seen his men safely lodged in their quarters, strolled out to enjoy the, to him, novel sight of the sea and shipping. As he paced the shore, he observed that he was followed and watched by an aged pilgrim, who seemed anxious to gain his attention. Jocelyn approached, and tendered him an alms, which the other rejected, and then, turning round to see that no one could overhear them, he said, in a low, but distinct, voice, "Sir squire, I would speak with you alone; follow me at such a distance as not to attract notice." The pilgrim then turned away, and proceeded, with a speed not at all consistent with his aged appearance, towards the city. He passed through its streets with the same quickness, and paused not until he reached the gate leading to the country, when he stopped for a moment, and cast a hasty glance round to see whether Jocelyn followed. He made a mute sign inviting him to advance farther, and continued his hasty pace. When they had gone so far as to lose sight of the wall, he turned from the road to a narrow pathway which led them into a thick grove tangled with underwood. After penetrating into this for a brief distance, he stopped at the door of a ruined hut, and waited till Jocelyn came up. "Come in here," said the stranger; and the youth, unsheathing his dagger, and muttering a prayer to the Virgin, obeyed. There was not in the hut a sign of its having been used for a human habitation; the roof was so broken into large fissures that it had little more than a nominal existence-the sides, constructed of loose branches, seemed as if a strong blast would have torn them asunder. When Jocelyn and the palmer had entered the hut, the latter, throwing off his cloak, revealed to our hero the features of Hubert, who had suddenly disappeared the morning after the awful scene in the ruined chapel. To Jocelyn's involuntary exclamation of surprise he answered in the following terms :"Yes, I am Hubert; but interrupt me not, my hours are numbered, and unless my service be quickly performed, the opportunity will be for ever lost." "Are you ill?" inquired Jocelyn, affectionately. "No; but a power that cannot be resisted is arrayed against my life. Count Arnold has sworn my destruc. tion; within two nights will come the hour when the elemental spirits must obe, his spell, and from their ken earth's deepest caverns will not hide me. The count has sold himself to the evil demons; in a luckless hour I discovered the secret, and have been for years an unwilling sharer in his unhallowed rites. When he promised to bestow the hand of his daughter on the Bathenien prince Abdallah, and to aid in his attempt to establish the dynasty of the Assassins on the ruins of the kingdoms both of cross and crescent, he consulted those spirits which obey his spells, and received from them replies so dark and mysterious that he was left in utter uncertainty. Again he tried more potent conjurations, and learned, but still obscurely, that your destiny was interwoven with that of the Lady Emmeline, and that her fate would be beyond his control when you were reJAN. 1832. moved from the sphere of his power. But though induced, by this warning, to take the charge of your instruction in chivalry, he could not conquer the feelings of dislike occasioned by your resemblance to your mother, whom, for some unknown cause, he hated intensely. In one of his conjurations he learned that my hand should one day be raised against his life, and he therefore resolved on my destruction. I have escaped for a season, because the hour of his authority has not yet come; but it is not far distant. I have but one way to atone for the sins of my life: take this parchment, it is the key to the cipher in which the enemies of both Mahometans and Christians correspond. Study it well, and ere the second sun from this is set burn it, and fling the ashes to the winds of heaven. Thus will Arnold not discover that thou holdest the key to his secrets. But if you destroy it not, he will learn from his demons where it lies concealed, and you will fall a victim to his rage and suspicion. Swear now to me that, on the third day from this, thou wilt cause masses to be said for my miserable soul, which will have parted from the body ere that day's sun has risen." Jocelyn gave the required promise, and took the scroll. Hubert then continued "In your hands will lie the safety of the Christian princes, for you will be able to discover the marks placed on the tents to guide the daggers of the assassins whom the treacherous count will conduct into the camp. And now follow me to the town ere the gates be closed for the night: speak not, accompany me not beyond the portcullis-suspicion would involve you in my ruin.' Jocelyn obeyed in silence: they parted when they reached the city gates, and of Hubert's fate nothing further is known. Jocelyn kept the promises that he had made, having destroyed the scroll at the time appointed, and purchased masses for the dead as he had sworn. On the arrival of the count with his vassals, the armament that had been already prepared set sail, and, after a prosperous voyage, arrived in the har C bour of Acre. Thence they marched to join the Christians encamped on the plains near Joppa, and found the army distracted by the fiercest dissensions. Jocelyn sought out his father, whom he found a zealous partisan of the King of England; while Arnold declared himself resolved to support the malcontents. Private friendship could not atone for this political difference, and Jocelyn's father soon removed him from the count's household, and procured for him a subordinate command among the Angevins, who followed the banners of England. Some days after this occurrence Jocelyn, walking in the vicinity of the camp, saw some marks cut on the bark of a tree, which he knew to be secret symbols of the Batheniens. They were- "To-night I keep watch at the western gate; strike when the moon rises." Returning to his tent, Jocelyn carelessly inquired who guarded the western gate, and was answered Count Arnold. He sought his father, with the design of revealing to him his suspicions, when the voice of Ayubi was heard in his soul. Thy secret is safe in thy own bosom, for a superior power guards thee; but if entrusted to one not similarly protected, Arnold will find it out by his spiritual agents, and change his plans." 66 Jocelyn accordingly determined to withhold his confidence, but to watch the more diligently to avert the danger. As he passed through the camp, he saw other signs of treachery-the tracks leading to the part where Richard and his followers lay were marked by the symbols of the Batheniens-the signals of death were traced on the tents of Richard and his boldest barons: on his own was the symbolic inscription, "bind fast, but spare life." While endeavouring to think of some plan by which the danger might be averted, he beheld his father coming towards him, accompanied by Sir Ralph Mowbray, an old English knight. When they came up Jocelyn learned that the disputes between the leaders of the French and English in the council that day had assumed a more violent character than ever, and that they had been with difficulty prevented from coming to blows by the influence of the Archbishop of Tyre. He suggested the propriety of being prepared against the treachery of which the Austrian prince was notoriously capable, and proposed that additional guards should be posted. "Boy," asked Mowbray, abruptly, "did Count Arnold, when you dwelt in his castle, ever receive messages from the east?" "I have heard," replied Jocelyn, "that he sometimes corresponded with a Georgian prince who had aided in redeeming him from captivity.' "Then, by our lady," replied Mowbray, "I will not trust him with the interpretation of the intercepted letter, though I know not to whom else to apply.' Jocelyn remarked, that an old servant of the count's, who had accompanied his master into captivity, had taught him some of the Asiatic languages, and the secret of their symbolic correspondence. The elder Jocelyn then spoke. "The latter is what we need, for I cannot discover in what language the letter is written, and I believe it to be a cipher." "Where was it taken ?" inquired the younger Jocelyn. "One of our bold English archers," said Mowbray, "supposing that the forest glades here resembled those of merry Sherwood, stole out last night to procure some venison; while watching in a covert he saw a being of strange form, having two horns on its head: he drew his bow, and drove his shaft into the skull: coming up to see what it was, he found, to his astonishment, that the unknown animal was one of the assassins of whom the archbishop has often spoken. In his bonnet he found this letter, which he brought to me-here it is." Jocelyn took it, and, when the three had retired to the baron's tent, read as follows: "The source of the pure light sendeth a beam of his intelligence to the brave Ilderim. Know that the brightness has removed from Kaf to Carmel, where it shineth in all its glory. The dominations that com mand the elements have bowed before the altar, and will obey him who has the word of power. Though thou abidest in the tents of those who worship Issa (Jesus), yet will the spirits hear thy call. They will bring to thee the armed hands and the steelfenced hearts when the rising moon shall mix her light with the signal flame. Be thou ready, be thou brave, be thou fortunate, and the fruit of thy loins shall sit on the throne of Zerdusht." "There is treachery somewhere," said Mowbray; "but this letter explains it not; come with me, young man, to the king, and hear what he will say." Jocelyn accompanied Mowbray to the royal tent. On their entrance they found Richard listening, with obvious impatience, to certain remonstrances which the Archbishop of Tyre was making on the subject of the unseemly violence which the hot monarch had shown in the council. Jocelyn was introduced as a person capable of interpreting the letter that had been discovered, and the king at once ordered it to be read. A momentary silence followed the perusal, which was broken by Richard's exclaiming, "Ilderim! surely I have heard that name before?" "He was the conqueror of Edessa," said the archbishop, a Bathenien renegade, of whom nothing has been heard since Saladin subdued the princes of the assassins." "Know you aught of his personal appearance, my lord and father?" asked the king. "I have heard from Edward Courte nay, who died at Ptolemais, that the apostate bears on his left shoulder an inverted cross, the symbol of his having sold himself to the powers of evil, with whom he works unhallowed spells." Jocelyn mentioned the circumstance of his having seen marks resembling the cipher in which the letter was written in the precincts of the English camp. Instant examination was resolved, and the marks easily disco vered. "Traitors lurk in the Christian hold!" exclaimed the archbishop; but the king motioned him to be silent. "I will, to-night," said Richard, "visit the Duke of Burgundy, in token of reconciliation: he is thy friend, holy sire, do thou tell him to be prepared one hour after the watch is set." Then, turning to Jocelyn, he continued, "I have noticed thy behaviour in several skirmishes, and seen thee display equal coolness and valour; to thee and Mowbray I commit the charge of the English watch to-night." The English knight and the young squire took secretly the necessary precautions to guard against surprise. The sentinels were doubled, bands of archers posted so as to command the path that led to the English enclosure, and divisions of chosen troops assembled ready to speed to the alarm posts at a moment's warning. The watches of the general camp inarched to their stations at sunset. The archbishop went round to give them his nightly blessing, but on reaching the western gate he was surprised to find every mark of carelessness. "Who commands here?" asked the holy father. The noble Count Arnold," was "Gone to watch for a deer in yonder grove," said a tipsy sentinel—“ a deer not like those of lovely France, for the horns were straight that peeped from the thicket." The archbishop started when he heard the soldier name the well-known cognizance of the Batheniens: he resolved at once to examine Count Arnold's tent, and to order up a fresh force to take the place of the drunken crew that guarded the gate. For this purpose he sought the tent of the Duke of Burgundy, and entered it nearly at the moment that the King of England made his conciliatory visit. There was a large assemblage of the lords of the Christian council, and the archbishop, not knowing whom chiefly to suspect, was unwilling to communicate his intelligence aloud, and much precious time was wasted before he could find an opportunity of whispering a few words in the ear of Bur |