She will tell you our story, and you will continue to comfort and support her when I am no more." "Be not cast down," answered his friend; as, buffeted by the storm, they clung together to the creaking mast; "I know your story already, and have known it from the first.

You are the troubadour, Anselm, once the ornament of the Court of Elionore, and Beatrix de Montlucon is your devoted wife.

She was said to have died in the convent of St.Blaise, and you to have perished in the Holy Land." The shrieking of the wind, and the roaring of the awakened thunder, drowned the reply of the young man: a crash, a shock, and their boat was split into several parts; they each clung to a piece of wreck, and used every effort to overcome the fury of the elements.

Anselm's hold, however, was suddenly loosened by the falling of the mast upon his arm, and his friend saw him no more for several instants; he re-appeared, however, and a returning wave dashed him on a rock, which the porter reaching by a spring, he caught him by the hand and dragged him to the summit.

There they stood clasping each other, and expecting every moment to be washed off by the boiling surge.