Montreal, who largely possessed the poetry of his land, which is so eminently allied with a love of nature, might at another time have enjoyed the beauty of the scene; but at that moment less external and more household images were busy within him.
Abruptly ascending where a winding path up the mountain offered a rough and painful road to their horses' feet, the band at length arrived before a strong fortress of grey stone, whose towers were concealed by the lofty foliage, until they emerged sullenly and suddenly from the laughing verdure.

The sound of the bugle, the pennon of the knight, the rapid watchword, produced a loud shout of welcome from a score or two of grim soldiery on the walls; the portcullis was raised, and Montreal, throwing himself hastily from his panting steed, sprung across the threshold of a jutting porch, and traversed a huge hall, when a lady--young, fair, and richly dressed--met him with a step equally swift, and fell breathless and overjoyed into his arms.
"My Walter! my dear, dear Walter; welcome--ten thousand welcomes!" "Adeline, my beautiful--my adored--I see thee again!" Such were the greetings interchanged as Montreal pressed his lady to his heart, kissing away her tears, and lifting her face to his, while he gazed on its delicate bloom with all the wistful anxiety of affection after absence.
"Fairest," said he, tenderly, "thou hast pined, thou hast lost roundness and colour since we parted.

Come, come, thou art too gentle, or too foolish, for a soldier's love." "Ah, Walter!" replied Adeline, clinging to him, "now thou art returned, and I shall be well.

Thou wilt not leave me again a long, long time." "Sweet one, no;" and flinging his arm round her waist, the lovers--for alas! they were not wedded!--retired to the more private chambers of the castle..