The second volume of this romance opens at that
period of the revolutionary war when the British
army, favoured by the toryism of its inhabitants,
had taken undisputed possession of Staten Island,
and were contemplating a descent upon Long Island
preparatory to an investment of New-York.
Around this fated city, like the eastern hunters, who
enclose their game in a vast circle, which they
contract until they secure it, the British general
had been gradually, but surely, concentrating his
forces for a final and decisive blow.

On Staten Island, a mile or two inland, the Earl
of Percy had taken up his headquarters; but, so
far from being idle while waiting the preparations
of Lord Howe for landing his forces to attack
Brooklyn, he kept up a vigilant system of espionage
on the beleaguered city, and was diligent in

[figure description] Page 006.[end figure description]

employing means to obtain information of the movements
of the army under Washington, then in possession
of the whole of York Island.

Several days had elapsed without any intelligence
from the city, the increased vigilance of the
American general having rendered communication,
at first sufficiently easy, now both difficult and
dangerous. Some tory spies, despatched by Lord
Percy to gain what knowledge they could of the
intentions of the Americans, either had been arrested,
or returned reporting their inability to hold
any communication with the royalists in the town.
He therefore saw the necessity of adopting other
means, which should enable him not only to obtain
accurate intelligence from the headquarters of the
American general, but preserve uninterrupted communication
with York Island.

It was near sunset on a lovely evening in August,
about seven months after the defeat and death of
Montgomery, that the Earl of Percy was slowly
promenading the gallery of a villa which a colonial
royalist had resigned to him for his headquarters,
his thoughts busily occupied in devising some meth
od of obtaining regular and accurate intelligence of
the enemy's movements. It at length occurred to
him that he should be able to open an uninterrupted
and sure correspondence with the city, and be advised
of the plans of Washington as soon as they
should transpire, through the instrumentality of an
individual then an inmate of the mansion.

No sooner had this idea flashed upon his mind
than, hastily turning in his walk, he entered a library
which, by long Venetian windows, opened
upon the piazza, and ordered a servant in livery,
who was in waiting, “to say to Major Ney that he
desired an interview with him.” He then seated
himself before a table and commenced writing.

[figure description] Page 007.[end figure description]

The appearance of the nobleman in this attitude
was striking and dignified. He was in the prime
of life, and the clear, falcon glance of his eye, and
his haughty, though not unbecoming port, evinced
both the soldier and hereditary noble. His whole
bearing betrayed the man of high birth, conscious
that his brow was encircled not only with laurels
won by his own hand, but with those of a long line
of princely and warlike ancestors. He wore his
own hair, powdered after the fashion of the period,
and, excepting his sword and military hat, which lay
beside him on the table, he was dressed in full
uniform.

As Major Ney entered the library, he waited to
affix his signature to a letter he had just completed;
then looking up with a courteous smile of recognition
and welcome, he said, in a voice trained, by
long intercourse with all classes of men, to tones
remarkably bland and winning, as if he sought to
impress rather by the sound of his voice than by
the words he uttered,

“You are welcome, my dear Ney. Do me the
honour to be seated, or, rather, as there is a rich sunset,
and a pleasant breeze is blowing in from sea, I
will take your arm and promenade the piazza while
I communicate with you a few moments on a subject
of infinite importance to the present campaign.”

Thus speaking, he condescendingly passed his
arm through that of Major Ney, and led him from
the library to the gallery. The two gentlemen
were soon engaged in animated colloquy. Leaving
them to pursue their conversation, we will, in
the mean while, introduce the reader to another
part of the villa, and to an individual therein, whose
fate is involved in the result of their interview.

In a boudoir looking upon a lawn on the north
side of the dwelling, and a little while before

[figure description] Page 008.[end figure description]

sunset, the same evening we introduce Lord Percy
to the reader, sat a young lady, who, save an attendant,
was its only occupant. She reclined by a
window that opened like a door upon the terrace.
Into it peeped innumerable gay flowers, which filled
the apartment with their fragrance. Her eye had
wandered westward over green fields, and rivers,
and bays, spread out beneath a roseate sky, the tints
of which enriched the scene with the effect of a
painter's pencil. Wearily had she traced the flashing
waters of the Hudson till they were lost in the
far off pass of the Highlands. Even the green and
cottage-sprinkled shores of Long Island failed, for
more than an instant, to arrest her eye. With a
listless air she gazed on the ships of war composing
the fleet of Great Britain, riding at anchor in
the Narrows, which were alive with boats passing
and repassing between the shipping and the opposing
shores, while the illimitable sea spread its world
of waters beyond. Even the picturesque appearance
of a tented field lying almost at her feet, its
white pavilions relieved against the green plain or
half-concealed by the foliage of the encircling
woods, drew from her lips only an exclamation of
impatience. Turning her eyes away from all else,
she fixed them lingeringly on the distant city, which
sat, like Tyre, upon the waters, its towers proudly
lifted from their bosom, and its outlines mellowed
by the twilight, which, like a blush, suffused the
hazy atmosphere.

After gazing a few moments in this direction,
she sighed, and, suddenly turning to her attendant,
said, in the tone of a spoiled beauty,

“I am tired to death, Marie, at being mewed up
here, without seeing a soul except Lord Percy,
who is too grave to smile, and thinks too much of
his own dignity to notice me; my graver pa, or

[figure description] Page 009.[end figure description]

some pert officer, who comes and goes like a rocket.
One might as well become a nun at once. I wish
I had been a soldier, or anything rather than a
poor, dependant woman, with a stern father for a
chaperone. Look you, Marie,” she added, with an
air of mystery, and in a cautious tone of voice, “I'll
tell you a secret!”

“Of all ting in de world, a secret be what me
loves to hear,” replied Marie, rubbing her hands,
and dropping a tambour-frame on which she had
been indolently employing her fingers, at the same
time opening her black eyes to their full periphery.

“And, above all things, what you love to tell.
But listen.”

Before we also give ear to the lady's secret, we
will, after the most approved manner of novelists,
describe the personal appearance of one who is to
perform no inferior part in the remaining scenes of
this romance. Her moral picture, like that of Eugenie,
we shall leave gradually to develop itself
in the course of events.

She had been for the last half hour listlessly reclining
on an ottoman, which was standing half on
the lawn, half in the window; but, when she addressed
her maid, she slightly raised herself and
assumed a more animated attitude, at the same
time lifting one finger in an impressive manner,
in order to draw her attention to what she was
about to relate. The easy and graceful attitude
she had unconsciously assumed; the curious and
eager features of the listening slave; the gorgeous
and oriental aspect of the apartment; the window
half hidden in leaves and flowers; the smooth lawn;
the encircling bay and its green islands; the distant
city and blue mountain line of the northern horizon,
presented altogether the most strikingly beautiful
of all objects — earth in her loveliest robes,

[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]

graced by her loveliest and brightest ornament—
woman.

The lady was very young, her youthful brow
bearing the impress of not more than fifteen summers,
but summers every touch of which had been
laid with the finger of beauty. Her silken, unbraided
hair, which was dark as the raven's plumage,
was from time to time lifted by the evening wind
from her brow. It was long and wavy, and flowed
with the luxuriant freedom of a child's about her
neck, the Parian whiteness of which was chastened
by a tinge of the Italian clime, yet so lightly added
that it arrested the eye only by the peculiar delicacy
and softness it lent—a rich shadow, mellowing
and subduing the radiant lustre of the blonde, and
spreading the warm glow of life over the exquisite
whiteness of the marble De Medici.

Her cheeks were tinged with the same olive
shade, enriched by mingling with the carnation
that, with every movement, mantled them. Her
forehead, on which the hair was parted evenly,
was full and intellectual. Her brow bespoke enthusiasm,
pride, and passion, and a haughty spirit
sat in the midst of its severe and feminine beauty.
Her eyes were large and black, and seemed floating
in a lake of languor. Their expression was at one
moment melancholy, at another lively; flashing into
fire, and then melting with indescribable softness,
while joyous tears seemed to tremble behind their
long lashes. Her mouth was delicately formed,
but her beautiful thin upper lip wore a slight curl
of sarcasm, which heightened its lofty beauty while
it warned the impassioned gazer to beware of the
arrows of wit that a fortress so armed might discharge
on the unmailed besieger. The severe and
classical beauty of her nose; the finely-moulded
chin, and the faultless contour of her face; the

[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]

polished neck and well-turned arm, coquettishly bared
from her robe, have seldom found being save in the
imagination of a Canova or a Thorwaldson.

Yet, with all this exquisite perfection of form and
feature, the maiden was one for whom knights
might break lances and heads, whom all men
would admire, but none dare to love. Her beauty
was like that of a fallen and still beautiful angel
rather than one of earth's lovely and loving ones.
There was a strange fascination dwelling in the
deep fountains of her dark eyes, every motion of
which was eloquent; a fearful beauty in the expression
of her curling lip, while her whole manner
and aspect betrayed a wildness of spirit and
an impatience of passion in strange contrast with
her feminine loveliness.

Her voice, as she addressed her attendant, was liquid
and full, rather like the more sweet, yet not less
martial notes of the clarion than the soft, womanly
tones of the flute. She was a West Indian by
birth, and the daughter of a beautiful creole, whom
her father, Major Ney, married seventeen years before,
while on the West Indian station. As her
mother, with whom she had lived on a plantation
in Jamaica in creolian luxury, and who had spoiled
her by indulgence, died a few months before Major
Ney was ordered to America on the breaking out
of the revolution, he had brought his child with
him, with the intention of taking her to England
on the termination of the war. During her sojourn
at his headquarters, Lord Percy had been
struck by the vigour and maturity of mind she displayed;
her keen wit and unusual intelligence;
nor had he been altogether unmoved by the extraordinary
beauty of her person. As we shall
hereafter see, he determined to profit by her talents.

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

Marie, her faithful attendant, who had accompanied
her from Jamaica, was a tall, slender, graceful
mulatto. Her figure possessed that undulating
outline, and that flexibility and elastic movement
of the limbs peculiar to her race, and which resembles
the facile and harmonious animal action
of the leopard. Her eyes were full-orbed, lustrous,
and black as the sloe, dilating and sparkling
with brilliancy when animated, but at other times
half hidden beneath drooping lids that fell languidly
over them. Her teeth were white, and contrasted
finely with the golden brown of her skin.
Her hair, which was glossy and wavy like the
fleece of the Angola, was tastefully braided, and
wound in a sort of imitation of the tower of Babel
on the summit of her neat, round head, the smooth
surface of which defied the phrenologist.

Having given some space to the description of our
heroine, and farther intruded on the gentle reader's
patience by honouring Marie with a passing
notice—for confidential maids and valets are subheroes
and heroines—we will only remark, in passing,
that neither caps, stiff high stays, nor hoops, disfigured
either the lady or her attendant. The former
was enrobed in a robe de chambre, couleur de
rose, with her faultless feet thrust into high-heeled
shoes of pink satin. A half-embroidered frill, with
the needle sticking in it, lay on the floor beside the
ottoman, on which were thrown one or two French
romances. Marie was arrayed in a bright yellow
spencer and brighter green petticoat, with her
pretty feet—for she had very pretty feet—encased
in clocked cotton hose, and thrust into a pair of
shoes of some red stuff, and with heels full two
inches high, which materially aided her position as
she leaned forward to listen to the expected secret.

“My secret is this, girl,” said her mistress. “I

[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

have made up my mind that I will not remain here
another day at anybody's will. So I have determined
to give pa the slip and go over to town.
Such a milk-and-water set of officers as Percy has
in his camp, eyes of woman never gazed on.”

“Go to de town, Missis Isabel!” exclaimed her
maid, in undisguised astonishment; “who, for
Heaben's mercie, will you go for see dere?”

“Gallant cavaliers and handsome! Shows,
balls, and theatres! Life, and gayety, and, perchance,
beauty, where I may battle with a rival!
Of what use is beauty here, where it meets no
competitors? Like the soldier's sword, what worth
if not to triumph over others, and make slaves of
men?”

“'Tis a fac, missis. You is too purty,” said
Marie, with simplicity; “dere's dat mischief boy
midshipman, dey calls de young prince Willie, who
came up from de ship and dine here yesterday. I
heard him sa' you was purty 'nough an' proud
'nough to be England's queen.”

“Those were his words, girl?”

“Exact to a syllabus, missis.”

“Prince William, was it?” she said, thoughtfully;
then added, with a sparkling eye and lofty
look, rising and traversing the room, “but he is
but a boy, after all; and, were he not, dare I aspire
so high? Ay, there is no human pinnacle, however
high, that Isabel Ney dare not strive for! I
will keep my eye on this kingly scion. He already
nibbles at the bait; he shall yet take the hook, or
I have no skill at angling. If I cannot win a
throne as a king's bride, I will win a Cæsar as
Cleopatra did!”

She had no sooner given utterance to these
words than her brow and bosom were suffused
with a deep crimson, and, hiding her face in her

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

hands, she for a moment stood still, as if overpowered
with shame and confusion, like one before
whose moral sense the dark and mysterious secrets
of his bosom are unexpectedly laid bare, and whom
the appalling vision strikes suddenly dumb.

“God knows,” she said, after a moment's silence,
without removing her hands, “that I meant not what
my tongue uttered.”

This tribute paid to her maidenly feelings, which,
recoiling from the rude shock they had received, had
asserted for a moment their supremacy over a virgin
bosom which neither crime nor temptation to
crime had yet polluted, Isabel Ney now for the
first time discovered whither her daring ambition
and strong passions, if unrestrained, would lead her.
While she trembled at this self-knowledge, and instantly
atoned for her bold words with a blush of
maidenly shame, yet she could not disguise from
her own conscience that she experienced a secret
and half-formed pleasure in the contemplation of
the prospect of ambition and power which the bold
idea unfolded; and she felt that, although her judgment
condemned what her tongue had spoken, yet
in her heart she secretly approved of it. This train
of reflection passed rapidly through her mind; and
instead of putting up a prayer—the resource and
shelter of youth and innocence suddenly assailed by
temptation—to be delivered from the evil passions
of human nature, and without forming internal resolutions
to guide her head and heart wisely, and
curb an ambition aiming to such a fatal end as her
thoughts and words had suggested, she said, with
a reckless and indifferent air, as if she had recovered
from the first shock her virgin delicacy had
received, and was determined to abide her destiny,

“If it do come to that at last, why, then, 'twere
no such evil thing, provided the reward be so

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

princely. 'Tis better to be a prince's mistress than a
boor's wife, as I'm like to be for all Percy's staff.
Yes, I will aim high. What matters it, in the end,
whether I am legitimately trained with jess and
perch, or fly a free falcon, so I pounce upon my
game, and that the eagle?”

Her figure, which was tall and majestic for one
so young, yet, nevertheless, exquisitely feminine,
seemed to expand with the energy of her ambitious
spirit, and her curved lip vibrated tremulously for a
moment after she had ceased, while her strange,
wild beauty was enhanced by the animation of her
eye and the glowing hue of her cheek. The next
moment she threw herself on a sofa, and, with her
natural manner, assumed with a readiness and ease
which evinced the control of a no ordinary mind over
passions and emotions so intense, was about to address
Marie, who, in silent wonder, had beheld a
burst of feeling, to the operations of which she was
no stranger; for her mistress had long shown all the
fire of the West Indian in her temperament: but on
this occasion it exhibited itself under phases entirely
new. A footstep without the door, accompanied
by the metallic ringing of spur and sword, changed
her intended remark to an exclamation:

“Hush! there is my father!”

A single rap, followed almost immediately by the
opening of the door, preceded the entrance of Major
Ney.

This officer's presence was commanding, and his
air that of an English gentleman and soldier. His
naturally florid Saxon complexion was browned by
Indian suns and exposure to the hardships of the
camp; his blue eye, which was of that peculiar
triangular shape sometimes found in men of determined
courage, expressed coolness, deliberation,
and resolution; his mouth, the only feature that

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

betrayed the relationship of father and daughter, was
remarkably flexible, with a thin upper lip, which
curved with an expression of hauteur, while it was
closely pressed by the under, as if firmness predominated
in his character. The change in his
daughter's countenance on his entrance showed
that she held him in some degree of awe. The
mild expression of his countenance, and the paternal
smile with which he greeted her as he took a
seat beside her, exhibited the proud father, while
the grave and dogmatic tone in which he addressed
her in the more serious parts of the conversation
that followed, betrayed with equal force the stern
and authoritative guardian. His face was now full
of a certain intelligence, which aroused the curiosity
of his daughter, and it was by no means decreased
by the serious manner with which he ordered
Marie to leave the apartment.

“Bel, my daughter!” he said, turning to her as
the slave closed the door, and kissing her forehead
affectionately, “you know I have always indulged
you in your most wayward wishes, and, since your
mother's death, have striven even to anticipate
them.”

“I know it, sir,” she replied, as he paused as if
expecting her to speak, “and I trust you have not
found me ungrateful!”

“No, my Bel, I have not. You have always
been a good girl, though a little wilful, hey!”
he said, playfully patting her cheek; “and I feel
that you will yet repay me for my parental anxiety
on your account.”

“I trust so, father,” she replied, struck by an
unusual seriousness and embarrassment in his
manner. “But why this anxiety, sir? Have you
found any recent cause for anticipating ingratitude?
I may have been wild and eccentric, and

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

saucy it may be, but I have loved my dear father
none the less. If there is anything I can do to
prove more sincerely my filial gratitude, you have
only to speak.”

“I know it, Bel! I believe it!” he said, hastily;
and then, at once overcoming his embarrassment,
he took her hand, and continued, in an impressive
manner, “I have often heard you say,
and reproved you for it, that you wished Heaven
had made you a man, that you might then have
served your king and country—”

“But, sir,” interrupted the daughter, alarmed at
this ominous calling up of her sins, “it was merely
in—”

“Tush, hear me, child!” continued the parent.
“The opportunity you have so often desired is now
at hand. Your wish can be accomplished.”

“My wish be accomplished!” she exclaimed, in
undisguised astonishment, while her eyes danced
with laughter to which she dared not give audible
expression; “solve me that, if it please you, kind
sir.”

“Nay, I meant not, wench, that you should
turn cavalier in good earnest,” replied Major Ney,
slightly smiling, although somewhat mortified at
the construction his auditor saw fit to put upon his
words; “but that you can, if you will, serve his
majesty's cause better than e'er a hirsute visage in
the camp.”

“Then Heaven save the mark! I said but now
there was not a cavalier in camp fit for a lady's
glance to rest upon.”

“Truce with such folly! Isabel, I know the
strength of your character, your sterling good sense,
your tact and penetration, which, in many cases,
stands one in better stead than experience. I know
your devotion to your country, and feel I can place

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

implicit confidence in you in an affair where judgment,
caution, observation, resolution, and all the
art and tact of which your sex are possessed, is required
in a remarkable degree; and I not only have
this confidence in you, but have pledged my honour
that you will be all I have said and all a father can
wish. Have I read you rightly, Isabel,” he added,
seriously, “and is my word worthily pledged?”

“Worthily, sir,” she replied, promptly, and confidently
returning the earnest pressure of his hand.
“But am I, who bring such good fortune to our
arms as you hint, to be led blindfolded, like Dame
Fortune herself?”

“No, Isabel! Only promise me that you will
faithfully perform what is required, and you shall
at once be enlightened.”

“I promise you, sir; for I know your love for
me, and, also, your family pride, will secure me
against that which, as a maiden and Major Ney's
daughter, I should have no part in.”

“Thank you, my child,” he said, embracing her;
“you are my own brave Bel. Now come with me
to the library, where you will receive your instructions
from my Lord Percy.”

Isabel Ney, in surprise, followed her father to
the presence of the earl. The native pride and independence
of her character disposed her at first
to refuse to become party, if not principal, in an unknown
scheme; but, wearied of the monotonous
life she led in the secluded villa, this undertaking
which was proposed to her held forth change of
place and circumstances at least. Of what nature
these might be she was indifferent, so that she escaped
from her present state of ennui. She therefore
determined, like a dutiful daughter and loyal
subject, to acquiesce in her father's and Lord Percy's
views, and leave the event to produce for

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

herself out of them good or evil. On their entrance
the nobleman rose to receive them.

“My dear Miss Ney,” he said, advancing on tiptoe
as the door opened, and courteously bending
till his lips gently touched the finger of the fair
hand he pressed, “I am delighted to see you! The
sun did wisely,” he added, paying her one of those
extravagant compliments of the days of Charles the
Second, and which were not yet wholly antiquated,
“the sun did wisely, as you entered, to hide his
head behind the Jersey hills. It was the only way
he could escape a total eclipse.”

“Truly, my lord, the star of your wit sparkles
brightly to shine in the presence of so dazzling a
sun. I fear me your poor sun will have to follow
its prototype,” she rejoined, gracefully courtesying
as if about to withdraw.

“You are facetious, Miss Ney!” said the earl,
with imperturbable affability; “this scintillation of
your wit has so dimmed my unlucky star, that, I
fear me, 'twill shine no more to-night, at least in
such a presence,” he added, with a courtly bow.

“You do wisely, my lord, if your lamp glimmers
thus faintly, to be chary of your oil.”

“Nay, a truce, fair Isabel! We gentlemen, major,
only get our wits hacked like a handsaw whenever
we essay to sharpen them against the finertempered
blades of the ladies. Spare me, Miss
Ney! I have solicited,” he added, changing his
lively tone, and assuming at once a serious, yet
courteous air, “the honour of an interview with you
in relation to a service of importance and of great
delicacy. You, doubtless, have intimated as much,
major, to Miss Ney?” he said, fixing his eye inquiringly
upon the face of the officer.

“I have, my lord; and she has signified her willingness
to be useful to her country.”

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

“I thought so. I envy you the possession of so
lovely and patriotic a child. Now, Miss Ney, I
will instruct you briefly in the nature of the enterprise
to which it is my desire, and that, also, of
your parent, that you should devote yourself. Do
not change colour; there is to be no great personal
sacrifice demanded on your part, unless it be absence
from your father. From my knowledge of
your character, and from your father's confidence in
you, Miss Ney, I intrust this mission to you, and
will now inform you of the nature and importance
of the sacrifice I require. Ten days have elapsed
since we have received any important advice from
York Island. It is, therefore, not only my wish to
obtain present information of the enemy's motions,
but to have some one in the city who can, from time
to time, by letter or otherwise, report to me the
movements of the colonial army. After much reflection,
I have concluded, my dear Miss Ney, to
intrust you with this duty.”

His lordship ceased and gazed fixedly into the
face of the maiden, as if watching the effect of his
communication while he waited her reply.

“Does your lordship mean,” she asked, with
playful irony, “that I shall look down upon the
enemy, and watch their motions in my character
as a sun? or would you be graciously pleased to
lessen my conspicuity, and make me a star, and
set me keeping pale watch over the heads of the
rebels by night? I don't see how else I am to do
you the service you hint at.”

“Neither as star nor sun, my fair Isabel, though
you shine as both, but as a habitant of earth. I
propose that you address a letter to General Putnam
at New-York, whose wife and daughter are
with him, and say that you desire his protection for
a time, or until you can get to your father.”

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

“To my father! How mean you, my lord?”

“I should have been more explict. I send a
flag of truce to-night by Lieutenant-colonel Patterson.
I wish you to write by him, dating your
letter at Elizabethtown, where General Putnam
knows you were but a short time since, while he
is still ignorant that you are now here. To-morrow
a reply will be received from the general, and,
if favourable, I will send you in a boat to meet his
messenger at `the Kills.' While in the family of the
colonial general, omit no opportunity, my dear Miss
Ney, of informing yourself of everything that may
be of importance for me to know, and neglect no
opportunity of transmitting intelligence. I cannot
give you minute instructions. You must be guided
in a great measure by circumstances. But do not
forget that everything will depend on your good
sense, secrecy, and observation. In these I place
the most undoubting confidence.”

“My lord,” she replied, her eye kindling with
pride, “I accept the trust you repose in me, and
will faithfully do my duty as a loyal Englishwoman.”

“You are a noble girl, and would honour a commission
better than one half of his majesty's officers.
Prepare your letter to-night, Miss Ney, and tomorrow
we will be governed as the reply of the
American general, Putnam, shall make it necessary.”

This singular interview here closed, and the earl,
saluting her on the cheek, courteously took leave
of the lady several steps beyond the door of his
apartment; for at such a length—it becomes us, as
a chronicler of olden times, to record—did the gentlemen
of that day carry their forms of politeness.
But chivalry, alas! which is simply devotion to the
ladies, has gradually retrograded since the last crusade,
and men, we fear, are fast returning to the
Gothic rudeness of the dark ages.

p157-297

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