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the body was, by the good hermit's aid, placed upon the horse, and
taken to the nearest inhabited place, where a chest was made for it,
suitable to be carried with them on their way. The hermit's plan was to
escort his charge to a monastery, not many days' journey distant, where
Isabella resolved to spend the remainder of her days. Thus they
travelled day after day, choosing the most retired ways, for the
country was full of armed men. One day a cavalier met them, and barred
their way. It was no other than Rodomont, king of Algiers, who had just
left the camp of Agramant, full of indignation at the treatment he had
received from Doralice. At sight of the lovely lady and her reverend
attendant, with their horse laden with a burden draped with black, he
asked the meaning of their journey. Isabella told him her affliction,
and her resolution to renounce the world and devote herself to
religion, and to the memory of the friend she had lost. Rodomont
laughed scornfully at this, and told her that her project was absurd;that charms like hers were meant to be enjoyed, not buried, and that he
himself would more than make amends for her dead lover. The monk, who
promptly interposed to rebuke this impious talk, was commanded to hold
his peace; and still persisting was seized by the knight and hurled
over the edge of the cliff, where he fell into the sea, and was drowned.

Rodomont, when he had got rid of the hermit, again applied to the sad
lady, heartless with affright, and, in the language used by lovers,
said, "she was his very heart, his life, his light." Having laid aside
all violence, he humbly sued that she would accompany him to his
retreat, near by. It was a ruined chapel from which the monks had been
driven by the disorders of the time, and which Rodomont had taken
possession of. Isabella, who had no choice but to obey, followed him,
meditating as she went what resource she could find to escape out of
his power, and keep her vow to her dead husband, to be faithful to histhee, my best beloved, in some secure abode, it would not distress me
to die; but to abandon thee so, without protection, is sad indeed." She
replied, "Think not to leave me, dearest; our souls shall not be
parted; this sword will give me the means to follow thee." Zerbino's
last words implored her to banish such a thought, but live, and be true
to his memory. Isabella promised, with many tears, to be faithful to
him so long as life should last.

When he ceased to breathe, Isabella's cries resounded through the
forest, and reached the ears of a reverend hermit, who hastened to the
spot. He soothed and calmed her, urging those consolations which the
word of God supplies; and at last brought her to wish for nothing else
but to devote herself for the rest of life wholly to religion.

As she could not bear the thoughts of leaving her dead lord abandoned,herself. She bathed her neck and bosom with the liquor, and then called
on Rodomont to smite with all his force, and see whether his sword had
power to harm. The pagan, who during the preparations had taken
frequent draughts of wine, and scarce knew what he did, drew his sword
at the word, and struck across her neck with all his might, and the
fair head leapt sundered from the snowy neck and breast.

Rude and unfeeling as he was, the pagan knight lamented bitterly this
sad result. To honor her memory he resolved to do a work as
unparalleled as her devotion. From all parts round he caused laborers
to be brought, and had a tower built to enclose the chapel, within
which the remains of Zerbino and Isabella were entombed. Across the
stream which flowed near by he built a bridge, scarce two yards wide,
and added neither parapet nor rail. On the top of the tower a sentry
was placed, who, when any traveller approached the bridge, gave noticememory as long as life should last. At length she said, "If, my lord,
you will let me go and fulfil my vow, and my intention, as I have
already declared it, I will bestow upon you what will be to you of more
value than a hundred women's hearts. I know an herb, and I have seen it
on our way, which, rightly prepared, affords a juice of such power,
that the flesh, if laved with it, becomes impenetrable to sword or
fire. This liquor I can make, and will, to-day, if you will accept my
offer; and when you have seen its virtue you will value it more than if
all Europe were made your own."

Rodomont, at hearing this, readily promised all that was asked, so
eager was he to learn a secret that would make him as Achilles was of
yore. Isabella, having collected such herbs as she thought proper, and
boiled them, with certain mysterious signs and words, at length
declared her labor done, and, as a test, offered to try its virtue on