P

RIDE bringeth us all to a pretty pass before we have quit of it,” quoth old Ygerne to the knight she was braiding upon a piece of tapestry cloth; "tis naught but pride that hath ruled the heart of my lady this many a day." Ygerne sat within the turret chamber, and ever and again she raised her head and gazed with moody eyes upon the slender, white-swathed figure of her mistress pacing up and down upon the castle roof. The face of her could scarce be seen for the enfolding veil, but, thus hiding her face, it showed to more perfection the tall, slim body. Like a willow growing in the wind she was, for grace and symmetry.

Ygerne, noting the sorrowful droop of the young head, called aloud to her:

"My Lady Lyones, seest thou aught that is new?"

In answer to the call, the lady came towards the narrow door and stepped within.

"Ah, nurse, 'tis ever the same-death, death, and always death. Ever the tent of him I fear without my gate; and the grass is red with the blood of those who have tried to rescue me." She covered She covered her face with her hands and shuddered. "I shall go mad ere long! I close not my eyes but I see before them that terrible spectre-Death!"

"Aye, sayst thou so indeed," cried Ygerne, "then put thy pride from thee, my lady, and wed with this noble knight against whom there cometh no greater. Thus, and thus only, canst thou stop this feast of death. For this Red Knight hath sworn that thou shalt marry him or die a prisoner within these walls, while he piles around thee the bodies of those slain in thy behalf."

"And I have I not sworn?" flashed the Lady Lyones, "I have sworn I will never marry him though the whole world die, and he and I live on alone!"

"And wherefore sworest thou this wicked oath, my child? 'Twas pridepride," grumbled old Ygerne, "because thou wouldst not be driven-forsooth, because thy brother, Sir Gringamore, ordered it. Is not this knight of the Red Lawns well favored? Has there come against him one so brave? And doth not he prove to thee his devotion?" "Peace, Ygerne, 'tis all summed up in this I love him not."

"Love, love! Thou pratest of love? Thy heart is ice and stone, my child'tis not for thee to love. Nineteen long summers have passed above thy head and thy heart has never yet grown warm. Listen! Hearest thou the winged creatures twittering in the ivy? Look! Seest thou yon hillside white with bloom? The month of May hath come again and love reneweth in the hearts of all God's creatures. But thou-thou hast never loved! Go-stop this bloodshed, curb thy proud spirit and wed this knight of Red Lawns!"

The Lady Lyones' head drooped low and a great wonderment came upon her. Was this indeed true? And in her heart dwelt sorrow and despair.

Into her sorrowful musing burst, all eagerly, the damsel Linet.

"Ah, my Lady Lyones," she cried, "there is this day a great dishonor done thee!"

"Speak on," said Lyones.

"There hath come to thy gates a knave from King Arthur's court-his kitchen knave-and with him comes a dwarf, and he begs leave of thee to wind

"A kitchen knave?"

"Aye, a scullion, though he hath been. knighted, and his only title is Sir Fairhands. 'Twixt court and here he hath overthrown six knights; both the Red Knight's brothers at the river loops hath he slain."

"A kitchen knave!"

"Aye, a kitchen knave," quoth old Ygerne; "my lady's pride will brook it not."

The Lady Lyones flushed angrily. "And wherefore not, forsooth? He may perchance prove stronger from King Arthur's meats and drinks. Go tell him yea, Linet!"

And then behind the clustering ivy vines she stood and saw Linet have speech with him; saw, in truth, though kitchen knave he was, a man most tall and strong and most exceeding good to look upon. And turned she, trembling, to a shrine within the turret chamber and before it knelt and prayed most fervently; and as she prayed, a horn was winded lustily and made many echoes about the castle walls. She heard Linet's feet go scurrying by to the castle roof outside the turret chamber; she heard the clamor and excitement, but still she knelt before the shrine.

"My lady, oh, my Lady Lyones," called Linet, "they have begun the fight-the fiercest onslaught I have ever seen!"

Lyones stopped her ears and tried to shut out every sound. And after a long space a touch upon her shoulder roused her; looking up she beheld Linet, her face all glowing with excitement.

"Oh, Lady Lyones, come without and let him see thee-they take a breathing spell. Never have I seen a goodlier fight, kitchen knave or no."

So Lady Lyones went and stood in the pale gold light, her white-enfolded figure like a willow growing in the

ance.

The Knight of the Fair-hands looked up and saw her, and the Lady Lyones made courtesy to him.

Then through the golden afternoon fell stroke on stroke and blow on blow, and fiercer fight was never waged. And ever when King Arthur's kitchen knave looked up and saw the Lady Lyones, his blows grew stronger, and towards evensong he won.

Old Ygerne went to take them wine and dress their wounds and brought back Sir Fair-hands' message to the Lady Lyones: "What must be done with the Red Knight of the Red Lawns?" And Lyones sent back word. to send him to King Arthur's court.

Then sat she by the window in the turret chamber, strangely still.

After he had rested, Sir Fair-hands all armed him and took his horse and his spear and rode straight unto the castle; and when he came to the gate he found many men armed, who pulled up the drawbridge and drew the port close. Then was he wroth and held great wonderment that they let him enter not; but looking up on high, he beheld the Lady Lyones' damsel Linet peering from out a window and he called to her:

"Why is this thing done to me? Have I not served thy lady well? Go tell her that I love but the sight I had of her this day, and do swear to be ever her true knight and to wed with only her."

When the damsel Linet came again to the window, she called to him:

"What office didst thou hold at court?"

He made answer sadly: "King Arthur's kitchen knave."

"And thy name?"

"They call me Fair-hands."

There was silence for a space, then Linet spoke again:

"Hear what my Lady Lyones bids me tell thee-go thy way, for as yet thou

mayst not wholly have her love; go, labor a twelvemonth, then thou shalt hear more."

"Tell thy lady I have not deserved this strangeness, for even now have I won her love with the best labor my arms have ever done."

"Sir Knight, my lady 'ids thee be not overhasty-that your great labor nor good love shall ere be lost; she will be true to thee." And she turned from the window and the knight rode away, his dwarf behind him. And presently he came to a broad water, where he dismounted, being overweary with much fighting, and soon he was asleep, his head upon his shield. How long he had thus slept he did not know, when suddenly a great scream awakened him, and springing up he heard his dwarf's voice, calling unto him for help. Then lightly leapt he upon his horse and followed the sound of the dwarf's calling, growing ever fainter in the night until it became lost to him. Soon he came upon a castle rising abruptly before him, black against the darkness of the night, with here and there a faint light gleaming. Riding up, he found the drawbridge down and the port open and not a soul in sight. Somewhat in fear, he crossed himself and entered, finding to his sore amaze his dwarf sitting on the ground, sound and unhurt, and beside him none other. Throwing to him his horse's bridle, he went all lothly up the castle steps and all in silence stepped into a great hall. In it burned brightly many lights, and upon a table stood a sumptuous feast, and wines in silver flagons, and drawn up to the table were two chairs. Everything about him bespoke good cheer, but the knight's heart grew chill with the fear of enchantment. as he stood and gazed, a great door at the other end of the hall opened and shut and a damsel entered, and the sight of her made him draw his breath in quick and sharp, for never had he seen such wondrous beauty. She was tall

But

and slender like a lily stem, and her goldred hair shone and glistened in the light. Her clinging gown was palest azure and her girdle was of silver. She held out to him two cool soft hands, as white as May blooms, and the eyes she raised to his were like two newly opened gentians and beautiful beyond description. "I have heard of your marvellous fighting, Sir Knight, and that the lady of Castle Perilous hath sent thee adrift for a twelvemonth; so I have decoyed thee here to make merriment with me who am lonely."

"And who art thou, fair lady, an it please you?" he asked in wonderment.

"This is the castle of Sir Gringamore," she made answer, smiling, "and more I will not tell thee. But now come eat and drink and rest thee here-thy day hath been passing hard."

And soon the Knight of the Fair-hands felt lusty and fresh again, and his eyes dwelt ever more and more upon the lady. Her eyes made answer unto his and lured and dazzled him, till presently he burst forth: "Now, by God's rood, I am no true knight-for twice have I fallen into love this day; though truly the first was as if one loved a shadow on the wall and turning saw the substance and straightway loved again. Perchance 'tis the summer stirring in my veins and goading me on to overmuch love."

"But if the Lady Lyones be the shadow and I the substance," spoke the gold-haired lady softly, "then truly lovest thou only me."

"That do I!" cried King Arthur's kitchen knave; "but my troth I gave to her, not knowing a shadow from the substance."

"Thy troth? What matters that when two hearts love!" and the gentian-eyes gleamed and lured and a cool, soft hand slid across the table and clasped over his. Then groaned the knight aloud and bowed his head upon the hand, while soft the voice spoke on:

"Did not she send thee out into the night, and did not I take thee in? What matters troth!"

Sir Fair-hands lifted up his head and looked at her-her eyes were dew-wet and luminous and her face was expressioned like the Blessed Mother's in an altarpiece, and he loved her with a mighty love.

"Thou bidst me be a faithless knight?" he questioned, wondering. "Nay, it cannot be I will leave thee now, ere thy poisonous sweetness corrodes my manhood." And blindly he was stumbling from the hall when bugle loudly sounding through the night brought him to sudden halt. Everywhere were scurrying feet and men's loud voices-the

castle waking into life. And into the hall burst armed knights who saw him standing there, and by the table saw the gold-haired lady, azure-robed. In deep amaze he knew them-Sir Launcelot, Sir Gringamore, Sir Gowaine and Lavaine. They called to him right joyously:

"So thou hast won thy quest, Sir Gareth, and a mighty lady's love?" Then turned they to the lady and bowed low to her and said:

"Dost yet know thy kitchen knave, my lady? He is Prince Gareth, King Lot of Orkney's son. And hast thou proven him rue knight, my Lady Lyones?"

And faint she smiled and bowed her head.

A

S the glorious resurrection of

Christ from the dead was the great mystery on which he largely based the faith and hope of His apostles, and laid for us, who were to believe in Him through their word, the foundation of a most reasonable faith in all the other mysteries of the Catholic doctrine, so, too, on the worthy reception of the sacrament of the altar-the mystery of faith-rests the upbuilding and the perfection of Catholic practice. Of what benefit for everlasting life are knowledge of Catholic doctrine and faith unless practice exemplifies their precepts

their lessons in the life of the indi

vidual?

The devils have this knowledge and faith; but their lives and energies are, nevertheless, constantly occupied in the pursuit of evil. We have knowledge of the words of Christ: "Unless you eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of Man, you shall not have life in you" (John vi, 54); and faith in His words: "He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood, hath everlasting life; and I will raise him up at the last day" (John vi, 55). As He raised Himself up from the dead by His own power, so will he raise up the worthy recipient of His flesh and blood, by His power in the Blessed Sacrament. Can any promise of Christ be more explicit than this-the promise of everlasting life and a glorious resurrection on the last day, on a condition easy of fulfillment on our part-worthy reception

of the Blessed Sacrament? For the fulfillment of the condition we are not left under the necessity of ascending up to heaven to His table at the right hand of the Father; for He, with divine condescension, descends on our altars, and becomes, as it were, incarnate in every consecrated host, so that we would be enabled to fulfil the condition with ease -to put in practice by an act of our free will the faith that is in us by His free gift. We are not even under the necessity of going to His vicar upon the earth, the Pope of Rome, to receive this flesh and blood of our Blessed Lord; we can receive it in our parish churches and from our own pastors. Would we not, then, be the most foolish of mortals were we to neglect the fulfillment of this easy condition, which brings such an infinite and eternal reward? Moreover, in approaching this holy table of the Lord we approach to receive our Creator and our Redeemer. We approach, by divine invitation, the best of fathers, the truest of friends, the kindest of benefactors, the most tender of comforters, the best skilled of physicians, the most SOlicitous of shepherds, and the most generous of all the rewarders of good actions. It is true, we must prepare our souls for such a meeting: "Let a man prove himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of the chalice" (St. Paul to the Cor. 1st Epistle xi, 28). We must see that no impediment-mortal sin on our part will obstruct the bestowal of the infinite gift on the part of God. We must see to it that we have been robed in the white garments of grace by the sacrament of Penance before we approach to receive the "God of gods" in this sacrament.

The early Christians understood and appreciated this sacrament so well that they received it daily, and hence the great number of them who conformed their lives to the life of Christ, and who received the fortitude and grace to conform their death, by various kinds of

martyrdom, to the death of the Crucified. Who would imagine that the Church should, at a later period, be under the necessity of enacting a law, under the penalty of excommunication, against those Catholics who do not receive Holy Communion annually, and that at the most appropriate time of the year-Easter-Paschal time-the time. of its institution, when she herself is filled with holy joy at the commemoration of the Resurrection; when her altars are most tastefully decorated with the first flowers of spring; when her liturgy and ceremonies are the grandest of the year; when her organs peal forth in joyous alleluias and the choirs take up the glorious "Regina Coeli, alleluia;" when the ministers of the altar are vested in her most gorgeous apparel, and her preachers, partaking of her spirit, triumphantly proclaim her risen Spousethen it is that she calls upon her children to come and taste and see that the Lord is sweet.

As Christ in this mystery is presented to us at the right hand of the Father in heaven, making perpetual intercession for man, so, also, in the Blessed Sacrament He is continually extending to His clients upon earth that same patronage which He extended to them when He walked upon earth among the poor, the blind, the lame, the halt, and the possessed. As the rainbow in the sky is a sign to man that God will never again destroy the face of the earth by a deluge, so is the Blessed Sacrament a perpetual sign of the redemption of mankind and the mercy of God. We can see the effects of this patronage of the Blessed Sacrament in the longanimity of God in His treatment of sinners. Those sins which called down the direct vengeance of heaven on the human race in the time