been the envy of many a Norman maiden, and on Bertha's mind had impressed a feeling of splendour little less than regal. How the mysteries of the toilette were performed without a looking-glass, I leave others to say: certain it is that the table appropriated for that purpose boasted no such ornament. Both it and the three-legged stools, which served the place of chairs, were plain to rudeness, consisting of merely the wood necessary for the purpose of support. But there was a crucifix in the corner of the room, chased in solid silver, and set with precious stones; the fire-dogs on the hearth were wrought with most curious art; and a little silver lamp stood on the table, fed, when lighted, with perfumed oils. To rival the embroidery which lay about that room would ask the hand of a more cunning needlewoman than perhaps England could now supply; and the enamelled trinkets for the hair or the neck were of Limousin manufacture.

"You are happier, lady," said the attendant, briskly plying her needle, while Edith was arranging the net which she wore in her hair-"you are happier, lady, than in the days when Sir William Montacute would have had men believe you his in heart, if not by promise."

"Happier, Bertha! Happier a thousand times: our Lady forgive me that I am so little thankful. Happier to have changed the casting in my lot with one that, unless I misjudge him, is the most recreant knight in England, for giving myself to one that is-that is—”

"Now she would say," said Bertha, half to herself, "the best and the bravest-only she fears me."

"I will say the best and the bravest, then," returned Edith, blushing a little, however, "to shew that, in saying so, I neither fear you nor any other."

"It is strange, methinks, lady, that he comes not," remarked Bertha; "at least we Saxons should deem it

80,"

"Doubtless," returned Edith, "he has good reason for what he does. He never broke word willingly; and

sure I am that he would in this case, least of all, fall from his promise."

"But what I most marvel at," said Bertha, "is, that from the same stock came two knights so different. Cousins-german though they be, they are as unlike as the oak and the elm."

"Rather say," replied Edith, "the oak and the nightshade. That Sir William de Montacute should have delayed his coming, either now or at any other time, would no whit have made me to wonder. Any reason were sufficient with him, if his own pleasure were bound up in it."

"A horse, a hawk, or a hound," said Bertha, "had been quite enough to delay him. But the case stands otherwise with Sir Rainald. However, it is strange." And much at the same time the same thing was being thought or said throughout the castle.

"By S. Pancras," cried Sir Julian, as he strode up and down the hall, "but this was not the way of my youth! A knight, on the eve of his marriage, play truant! An I thought that it were more than an ill accident that had detained him, I would shut the gates in his face when he came. I'll warrant that would teach him better man

ners for the future."

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"Alice," said the lady of the brave old knight, who was awaiting the expected arrival in her own chamber, "go to the eastern window of the long passage, and see if Sir Rainald de Hellingley is riding up the hill. He should have been here long ago. And then bid my daughter to come hither."

But the head-cook was in the most pitiable condition. With a full remembrance of the knight's indignation on the evening to which Bertha had already referred, he found himself in the greatest danger of offending, and as innocently, a second time. His domain presented a curious appearance. It was irregularly octagonal, four of the sides being much smaller than the alternate walls; and each of the former was entirely occupied by a huge

fire-place. The flues, running up the sides for a short distance, emitted their smoke into a chimney literally pendant on flying buttresses from the heavy vaulted roof. Four fires then went roaring up the flues; faggots snapped, logs blazed, sparks flew, splinters leapt, joints crackled, cauldrons bubbled, spits creaked, pestles groaned, and fries hissed. In all directions cooks, with bare arms and legs, and dressed merely in a tunic of serge, flew about to obey the orders of their superior.

"Now, S. Dunstan forgive me!" cried the unfortunate man; "but Job, that, as Father Hugh tells us, had his castle burnt by Saracens, never had more to try his patience than I have this day. Ho, there! shift back that spit; the chine is dropping to pieces. Take the pasties from the oven, Leolf; they are as black as my lady's hair. The capons are burning: I would Sir Rainald had the eating of them. Holy S. Edmund! the water in the fish-cauldron hath boiled away! Oh, unfortunate day! But the comfort is, my masters, that if I am beaten, much more will you: yes, every mother's son of you, and no word to the contrary from me. Look to the raised pies, Hugh. Slacken your fire, Leolf; this place is like a furnace. Run, one of you, to the terrace, and bring me word if he is in sight."

But no Sir Rainald was to be seen. Impatience became anger; and the knight at length declared that supper should be kept back for none: "Bid them set on at once.'

وو

It was with a heart as light as joy could make it that Sir Rainald de Hellingley had set forth that afternoon. Finding his thoughts pleasanter company than the conversation of others, he rode forward at a brisk pace, bidding his retinue, which might amount to some twenty men, to follow him at more leisure. On he passed, over woodlands and through shady lanes, thinking of nothing but his own happiness, and counting the hours till the rise of the morrow's sun. It mattered little to him that the leaves were falling, in that still autumn. afternoon,

around him; that the hoofs of his horse rustled amongst that which had been the beauty of the summer; that the days were shortening and winter coming; all was spring in his heart, and all was beauty to his eyes. On he passed -over the moor, where the rising wind was making mournful music with the withered fern: never had minstrelsy sounded more sweetly to his ear, for he knew that. he had accomplished half his journey. On he passeddown the sandy lane, a lane in summer, a watercourse in winter, and was about to cross the stream to which it led, when, looking up, he saw Father Benedict, the infirmarer of the priory of S. Pancras at Southover, by his side. That priory had been founded by Gundreda de Warrenn, daughter to William the Conqueror, and was the first Cluniac house in England, as it was the largest, with the single exception of La Charité, in Europe. The foundress herself was buried before the high altar; and there, doubtless, she thought to rest well till the end of all things. She could little have foreseen the day when the caprice of a monster would level her foundation with the earth; still less when speculation would carry a railway through the holiest spot of that holy ground. Her dust has long since been scattered to the winds of heaven; but the beau tiful slab that marked her resting-place was removed by some pious hand, at the Reformation, to Isfield church, and thence, some sixty years ago, to that of Southover, where it is yet to be seen. The Warrenns were still great benefactors to the house; and, by consequence, its inmates were deeply interested in their welfare; and they were honoured, generation after generation, as the custom was, with the title of founders. Especially was Father Benedict attached to them,-who, being a man of very superior powers and some general information, had also contracted a great friendship with Sir Rainald, the rather, because the latter, contrary to the usual practice of the age, could not only read but even write, at least well enough to sign his name.

"I thought

"Benedicite, my son," said the Father. that you would be riding this way, and have been waiting here for you."

Sir Rainald, though thinking the courtesy of the priest somewhat ill-timed, was far too kind-hearted not to acknowledge it as it deserved, and proposed that they should proceed together.

"Not so, my son," returned the holy man; "my purpose in awaiting you here was but to prevent your proceeding at all."

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"Then, Father," interrupted Sir Rainald, never was labour more completely thrown away. I marvel by what argument you can think to induce me to return; that would be a miracle worthy of record for the edification of your 'chapter.''

"Far be it from me, a miserable sinner," replied Father Benedict, "to pretend at such a power; but I speak to one that has a double reason to care for life, as knowing that the happiness of another as well as his own hangs on it."

"How say you?" inquired the knight. "Life? But that I know you use not to speak at random, I should deem that your words were but said in jest.”

"The thing lies in brief space, my son," answered the other: "you may enter that wood if you will; whether you ever come out of it must be as God will."

"Of a surety it must," answered De Hellingley. "His will must be done in all things. But you have some deeper meaning herein than only to tell me that which I knew before."

"There are liers-in-wait for you in that wood, my son," said the infirmarer.

"For me!" cried the knight. "It is impossible! Whom have I offended, that they should seek my life?”

"You may have offended none, my son, and yet your happiness may offend many. But the thing, rest assured, is as I tell you. You are but slightly armed; your at