/ 
 
 MAUDE AWD MIRIAM; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FAIR CRUSADER. 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET B. McKEEVER, 
 
 07 **Rn.VSR THREADS” ” WESTBROOK PARrOHAGt,’* ” OKODEHl 
 WITH THE POETS,” ETC. SIC. 
 
 NEW A^ORK 
 
 HURST & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Stotered according to Act of Congress, in the year 187-^ by 
 E. CLAXTON & CO., 
 
 In tiid Office of the Librarian of Congress, at WasningtoB* 
 
AUG 8- 1940 S* MCOopqld /‘J 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 ^ PREFACE. 
 
 W E find the great adversary in every encroachiog 
 upon the church of the Redeemer, corrupting, en- 
 slaving, flattering, persecuting, until, the darkness creep- 
 ing on, the church was enveloped for ages in a shroud 
 of superstition and deep corruption. But in every age 
 there were the hidden ones given to the Lord Jesus from 
 eternity. With these premises, we take three standpoints 
 from which to view the history of the Crusaders — political, 
 romantic, Christian. 
 
 The political historian sees one set of men distinguished 
 by great and heroic qualities, holding the reins of power, 
 ruling the world, and, deifying these, to man only he gives 
 the glory. The novelist searches for romantic incident and 
 striking characters; and Sir Walter Scott, with his magic 
 pen^ paints pictures that fascinate and thrill : but no fingei 
 of God is seen among them. We are in the midst of mailed 
 knights and clanging armor, and the shouts of tournaments, 
 of noble ladies and inspiring music, and the fierce conflicts 
 of those feudal days ; but the great novelist gives us no 
 key by which to unlock the secret cells where God hath 
 hidden his own people in all ages of the world. It remains, 
 
 I 1 62452 
 
Vlll 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 therefore, for the Christian to take God's own book, and 
 with that to search for his own people. 
 
 Surrounded as they were, for many centuries, by the 
 corruptions of the Komish Church, denied the pure Word 
 of God, it was only here and there that the Great Head of 
 the Church placed his seal upon the souls of the faithful. 
 
 With these views, doubtless we shall find hidden in 
 secret places his own dear children, and may perhaps find 
 his blessed gospel in the hands of a few anxious to know 
 the truth. Thus moves the panorama of the world's history 
 before us, until, through ages of increasing wickedness, we 
 come to these feudal days, at last ushering in the Cru- 
 saders, — days when bands of plunderers roamed through 
 Europe, property held only by the sword ; the history of 
 that age a medley of massacre and crime. But the world 
 at length grew tired of barbarity, and a reacting spirit of 
 order was born from this heaving chaos. 
 
 It was then that some poor nobles leagued together, with 
 the holy purpose of redressing wrongs and defending the 
 weak. They gave their hands to each other in pledge that 
 they would not turn back from their work, and called upon 
 St. George to bless their cause. 
 
 The church sanctified it with a solemn benediction. 
 
 And now awoke fully the spirit of chivalry. Let us 
 glance at the bright impersonation, as it stood forth gal- 
 lantly clad in this period of the world’s history. 
 
 With an eye fixed upon the Paradise which it imagined ; 
 a lip that spoke the words of truth, honor, loyalty, rever- 
 ence, .purity, and benevolence ; with an arm grasping the 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IX 
 
 sword in the defence of innocence and oppression; feet 
 ready to march at all times in the service of the Church ; 
 clad in the armor of knighthood, and set apart by religious 
 ceremonies, we behold a soldier of the cross in mediaeval 
 days I The people almost adored their heroic defenders ; for 
 every moral virtue became a part of knightly honor. 
 
 They did their work in revolutionizing the face of society, 
 and passed away. 
 
 In the meanwhile, let us, Christians of the nineteenth 
 century, learn a powerful lesson from the deeds of the Cru- 
 saders. We see them, in their fanatical zeal, laying aside 
 every weight, with a single aim directed to one great object 
 of recovering the Holy Sepulchre from the hands of 
 infidels; men with the same moral and intellectual nature 
 that we possess. 
 
 If, then, the whole of Christendom were stirred up to 
 leave honae, and friends, and ease, for that one object ; if 
 men and women of all ranks took up the cross for an empty 
 tomb, how much more should the Christians of a more 
 enlightened age imitate their zeal and self-sacrifice by 
 bending every energy to the one glorious object of restor- 
 ing this revolted world to the dominion of our Lord. 
 Joining no crusade against fellow-Christians, fighting no 
 spirits of the air, but in a solid phalanx, with a crusader’s 
 zeal, warring against every real form of opposition to the 
 kingdom of our Lord. 
 
 In conclusion, the facts related in this introductory 
 chapter, and elsewhere, are derived largely from Proctor’s 
 “ History of the Crusades,” and James’s “ Hhstory of Chiv* 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 airy;” but so mingled with the writer's own remarks^ 
 that they are not distinguished by quotation-marks, but 
 accredited in this general manner. To Sir Walter Scott 
 we are indebted for extracts from the Wardour manuscripts, 
 in the description of a tournament, in the same manner. 
 The hymns are gathered from Neal's Mediaeval Hymns,” 
 and Dr. Schaff's “ Christ in Song.” Unable to obtain any 
 of the lays of the old troubadours, the author has attempted 
 knitations. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OHAVriE 
 
 I. — The Priory 
 
 II. — Ravensclifp 26 
 
 III. — Gay Besiegers 41 
 
 IV. — -Bede's Gospel OF St. John . . . • 49 
 
 V. — The Yule Log 59 
 
 VI. — The Brave Days of Old 70 
 
 VII. — Maude in the Twilight 81 
 
 VIII. — The Troubadours ...... 92 
 
 IX. — Crusaders AT THE Castle 105 
 
 X. — Maude IN THE Day-dawn . . . .116 
 
 XI. — Eoyal V isiTORS 128 
 
 XII. — The Tournament 138 
 
 XIII. — The Evil Eye at Hawksworth . . . .154 
 
 XIV. — The Midnight Mass 168 
 
 XV. — Eveline at Court 183 
 
 XVI. — Welcome at Acre 197 
 
 XVII. — The Caged Lion .... * . . 218 
 
 zi 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 OBAPTEft 
 
 XVIIL —Maijde AND Miriam 
 XIX. — Moonlight among the Wounded . 
 XX. — Maude Languishes . . 
 
 XXI. — Ascalon 
 
 XXII. — The Pilgrimage to Jerusalem . 
 XXIIL— The Priory of St. Agnes . 
 
 XXIV. — Return op the Crusaders . 
 
 XXV. — One op a Royal Priesthood ' 
 
 fiffi 
 
 237 
 
 252 
 
 269 
 
 281 
 
 292 
 
 801 
 
 821 
 
Maude and Miriam. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PRIORY, 
 
 E are in the feudal days of Old England, often spoken 
 
 f by ancient poets as “ brave and merrie Angoland,’’ 
 when the rude and warlike spirit of the times, notwithstand- 
 ing the truce of God, rendered it unsafe for females to travel 
 without an escort. 
 
 We will apply brave now to the beauty of the country, 
 while yet the grand old forests covered so many broad 
 acres. 
 
 It#is spring-time; that fresh and vernal season when 
 Nature puts on her lovely robes in that “fair countrie.” 
 
 Though matrons and young maidens are necessarily 
 eecluded, the free and happy birds are filling the air with 
 their melody ; for they sang then, as they do now, over the 
 ploughed and blood-stained battle-field as in the green and 
 shady forest. We have just emerged from one of these 
 solitudes, and turn our eyes upon a hill-top where a gay 
 cavalcade is just appearing on the brow, a flood of sunlight 
 illumining the grassy sward. 
 
 2 
 
 18 
 
14 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 It is a bright and gallant sight, but by no means un- 
 usual. 
 
 Mountetl upon fine chargers, two young esquires head the 
 procession in the glittering attire of those days ; three pages 
 follow, leading each a noble palfrey richly caparisoned, 
 with crimson saddle-cloths heavily embroidered, trimmed 
 with a broad gilt border, and reaching almost to the ground. 
 There are twenty-four men-at-arms in the rear, and as the 
 sun shines upon the glittering armor, we hear the clanging 
 of swords, the cheery voices of the leaders beguiling the 
 way with pleasant, merry converse. 
 
 Whither are they bound ? 
 
 Let us listen awhile to the two gallant young esquires. 
 
 ‘‘ It hath been long season syth we have looked upon 
 Maude,’^ said the young man to the right ; “ no playful little 
 demoiselle now, forsooth ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, Guy, the years atween fourteen and eighteen ripen 
 our Norman maidens,’’ said her brother, Lancelot de Vere. 
 The former speaker, Guy de Mowbray, ■ was the chosen 
 friend of the latter ; they had not stepped very far over the 
 twenties in their young lives, both sons of stately barons 
 dwelling in two feudal castles, — near enough, however, to 
 admit of intercourse, — and were now on their way to the 
 Priory of St. Agnes, where, according to the customs of the 
 nobles, Maude and Eveline de Vere and Alice de Mowbray, 
 had been immured four years, receiving their education 
 under the care of a sister of the Baron of RavensclifiT, who 
 was prioress of the convent. 
 
 Over hill and dale, and by the border of silver streams, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 15 
 
 they pursued their way, meeting only a few peasants, who 
 lived in a state of serfdom on the estates of their feudal 
 masters. But we are in sight of the ancient priory, stand- 
 ing, in its gloomy stateliness, just on the borders of a deep 
 forest. It is a fine old abbey, whose dark-gray towers are 
 covered with ivy, the growth of many passing years; for it 
 is probable that there are mouldering forms beneath its 
 time-worn stones, whose hands may have plucked the oldest 
 of the dark-green wreaths. 
 
 A loud ring at the convent-gate, opening upon the court- 
 yard, brought one of the cloistered nuns to answer the sum- 
 mons. 
 
 ‘‘We would see the holy mother,’^ said the young man, 
 who was the first to speak ; “ tell her that Lancelot de Vere 
 waiteth her bidding.” 
 
 The nun silently disappeared, and in a few minutes re- 
 turned with orders to admit the two leaders, and to direct 
 the pages and men-at-arms to out-buildings used for such in 
 times of danger. 
 
 Conducted forward into the parlor of the abbey, they 
 were directed to seats, and the nun again silently disap- 
 peared. The door soon opened, and\ a lady of unusually 
 commanding appearance, clad in the costume of her order, 
 entered. 
 
 “ Art come for thy sisters, Lancelot? ” said the lady; “ the 
 maidens have been sore distraught with waiting : I trow if 
 aught else hath filled their foolish heads but thy coming.” 
 
 “ Not more than seemeth at RavenscliflT, holy mother,” 
 
 I was the reply; “for all be astir at the old castle, from 
 
16 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 Father iimbrose the priest to Cicely the old nurse; but 
 where tarry the young demoiselles? can we see them 
 speedily ? ” 
 
 The prioress rang the bell, and the same nun that ad 
 mitted them answered the call. 
 
 “ Bid the Ladies Maude and Eveline de Vere, and the 
 Lady Alice de Mowbray, to the small parlor; visitors await 
 them.” 
 
 In a minute or two, the three entered. 
 
 A lovely trio ! ” thought the young esquires, as they 
 greeted the maidens ; Guy especially attracted toward the 
 playmate of his childhood. Maude and Eveline were twin 
 sisters, bearing strong resemblance to each other in form, 
 feature, and carriage ; but in expression, entirely distinct. 
 
 Maude’s dark-brown eyes were full of thought and earn- 
 * est feeling, but Eveline’s were dancing with merriment at 
 all times. Maude’s beautiful black hair was glossy, wavy, 
 and gathered up into a golden net, as was the fashion of the 
 day for young ladies. 
 
 Eveline's had a sunny tint, with the same head-dress, but 
 which could not wholly confine the profusion of small curls 
 that would stray from the confinement. 
 
 Maude’s mouth was expressive of tenderness, firmness, 
 decision. Eveline’s, though cut in the same delicate curves 
 of beauty, quivered in its nest of dimples, stirred by every 
 shade of feeling. 
 
 Maude’s figure was of the same height as Eveline’s, but a 
 common observer would pronounce her much taller, so erect 
 and dignified were all her movements, while Eveline’s quick 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 17 
 
 and graceful motions were the very personification of light- 
 hearted girlhood. 
 
 Alice de Mowbray, a girl of nineteen, with dark hair, and 
 eyes resembling her brother Guy, with lineaments strongly 
 marked by their Norman descent, was the third who 
 hastened to meet the visitors in the convent parlor. 
 
 “Brother, mine,” said Maude, as she clasped Lancelot 
 around the neck ; “ all yestreen I watched from matin hour 
 to vesper's close, and thou earnest not ; but how thou hast 
 grown, amaist as tall as our father.” 
 
 “And thou, Maude,” holding her oflT at arm’s length; 
 “ soothly, when last I saw thee, thou wert a little demoiselle, 
 and now thou art — shall I whisper in thine ear? — a 
 queen of beauty.” 
 
 Maude blushed at compliments, even from her brother, 
 as she replied : 
 
 “ And thou, Lancelot, art no more a page, but a brave 
 esquire, forsooth ! ” 
 
 Lancelot had an arm around each of his lovely sisters, 
 and smiling upon Eveline, he said : 
 
 “Thou art very like thy sister, and yet not like; for 
 Maude is a picture of the Madonna, but thou art merry as 
 a mavis ; in thy laughing eyes I see it, Eveline.” 
 
 Guy had waited patiently for the greeting of the brother 
 and sisters. 
 
 And now Maude extended her hand. 
 
 “ Wilt pardon me, Guy ? It hath been so long syth I 
 clasped hands with Lancelot, that perchance meseemeth 
 rude, but, certes, I meant it not.” 
 
 2* B 
 
18 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Guy bent with knightly courtesy over the extended hand, 
 feeling the great difference between this lovely woman anu 
 the little queen of his boyish sports. 
 
 “How fareth Father Ambrose?” inquired Maude. 
 
 “Just as jolly an old friar as ever drank a flagon of good 
 ale, INIaude,” replied her brother. “He will not trouble 
 thee with hard penances, for, beshrew me! an’ he hatli 
 never on me laid one for my many sins.” 
 
 “ And good old Cicely ? ” said Eveline. 
 
 “A clever old soul she seemeth,” replied Lancelot, 
 “ counting the days syth Michaelmas, when she wist that 
 her young demoiselles were coming home.” 
 
 “ What sayest thou of our father, Lancelot ? ” 
 
 “ Unquiet, Maude ; for the Baron of Ravenscliff* liketh 
 not a life of ease in a lady’s bower. He talketh much and 
 often about the crusades. I should not be astonied an’ he 
 were to join the soldiers of the cross ere the rising and set- 
 ting of many suns.” 
 
 “ The Baron of Ravenscliff is brave as he is good, Lance- 
 lot, and it becometh not the children of a true knight to 
 say nay, when the Holy Sepulchre is in the hands of infi- 
 dels ; but the bare thought wringeth the heart.” 
 
 “ Thou wilt have a brother and a father ere long, I trow, 
 among the crusaders ; but I must know something of tliy 
 doings, Maude, syth thine abode at St. Agnes ; what hast 
 thou learned in all these years ? ” 
 
 “I can read Latin, and our own tongue, too, Lancelot? 
 
 “ That is a marvel for a young demoiselle. What sayest 
 thou, Eveline ? ” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM* 
 
 19 
 
 The merry-hearted sister blushed. 
 
 “ 1 can read my breviary, Lancelot ; but I trow that is for 
 vne enough of learning.’' 
 
 ‘‘ Canst write, Maude ? ” 
 
 “ It was hardly opposed at first, but our aunt, the lady 
 prioress, said yea, at last.” 
 
 “Canst write, Eveline?” said her brother, with a mis- 
 chievous smile. 
 
 “ Yea, truly, brother mine ; I can write Eveline de 
 Vere.” 
 
 “ What is thy farther learning, Maude?” 
 
 I can play on the harp and cithern ; and so can Eve- 
 ine.” 
 
 “I must hear thee anon, sister mine; but go on, Maude, 
 a baron’s daughter must know more than all this.” 
 
 “ I can embroider ; and so can Eveline.” 
 
 “ Troublous days in an old castle, an' it be beleaguered, 
 call for sterner work than music and 'broiderie, Maude.” 
 
 “To look at bleeding limbs, and to dress them, too, we 
 are trained; to compound medicines and to nurse the sick; 
 to make good broth and grewal, and furmety, and such 
 like.” 
 
 “An' that be so, then wilt thou be high in favor with 
 Father Ambrose, for he liketh these savory dishes.” 
 
 Turning to his aunt, the lady prioress, he continued: 
 
 “ I trow that these fair demoiselles be well trained for the 
 daughters of a feudal baron ; for troublous days may be 
 iH)on us ere we are 'ware of it. But come, Maude, let ui 
 hear some of thy music,” 
 
20 
 
 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 The young maiden took the cithern — a sweet stringed 
 instrument suitable for an accompaniment to the voice — 
 in her hand, and in a very touching manner sang the oJd 
 hymn called the TJrhs Beata, 
 
 “Said I not that thou wouldst be our saint, fair sis- 
 ter ? said her brother ; “ for thou likest the old hymns yet. 
 Now, Eveline, for thine.” 
 
 Tuning the instrument to a livelier measure, she sang one 
 of the light and airy songs of the troubadours. 
 
 “ That suiteth this lower world better, meseemeth,” said 
 her brother ; “ the hymns of the old saints for Maude, but 
 the lays of Provence for Eveline.” 
 
 A night’s repose in the quarters appointed prepared the 
 party for an early start. 
 
 Their aunt, the lady * prioress, was to bear them com- 
 pany ; for in those days the sisterhood of the cloister were 
 not immured so entirely as in after centuries, for they were 
 often seen at tournaments, banquets, and other places of 
 worldly enjoyment. The mettlesome young palfreys stood 
 at the gate of the abbey, champing their bits and pawing 
 the earth, impatient to be gone, and yet the young maidens 
 betrayed no fear of the spirited animals ; for from early life 
 the children of the nobles were accustomed to equestrian 
 exercises. 
 
 Close by the side of Maude’s palfrey stood a page of 
 eighteen years, waiting to assist his lady to mount. 
 
 “ How farest thou, good Wilfred ? ” said the damsel, ex- 
 tending her hand, and turning her fair young face to the 
 admiring youth. 
 
21 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 The page, bowing in deep reverence ovei the delicate 
 hand, replied in respectful tones : 
 
 . ‘‘Well, my lady, and happy now that thou comest to 
 Ravenscliff, for those have been weary days without the fair 
 Lady Maude.” 
 
 “ Thou art a good boy, Wilfred,” replied the lady. 
 
 The page raised his eyes to the face of the speaker, evi- 
 dently not well pleased that the lovely damsel should regard 
 him as a boy. 
 
 Placing his hand upon the stirrup, he aided Maude to 
 mount with a light, graceful spring, rewarding him with 
 her own sweet smile. Mounting his own horse, the page 
 took his place at the head of the men-at-arms nearest to the 
 Lady Maude. 
 
 It was a brilliant cavalcade. The waving of the gay 
 plumes of the young esquires in the sunlight, the four ladies 
 mounted on their dancing palfreys, whose silver bells upon 
 their bridles kept time to the pacing step of the mettlesome 
 animals, all combined to make the gay cortege a picture 
 not uncommon in those mediseval days, the music of you h- 
 ful la\pghter filling the air. 
 
 We find Guy de Mowbray by the side of his youthfu 
 companion, trotting on at d brisk pace over the green hills 
 and by the border of silver streams, while overhead the 
 bright clouds chased each other through the firmament, on 
 this sunny day in spring, in such fleecy troops a^ might lead 
 a bright fancy to imagine that perchance their airy grace 
 might veil the joyous spirits of that lovely season. 
 
 “Dost remepiber our old sports, Maude? ” said her com- 
 panion. 
 
22 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Yes, Guy ; but those young days come not again. Dost 
 know aught of my pretty merlin ? ” 
 
 “ I saw the bird not long syth. Old Ralph the falconer 
 seemeth to favor thine ; methinks that there be naught to 
 hinder us from like sports again. Dost remember our 
 mimic tournaments, Maude, when thou wast the queen of 
 love and beauty, and I the crowned knight of chivalry ? ’’ 
 
 “ Brave and joyous were those early days, Guy. The lat- 
 ter may be acted again, for I look to see thee a brave and 
 gallant knight.” 
 
 Thus the two beguiled the way in the sweet abandon of 
 youthful confidence, scarcely noticing the castles of the feu- 
 dal barons, and only occasionally looking back at the party 
 enlivened by Eveline’s silvery laugh and merry sallies of 
 wit. 
 
 They have just reached the brow of a hill, when suddenly 
 Maude exclaims : 
 
 There standeth proud old Ravenscliff, Guy, strong and 
 grand as ever! for marks of many a siege doth she bear 
 upon her walls. Nothing pleaseth my father better than to 
 gather ug all around the huge fire, when the winter winda 
 be howling, and to tell us of the brave deeds of our old an^ 
 cestors. Even the old stag-hound at his feet used to seem 
 stirred when the baron was in these moods.” 
 
 “Thou mayst have many such stories, Maude, for here 
 we are at the drawbridge.” 
 
 A signal from the cavalcade brought an answer from the 
 warder’s tower, and in a very short time the portcullis was 
 raised, the drawbridge fell, and the party passed in. The 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 23 
 
 warder’s horn liad signalled an arrival to the dwellers in 
 the keep, and the baron and his lady, with Father Ambrose 
 and old Cicely, were in waiting in the banqueting-hall, 
 ready to receive the company. It was one of the bright 
 days at Ravenscliff; for strong ties of love bound the family, 
 all centring their pride in the noble baron, whom they 
 esteemed as great and good as Godfrey du Bouillon. 
 
 Tarrying one night at Ravenscliff, the De Mowbrays met 
 the household at breakfast, saddened by the thought of 
 separation. 
 
 Soon after the morning meal, we find Guy and Maude 
 treading the dewy path that led to the pleasance, — a favorik3 
 walk with the young people of the castle, — the fresh morn- 
 ing air of the early spring-time imparting a rosy tint to the 
 cheek and sparkling brightness to the full, dark eye of the 
 young damsel. 
 
 Many a time had they trodden this grassy path together, 
 Guy leading Maude by the hand ; but it was no longer a 
 playful child that sported beside him, but a blushing 
 maiden in the sweet flush of young womanhood that, with 
 light and timid footsteps, entered the summer-house at the 
 end of the shaded pathway. 
 
 “ Dost mind how time passeth, Maude ? ” said the young 
 man ; ‘‘ full four years syth we sat here together. Thou wert 
 then gay as a singing bird, weaving garlands for the May- 
 pole; but now thine eyes be full of deep thoughts. It 
 seemeth as though thou hast stepped over more than four 
 years syth then.” 
 
 Maude smiled, as she replied : 
 
24 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “It seemeth so to me, Guy; and no easy task, I trow, 
 would it be to tell thee the visions that haunt me day by 
 day/’ 
 
 “I have counted the years, Maude, then the nnmths, and 
 of late the days, that would bring thee back to Ravenscliff ; 
 but, Maude, I much fear that the Baron of Hawksworth per- 
 mitteth not the return of the pleasant days that we have 
 passed together.” 
 
 “ I pray thee tell me why, Guy ; for it would grieve me 
 sore an’ that should be so.” 
 
 “ The baron liketh not thy father, Maude. It hath been 
 said that they crossed each other’s path in love, — and my 
 father forgiveth not an injury ; but it parteth us not ; doth 
 it, Maude ? ” 
 
 “ I trow that cannot be, Guy, unless thou wiliest it.” 
 
 Guy turned his dark eye tenderly upon Maude’s face, as 
 he replied, in tones of deep feeling : 
 
 “ Wiliest it, Maude ? Thinkest thou, sweet one, that it 
 be an easy task to blot out the memory of childish days ? 
 And now that I once more see ' thy fair face, Maucie, it be 
 painted here upon my heart, never to be dimmed by passing 
 years. Knowest thou this trinket, Maude ? ” (drawing from 
 its hiding-place a small bracelet.) 
 
 The maiden blushed, as she replied : 
 
 “Well do I mind the day when, in the tilt-yard, I gave 
 it to thee, years agone, when thou wast a crowned knight, 
 Guy.” 
 
 And thus the two beguiled the passing hour in that sweet 
 converse of youthful hearts until the sight of the palfreys, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 25 
 
 brought out in front of tlie castle, signalled the hour of de- 
 parture near at hand. 
 
 Slowly the two trod the grassy path back to the keep, 
 and, after sorrowful farewells, the party took their leave of 
 the castle. Maude looked pensively after the little retinue 
 as it passed out of the inner ballium and disappeared from 
 sight, wondering when she should greet the young faces 
 again. Very thoughtful was the young damsel all the rest 
 of the day; for Guy’s visit had disturbed the surface of 
 Maude’s pure thoughts; and the sweet murmur of his low- 
 spoken words lingered long around her pillow, after her 
 usual hour of rest, like tender music, lulling her to sleep 
 with unformed, dreamy visions of the border-land of young 
 womanhood — sweet dreams, whose shadows have no name ; 
 ireams that visit the young maiden but once. 
 
 A 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 RAVENSCLIFF, 
 
 NE scarcely realizes now what England was in the 
 
 dark days of the Middle Ages. We travel delighted 
 amid its highly cultivated lands, surrounded on all sides by 
 features of beauty, and may well call the island kingdom a 
 lovely garden, with its magnificent modern castles, its sylvan 
 parks, its picturesque cottages, its hawthorn hedges, its lux- 
 uriance of flowers in the early spring, — not a vestige now 
 remaining of the extensive domains once inhabited by the 
 rude barons of feudal times, save a few ancient ruins, with 
 an occasional castle kept in something of its former style, 
 and the grand old monarchs of the forest that have outlived 
 the reigns of many buried kings. 
 
 The long-protracted state of savage society had brought 
 in the feudal system, and had built throughout the kingdom 
 the strong fortifications known as the castles of the Norman 
 barons, where, like petty kings, they ruled their vassals. 
 
 We will travel around the battlements of one of these old 
 fortresses in the north of England. Built upon a command- 
 ing eminence, it might well be called a clifi* and on the 
 borders of a vast forest where ravens built their nests when 
 it was first erected, it was well named Ravenscliff. It was 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 27 
 
 one of the strongest and grandest of these old castles, with 
 high embankments crowned with battlements, and flanked 
 l)j circular bastions in the angles formed by the walls. 
 Tliese massy walls were pierced for gates, with drawbridges, 
 and towers on each side, very strong, and further guarded 
 by descending gratings called a portcullis. The walls were 
 surrounded by a moat as a further defence from the attacks 
 of enemies. There was also the barbican, — a raised mound 
 or tower, — the outer walls having terraces toward the castle. 
 The gate-house was flanked with towers and crowned with 
 projections, through which heavy missiles or molten lead 
 were dropped on the heads of the assailants. The outer 
 ballium was a large space containing the lodgings of the 
 soldiers, blacksmiths, carpenters, and other artificers, and 
 also the extensive stables of a feudal baron. 
 
 The inner ballium contained the garden where the don- 
 jon, or keep, was situated, — the stronghold inhabited by the 
 baron and his retinue, — added to which was the chapel, and 
 under the keep, the dungeon, where prisoners were confined. 
 
 In the central part of the keep were the state apartments, 
 situated in the third story, having large windows placed high 
 in the lofty rooms, to secure the occupants against weapons 
 discharged from without. 
 
 'There were huge ornamented fire-places and pillars in the 
 walls of the state apartments ; rude enough, however, at the 
 best. 
 
 The two lower stories had no windows, but were merely 
 lighted from loop-holes. Nothing could be more uncom^ 
 fortable than the sleeping-rooms, which were only little 
 
28 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 dark recesses on the winding stairs leading to the battle* 
 ments. 
 
 We will drop a few words now about the lord of this feu- 
 dal castle. 
 
 Reginald de Vere, Bkron of Ravenscliff, was a knight of 
 rare qualities of heart and mind, with a noble form and 
 face, and, according to the code of chivalry, of the highest 
 order among the Norman knighthood. From earliest youth 
 lie had studied the character of that prince among knights, 
 Godfrey du Bouillon. Brave in the battle-field, generous to 
 his enemies, the soul of honor and truth, gentle, tender, and 
 courteous to the fair sex, devoted to the Holy Church, in 
 whose service he was ready to yield his life, he had gathered 
 around him the very flower of chivalry, who almost wor- 
 shipped the Baron of Ravensclifi*. His vassals outside 
 respected their feudal master, who, though they retained the 
 old Saxon animosity to their conquerors, still were obliged 
 to do justice to the man who in times of peace was the friend 
 and benefactor of all his people. 
 
 So we find him in days of trouble and distress ministering 
 to their necessities, often sending the Lady Jaqueline on 
 errands of mercy to the huts of the peasantry. It is true 
 that he was a petty king among them ; but he did not abuse 
 his power ; for we do not find the mothers of the young 
 Saxons, like those of Palestine, terrifying them with the cry 
 that ‘‘ Richard was in the bush ; ” but rather it was no un- 
 common thing, when the baron passed by with his men-at- 
 arms, to hear them say, ‘‘Come out, la Is, the good baron 
 passeth by.^’ Encouraged by his kindly smile, the urchins 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 29 
 
 were not afraid to clasp the foot within the stirrup, when- 
 ever he stopped at the doors of the peasants. But, like other 
 good men, the baron had his enemies ; none more implaca- 
 ble than the Baron of Hawksworth, — a dark, revengeful 
 man, who dwelt in his castle in sullen grandeur. In early 
 days the Lord of Ravenscliff had crossed his path in love ; 
 for the Lady Jaqueline had refused the hand of Richard 
 de Mowbray, and accepted Reginald de Vere. From that 
 day the former had been his deadly foe ; but, having mar- 
 ried cousins, the two families had maintained some kind of 
 intercourse, kept up chiefly by the young people. 
 
 The wealth and popularity of the Lord of Ravenscliff* had 
 but increased the animosity, which showed itself in coldness 
 and alienation ; sometimes, in a freak of sullenness, forbid- 
 ding all intercourse between the two families. But, strange 
 to say, Eveline de Vere had always maintained her influ- 
 ence over the rude Lord of Hawksworth, — no one knew 
 wherefore, unless it were the strong likeness between herself 
 and the Lady Jaqueline, — therefore she counted upon her 
 power to bring her cousins speedily to Ravenscliff*. 
 
 Maude took but little interest in the merriment around, 
 being more occupied with the services at the chapel, and 
 the feminine occupations of the day. She excelled upon the' 
 harp, and devoted much time to improvement upon the 
 instrument ; for it was her father’s favorite ; and we find her 
 one day entertaining l^m with her music, choosing that 
 which pleased him best. 
 
 Our Lady calls. To arms! to armsl 
 For Moslems hold the land 
 
so 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAII. 
 
 Where lies the body of our Lord, 
 
 And we like cravens stand. 
 
 To arms! to arms I our Lady oalli. 
 
 Our Lady calls. Arise ! arise ! 
 
 Gird on thine armor bright: 
 
 She needs the sword and battle-axe 
 Of every valiant knight. 
 
 Our Lady calls. Arise! arise! 
 
 Our Lady calls. Her battle - cry 
 Is ringing through the world. 
 
 Let every banner in the land 
 Be speedily unfurled. 
 
 Our Lady calls. To arms ! to arms I 
 
 Our Mother calls. Heed not the team 
 Shed in a lady’s bower; 
 
 Let the shrill trumpet sound the blast 
 From every castle tower. 
 
 Our Lady calls. To arms ! to arms ( 
 
 Our Lady calls. The loyal heart, 
 Beneath a maiden’s breast, 
 
 Bids father, brother, lover go 
 To lo our Lord’s behest. 
 
 Our Lady calls. To arms ! to arms ! 
 
 Our Lady calls. You give your life; 
 And we for holy cross 
 
 Give all we love in this dark world. 
 Nor count its treasure loss. 
 
 Our Lady calls. We go I we go! 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 31 
 
 Where didst Icarii that song, Maude?” inquired the 
 oaron. 
 
 Maude blushed, as she replied : 
 
 “ It is mine own, father.” 
 
 “ Sayest thou so, Maude? Thine own I music and worlds, 
 too ? ” 
 
 “ Both, father, by my troth.” 
 
 Thou seemest almost inspired, Maude. Methinketh that 
 the troubles in the Holy Land inspire the dullest.” 
 
 The return of the young maidensi to their home was quite 
 a stirring event at the castle, and the Lady Jaqueline had 
 been for some time preparing for their coming. 
 
 Father Ambrose, too, partook of the general joy ; for he 
 remembered Maude as a devout, intelligent child for those 
 dark days, and much attached to the old friar. 
 
 Accordingly, we find him joining the young maiden after 
 early matins. 
 
 “ Where loitereth thy sister, Maude ? ” said the old priest. 
 
 “ Eveline complaineth of weariness, father. Methinketh 
 that she careth more for sleep than for the rites of Holy 
 Church.” 
 
 ‘‘ The blessing of the Holy Virgin be with thee, Maude ; 
 for a faithful daughter thou seemest.” 
 
 ‘‘ Dost see niy breviary, father ? It hath been blessed by 
 our Holy Father the Pope himseT.” 
 
 The friar crossed himself as he touched the book. 
 
 ‘‘ A holy gift, Maude ! Mayst thou use it well ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ I wish that I might read the holy Gospel, father ; what 
 aindereth ? I can read the English tongue.” 
 
32 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 . “ There be quite enow for women in the breviary, Maude ; 
 why troublest thou thyseF about hard things ? Go to thy 
 ’broiderie and thy harp, child/’ 
 
 ‘‘ Meliketh both, holy father ; but there seem higher 
 things for God’s children ; for thou sayest that holy baptism 
 maketh us all his children.” 
 
 The priest turned his eyes inquiringly upon Maude’s 
 earnest face, wondering what strange thoughts were stirring 
 the depths of the young spirit. Maude wondered too ; for 
 she knew not yet the name of the invisible teacher that 
 Jesus left to his ransomed Church. She knew not yet that 
 God, in all ages of the world, had his hidden ones. Would 
 that she could have read the blessed words : 
 
 “ My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they 
 follow me : 
 
 “ And I give unto them eternal life ; and they shall never 
 perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” 
 
 The priest continued : 
 
 “ Trouble not thysel’, Maude, about things too hard for 
 thee. Be content with teachings of Holy Church. Now 
 hie thee to thy bower -woman, and adorn thysel’ as be- 
 cometh a maiden of high degree; but forget not my dish 
 of furmety.” 
 
 ‘‘ Meliketh to do thy bidding, father ; but an’ the Gospel 
 be God’s word, it seemeth to me plain enow that it cometh 
 for all his children, just like unto the sun and rain, father, 
 which shineth and falleth on all alike ; and the Gospel 
 seemeth a higher gift.” 
 
 *‘Thou talkest about things too hard for thee, Mauda 
 
MAUPE and MIRIAM. 
 
 33 
 
 Gk), sely* wench, to thy woman’s work and thy girlish sporta 
 It becometh thee to look after thy merlin and thy gauds, 
 Maude. Thy mother, the Lady Jaqueline, hath a goodly 
 store of ‘women’s gear, just from London; an’ thy bright 
 eyes look once on the fair tunics and kirtles, thou forgettest 
 the old Gospel.” 
 
 Maude walked away with a solemn step, wondering if tii-a 
 Gospel, sent down from heaven, could be placed by the side 
 of the glittering gauds of girlish vanity. 
 
 ‘‘ Nay, nay, Father Ambrose,” thought Maude, “ an’ it 
 cometh from heaven, it hath more value than diamonds or 
 precious stones.” ^ 
 
 After a substantial Norman breakfast, where there were 
 wine and ale and meats in abundance, we meet the Lady 
 Jaqueline in her own private bower, surrounded by her 
 damsels, of whom there were a goodly number. 
 
 There was no little excitement among the young maidens 
 when the Lady Jaqueline brought out the numerous pur- 
 chases for the sisters. Holding a white silk kirtle in her 
 hand, she said : 
 
 Dost like this pretty kirtle, Maude ? Soothly it becom- 
 «th thee well, with its silver trimming, and this tunic of / 
 pale blue silk. The queen hersel’ weareth no finer, I 
 trow.” 
 
 “ It seemeth just what suiteth royal maidens ; but, mothei 
 mine, damsels in this old castle, so far from courts, need not 
 such brave attire.” 
 
 “How sayest thou, Maude? Thou mayest visit the court 
 
 * Foolish. 
 
 0 
 
34 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 of England, Maude ; for King Richard knoweth thy iGEithei 
 as a true and loyal baron/' 
 
 Eveline was in raptures over a suit of pink and green, 
 trimmed in like manner. 
 
 Then was displayed another of rich velvet, trimmed with 
 miniver ; then came elegant head-dresses of costly material, 
 followed by magnificent jewels, and all the superb array 
 common amon.g the nobles. 
 
 Quickly attired in the pink and green, Eveline dropped 
 a curtsey before her mother, saying : 
 
 “What thinkest thou, mother mine? We must needs 
 display this brave attire. Our birthday draweth nigh ; we 
 must spread a banquet for the day. Guy and Alice sit at 
 that table, I ween. Beshrew me ! an’ they come not to the 
 banquet ; an’ it pleaseth thee, Lancelot and Maude joineth 
 the retinue to Hawksworth, and Wilfred d’Arcy carrieth 
 the invitation on the dagger’s point. Eveline returneth not 
 without consent from the grim baron.” 
 
 “Thy fancy pleaseth me well, Eveline. What sayeth 
 Maude? ” 
 
 “What pleaseth my good mother, pleaseth me; but more 
 quiet sports than banquetings suit me better.” 
 
 The morning was spent in examining particularly the 
 elegant wardrobe; Eveline and the other young damsels in 
 raptures over the luxurious display. 
 
 Dost know, Lady Eveline, that there hath been much 
 talk of a tournament ? ” said Gertrude Ellerton ; “ the young 
 xnights alread} repair their armor, and practise daily in the 
 tilt-yard.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 35 
 
 ** A touriuiiuent ! ” exclaimed Eveline. “ The very tidings 
 that most please me ! Seemeth it lonely in this great cas- 
 tle, Gertrude ? ’’ 
 
 I trow not,” was the reply ; ** for with the damsels wait- 
 ing upon the Lady Jaqueline, the pages, esquires, and 
 knights, there lacketh not good company even in this great 
 fortress. Then there come the hawking and hunting, our 
 Christmas sports, and the visits of the troubadours from 
 France. Who talketh of loneliness at Kavenscliff ? ” said 
 the young lady, looking around upon her companions. 
 
 A smile passed over the young faces as the voices echoed : 
 
 “ Not I ! not I ! nor I ! Lonely, indeed ! with all these 
 brave pages and esquires.” 
 
 In a few days, Lancelot came with the intelligence that 
 a party was proposed to go on a hawking expedition ; and 
 a goodly company of young ladies and esquires appeared 
 in the inner ballium, equipped for the sport. 
 
 It was one of the brightest of May mornings, — a time 
 when the delightful brilliancy of the day, the temperature 
 of the air, and the joyous work of tillage seen in every direc- 
 tion, made the temptation to out-door sports irresistible. 
 
 It was a gallant sight, — the grooms and equerries, the 
 young esquires in their bright attire, and the ladies with 
 their plumes waving in the brisk wind, and a hooded hawk 
 perched upon each delicate wrist. Kalph/the falconer re- 
 membered that it had been some time since the young dam- 
 sels had engaged in this sport, and therefore took some 
 pains to instruct them as to the mode, of holding the hawk, 
 and throwing her ofl'the wrist 
 
36 
 
 MAUDE AND MI HI AM. 
 
 In merry chat the party wound their way out of the ca*- 
 tie gate, over the drawbridge, cantering on at a brisk rate 
 down by the banks of the river, carefully looking on every 
 side for the game ; but no heron was visible, although there 
 was a heronry not far off. For some time it seemed as 
 though the party were doomed to disappointment, but not 
 fancying the ridicule of the pages left behind, they were for 
 perseverance. Ralph understood the dilemma, and spoke : 
 
 “ An’ the ladies like a ride of three miles farther, me- 
 thinketh that the long-shanked birds meet us mere in num- 
 bers that stir up the hawks to cancelier till their brains 
 reel.” 
 
 “ Onward, my merry knights ! ” said Eveline de Vere. 
 “ It hath been a long season syth such a hawking party 
 starteth from Ravenscliff.” 
 
 “ Onward ! onward ! ” echoed other young voices, bent 
 upon success. 
 
 Maude rode forward on her lively jennet as light as a lark, 
 the plumes in her riding-bonnet dancing in the wind ; the 
 attendants near, with dogs, pouches, lines, and all other 
 appurtenances of the royal sport. 
 
 “ Thy merlin seemeth a splendid bird, Maude,” said her 
 brother. 
 
 “She looketh gay and fierce as ever,” was the answer 
 “ See what broad shoulders, and how vigorously she rouseth 
 hersel’ ; an’ I dare remove her hood, I could show thee eyes 
 full, fierce, and dark as the boldest.” 
 
 Advancing still further up the stream, it suddenly turned 
 on one side, forming a mountain lake, or tarn. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 87 
 
 On the side next to the falconers arose a ridge of gray 
 rock; on the opposite, a heathy hill, whose fresh spring car- 
 pet looked soft as green velvet, crowned with bushes of the 
 same bright color. 
 
 A broad beach of sand extended around the lake, forming 
 a fine opportunity to the rider to exercise and breathe hife 
 horse. And here the party rested, looking anxiously 
 around for the heron, but as yet none were in sight ; but 
 out in the stream lay immersed some rocky masses forming 
 small islets, and, standing m one, Ealph perceived the heron 
 that they had sought so long. Eager expectation was now 
 at its greatest height, and several impulsive spirits were in 
 haste to make a movement. 
 
 “ Now silence ! said the falconer, ‘‘ until the proper time 
 for starting the bird.’^ 
 
 Sad and solitary the heron stood on a stone, watching for 
 such small fish as might pass along, quite unconscious of 
 the ambuscade plotting his destruction. 
 
 A few low brief words as to the best mode of starting the 
 quarry were anxiously discussed, as if some great enterprise 
 hung upon the issue. 
 
 4t a signal from the falconer, the party began to advance 
 upon the heron, who, now for the first time aware of their 
 presence, drew himself up to his full height, erected his long, 
 thin neck, spread out his broad wings, uttered his harsh, 
 clanging cry, and projecting his length of thin legs behind 
 him, rose upon the breeze. 
 
 Ralph was near Maude, whose hawk was unhooded that 
 she might see the quarry. 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Now is tlic tiiTie/^ said the falconer, as Maude threw oflf 
 the bird, encouraged by one loud whoop from the falconers. 
 Eager as a war-horse rushes to the battle, so darted the 
 fierce falcon toward her enemy, while the heron exerted all 
 his powers to escape from his formidable foe. 
 
 Plying all his strength, he ascended higher and higher 
 in the air by short gyrations, that the falcon might not 
 pounce upon him ; while his spiked beak, at the extremity 
 of his long neck, enabled him to strike at a yard’s distance. 
 
 Then Eveline threw off her hawk, encouraged by the 
 halloos of the falconers, to join her companion. Both were 
 bept upon mounting by small circles, endeavoring to gain 
 that superior height which the heron, too, was bent upon 
 preserving. To the delight of the spectators, the fight was 
 continued until all three were nearly mingled with the 
 fleecy clouds, from which was heard the harsh, plaintive 
 cry of the quarry, appealing, as it were, to the heaven which 
 he was approaching, against the cruelty of those by whom 
 he was persecuted. 
 
 At length one of the hawks had reached a height from 
 which she attempted her attack upon the heron, who so 
 (Mimiingly defended himself, that he received the blow of 
 the hawk on his beak, thus spiking the body of one of his 
 fierce enemies, wlio fell fluttering into the lake, and perished 
 there. 
 
 But the remaining bird, avenging the fate of her sister, 
 assailed him on the other wing. The falcon thus succeeding 
 in binding his prey, both came tumbling down togethei 
 from a great height in the air. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 39 
 
 The next great object was for the falconers to come in to 
 the rescue in time to prevent the heron from wounding the 
 bird, either by his sharp beak or talons ; and the whole 
 party — the men setting their spurs, and the ladies switch- 
 ing their palfreys — flew like the wind to the scene of con- 
 flict. There lay the heron and falcon in the mortal struggle 
 upon the green moss, the wing of the heron having been 
 broken by the stoop of the former. The falconers were jusi 
 in time to save the hawk, by thrusting the heron’s beak into 
 the earth, and breaking his legs, thus permitting the falcon 
 to dispatch him on easy terms. Neither sex nor station 
 allowed of interference here, although Maude’s tender, 
 womanly instincts felt the cruelty of such barbarous sport ; 
 but the savage spirit of those early times still lingered in 
 their sports as well as in the battle-field. It is for a higher 
 development of true Christianity, by which all the wrongs 
 of God’s creation are to be righted. 
 
 We Christians of the nineteenth century need not lift our 
 hands in holy horror at such sports ; for have we no human 
 falcons in Christian countries allowed to engage in strife 
 more revolting, where even human blood is shed ? Have we 
 no literature, no dramas, which encourage such brutal sports ? 
 
 But so much has education to do with our moral sense, 
 that Maude, gentle as she was, applauded the brave flilcon 
 when she took her once more upon her wrist. 
 
 Thou seemest brave as an eagle, my pet,” said the young 
 lady, smoothing the ruffled plumage, the bird meanwhile 
 proudly lifting up her head, and raising her feathers, as 
 though exultant over her victory. 
 
40 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 A merry ride home along the shady road completed the 
 day^s enjoyment ; much clouded, however, to Maude, when 
 she thought alone of the piercing cries of the hunted heron. 
 Close to the Lady Maude’s jennet, throughout the day, 
 had rode Wilfred the page, eagerly treasuring every light 
 word spoken to him personally, to dream at night of the 
 bright smile with which she had thanked him, as he aided 
 her to dismount at the entrance to the castle. 
 
 Note. It is but proper to state that the main features of thii 
 hawking expedition have been gathered from Sir Walter Sooti. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 GAY BESIEGERS. 
 
 SEPTEMBER has passed, and now the purple tint of the 
 ^ hills has faded into russet gray. The young demoiselles 
 are elated with the thought of a birthday banquet, — Eve- 
 line for the glitter and the merry-making ; Maude that, per- 
 chance, it bringeth Guy and Alice to Ravenscliff. 
 
 “ What sayest thou, good mother ? ” said Eveline ; wilt 
 strike hands that I bring not Guy and Alice to the ban- 
 quet? '' 
 
 The Lady Jaqueline smiled, as she replied : 
 
 ‘‘Thou hast strange power over the grim Baron of 
 Hawksworth, Eveline ; but there is my wager,’’ laying, at the 
 same time, a diamond ring upon the table. 
 
 “ There layeth mine,” replied the maiden, gayly, throwing 
 an embroidered veil over the lady’s face. “Ye are all wit- 
 nesses, demoiselles.” 
 
 It is a gay party that is seen trotting out over the bal- 
 lium, through the gate, and crossing the drawbridge; the 
 last word greeting Eveline’s ear as her father waved 
 adieu : 
 
 “ Success attend the gay besiegers of the Baron of Bawkg* 
 worth.” 
 
 4 ^ 
 
42 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Eveline waved her riding- whip, and tossed her gay 
 plumes, as she bowed her graceful head in reply. 
 
 Lancelot. Maude, Eveline, and Wilfred d’Arcy, the ladiesf 
 page, headed the cavalcade, followed by a dozen men-at- 
 arms ; for such a thing was never heard of in thofe rude 
 days as ladies travelling unattended. Passing by many of 
 the plain dwellings of the Saxon gentry, and the rude huts 
 of the peasantry, we find them at the close of the day, 
 after a ride of twenty miles, on the borders of a deep forest 
 that belonged to the domain of Hawksworth, where the 
 sports of the chase were frequently enjoyed. 
 
 We must ride on the borders of the wood,’^ said Lance- 
 lot ; “ for wild animals abound here, an’ I trow that we be 
 not prepared for hunting.” 
 
 “ Hist ! ” said Eveline. “ What stirreth in the bushes ? ” 
 
 In the next minute, a gallant deer suddenly started out 
 of the deep brushwood, and fixing her startled eyes one 
 moment upon the company, with one swift bound darted 
 into the thick wood, and was speedily lost to sight. 
 
 ‘‘ What a splendid creature ! ” said Wilfred. Shall we 
 pursue her ? ” 
 
 “I trow not,” was Lancelot’s reply. ‘‘We should have 
 the baron’s wrath about our ears in a trice.” 
 
 Emerging from the forest, the dark towers of Hawksworth 
 were in sight. Not so extensive as Eavenscliff, we see an- 
 other cause of the envy of the more prosperous baron on 
 the neighboring estate. 
 
 A summons at the portcullis brought an answer from the 
 warder, who speedily admitted the party, soon joined in the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 43 
 
 muer ballium by the baron himself. The spirit of chivalry 
 so far controlled the knight as to make his reception cour- 
 teoua, if not cordial. Accordingly, we find the baron gal- 
 lantly aiding Eveline to dismount, and leading the party 
 forward into the castle, where we find Guy and the Lady 
 Alice ready to extend a joyous welcome. 
 
 ‘‘ It hath been a long season syth we clasped hands in this 
 old castle, Maude,’’ said Guy de Mowbray, “ an’ I feared 
 that thou wouldst not come again ; but the old years seem 
 blotted out, and we stand in the sunshine of childhood once 
 more.” 
 
 Just then Wilfred d’Arcy advanced to the baron, extend- 
 ing; the invitation on the point of a small silver - hilted 
 dagger. 
 
 A slight shade passed over his face, as he replied : 
 
 “ The Baron of Kavensclifi* careth not for my presence, 
 forsooth ! ” 
 
 ‘‘Thou deniest not the Lady Alice and Blanche and 
 Guy?” said Eveline. 
 
 “ I promise naught rashly,” was the reply ; “ but let us 
 hasten to the Lady Edith,” whom they found in the ban- 
 queting-hall, with Blanche de Lacy, an orphan child of a 
 deceased sister of the Lady of Hawksworth. Very frail and 
 lovely was the little maiden, who, although sixteen years of 
 age, appeared no more than twelve, so small, so fragile, was 
 the child, with a skin fair as a lily, eyes blue as the sky, and, 
 most remarkable of all, a wealth of flaxen hair that envel- 
 oped her as a golden veil. Timid, sensitive, shrinking, she 
 stood aside for some miputes ere noticed by the visitors. 
 
44 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Art a real fairy, Blanche,” said Eveline, as she kissed 
 the fair cheek. “ Why, thou hast not grown an inch, me- 
 thinks, syth last we played ‘ hunt the slipper * in the old 
 hall on Christmas Eve.” 
 
 “ Thou mistakest, Lady Eveline,” was the reply of the 
 little maiden, with an air of offended dignity ; “ for none 
 of my kirtles and tunics fit me now that were large enow 
 then, forsooth ! ” 
 
 The Lady Edith gave a cordial greeting ; but the three 
 touched the thin, pale hand with feelings of pain, as they 
 looked at the wasted form of the Lady of Hawksworth A 
 plentiful repast was soon spread in the banqueting-hall, and 
 the weary party did ample justice to the refreshment, — by no 
 means a tea-drinking of modern times ; for real substantial 
 fare was heartily enjoyed by the Norman ladies of those 
 feudal days. 
 
 The Baron of Hawksworth was fond of the chase, and 
 finding Eveline willing to listen, he entertained her with a 
 tedious account of a deer hunt that had just come off with 
 great success ; Lancelot and Maude smiling at the grave de- 
 corum and absorbing interest with which Eveline appeared 
 to listen, and the baron himself highly flattered by the 
 young damsel’s attention to his story. 
 
 “There hang the horns,” said the baron, proudly, pointing 
 to a set of fine antlers that were suspended over the door of 
 entrance to the hall. 
 
 Then came the music to enliven the evening ; for Eveline 
 intended this as the battery with which to storm the baron. 
 She played delightfully on the lute, accompanying it with 
 
MAUDE AND MIEIAM. 
 
 45 
 
 a very sweet, musical voice, and song after song was called 
 for by the baron, who unbent to none other as to Eveline do 
 Vere. Then came several trios, in which Lancelot joined 
 his sisters; and the baron said, as he bade good-night: 
 
 ' Truly the minstrels may hang up their harps on the 
 walls in this presence/’ 
 
 “ A guerdon from the Knight of Hawksworth,” said 
 Eveline, with a mischievous smile upon her face ; “ thou 
 deniest not to young demoiselles what thou givest to the 
 minstrels, I trow.” 
 
 “ What wouldst thou, damsel ? Make thy request quickly, 
 and thou shalt have it.” 
 
 “ Dost promise that I have my wish ? ” 
 
 “ Thou hearest the word of honor of a true knight. Lady 
 Eveline.” 
 
 A small boon. Sir Knight ; only that the Lady Alice, 
 Blanche de Lacy, and Guy return with us to the banquet.” 
 The countenance of the baron fell ; but he replied : 
 
 “ Thou hast ray word. A true knight falleth not from 
 that.” 
 
 The baron closed the door as he passed out, and Eveline, 
 'vith a light, silvery laugh, said : 
 
 “ Saidst I not so ? Fairly surrendered I The ring falleth 
 to me of a truth.” 
 
 In a day or two, we find them on their return to Ravens- 
 cliflT, and entering the balliura. The Lady Jaqueline has- 
 tened to meet them at the entrance. 
 
 Thou winnest the ring, Eveline,” said the mother, as she 
 placed the jewel on the slender fnger. 
 
46 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘‘ That were a small boon, good mother, an* it were not 
 for the merry guests that come to the castle, and stay with 
 us two weeks.” 
 
 We find the reunited friends out in the pleasance, — a 
 garden around the castle, — enjoying a «troll along the path 
 on the south side, which, for a long distance, was shaded by 
 elms, whose branches, meeting over the walk, formed a com- 
 plete arbor of delight. 
 
 It is true that the fresh winds of early autumn swept 
 through the rich foliage, murmuring of the fading loveli- 
 ness of nature, and that some of the birds had already 
 taken wing for a warmer climate, some few remaining yet 
 to warble their sweet songs. 
 
 At the extreme end of this long alcove was a small build- 
 ing, which we would call a summer-house, covered with a 
 rich drapery of vines, a favorite retreat for the dwellers in 
 the castle when seeking retirement; and here we find Guy 
 and Maude, while the remainder were enjoying the (*ut-door 
 games common among the nobility. 
 
 Maude had brought her cithern, and entertained her com- 
 jianion with some of her favorite music. 
 
 ‘‘ Thy music is wondrous sweet, Maude,** said the young 
 esquire; “but, soothly, it seemeth to breathe the air of 
 heaven more than earth, I trow.** 
 
 “ In the abbey of St. Agnes there lacketh not time for 
 thought ; and many a quiet hour in the lonely cloister, or 
 under the shade of the grand old trees, there come solemn 
 dreams of the secrets of another world : there be much to 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 47 
 
 bewilder, Guy, when alone with our strange fancies, and 
 naught to answer tlie questions of our own spirits.” 
 
 “Thou needest not puzzle thyseF about hard things, 
 Maude ; the Church telleth all that we need.” 
 
 The young girl smiled, as she replied : 
 
 “ How little thou knowest, Guy, what deep thoughts lie 
 in some human hearts that would know more of God our 
 Father ! There be naught in our breviary that bringeth us 
 near to him ; and all that Father Ambrose or the prioress 
 of St. Agnes tell me only frighteth me ; for God cometh to 
 me always with a rod that punisheth, and that layeth upon 
 us sharp penances, or pointeth us to the fires of purgatory. 
 That is all that come from our teachers and our book ; but 
 when the flowers smile, and the happy birds sing, when 
 the trees bend with their fruits, and the ground teemeth 
 with food of all kinds, it seemeth, Guy, au^ it must be a 
 God that loveth us, who taketh such fatherly care of his 
 children; but, then, Guy, we seem not like these, for we be 
 sinners in so many ways. Oh ! Guy, how my heart won- 
 dereth I and there be none to answer these questions, that 
 kept me awake many a weary hour in the night season.” 
 
 “ Thou seemest ever a strange child, Maude, even when 
 a little demoiselle, sitting with thy brown eyes bent upon 
 the ground, and thy hands folded on thy lap, while thy sis- 
 ter Eveline sporteth like a merry lark.” 
 
 “Sometimes, Guy, in the chapel, there come such solemn 
 thoughts, as the names of brave knights and noble ladies pass 
 before me, — the dead who sleep there ; and visions come 
 of the long life that waiteth for us all when our short day 
 
48 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 on earth endeth. There be some, Guy, that reach not the 
 [Jrbs Beata. What an’ we should come short of the heav- 
 enly city ? ” 
 
 “Thou, Maude? Tut, tut, thou troublest thysel’ like 
 unto a sely demoiselle, methinketh Come; seest thou 
 that merry company? an’ thou joines'i; the sports out there 
 the vapors vanish, I trow.” 
 
 But the games under the elms quench not the aspirations 
 of Maude de Vere; for was she not one of the hidden 
 ones whom the Good Shepherd will find and bring home to 
 the green pastures of his grace? Surrounded by feudal 
 grandeur, where the things of this life engrossed every 
 thought, with no teaching but the priest and the breviary, 
 no worship but the showy ceremonial of the Romish Church, 
 leading away from Jesus, and planting the germinals of 
 positive error. Maude de Vere was, nevertheless, all uncon- 
 scious to herself, approaching a spiritual^ sisterhood, — that 
 great body of believers, who, in every age, have fought the 
 good fight of faith ; some in dens and caves of the earth, 
 some hidden in mountain fastnesses, some in the catacombs 
 of Rome, others even in dissolute courts, some immured in 
 convents, and Maude in a feudal castle in mediaeval days, 
 the instrument of light in the sacristy of Father Ambrose. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BEDE’s gospel of ST. JOHN. 
 
 VELINE is engrossed with female employments, music 
 
 and embroidery filling up her time; but Maude is 
 searching for higher things, consequently we find her dili- 
 gent in her attendance upon the services in the chapel, 
 and the most frequent at confession, for she knew of no 
 better way. 
 
 Always welcome at the sacristy, we will join her there one 
 day after confession. 
 
 Her attention is attracted toward a small book lying 
 upon the table in the friar's apartment. She lifted it up, 
 unclasped the volume, and turning to Father Ambrose an 
 eager face, said : 
 
 Whence cometh this holy book, father ? " 
 
 ‘‘ It hath been a long season hidden away, Maude." 
 
 “ The Gospel of St. John ! " said the young lady, as she 
 read the title. “ I wot that he is highly blessed who owneth 
 God's own book." 
 
 There be not many copies of the same, daughter ; only 
 a few owned by the priests of the Holy Church." 
 
 “ Who wrote this in English, father ? " 
 
 The venerable Bede, a holy monk that liveth in a mon- 
 
 49 
 
60 
 
 MALDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 astery at Durham, more than four hundred years agone, — 
 a monk of rare wisdom, who spendeth his days in study and 
 writing, and finisheth the holy book on the day of his death, 
 and as he writeth the last word he saith: ‘Glory be to the 
 Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,’ and then 
 he expireth.” 
 
 “What give I not, father, an’ I might read the holy 
 Gospel.” 
 
 “ Thou couldst not know it, Maude ; the book contained' 
 words too hard for womankind.” 
 
 “ I pray thee, holy father, an’ thou lendest it to me, thoi 
 hast furmety and pottage and good ale to thy heart’s con 
 tent ; an’ thou wilt ? ” 
 
 These were tempting bribes to the friar, who replied: 
 
 “ I trow it harmeth thee not, daughter; thou likest strange 
 things for a young demoiselle, but thou mayest take it foi 
 \ season." 
 
 “Thanks, father; the Holy Virgin bless thee for thy 
 »x)odness.” 
 
 Maude hastened away with her treasure ; and now where 
 should she read it undisturbed? 
 
 There was no light in her sleeping closet, no quiet corner 
 in the room where the Lady Jaqueline sat daily with her 
 damsels at their embroidery ; but she thought of the little 
 room far away in the highest part of a turret, used in times 
 of siege as a lookout for a sentinel, and thither she hastened. 
 
 It was a small room, un carpeted, of course, but well 
 lighted ; but there were rude accommodations in the fire* 
 place for heating it in winter. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 61 
 
 ** A fitting place ! thought Maude, as she stood a 
 moment at the casement, looking out upon tne lovely 
 landscape. 
 
 So very high, it commanded a view of the country around 
 for many miles, large tracts of which were covered with 
 grand forests, the homes of the Saxon gentry, and the huts 
 of the peasants dotting the landscape, while the river, which 
 bounded the castle on the east, wound its gentle way through 
 a lovely region of country, 
 
 “ Anigh to heaven,” thought Maude, as she looked up at 
 the calm blue sky; “so far from the din of vanity and 
 lightness below.” 
 
 Drawing up a rude table and an equally rude seat, she 
 placed herself near the open window, for it was not yet cool 
 enough to close the casement. 
 
 The book was bound in dark-brown leather, very simple 
 in workmanship, and clasped with two small clasps of com- 
 mon metal washed with silver, the leaves of vellum, written 
 in a clear, small hand ; it was legible to one accustomed to 
 read only black letter. 
 
 ‘ Stops it had none, except a full stop here and there, with 
 no capitals, only occasionally a letter in red ink. 
 
 On the front page was a badly-drawn and gaudily-colored 
 illumination of the Virgin and Child. 
 
 Maude de Vere was deeply reverential, and with very 
 solemn feelings she opened the sacred volume. Glancing 
 her eye eagerly over the pages, she found that much of it 
 was a revelation from the Lord himself. 
 
 Bowing at the table, she cross^vl herself, and addressed a 
 
52 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 prayer to the Virgin ; but that did not express the language 
 of her heart. 
 
 “Lord Jesus, teach thou me!” burst from her lips, as, 
 with clasped hands, she raised her eyes to heaven. 
 
 Strange things were in the book, such as she had never 
 read before. 
 
 The Romish breviary was the only book that, as a guide 
 to heaven, Maude de Vere had ever read. 
 
 “ Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” 
 
 Wondrous words 1 Why, Maude had been taught fear 
 only became a sinner in approaching God, who thus far 
 was known only as a stern, vindictive judge. 
 
 “ In my Father’s house are many mansions.” 
 
 “Precious name I Father! How can 1 make him 
 mine ? ” whispered the earnest reader. “ Many mansions ! 
 Oh ! can there be one for Maude de Vere? ” 
 
 Maude read on, wondering more and more ; for no prayer 
 to the Virgin, no invocation to the saints was there not a 
 word of penance, nor confession, nor the holy mass; and 
 she had been taught such a different way. But, then, was 
 it not the voice of the Church ? and was not the Church 
 commissioned from heaven? But suppose that they did 
 not speak alike ! were both infallible ? 
 
 How could that be? If the Church says one thing, and 
 God’s word another, which must be believed ? How could 
 the Church be wrong? Was it not the repository God’s 
 truth ? But how could the blessed apostles be wrong in 
 writing the very words of Christ ? This seemed solid rock. 
 At rue time she thought that nothing could contradict the 
 
Af A U I> E AND M I K I A M. 
 
 63 
 
 Churcii, and then that nothing could supersede the words 
 of God himself. 
 
 Maude concluded that she would read for herself, keep 
 close to God’s word, and pray for light. 
 
 I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh 
 unto the Father but by me.’’ Obedience to the Church, 
 humility, penance, works, but Christ never! — these were 
 all that she had ever been taught of the will of God. 
 
 All that she knew of the Lord Jesus were historical facts, 
 — tlie story of the nativity, the fasting in the wilderness, 
 the crucifixion, and the resurrectioii ; jiLiid whenever the 
 Saviour was present before her mental vision, it was as one 
 crowned with thorns, bleeding on Calvary, and then the 
 dread image of Christ in judgment. But these were all as 
 dramas! His offices, his blessed work as , the One Saviour y 
 without any other mediator of virgin, holy saint, or earthly 
 priest, of this she yet knew nothing ; but still she read, and 
 still she prayed., 
 
 ‘‘And whatsoever ye sliall ask in my name, that will I 
 do ; ” but not one word of whatever ye shall ask Saint Basil 
 or Saint Agnes, did that earnest reader see in all these holy 
 pages. 
 
 Maude’s heart was deeply stirred ; well described in the 
 
 # 
 
 account of the first creation, the same agent operating in 
 the second : 
 
 “And darkness was upon the face of the deep. 
 
 “And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the 
 waters.” 
 
 Chaos was troubled, moving, stirring ; but there is an 
 
64 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 hour in the history of every redeemed soul when God mya 
 Let there be light ! ” 
 
 This first reading wsls a hasty, eager glimpse of woiidcrs 
 that were all new to Maude ; and, bringing out her breviary, 
 she resolved to compare the two, taking subjects separately, 
 and placing them side by side with the Gospel. 
 
 Time flew by without her consciousness ; for there was a 
 knock at the door, and Wilfred d’Arcy presented him- 
 self. 
 
 ‘‘The Lady Jaqueline sendeth for thee, Lady Maude, 
 said the page. “ The damsels be assembled long time in 
 the ’broiderie room.” 
 
 “ Make my devoir to my good mother, Wilfred. I will be 
 there anon ; but I wish that I might tarry in this turret all 
 the live-long day, for I have blessed company.” 
 
 The page looked surj)rised at the young lady, wondering 
 at her words ; but he could well imagine that she entertained 
 the angels, for he had long regarded her as akin to those 
 blessed spirits. 
 
 The page tarried behind until the Lady Maude passed 
 out, and, as her light figure disappeared, he stooped to pick 
 up a flower that she had dropped from her girdle ; kissing 
 it reverently, he placed it away in the bosom of his doublet ; 
 for each day the page was yielding up his heart to the sweet 
 dreams of early youth,^ — dreams seldom realized. 
 
 Wilfred was not only an orphan, but literally alone in the 
 wide, wide w^orld : at a very early age, therefore, being the 
 son of a brother-in-arms, the good Baron of Ravenscliff had 
 brought him to the castle, and, as was the custom, during the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 6C 
 
 days of childhood, was entirely under the care and instnio 
 tion of the ladies. 
 
 There was much to admire in the youthful page, — per- 
 sonal attractions, gifts and graces especially pleasing to the 
 kidies, fondness for music, gallantry, and bravery; for 
 allliougli clothed in a slight, delicate frame, there was 
 much of the chivalric spirit in Wilfred d^Arcy. 
 
 Maude's tender heart was especially interested in the 
 orphan boy, and from the days of childhood he had been 
 surrounded by all those gentle influences which have such 
 power over those early days of romance. The Lady Maude 
 was therefore Wilfred's divinity, at whose shrine the enthu- 
 siastic page almost worshipped. 
 
 He had nearly passed through the discipline of the page, 
 and was almost ready for the second grade of chivalry. 
 
 But we will follow Maude to the 'broiderie room, where 
 we find her, with a deeply occupied mind, among the gay 
 young damsels, very silent and abstracted, for a new and 
 absorbing subject of interest engrossed her thoughts. 
 
 The Lady Jaqueline was aware that her thoughtful 
 daughter was very different from the gay and brilliant Eve- 
 line ; blit she knew not what it was that shaded the bright 
 young face, or why it was that Maude so frequently lay 
 down her embroidery needle, gazing into space with those 
 earnest dark-brown eyes. 
 
 “ Thy work lingereth, Maude," said the mother. “ Christ- 
 mas will be upon us ere it cometh from the frame." 
 
 “ I cry thee mercy, good mother," was the reply, as, with a 
 blushing face, Maude applied herself to her task. 
 
66 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Strangely alone was the young damsel in that crowd of 
 merry creatures busy over their work, while each contributed 
 h(ir lively sally or sprightly anecdote to enliven the hours 
 in the tapestry room. 
 
 \ Many proofs of their industry were hung all around the 
 walls, decorated richly with fine pieces of embroidery, many 
 of which were historical. 
 
 The Lady Jaqueline frequently turned her eyes upon 
 Maude ; seeing her continued listlessness, she said, kindly : 
 “Thou mayest take thy harp, Maude; for I wot that thy 
 mood favoreth sweet sounds to-day more than thy ’broiderie.” 
 Maude obeyed the summons, and, with a voice that 
 silenced every gay spirit, she sang : 
 
 “ Fierce was the wild billow 
 Dark was the night ; 
 
 Oars labored heavily, 
 
 Foam glimmered white ; 
 
 Mariners trembled — 
 
 Peril was nigh ; 
 
 Then said the God of God ; 
 
 ‘Peace ! it is I! ’ 
 
 “ Ridge of the mountain wave, 
 
 Lower thy crest I 
 Wail of the stormy wind, 
 
 Be thou at rest ! 
 
 Peril can none be. 
 
 Sorrow must fly, 
 
 Where saitli the Light of Light i 
 ‘Peace ! it is t !’ 
 
V 
 
 KAUDE AND MIRIAM. 67 
 
 ** Jesus, Deliverer! 
 
 Come Thou to me I 
 Soothe Thou my voyaging 
 Over life’s sea I 
 
 * Thou, when the storm of death 
 
 Roars, sweeping by, 
 
 Whisper, 0 Truth of Truth, ^ 
 
 ‘ Peace ! it is I ! * ” 
 
 “ How cometh it, Maude, that thou lovest these old 
 hyraus?’’ asked the Lady Jaqueline; “one looketh foi 
 such like music in the convents among the cloistered nuns, 
 and not among gay young demoiselles.” 
 
 Maude smiled, as she replied ; 
 
 “ We wot not how soon we be among the citizens of the 
 holy city, good mother, an’ it seemeth that we ought to be 
 in tune to join that blessed music.” 
 
 Seeking Father Ambrose after even song, Maude was full 
 of questions. 
 
 “ The book teacheth not like the breviary, father. Which 
 obeyeth good Christians?” 
 
 “The Holy Church is the expounder of Holy Writ, 
 daughter ; her true children listen to her voice only.” 
 
 “ But an’ she speaketh against God’s word, what then, 
 father ? ” 
 
 “The Lord Jesus saith, ^ Lo, I am with you alway, to 
 the end of the world.’ He speaketh those words to his 
 church, in which dwell eth the Spirit in all ages ; so that the 
 words spoken by the true Church be just as traly God’s as 
 
68 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 the words of the holy apostles, for the Holy Church nevei 
 goeth astray/’ 
 
 But it seemeth, father, that the apostles nearest to our 
 Lord know more of his blessed will.” 
 
 ‘‘Keep close to the Holy Church, Maude; that is God’s 
 only interpreter of Holy Writ.” 
 
 “I pray thee, father, tell me one thing: is this really 
 God’s own book?” 
 
 ‘ Just as truly as the sun shineth in the heavens, 
 daughter.” 
 
 “ Then it is sent to Maude de Vere as truly as to the 
 priests ; for an’ the sun shineth over the whole earth, the 
 Gosj^el shineth for all, too.” 
 
 The words of Father Ambrose quieted not the spirit of 
 Maude de Vere; for, written in the Lamb’s book of Hfe, it 
 had started on its journey to the heavenly city, and was in 
 I ruth one of those to whom the blessed promise belonged ; 
 “ I am with you alway.” 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE YULE LOG. 
 
 rpHE autumn months pass rapidly by. Maude is obliged 
 ^ to close the casement of her turret ; for the keen, sharp 
 winds of the last fall month whistle sometimes shrilly 
 around the high tower : but Wilfred is very watchful of the * 
 young demoiselle, and on the first indication of frost, has 
 seen that the fireplace is well provided with good logs 
 Owing to his care, she finds her Ijttle sanctum always com- 
 fortable, when she is ready to occupy her chair. She is 
 busily engaged now in copying the blessed Gospel ; for she 
 fears that Father Ambrose may recall it ; and Maude is not 
 only studying and copying the precious book, but is com- 
 mitting every word to memory. 
 
 “ Wouldst know what I am doing, Wilfred?” said the 
 young lady, one day, seeing him linger in the turret. 
 
 “ It seemeth passing strange how thou writes! so bravely, 
 hidy^” was the reply. 
 
 ‘‘ Thou wottest not what blessed words my pen traceth : 
 the words of our Lord, Wilfred ; for this is, in sooth, the Gos- 
 pel of St. John.” 
 
 Bending over the table, the page replied : 
 
 “ Thou writest brave letters, lady ; fair as the monks, I 
 ween. No other lady sayeth that, I trow.” 
 
 69 
 
60 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘‘ Wouldst like to read, Wilfred ? inquired the young 
 Bcribe. 
 
 The page turned his blue eyes upon the face of the 
 maiden, as he replied : 
 
 An’ thou wouldst teach me, lady, I would bless thee 
 more than tongue can tell.” 
 
 , ‘‘Then thou readest the true gospel, Wilfred,” she re- 
 plied; “and thou wouldst have blessed company in thy 
 lonely hours. Step in here every day, just one half hour, and 
 I will teach thee. Come, now ; let us have our first lesson.” 
 Maude brought out one of her first books, and the page 
 seated himself by her side. 
 
 Not accustomed to any mental effort, the children of our 
 day would have been surprised to see what a labor was this 
 first lesson for a youth of nineteen ; but Maude was patient, 
 and Wilfred persevering, and there was a charm in his 
 young teacher’s voice that insinuated its lessons slowly, but 
 surely, into the undisciplined mind of the student. The 
 lesson ended, Maude gave kind words of encouragement. 
 
 “ It seemeth not so hard, good Wilfred, after thou hast a 
 few more lessons ; but thou hadst better take the book and 
 study for thyself. But come daily, and thou readest the 
 Gospel for thyself ere many months.” 
 
 “ It, perhaps, is too much trouble, lady.” 
 
 ‘* Think not so, good Wilfred ; it is a pleasant task.” 
 
 A new light had dawned upon the path of the lonely 
 orphan, and it needed no second invitation ; for the page 
 was found daily by the side of his young teacher, who re- 
 warded his efforts by reading the Gospel to him after each 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 61 
 
 lesson, after which we find him seated by a porthole at the 
 end of the corridor, conning the task of the day. 
 
 Maude had found work in her turret, and, like a true dis- 
 ciple of the Lord, rejoiced to. tell what she knew of the 
 Master. Her own interest in the Gospel is daily on the in 
 crease, the sweet English poetess expressing all : 
 
 ‘‘And there is something in this book 
 That makes all care be gone ; 
 
 And yet I weep — I know not why — 
 
 As I go reading on!” 
 
 None in that old castle, save Wilfred, knew of the work so 
 diligently pursued in the lonely turret; but Maude had 
 companions, though she knew it not, — those angelic mes- 
 sengers, so deeply interested in man's redemption, and the 
 Holy Spirit, whose presence she had daily invoked since 
 she had read : 
 
 ‘‘And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I 
 do." 
 
 “ For," said Maude, “ there is no gift so precious as the 
 Holy Spirit, an' for that aboon all things I pray." 
 
 We leave Maude in her quiet turret at her holy employ- 
 ment, and descend awhile to the lower rooms of the keep. 
 
 Although the young esquires and pages pursue their mili- 
 tary exercises, as usual, in the tilt-yard, the sharp winds of 
 December oblige them to resort to in-door sports in tliat in- 
 clement season. 
 
 There are many in those old feudal times, especially in 
 the winter, wRen there is almost an uninterrupted round of 
 6 
 
62 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 jollity and feasting, commencing on Christmas Eve, and 
 ending on Twelfth Day. 
 
 Many of those old customs are doubtless derived from 
 pagan rites and ceremonies, retained after the conversion 
 of the Britons to Christianity ; the teachers finding it impos- 
 sible, at that early period, to wean them entirely from thes« 
 old superstitions. 
 
 Tliey were, therefore, engrafted upon the Christian cus- 
 toms to render the religion of the cross moie palatable. Of 
 such is the burning of the Yule Log and the hanging of the 
 mistletoe-bough, which may be traced, the one to the old 
 Druids, the other to the Scandinavians. 
 
 But Christmas Eve is here. It is a genuine winter ; for 
 there has been a fall of snow, and the ground is covered 
 with a white mantle. 
 
 The banqueting-hall is decorated with holly, bay, rose- 
 mary, and laurel ; the mistletoe-bough is hung on the ceil- 
 ing, and the old ceremony of bringing in the Yule Log has 
 commenced. 
 
 The huge chimney has been well swept, and the inhal .1- 
 ants of the keep are in waiting for the arrival of the Yuie. 
 
 We will join the company out of doors on this cold De- 
 cember night. 
 
 The retainers of the Baron of Eavenscliff* were out in 
 laige numbers; for well they knew that for two weeks the 
 castle would be open to all, and that a profuse hospitality 
 was always dispensed on this joyous occasion. There lies 
 the huge old Yule, a ponderous block, in its resting-place 
 at the feet of its brethren of the woods. 
 
MAdDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 63 
 
 Now begins the ceremony of drawing it to the castle. 
 A large number head the procession, who lay hold upon the 
 strong rope, and another band push the mammoth log from 
 behind. 
 
 Each wa} farer raises his hat and salutes it heartily as it 
 passes by ; for he knows that it is full of good promises, that 
 its flame would burn out old wrongs and heart-burnings, 
 and cause the liquor to bubble in the wassail bowl that was 
 quaffed to the drowning of ancient feuds. 
 
 On went the old log amid the shouts and cheers of the 
 outsiders ; and now it has reached the drawbridge ; and as 
 it passes in, the warder blows his horn from his tower, the 
 trumpets take up the welcome, and a crowd of the dwellers 
 in the old castle rush to the walls, cheering the old Yule as 
 it passed over the ballium ; the minstrels hail its arrival 
 with a hearty song as the log is borne into the hall and laid 
 upon the huge fireplace. A portion of last year’s log was 
 already there, and in a short time the flames roared up 
 the great chimney, lighting the immense hall, aided by 
 the huge Christmas candle called the Yule candle; large 
 torches, also, borne in ha^vds, making a perfect blaze of 
 light. 
 
 This is a period when distinctions in rank are all laid 
 aside, and the peasantry receive a hearty welcome from the 
 ladies of the castle. 
 
 A spirit of jollity inspired all the company; and there was 
 a burst of hearty laughter when the Lady Eveline found 
 herself obliged to pay the usual forfeit to a Saxon, who 
 arrested her footstej)S under the mistletoe- bough. Others fol- 
 
64 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 lowed her example; but there were some doubts as to the 
 unpremeditated character of the capture. 
 
 It was a season of uproarious revelry, and at the hospi- 
 table board many an old feud was buried forever over the 
 M assail bowl, as, decked with ribbons, it passed gayly around 
 among the guests, — none stopping to think that the revels 
 around future wassail bowls might engender other feuds, — 
 the temperance idea not yet having dawned upon the 
 world. 
 
 Many old games were participated in by the whole com- 
 pany; some, perhaps, which our children are accustomed to 
 enjoy in mor^ modern days, for, if we are not mistaken, the 
 game of “ blind-man Vbuff’’ is as old as the feudal castles. 
 
 “The children are passing over the drawbridge,’^ said 
 Wilfred, to the company in the great hall. 
 
 Knowing what sweet carols they often sang, the crowd 
 inside took their stand within hearing of the little ones, 
 who by this tim.e were out in the darkness, only visible by 
 the light of the lanterns. 
 
 Very sweet and touching was the old carol that they 
 piped out for the baron and hi& family, accompanied by two 
 musical instruments well played ; the words having no 
 claim to literary merit, only to be admired for the sim- 
 plicity and melody of the ballad. 
 
 “And all the bells on earth shall ring 
 On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day ; 
 
 And all the bells on earth shall ring 
 On Christmas-day in the morning. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 66 
 
 *And all the angels in heaven shall sing 
 On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day ; 
 And all the angels in heaven shall sing 
 On Christmas-day in the morning. 
 
 “And all the souls on earth shall sing 
 On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day ; 
 And all the souls on earth shall sing 
 On Christmas-day in the morning. 
 
 “Then let us all rejoice amain 
 
 On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day 
 Then let us all rejoice amain 
 On Christmas-day in the morning.” 
 
 As soon as the carol was ended, the good baron head^l 
 ihe procession, and brought them into the great hall, carry- 
 ing a pine torch in one hand and a green bough in the other. 
 
 Many a bright glance and hearty laugh welcomed the 
 quaint little girlish figures bashfully gliding in, wrapped up 
 in mother’s large bonnet and shawl, that trailed upon the 
 ground; the boys equally droll beneath hats that covered 
 neck and shoulders, and coats that hung upon their little 
 frames like bags, and touching the shoetops, none brave 
 enough to encounter the winter winds in their scanty 
 clothing. 
 
 Leading the shy little things to the table, the baron 
 waited upon them himself, loading them with plenty of 
 Christmas cheer, and giving them a generous donation in 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 money; the children of Saxons and Normans mingling 
 freely together on Christmas Eve. 
 
 Out upon the ground before the castle they sang another 
 old carol, accompanying it this time with the ringing of 
 staffs of small bells, and then bade farewell. 
 
 “The good baron giveth us a jolly gooding,” said the 
 eldest boy. 
 
 “We’ll keep a merry feast on Twelfth Night,” said the 
 little girl who walked next to the speaker. 
 
 “ What hideth little Bess ? ” said another, pointing to a 
 very small child lingering in the rear. 
 
 “A gooding for gammer,” replied the child. “She is 
 too old to go to the castle ; an’ I ate not a crumb of my 
 Christmas cake.” 
 
 Singing their joyous carols, the children passed on tc visit 
 other mansions on their way home. Sweet Christmas carols ! 
 beautifully alluded to by quaint old Jeremy Taylor, when re- 
 ferring in his “Great Exemplar” to the Gloria in Excelsis, 
 or hymn sung by the angels over the plains of Bethlehem. 
 He says ; “ As soon as those blessed choristers had sung the 
 Christmas carol, and taught the church a hymn to put in 
 her offices forever on the anniversary of this festivity, the 
 angels returned into heaven.” 
 
 And so we find that the angels were the first who sang a 
 Christmas carol, more than eighteen hundred years ago. 
 
 The childish choristers had scarcely passed out, ere a 
 more noisy crew entered, — a company of mummers, who, 
 from time immemorial, had been in the habit of acting out 
 the time- honored legend of St. George and the di-agon. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 67 
 
 The actors were chiefly youug lads, in costume proper to the 
 allegorical characters which they represented, claiming ad- 
 mittance as St. George and his merry men. 
 
 After the grotesque drama had ended, they too claimed 
 their Christmas guerdon, in quaint, old rhymes hundreds 
 of years old. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, 
 
 Our story is ended; 
 
 Our money-box is commended. 
 
 Five or six shillings will not do us harm. 
 
 Silver, or copper, or gold, if you can.*' 
 
 There were many superstitions in those olden times, — 
 some coarse and offensive, — but the most beautiful is that 
 which represents a thorough prostration of the Prince of 
 Darkness as taking place, when it was said that no evil in* 
 fluence could be exerted upon mankind. 
 
 The cock is said t(» crow all night long, and by his vigi- 
 lance to keep off evil spirits. 
 
 It is beautifully expressed by Shakspeare in the play of 
 riamlet : 
 
 “ It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 
 Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
 
 This bird of dawning singeth aiU night long; 
 
 And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; 
 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm. 
 
 So hallowed and so gracious is the time." 
 
MAUDE AND M I K I A M. 
 
 m 
 
 A Delief still lingers in some quarters that at midnight 
 nn Christmas Eve the cattle in their stalls fall down on 
 their knees in adoration of the infant Saviour, as the older 
 legend re[)orts of those at Bethlehem on the night of the 
 nativity. 
 
 Bees, too, are said to sing in their hives at the same time. 
 All nature was thus supposed to rejoice in the birth of the 
 worhl’s Redeemer. 
 
 To us, the uproarious revelry of the olden times seems 
 but illy to- comport with the religious joy which ought to 
 fill the hearts of Christians at the recurrence of these sacred 
 anniversaries; but there were some things even then to be 
 commended ; for it was at that season thaf benevolence was 
 most abundant, old friendships renewed, old quarrels healed, 
 and charity evoked. 
 
 The poor and destitute shared the Christmas bounty ; 
 from the throne down through all classes contributing their 
 _ mite in keeping the festival that declareth peace on earth, 
 and good-will toward men.’’ 
 
 On this occasion, however, H^he joy at Ravenscliff was 
 somewhat lessened by the positive refusal of the Baron of 
 Hawksworth to join in their festivities ; for when such de- 
 nials came, they were received as renewed declarations of 
 enmity. 
 
 Still, as this untoward circumstance aflTected but a small 
 circle, Sir Walter Scott’s lines may well apply to the island 
 kingdom in the olden times. 
 
I 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAH. 69 
 
 ‘•England was merry England when 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 
 ’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale ; 
 
 *Twas Christmas told the merriest tale : 
 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 
 The poor man’? heart through half the year 
 
 /• 
 
ClxATlEK VI, 
 
 THE BRAVE DAYS OF OLD. 
 
 rPHOUGH a, time of unrestrained revelry, when all the 
 inhabitants of the castle were bent only upon present 
 enjoyment, Maude forsook not her turret, nor her book. 
 
 We find her daily, at the early morning hour, pondering 
 over the blessed volume, and drinking in, as at a pure foun- 
 tain, the water of life. As she learned more and more of 
 the spirituality of true religion, her worship in the chapel 
 assumed a different phase, thoug\i the forms appeared the 
 saihe. 
 
 When others offered adoration to the Virgin, or implored 
 the intercession of the saints, Maude’s spirit held commu- 
 nion with the Saviour of sinners ; for, obeying the call of 
 the Master himself, and sitting at his feet, she was learning 
 of him. 
 
 Wilfred the page is often found tarrying a few minutes 
 in the turret, deenly interested in the work of the Lady 
 Maude, and occasionally dropping a word about passing 
 events. 
 
 “ Didst wot of my visit to the grim Baron of Hawks- 
 worth ? ” said the youth. 
 
 “ When didst see the baron ? ” inquired Maude. 
 
 70 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 71 
 
 “But a fortnight syth the Lord of Ravenscliff sendeth 
 me with a generous summons to the Christmas keeping ; but 
 the denial seemeth not only discourteous as a knight, but 
 of ill omen as an enemy.’’ 
 
 “It grieveth me, Wilfred, sorely,” replied Maude; “for 
 .it speaketh of bad blood toward our good father; and he 
 deserve th it not.” 
 
 “ When an enemy refuseth the drowning of feuds in the 
 wassail bowl, at this season, it showeth dark, revengeful 
 plots in the secrets of the heart. Lady Maude.” 
 
 “ It grieveth me in two ways, Wilfred ; for it keepeth the 
 others away from Ravensclifi’at last, I trow.” 
 
 Wilfred is an earnest student, and now that he has actu- 
 ally read his first lesson without lielp, w^e find Maude re- 
 joicing over their mutual triumph. 
 
 “ Saidst I not so, good Wilfred, that thou wouldst soon 
 read the Gospel ? ” 
 
 “ These be very small words, lady ; not one have I read 
 yet in the book.” 
 
 Maude smiled, and, opening the Gospel, pointed to the 
 blessed words, which, slowdy, Wilfred read. 
 
 “I am — the way, — the truth, — and — the life : — 
 no man,” — and there he was obliged to stop, — “cometh 
 unto the Father, but by me,” continued Maude. “ Knowcst 
 thou what that meaneth, good Wilfred? It telleth us that 
 by Jesus only, and not by saints.^ and penances, and Avorks, 
 do we reach the heavenly city.” 
 
 “Blessed wilt thou be in that holy place, Lady Maude* 
 for thou art my guide all the way, I trow.” 
 
72 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Respectfully he took the little hand within his own, and 
 pressing a light kiss upon its surface, he passed out, leaving 
 Maude sitting thoughtfully by her table. 
 
 She regarded the lonely page with the tender affection 
 nf a sister, and this sudden outburst on his part had dis- 
 turbed the quiet nature of their intercourse. And on his own 
 part, we find him seated by his little loophole in the corri- 
 dor, looking out upon the winter landscape, thinking of the 
 fair young damsel in the turret, and of the time when Guy 
 should bear away the prize ; for he had read truly the na- 
 ture of the tie that bound the two. No woman’s heart 
 throbbed with the interest of kindred for the page, — neither 
 mother, sister, nor aunt claimed him as their own ; for all 
 slept quietly under the green sod of the valley. 
 
 The wintry winds moaned sadly through the long corri- 
 dor, and their melancholy music was in harmony with Wil- 
 fred’s spirit ; for he had learned of late how hopelessly he 
 loved the Lady Maude de Vere. 
 
 The customs of those days, though coarse and unrefined, 
 were yet marked by a hearty hospitality ; for during these 
 holidays, the barons and knights kept open house for a fort- 
 night or more, when nothing was heard but jollity and 
 feasting. 
 
 The grand feast, however, given by the feudal chieftain 
 to his friends and retainers, took place with great pomp and 
 display on Christmas-day. 
 
 After the morning mass was said, the ladies were occupied 
 chiefly in preparing for dinner. 
 
 Very busy and eager were the youthful crowd assembled 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 73 
 
 in the Lady Jaqueline^s room to discuss the toilet of the 
 day, the lady of the caocie guiding their choice. The heavy 
 winter colors of crimson, rich green, and deep blue seemed 
 to win the day, and rich embroideries of gold or miniver for 
 trimmings. The general lack of intellectual culture might, 
 perhaps, excuse the all -engrossing love of female display 
 witnessed in that feudal castle ; but what shall we say of the 
 present devotion to the same vanities, where, in some ex- 
 treme cases, a style as grotesque as in those ancient days 
 prevails now ? 
 
 We fear that it must stamp woman as essentially vain 
 and frivolous in all ages of the world ; but this we know, 
 that where the heart is supremely fixed upon better things, 
 it is very easy to obey the apostolic rule concerning dress. 
 
 We will take our seat a moment, apart from the gay com- 
 pany, and study the picture. 
 
 There is a bright butterfly, marked by her blue eyes and 
 profusion of light hair, flitting around, sparkling, laughing, 
 and chattering with two or three others quite as merry as 
 lierself. 
 
 It shall be the rich green tunic and the rose-colored kir- 
 tle,’' said the young demoiselle; ‘‘for that becometh me 
 most.” 
 
 The other young ladies looked on with envious eyes at 
 the richly-embroidered suit, glittering with gold. But who 
 is that leaning on the table, near the Lady Jaqueline, lis- 
 tening so quietly to that lady’s directions ? 
 
 We admire the gay young creatures; but we turn again 
 to that sweetly thoughtful face, so manifestly “ in the world| 
 7 
 
74 
 
 MAUDE AND MIEIAM. 
 
 but not of the world ; ’’ for Maude de Vere is a citizen of 
 another, that is a heavenly, country. 
 
 “Just as thou sayest, mother mine,’’ said the young lady, 
 as she laid down the suit chosen by her mother. 
 
 The robing accomplished, there was the signal for dinner. 
 
 Heralded by a flourish of trumpets, and accompanied by 
 the strains of minstrels, the sewer entered the banqueting- 
 hall, carrying the great dish of the feast — the boar’s head — 
 on a salver of silver ; — for no meaner metal could answer, — 
 followed by a stately procession of nobles, knights, and la- 
 dies, the sewer singing : 
 
 “€aput, apri defero. 
 
 Reddens, laudes Domino. 
 
 The boar’s head in hand bring I, 
 
 With garlands gay, and rosemary; 
 
 I pray you all sing merrily, 
 
 Qui estis in convivio. 
 
 The boar’s head, I understand, 
 
 Is the chief service in this land; 
 
 Look wherever it be found, 
 
 Servite, cum cantico. 
 
 Be glad, both more and less ; 
 
 For this hath ordained our steward, 
 
 To cheer you all this Christmas — 
 
 The boar’s head and mustard ! 
 
 Caput, apri defero, 
 
 Reddens, laudes Domino.” 
 
 The brawner’s head was then placed upon the table with 
 Bolemn gravity. Sweet rosemary and bays were spread 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 76 
 
 around the dish ; in his great tusks a large pippin was placed 
 with sauce abundantly seasoned with mustard, the latter in- 
 dispensable. Then the guests and members of the house- 
 hold were seated according to their rank, those of the high- 
 est on the dais, over which were suspended the banners of 
 France and England ; fur two French knights, lately re- 
 turned from Palestine, were the most honored guests. A 
 number of seats were yet vacant, evidently reserved for la- 
 dies who were not present; for a very imposing part of the 
 ceremonies yet remained to be performed, — the placing of 
 the peacock upon the table. To prepare this bird for the 
 feast was no small task. Carefully stripped off, with the 
 plumage adhering, the bird was then roasted ; when done 
 and partially cooled, sewed up again in its feathers, its beak 
 being gilt before sent to the table. Sometimes the whole body 
 was covered with gold leaf, and a piece of cotton saturated 
 with spirits placed in its beak, and lighted before the carver 
 commenced operations. The bird was stuffed with spices 
 and sweet herbs, basted with yelks of eggs, and served with 
 plenty of rich gravy. 
 
 At tournaments, the bird was usually served in a pie, at 
 one end of which his plumed crest appeared above tl\e 
 crust, while at the other, his tail was unfolded in all its 
 glory. The noble bird was not served by common hands, 
 that privilege being reserved for the lady guests most dis- 
 tinguished by birth or beauty. On this occasion, the Lady 
 Geraldine de Courcy headed the procession, attired with a 
 magnificence becoming a princess of royal blood. To her, 
 as the queen of beauty, was appointed the honor of carrying 
 
76 
 
 HAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 the dish, to the sound of music, the rest of the ladies follow- 
 ing in due order, glittering with rich jewels. As the ladies 
 entered, the guests already seated arose, while the music 
 continued discoursing sweet sounds until the bearer of the 
 dish had set it down before the Knight of the Red Cross, 
 the most distinguished of the brave guests, and then all took 
 their appointed seats at the board. 
 
 It must have been in compliment to a guest that any lady 
 could have been said to excel in beauty and grace Maude 
 and Eveline de Vere, in their elegant apparel. Maude’s 
 intellectual and spiritual beauty, and Eveline’s brilliant and 
 fascinating appearance, certainly had no rivals around the 
 Christmas board; the blush of maiden modesty enhancing 
 the charms of each. But in those rude days female loveli- 
 ness did not draw off attention from the feast spread out 
 before the company. 
 
 But there were some remarkable guests scattered around 
 the room * for dogs were privileged characters, and we find 
 not a few under the table, near their masters’ feet, waiting 
 for their share of the feast ; for they were allowed to search 
 for the bones among the rushes, and none appeared to think 
 them intruders there. Think of dogs at a modern dinner- 
 party ! 
 
 Geese, capons, pheasants dressed with ambergris, and 
 pies of carps’ tongues, helped to furnish the table in bygone 
 Christmases ; but there was one national dish which was 
 held indispensable. This was furmety, concocted, according 
 to the most ancient formula extant, on this wise : 
 
 “Take clean wheat, and bray it in a mortar, that the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 77 
 
 hulls be all gone off, and seethe it till it burst, and take it 
 up and let it cool ; an 1 take clean, fresh broth, and sweet 
 railk of almonds, or sweet milk of kine, and temper it all, 
 and take the yelks of eggs. Boil it a little, and set it down, 
 and mess it forth with fat venison or fresh mutton.” 
 
 Furmety, sweetened with sugar, was a favorite dish of 
 itself ; the clean broth being omitted when a lord was to be 
 the partaker. 
 
 Mince-pies were indispensable, arid plum-porridge was al- 
 ways served with the first course of a Christmas dinner. It 
 was made by boiling beef or mutton with broth thickened 
 with brown bread. When half boiled, raisins, currants, 
 prunes, cloves, mace, and ginger were added, and, when all 
 was thoroughly boiled, sent to table with the best meats. 
 The friends of temperance will be grieved to read what a 
 carolist of the thirteenth century says about the liquor at 
 Christmas feasts; for his song certainly indicates great 
 license given to the dangerous appetite. 
 
 “ Lordlings, Christmas loves good drinking. 
 
 Wines of Gascoigne, Florence, Anjou ; 
 
 English ale that drives out thinking,— 
 
 Prince of liquors, old or new. 
 
 Every neighbor shares the bowl, 
 
 Drinks of spicy liquor deep; 
 
 Drinks his fill without control, 
 
 Till he drowns his care in sleep.” 
 
 The great baronial hall presented truly an exciting pict- 
 ure, heavily dressed with holly, bay, and laurel, the great 
 7 * 
 
78 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Yule log sending out its fiery glow over the guests, as it 
 roared up the spacious chimney, the monster Yule candle 
 in some consf)icuous place, the numerous torches giving out 
 their blaze of light. 
 
 We miss the magnificent curtains and gilt cornices of 
 modern days, — there being, however, hangings of tapestry 
 in their place. No Wilton carpets cover the floor; green 
 rushes being the substitute. The eye looks around in vain 
 for elegantly carved rosewood, or even more sober walnut ; 
 the nobles of those early days contenting themselves with 
 long and heavy oaken table^?> wdth seats rude enough in our 
 eyes. Height and space were perhaps the only features of 
 grandeur ; even comfort was seldom found in these old feu- 
 dal castles. 
 
 But there was splendor in the dresses of the guests : the 
 ladies and knights in glittering attire ; the shields of the 
 latter hanging upon the walls, and banners weaving over the 
 table. 
 
 At the lower tables there were crowds of the vassals of 
 the popular baron ; and the great hall, in all its length, re- 
 sounded with the inspiring music of the minstrels. Truly 
 this was a season of uproarious mirth and jollity ; to modern 
 ears coarse and sensual, indeed. 
 
 The ladies retired ere the language and manners of such 
 a revel should offend their delicacy; for they could well 
 imagine what such license given to the appetite would be 
 likely to produce. Ere the revellers departed, one of the 
 Saxon gentry proposed the health of the Baron of Ra- 
 venscliff, and drank from the wassail bowl in deep liba- 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 79 
 
 tioiis, all pledging themselves to renewed devotion in the 
 service of their feudal lord. 
 
 In our times, Christmas day is shorn of its ancient exhibi- 
 tions of boisterous mirth and jollity. The mummers are no 
 more, the waits have vanished, the lord of misrule has de- 
 parted, and we should be sorry to see their heathenish 
 sports return ; but the sweet Christmas carols are so akin 
 to the angelic choristers on the plains of Judea, that we 
 would fain retain their gentle ministry. 
 
 Let us banish far away the heathenish customs, and re- 
 tain the Christian. The sweet family gatherings around 
 the Christmas board, the interchange of gifts of love, the 
 active deeds of benevolence which the season so beautifully 
 suggests, the dear memories of the past, the joyous hopes of 
 the future ; let us liave them all in their purity and blessed- 
 ness at least once a year, when reunited families can join in 
 singing : “ Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, 
 good-will toward men.” 
 
 The mind goes back to those old days, nearly seven hun- 
 dred years ago, tracing from our present standpoint the 
 centuries on the dial-plate of time, — the centuries of de- 
 generacy and crime, of wickedness and darkness, — on to 
 the blessed days that are coming ; and here it seems as if 
 every Christian heart can echo the grand sentiments in 
 Tennyson’s beautiful ‘‘Ode to the Old Year.” 
 
 ‘‘Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
 
 The flying cloud, the frosty light, 
 
 The year is dying in the night; 
 
 Bing out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
80 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow, 
 
 The year is going, let him go ; 
 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true 
 
 ‘Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
 
 For those that here we see no more; 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor. 
 
 Ring in redress to all mankind 
 
 “Ring out a slowly -dying cause, 
 
 And ancient forms of party strife; 
 
 Ring in the nobler modes of life. 
 
 With sweeter manners, purer laws. 
 
 “Ring out the want, the care, the sin. 
 
 The faithless coldness of the times: 
 
 Ring out, ring out, my mournful rhymet- 
 But ring the fuller minstrel in. 
 
 “Ring out false pride in place and blood. 
 The civic slander and the spite ; 
 
 Ring in the love of truth and right; 
 Ring in the common love of good. 
 
 “Ring out old shapes of foul disease ; 
 
 Ring out the narrow lust for gold; 
 
 Ring out the thousand wars of old ; 
 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
 ‘Ring in the valiant man, and free. 
 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
 
 Ring out the darkness of the land; 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to bet*’ 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MAUDE IN THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 “ Give me the book : oh, let me read I 
 My soul is strangely stirred; 
 
 They are such words of love and truth 
 As ne’er before I heard.” 
 
 rriHESE beautiful lines of sweet Mary Howitt express, in 
 the most touching manner, Maude’s emotions in the 
 turret, where she has commenced a deep and earnest study 
 of the blessed Gospel. On bended knees before her little 
 table, we behold the young girl, with heart raised up to 
 heaven for light upon the sacred volume. 
 
 She has reached the remarkable conversation between the 
 Lord Jesus and Nicoderaus, and truly is she filled with 
 wonder. 
 
 Maude has had no other idea heretofore of the doctrines 
 of our common faith than those derived from the Romish 
 Church, in which she has been taught that by contact with 
 the ordinances of Christianity she has been made a Chris- 
 tian, and that, in some mysterious manner, she has really 
 eaten the body and blood ^f our Lord, and is thus incorpo- 
 rated into his church. 
 
 F 
 
 81 
 
82 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 But what meaneth all this teaching of our Lord ? “ Ex- 
 
 cept a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of 
 God.” Nicodemus seemed as much in the dark as Maude ; 
 for his questions expressed her own doubts. 
 
 ‘‘ How can a man be born again when he is old ? ” 
 
 “What meaneth the Saviour’s answer?” questioned 
 Maude. 
 
 “ Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he 
 cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” 
 
 She thinks she comprehends the former clause to allude 
 to baptism ; but what meaneth the second condition, “ born 
 of the Spirit ” ? It must mean something that taketh place 
 within. And “ what meaneth the kingdom of God ? Doth 
 it point to the kingdom of heaven above, or to the church * 
 of Christ on earth ? ” She thinks the latter ; for none can 
 become a member of Christ’s visible church on earth but 
 by his own method, and that is by baptism. “ But, then,” 
 Maude continues, “a man may, by baptism, be a member 
 of Christ’s church who may not be born of the Spirit ; ” for 
 her own consciousness declares the fact. 
 
 This old feudal castle is filled with members of the 
 church on earth whose lives certainly do not correspond 
 with that description. 
 
 She reads slowly on : 
 
 “ That which is born of the flesh is flesh ; and that which 
 is born of the Spirit is spirit. 
 
 “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born 
 again. 
 
 “ The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 83 
 
 sound thereol‘, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and 
 whitlier it goeth : so is every one that is born of the Spirit/’ 
 
 Maude laid down her book, and, with a soul that sympa- 
 thized truly with Nicodemus, said : ‘‘ How can these things 
 be?” » So new, so strange, seemed this spiritual doctrine! 
 And yet, in the depths of her heart, Maude felt how true. 
 Clasping her hands in the earnestness of prayerful feeling, 
 she read, with joyful trust: 
 
 “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, 
 even so must the Son of man be lifted up : 
 
 “That whosoever belie veth in him should not perish, but 
 have eternal life.” 
 
 “ I have found the key,” thought Maude ; “ faith unlock- 
 eth the mystery, — faith in the Son of God, faith in the 
 Son of man ! Precious \vords ! ‘ Whosoever believeth.’ 
 
 Maude de Vere belie veth, and, humble as she be, she hath 
 eternal life.” 
 
 Tears rained over the sweet young face, as she continued 
 to read : 
 
 “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only-be- 
 gotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not per- 
 ish, but have everlasting life.” 
 
 The head so deeply bowed, the hands so fervently clasped, 
 were mute expressions of the grasp of faith with which she 
 clung to these blessed promises. 
 
 “ Whosoever ! whosoever ! ” murmured Maude. “ Oh, the 
 depth of love 1 How is it that I have lived so long, and 
 never known the blessedness of the love of God? Can 
 Father Ambrose know it? An’ he did, would he lay pen- 
 
84 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ances upon sinful souls ? An’ he knew it, could he shut the 
 good news up in his own heart ? ” 
 
 Maude remembered the early teachings of the sacristy, 
 where God was made known to her as a hard judge, to be 
 appeased only by fasts and penances and outward services 
 of will worship, by invocations to the saints and to the Vir- 
 gin ; while Jesus, the Son of the Gospel, sat on a distant 
 throne of the universe, enveloped in clouds of superstition 
 which hid his blessed face ; for he shone not for Maude de 
 Vere. She remembered, too, the horrible pictures of purga- 
 tory, where unhappy souls were represented as writhing in 
 every form of torture which the malice of devils could in- 
 vent ; for many a night she lay awake wondering how much 
 of , this anguish she might, perhaps, endure in that gehenna 
 of the Romish Church. 
 
 But now it was all so different ; for Maude began to feel 
 that a heavenly Father smiled ou her when he looked upon 
 her as a believer in his dear Son. 
 
 It was a cold, sharp day ; but ere she left the turret, she 
 opened the casement to look upward to the wintry sky, and 
 to think of the pathway to the heavenly city, where angels 
 were ascending and descending upon the Son of man. The 
 eye of faith for a brief moment pierced beyond those earthly 
 vapors, and entered that within the veil. 
 
 Maude remembered the conduct of Andrew, who, as soon 
 as he had found the Lord, sought out his brother Simon, to 
 tell the good news, and to bring him to Jesus. 
 
 Philip, too, as soon as he had found the Messias, sought 
 for Nathaniel, to publish the glad tidings. 
 
MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 8 ^ 
 
 “ Are there no Andrews, no Simons, no Philips, no Na- 
 thaniels here ? ’’ questioned Maude, in her new-born interest. 
 The inquiry sank deep into the young heart, as she turned 
 away to join the family circle. 
 
 But ere Maude left the turret she locked up in a small 
 closet Father Ambrose’s copy of the Gospel and her own 
 manuscript, just completed. 
 
 Next day she was surprised by a knock at the door of 
 her sanctum, and, opening it, her brother Lancelot stood 
 before her. 
 
 ‘‘ How didst find me, brother mine ? ” inquired the young 
 demoiselle. 
 
 “ I was thrown from my horse to-day, Maude, in the tilt- 
 ing-yard, and I need thy skilful hand to bind up the wound. 
 Thou thinkest that I wot not of thy little turret, Maude ; 
 but thy footsteps be all known to thy brother.” 
 
 Uncovering his right arm, a deep gash was disclosed, just 
 above the elbow, and a modern young lady would have 
 been surprised to see with what coolness Maude examined 
 the wound, and staunched the blood with her .pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. Sounding her silver whistle, she soon summoned 
 the page, who was always within hearing at this hour of the 
 day. 
 
 “ Hasten, Wilfred, to the surgeon's room, and bring me a 
 basin of cool water, some lint and bandages, and a small in- 
 strument to remove the pieces of stone in my brother’s wound ; 
 but be speedy ; ” — for the slight bandage being insufficient, 
 the wound was bleeding freely. Very bravely and tenderly 
 
 did the young operator remove the irritating matter from the 
 
 8 
 
86 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 wound, staunch it in cool water, and applying lint and baud 
 aging it skilfully, she kissed her brother fondly, saying : 
 
 “ Art comfortable, Lancelot ? ” 
 
 ^ Thou art a skilful leech, Maude ; thy fingers be so soft 
 and thy touch so gentle, that I scarcely felt the pain of re- 
 moving the little stones.*’ 
 
 When relieved, Lancelot looked around the room, saying : 
 “ What bringeth thee here daily, Maude ? Thou seemest 
 strangely unlike the young demoiselles below.” 
 
 The sister smiled, as she replied : 
 
 Thou knowest not, brother mine, what blessed company 
 meeteth me in this lonely turret.” 
 
 “ Doth our mother, the Lady Jaqueline, know aught of 
 such secret company, Maude,” said her brother, seriously 
 “ Methinketh it becometh not a young demoiselle to hide 
 aught from our good mother.” 
 
 “ Thou knowest not, Lancelot ; but I will show thee,” and^ 
 opening a closet, Maude brought out her precious books. 
 
 ‘‘ The Gospel of St. John ! ” said her brother, in great sur- 
 prise. “ And this ? ” (opening the other,) be this truly thy 
 work, Maude ? ” 
 
 “The work of many weeks, Lancelot; but blessed and 
 holy hath been the task.” 
 
 “ Thou seemest a feat scribe, Maude. Why, thy work is 
 fairer than the monk’s. But where didst thou get the holy 
 Gospel?” 
 
 “ I hired it from Father Ambrose, Lancelot.” 
 
 “ How didst thou manage that ? ” 
 
 “ The friar favoreth thy sister, Lancelot,” said Maud^ 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 87 
 
 smiling; ‘‘and the promise of furmety, pottage, and good 
 ale hath bought the priest.’’ 
 
 “What dost thou want with the monks’ book, Maude?” 
 “The monks’ book, Lancelot! How cometh it to be 
 theirs ? The sun shineth for all, brother mine ; the flowers 
 bloom for all. Thinkest thou that the Father’s book cometh 
 down only for the monks ? ” 
 
 “ Thou knowest it not, Maude ; thou hast not the learning 
 of Holy Church. Leave the book where she hath put it.” 
 “ Thou wottest not, Lancelot, the riches hidden in the 
 blessed book, or thou sayest not such foolish words.” 
 
 “ What hast thou learned, Maude? ” 
 
 “ I wot, Lancelot, that we need not human learning to 
 read that book ; for the Spirit be promised to all who seek 
 it. And I wot too that there be but one way to the heavenly 
 city, and the Gospel telleth that it be a straight and narrow 
 way ; for there be but one Saviour, the Lord Jesus, and not 
 a great multitude, as the friar teacheth us. It is a short way, 
 when the eye seeth Jesus only. The Spirit leadeth us all 
 the way ; the angels watch us, and that be the company that 
 rneeteth me in the lonely turret.” 
 
 “ Truly thou talkest riddles, Maude ! ” 
 
 “ Would that thou knewest, brother mine, something of 
 the peace that even the little glimpse that visiteth me here 
 hath brought to thy sister Maude.” 
 
 “ Thou hast wrought a wondrous work, Maude, in copy- 
 ing out all this Gospel.” 
 
 “It hath been a blessed work, and to-morrow I write 
 another.” 
 
88 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 What needest thou with so many, Maude ? ” 
 
 “ The good tidings must not be shut up in my own bosom^ 
 Lancelot ; for I read that when Andrew findeth the Lord, 
 he seeketh to bring his brother to Jesus ; and thou art mine, 
 Lancelot. I know not yet who shall own these copies ; but 
 I will not be idle, and the Lord showeth me where to be- 
 stow them.^^ 
 
 “ It seemeth strange, Maude, that thou shouldst be so dif- 
 ferent from the demoiselles below, who delight only in light 
 and airy things.” 
 
 Lancelot pressed a brother’s kiss upon the cheek of his 
 fair sister, as he turned to leave the room. 
 
 “ Thou art a blessed sister, Maude. I hear Father Am- 
 brose talk of the long list of saints who guard us on our 
 way; but thou art mine, fair sister. ' 
 
 Maude led her brother to the open casement. 
 
 ‘‘ Seest how the flood of sunlight shineth all over Ravens- 
 clifl*, Lancelot? but it passeth not by the home of Hengist 
 the Saxon, nor the hut of poor Elswitha. See how it lighteth 
 up the clump of trees on the right : there dwell some of the 
 rudest and poorest of the Saxon hinds, but the sun passeth 
 none by ; and so methinketk is the way of our Father with 
 his own book. But stop awhile longer, Lancelot : w^uldest 
 like to hear one of our sweet hymns ? ” 
 
 Maude brought out her cithern, and sang with deep pathosi 
 the “ dulcis memoria ” of St. Bernard : 
 
 “Jesu! the very thought of Thee 
 With sweetness fills my breast; 
 
 But sweeter far Thy face to see, 
 
 ^ And in Thy presence rest. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 89 
 
 “Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame. 
 
 Nor can the memory find, 
 
 A sweeter sound than Thy blest name, 
 
 0 Saviour of mankind I 
 
 “O Hope of every contrite heart! 
 
 0 Joy of all the meek ! 
 
 To those who fall, how kind Thou art 
 How good to those who seek! 
 
 But what to those who find ? Ah ! thi# 
 
 Nor tongue nor pen can show; 
 
 The love of Jesus, what it is, 
 
 None but His loved ones know. 
 
 ‘<Jesu! our only joy be Thou, 
 
 As Thou our prize shalt be; 
 
 Jesu! be Thou our glory now 
 And through eternity.” 
 
 Lancelot listened to the sweet voice singing this sacred 
 hymn with such heart-felt tenderness, and perceived that 
 something lay hidden in that young heart of which he knew 
 nothing. 
 
 ‘‘That hymn seemeth addressed to a friend, beloved 
 Maude ; and the Lord Jesus seemeth to me only the Saviour 
 crowned with thorns on the qrucifix in the chapel, but very 
 far away from sinful mortals.” 
 
 “ The Gospel teacheth me that he is not much offended, 
 an’ we draw anigh enough to touch the very hem of his gar- 
 ment, brother.” 
 
 Lancelot had much food for thought after this visit to his 
 sister’s turret. 
 
90 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 There had been another listener in the corridor, for, with 
 arms folded and head bowed down, Wilfred had stood near 
 the door, drinking in the melody of the lovely voice. 
 
 ‘‘ A bird to sing in Guy de Mowbray’s bower,” sighed the 
 page ; ‘‘ Heaven bless them both ! ” 
 
 As the light of the pure gospel dawned upon Maude, 
 most singular changes took place in her worship in the 
 chapel, which was still to her the church of God upon 
 earth. She knew naught of Protestantism nor the Reforma- 
 tion, for they were things unknown as yet in those dark 
 ages ; but the matin hour and the time of even-song brought 
 her into sweet communion with her Saviour, even in this 
 Romish chapel of mediaeval days, for there she took with 
 her the simple truths learned in the turret from Bede’s pure 
 Gospel. 
 
 The mass was now, unconsciously to her, the memorial of 
 the last Supper ; the music wafted her spirit to heaven ; and 
 even the hour of confession was a solemn interview with 
 Jesus, the Great Mediator, — the words of that office, however, 
 beginning to grate upon her ear. Contact with the pure 
 word of God, like leaven hidden in the meal, was per 
 meating Maude’s spiritual nature, entirely unconscious that 
 m the rich Proven9al plains, in the middle of the century 
 in which she lived, the seed which in centuries after pro- 
 duced the Reformation was germinating among the ancient 
 Vaudois. 
 
 As early as 1124, Peter of Bruys, Henry, and Arnold of 
 Brescia, carried the torches which they had lighted at the 
 pure altar of the Piedmontese from these obscure valleys 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 91 
 
 into tlie Proveu9al territories. All of those honored names 
 are yet preserved among the lists of the noble army of 
 martyrs who sealed their faith with their blood. The first 
 discovered congregation of this kind was at Orleans, in 
 France, where were found several of the regular clergy, 
 and a number of the most respectable citizens, holding the 
 new faith. ^ 
 
 A council was convened, wdiich, after having tried in vain 
 to reclaim the wanderers, resorted to the final argument ot* 
 Eome, and burned them all at the stake. But Maude knew 
 naught of those ancient martyrs, much less that in essential 
 points her own simple faith w^as gradually approaching 
 theirs, for in all ages this is the road by which we reach the 
 Urbs Beata. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE TROUBADOURS, 
 
 HE winter is deepening, storms are frequent ; and it ia 
 
 hard to keep warm in this old castle, with its high ceil- 
 ings, its spacious passages, its uncarpeted floors, and uncur- 
 tained casements. The sports are all within doors, and the 
 ladies’ fingers fly more merrily over their tapestry frames 
 than in warmer weather. 
 
 It is the twenty-second of January, and we find the gay 
 young damsels chatting in a lively manner over the spells 
 of St. Agnes’s Eve on the night before. It was an old custom 
 for young girls to take a row of pins, and, picking them out 
 one by one, to stick them slowly in their sleeves, singing a 
 pater-noster after each one, thus insuring that her dreams 
 should present the person who was to be her life companion. 
 
 Eveline and Gertrude Ellerton are whispering together 
 over the success of their charm. 
 
 “It is sure to bring the future lord,” said the Lady 
 Jaqueline; “for the Baron of Ravenscliff*, in my dream, 
 presented me a rose on two successive eves of the holy 
 saint.” 
 
 The lady of the castle is embroidering a rich piece of 
 tapestry for the abbey of St. Hilary, and a rare specimen of 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 93 
 
 work it is, representing the scenes on the plains of Judea, 
 when the heavenly host sang their Gloria in Excelsis 
 Many of these ancient pieces are still preserved, representing 
 historical events. 
 
 A guerdon for thy dreams, Maude!*’ said her sister. 
 
 ‘‘ Thou wouldst care naught to hear it, sister mine,” said 
 the young lady, with a smile ; for I dreamed only of mak- 
 ing furmety for Father Ambrose.” 
 
 “Didst not remember St. Agnes’s Eve, Maude?” said 
 Eveline. 
 
 “ I must own that I passed by the holy eve without even 
 thinking of the charm.” 
 
 “ Thou shouldst have stayed at the priory, Maude.” 
 
 The wind is howling fiercely thrmigh the passages and 
 around the loose casements of the keep, and there is every 
 indication of a storm. Hail, sleet, and snow are beating in 
 through the cracks, for there are many under the doors and 
 along the linings of the casements ; and the wind is blowing 
 the tapestry that hangs upon the walls in quite a rough man- 
 ner, the breeze that sets it in motion fanning the cheeks of 
 the shivering occupants. The huge logs are piled upon the 
 rude fire-dogs in the immense chimney-place, and the ladies, 
 whose fingers are becoming benumbed, have added warm 
 mantles to their winter attire, and have gathered around the 
 roaring fire, where favorite dogs have settled themselves, 
 privileged guests everywhere. The servants, too, are hover- 
 ing around the kitchen fire, preparing the evening meal ; 
 great logs blazed in the fireplaces, two of which were now 
 
94 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. \ 
 
 in use; but in times of great feasts, all four roared and 
 crackled, makijig an intense furnace heat. 
 
 Old Kaoul flew about in a tunic of heavy serge, with 
 bare arms and legs, giving orders to bis under-cooks. 
 
 “ Dost see that furmety, Leolf? ” said the master; “ I trow 
 that it be not fit for a dog an’ thou slackenest not the fire 
 in a trice.’ Turning to another, who was attending to the 
 chine of beef, he exclaimed : 
 
 “ Ho there, Hugh ! shift that spit, you varlet, or I ’ll lay 
 this besom upon thy back, and wallop thee well. I wonder 
 if Job had a like set of dumb hounds to deal with.” 
 
 Just then the fury of the storm seemed redoubled, but 
 above the din the warder’s horn gave a loud, quick blast, 
 answering a bugle at the drawbridge. 
 
 “ Dost hear the call at the portcullis? ” said Raoul. “ Be- 
 shrew me ! if old Robin liketh to turn out in such a night. 
 Sancta Maria have mercy on the travellers ! ” 
 
 The company in the ’broiderie room are startled too by 
 the long sharp call ; and Sir Reginald, throwing 6n a cloak 
 of heavy cloth, and a fur-lined cap, hurried out to meet^the 
 travellers. 
 
 The wind was blowing almost a hurricane through the lower 
 passages, which, on being opened, admitted snow, and hail, 
 and sleet, beating fiercely against the face. 
 
 “ Bring lanterns quickly ! ” said the baron to a number 
 of serving-men, who were by this time gathered in the 
 passage. 
 
 By the light of the lanterns, a company of troubadcura 
 was soon revealed advancing slowly over the ballium. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 96 
 
 They were four, iu the costume of those days, carrying 
 their instruments upon their backs, but drenched to the 
 skin. 
 
 “Here, Aulaff! here, Leolf! take the harps from the min- 
 strels ; they be well-nigh beaten to death, I trow.” 
 
 Leading them up the great staircase, the weather-beaten 
 minstrels found themselves in the presence of the ladies of 
 the castle. 
 
 “ The Holy Virgin be praised ! ” said the elder. “ Cer- 
 tes, we had no thought of finding a shelter on this dark 
 night, for the air seemeth filled with fierce spirits, I trow.” 
 
 “Lead the travellers to thy room, Lancelot,” said the 
 baron. “ See that they hav ^ dry garments, and then meet 
 us at the supper-table.” 
 
 Refreshed by the hospitality ot the young esquire, they 
 joined the company at the table, strongly impressed by the 
 change which a few hours had made in their condition. 
 
 “ Whence comest thou ? ” said the baron, addressing the 
 elvler minstrel. 
 
 “ From Palestine,” was the reply ; “ where we have seen 
 the foul Paynim pollute the sacred cross.” 
 
 “ Wert thou in the holy city at that time? ” inquired the 
 baron. 
 
 “We were among the number that joined the procession 
 as it marched out of the city ; and a woful sight it was to 
 the blessed company of shining saints that watched over the 
 holy city. There were many tokens of ill luck,” continued 
 the speaker; “birds of ill omen flying over the holy city 
 
96 
 
 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 for ^eveii days, and balls of fire shooting across the heaveni 
 at midnight, with many other strange sights and sounds.” 
 
 A younger minstrel spoke: 
 
 ‘‘ I shall never forget the sad procession that marched 
 around Jerusalem the night before the remainder of the 
 army set out to join the crusaders at Sophoris ; the bells of 
 every church in the city thundering out the summons to the 
 procession.” 
 
 “ You had a weak and miserable king,” said Sir Regi- 
 nald, for such days.” 
 
 “ That is true, forsooth ! and we all felt the shame,” said 
 the elder minstrel. 
 
 Seated around the hospitable board, the weary travellers 
 mjoyed the good cheer above the salt-cellar. Burgundy and 
 Dther wines, with mead and ale, sharing the favor of the com- 
 pany ; below the silver barrier, blackjack alone circulated. 
 
 After pledging to the health of the ladies, the elder 
 minstrel asked permission to retire. The grace-cup was ac- 
 cordingly served around, and the guests, after making deep 
 obeisance to the baron and the ladies of the household, 
 were marshalled to their sleeping apartments by the steward 
 and cupbearer, each attended by a torchbearer and a ser- 
 vant ; a tray of refreshments and the midnight-bowl being 
 left in the rooms of those of noble birth. 
 
 The storm still raged without, but the travellers in their 
 little rooms experienced all the comfort of a speedy and 
 unexpected transition from a pelting storm in deep dark- 
 ness to security and repose : reciting seven pater-nosters, the 
 troubadours were soon asleep. 
 
 The next day we find them in the ’broidene room, enter* 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 97 
 
 taining the ladies with their music, — two harps and two lutefe 
 with their rich voices making charming melody. As was the 
 custom, they sang a ballad ot those stirring days, relating 
 what had just transpired under their own eyes, calling it 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 
 
 A lay, a lay, good pilgrims. 
 
 Which shall stir the sluggish blood, 
 
 While I sing in solemn cadence 
 Of the judgment of our God 
 
 There was a noble castle 
 
 Near the ancient town of Lewec, 
 
 Looking down in stately grandeur 
 On the valley of the Ouse. 
 
 There lived in Norman greatnesw, 
 
 With daughter fair and bright, 
 
 Sir Julian de Warrenn, 
 
 A good and noble knight. 
 
 The lovely Lady Edith, 
 
 Betrothed true was she 
 To a brave and gallant noble, 
 
 Rainald de Hellingley. 
 
 A cousin, mean and craven, — 
 
 Sir William was his name, — 
 
 Bent on his rival’s murder, 
 
 , To slay the bridegroom came. 
 
 Another joined the traitor, 
 
 The bloody deed to aid, — 
 
 Sir Roger de Chatillon, 
 
 Half eager, haif afraid. 
 
^8 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 But their malice was defeated ; 
 
 And the knight, though long delayed. 
 Wedded the Lady Edith; 
 
 And the two were happy made. 
 
 Saved by the hand of Heaven, 
 
 The knight had made a vow 
 To take the cross for two whole years : 
 What saith the lady now ? 
 
 Where ’er thou goest, my husband, 
 
 I suffer all with thee ; 
 
 Now Hea'«^en forbid that aught but deall^ 
 Should sever thee and me.” 
 
 ******* 
 
 They are with the bold crusaders ; 
 
 Their foes are with them, too ; 
 
 Sir William and Sir Roger, 
 
 To their sworn vengeance true 
 
 With lies and wicked perjury, 
 
 They scanned the marriage laws ; 
 
 And by their diabolic acts 
 Made theirs the better cause. 
 
 A holy bishop was entrapped. 
 
 To aid their dark design ; 
 
 A sentence of divorce thus passed. 
 
 She to a cell consigned. 
 
 * * , * * * * 
 
 Sir Rainald’s solemn protest 
 The deep felt silence broke ; 
 
 And then with eyes upturned to Heavi!«, 
 The Lady Edith spoki. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 IP 
 
 ** My husband hath appealed to Rom« 
 
 But I appeal to Heaven, 
 
 Where I summon you, lord bishop ; 
 
 And may you be forgiven. 
 
 ‘I summon yc^ in sixty days 
 The righteous judge to meet ; 
 
 And you, Sir William Montacute/’ 
 
 (Who rose upon his feet;) 
 
 And you. Sir Roger, hear your doott 
 In sixty hours, both stand 
 
 To answer for this wickedness 
 Wrought by your evil hand.” 
 
 The Lady Edith to her cell 
 In the convent of St. Ann’s ; 
 
 And the sixty hours travelled on, 
 Counted by Time’s swift hands. 
 
 The sixty hours travelled on : 
 
 Naught but dishonored name 
 
 Is left ; for they are summoned henc^ 
 So swift the judgment came. 
 
 The holy bishop’s in the field. 
 
 Where the great cause is lost ; 
 
 Defending bravely to the last 
 The consecrated cross. 
 
 The holy .cross is trembling I ” 
 
 Shouted Sir Rainald now : 
 
 ^•To the rescue ” while the sweat-dropf 
 Stood on his noble brow. 
 
UO MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘ St. George and merry England I 
 One charge for God’s dear love ! ” 
 
 ^ And the knights closed round the bishcf 
 
 As he held the cross above. 
 
 “ The cross’s weight in silver, 
 
 For the man that seizes first 1 ** 
 
 From the lips of the proud Paynim 
 In thundering accents burst. 
 
 Now, foot to foot and breast to breast, 
 The bishop and his foe ' * 
 
 Struggled together for the cross. 
 
 While others struck the blow. 
 
 Beat down at last, full twenty hands 
 Seized on the holy cross, 
 
 \ And twenty more despatched the soul 
 Crushed by the direful loss. 
 
 The sixty days had rolled around ; 
 
 The road of doom was trod : 
 
 The three before the court of Heaven 
 Had answered to their God. 
 
 The bishop had confessed the wrong; 
 
 The lady had forgiven, 
 
 And thought of him as one at rest 
 With the redeemed in heaven. 
 
 But the bitter shame and anguish 
 Of the memory of that day. 
 
 When the cross by Paynim monsters 
 In shouts was borne away, 
 
 Wiii never be forgotten, 
 Can never be effaced, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 101 
 
 Dntil the sacred symbol 
 Stands in the Holy Place 
 
 Then, arise ! arise I good pilgrims 
 Gird on your armor bright : 
 
 Up I up ! ye Christian legions 1 
 Up ! up I each valiant knight . 
 
 Down with the hated crescent I 
 Up with the sacred cross I 
 For this, we ’ll gladly suffer 
 All grief, and shame, and loss. 
 
 Maude listened to the ballad with a full heart ; for well 
 she knew that the call of the troubadours was rousing the 
 spirit of chivalry in that old castle. 
 
 Very sweet and solemn were the hours spent now in the 
 turret with her blessed book ; for she is learning daily its x 
 pure and holy lessons. 
 
 Guy de Mowbray has traced her footsteps to her quiet 
 retreat, and we find him alone with the young student on 
 one of these occasions. 
 
 “ What keepeth thee, Maude, so much apart ? said the 
 young man. 
 
 “ I will shew thee, Guy,’’ said the earnest reader of the 
 book. ‘‘Dost see this blessed Gospel, Guy? Dost wonder 
 that I should seek these quiet hours?” 
 
 “ Sayest thou that this is truly the Gospel of our Lord, 
 Maude?” 
 
 “ Written by the holy St. John hjmself, Guy, and changed 
 into our own tongue by the venerable Bede, a holy monk 
 
102 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 that liveth at Durham more than four hundred years 
 agone.’’ 
 
 “ Thou art troubling thyself about what be too hard for 
 thee, I trow.” 
 
 “ It is not hard, Guy, for one that hath the key.” 
 
 ‘‘What meanest thou, Maude?” 
 
 “ The key of faith, Guy, I wish that it were thine.” 
 
 “ What learnest thou, Maude, from the book ? ” 
 
 “Much that I knew not before, when I thought that 
 pater-nosters, and prayers to the Virgin and to the holy 
 saints, were taught in the Gospel.” 
 
 “ What knowest thou better, Maude? ” 
 
 “ I learn that God is a spirit, and that we must worship 
 him in spirit and in truth.” 
 
 “Thinkest thou that Holy Church teacheth us wrong, 
 X Maude?” 
 
 “ I trow not, Guy ; but an’ the Gospel is the real word, 
 there seemeth naught there about such like things as we 
 worship in Holy Church. We learn much about forms and 
 fasts and penances in our breviary, but little about Jesus. 
 Just let me read the words of our dear Lord himself: ‘It 
 is the Spirit that quicken eth ; the flesh profiteth nothing ; 
 the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they 
 are life: ’ so it seemeth, Guy, that his words give us life, and 
 not the fasts and penances and sacraments of the Holy 
 Church.” 
 
 “Thou thinkest deeply, Maude, for one so young, and 
 seemest getting astray from the teaching of our holy mother. 
 For myself, I be content that Father Jerome should point 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 103 
 
 the way to paradise. Thou aeemest to talk as though the 
 Lord Jesus were thine own friend, Maude.” 
 
 “And so the Gospel teacheth. For see how close he came 
 to'Lazarus and Mary and Martha ; how he sat at their lable, 
 and slept in their house, Guy, and how they talked with 
 him face to face. And when Lazarus died, they knew just 
 who would come to comfort them. And see how the Gospel 
 telleth us that Jesus wept with them, and then raised Laza- 
 rus from the dead. He was very near and precious to those 
 disciples, Guy ; and he is just the same now ; and so I trow that 
 I may go to him up here in this lonely turret, and not be 
 frighted ; for he heareth my stammering words, and loveth 
 me, Guy, loveth Maude de Vere ; for did he not die for 
 me upon that hill of Calvary ? ” 
 
 “Thou talkest strangely, Maude; but it seemeth all real. 
 And I trow that thou art one of the blessed saints that Holy 
 Church putteth in her calendar when thou diest.” 
 
 “ Say not so, Guy ; for I am only a sinner saved by 
 Jesus. But what thinkest thou, Guy, of the call of the 
 troubadours ? ” 
 
 “ It seemeth that ere long all Christendom will be on the 
 march for Palestine; and I tarry not.” 
 
 “ Wouldst like to be a soldier of the cross, Guy ? ” 
 
 “It seemeth a noble calling, Maude, What thinkest 
 thou, young demoiselle ? ” 
 
 “ Go where the Master calleth thee, Guy. It hath ever 
 been thought a holy work, and I would not stay thy footsteps. 
 Many a young maiden hath taken the cross in former days. 
 Perchance Maude may be one who followeth the crusaders/ 
 
104 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ** Wouldst be a pilgrim, Maude? ’’ said the youth. 
 
 An’ it is truly the will of our Lord, Guy, I follow the 
 march to Palestine. I would venture much to see the holy 
 place where the infant Saviour lay, and to set foot upon the 
 sacred hill where our dear Lord hung upon the cross ; to 
 stand upon the mountain where ne bade farewell to the 
 holy apostles, and to kneel at the holy sepulchre where his 
 blessed body lay. Sometimes, Guy, I dream about the holy 
 city, and see the bright sun shining down upon the mosque 
 of Omar ; and once I dreamed that a large gilt cross glit- 
 tered in the sunshine where the crescent had stood. The 
 joy awoke me, Guy, tcrfeel that it was but a dream.” 
 
 “ There will be a third crusade ere long, Maude, for the 
 world is waking up; and the troubadours are on their way 
 from castle to castle throughout England, France, and Ger- 
 many, rousing up the knights.” 
 
 ‘‘We have no Peter the Hermit, nor holy Saint Bernard 
 now,” said Maude, “ to stir the people to deeds of holy war- 
 fare.” 
 
 “That is true; but these troubadours have wondrous 
 power, and their music soundeth like a trumpet-call in the 
 ears of the faithful.” 
 
 “Shouldst thou fall, Guy,” (and the dark eyes filled with 
 tears,) “ it would be in a holy cause ; and I should hope to 
 meet tl ee at the gates of the heavenly city.” 
 
CHAI>TER IX 
 
 CRUSADEES AT THE CASTLE< 
 
 SSEMBLED around the table, the company were 
 
 startled by the loud and long sound of the warder’s 
 horn in answer to a bugle’s call. 
 
 “ Methinketh that there be some stir at the drawbridge,” 
 said the baron ; “ certes, that is a crusader’s bugle,” and 
 hastening from the table, followed by Lancelot and Guy de 
 Mowbray, he went forward to meet his guests. 
 
 “ A company of crusaders from the holy land,” said the 
 baron, as he returned to the hall. “Let us bid them wel- 
 come in the name of the Lord.” 
 
 The company assembled, with the damsels, esquires, and 
 pages, followed by the occupants of the lower table at the 
 end of the hall, hastened out to greet the strange visitors. 
 
 Just passing the inner ballium appeared four knights, 
 arrayed in armor which glittered in the sunshine, one car- 
 rying a tattered banner, followed by a few men-at-arms, 
 all wearing the red cross. At an humble distance marched 
 a holy palmer, known by the weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak 
 of black serge enveloped his whole body, in shape some- 
 thing like the cloak of a modern hussar, having flaps for 
 covering the arm^; coarse sandals bound with thongs on 
 
 106 
 
106 
 
 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 nis. bare feet ; a broad and shadowy hat, with cockle-shells 
 stitched on its brim; and a long staif shod with iron, to the 
 u})per end of which was attached a branch of palm, withered, 
 it is true, but still sacred in the eyes of pilgrims as having 
 been plucked from the trees of Palestine. 
 
 Father Ambrose, bearing aloft a cross, advanced, as they 
 lalted at the entrance. 
 
 “All hail! soldiers of the holy cross!” said the priest. 
 
 ' Blessed be ye in the name of the Lord! What tidings 
 bring ye from Palesiine ? ” 
 
 “ Jerusalem hath fallen. The holy city is trodden under 
 the foot of the Moslem,” said Sir Bryan de Bourg, the eldest 
 of the knights. 
 
 “We have heard the evil tidings, and all Christendom 
 sitteth in dust and ashes ! ” replied the priest. 
 
 Chanting the miserere, the procession entered the castle 
 of Ravenscliff, the banner of the crusaders trailing in the 
 dust. 
 
 Laying aside some of their heavy armor, a group of 
 weather-beaten, sad, and worn-out pilgrims seated them- 
 selves at the board spread in the banqueting-hall. 
 
 There were three besides Sir Bryan : Sir Amelot de Russy, 
 Sir Reginald d’Evreux, and Sir Hugh de Courcy, — four as 
 brave and gallant knights as ever assumed the cross. 
 
 After the refreshment of the crusaders, the family awaited 
 anxiously to hear farther tidings. 
 
 “ Naught but disaster hath followed our arms,” said Sir 
 Bryan ; “ albeit that our soldiers fought like brave men long 
 and well.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIR AM. 
 
 107 
 
 All England hath been aroused by the terrible news/* 
 said the baron. “ After holding the holy city eighty-eight 
 years, its downfall hath filled all Christendom with grief. 
 But what news syth ? ** 
 
 “ Naught but rout and defeat to the crusaders,** was the 
 reply. 
 
 The inhabitants of the castle now crowded around the 
 strangers with breathless interest, none more deeply stirred 
 than the Lady Maude. Sir Bryan de Bourg had a long 
 account to give of the humiliation following their defeat ; 
 of the generosity shown by Saladin in some cases, and his 
 cruelty in other instances ; but when he told how two hun- 
 dred and thirty of the religious orders, rather than aposta- 
 tize, submitted to a cruel death, the baron struck his 
 clenched fist upon the table, and the young esquires and 
 pages rose to their feet, crying out : 
 
 “ Their massacre calleth for vengeance. It is the will of 
 God!** 
 
 Maude*s dark eyes flashed with unusual fire, Eveline*s 
 were suffiised with tears, and Blanche de Lacey’s cheek be- 
 came still paler, while listening to the recital, clasping the 
 hand of the Lady Jaquelire; but with one accord the 
 women*s voices joined in thf sry of the young soldiers : ‘‘It 
 is the will of God.** 
 
 “ But there is one picture of shame which makes Chris- 
 tian blood boil with rage,** continued Sir Bryan. “It 
 wringeth my heart even now to tell the story, — the great 
 mosque of St. Omar, which had been turned into a Chris- 
 tian church, was consecrated anew to the worship of Islam, 
 
108 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 its pavemeiits and walls washed with Damascus rose-water. 
 But listen, soldiers, while you swear to be avenged I The 
 golden cross which surmounted the dome of the Church of 
 the Holy Sepulchre was taken down, and for two days 
 dragged through the streets ; Salad in, at the head of a 
 triumphant procession, glorying in the desecration; and 
 thus our holy places were polluted by the infidels I ” 
 
 It would be a difficult task to attempt a description of the 
 indignation that filled every heart that listened to this de- 
 grading recital ; but down in the depths of each there were 
 solemn vows that only waited time and circumstances for 
 fulfilment. 
 
 “Bring hither the holy cross. Father Ambrose,’’ said the 
 baron; and, kissing it solemnly, he continued : “By this I 
 vow to take the cross, and to join the first army that march- 
 eth to Palestine. Who followeth in the train ? ” 
 
 One by one, esquires and pages solemnly followed the ex- 
 ample of the baron and then advanced the knights, who 
 V'owed never to sheathe the sword until their holy work was 
 done. 
 
 Maude’s heart was deeply stirred, and we find her more 
 frequently in the chapel, at all hours, devoutly sending up 
 prayers to heaven for the success of the crusaders. The 
 Baron of RavenscliflT, with princely generosity, provided the 
 knights with what they needt d, prevailing upon them to 
 tarry at the castle a few days to recruit their wasted strength 
 ere they sought their homes. 
 
 The day for the birthday banquet dawns brightly, and 
 the young demoiselles are in the hands of their bower- women, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 109 
 
 each resolved that her lady shall be the lo/eliest. Fresh 
 rushes are spread in the banqueting-hall, and rosemary and 
 flowers are disposed around in abundance, while over the 
 upper dais is spread the banner of England, and on which 
 is spread a piece of carpet. Here we find the family of the 
 baron, the knights, the ladies, and the priest ; next in rank 
 come the troubadours, esquires, and pages, and at the lower 
 table, the servants of the household. The ladies, in their 
 superb dresses, with their sweeping trains and glittering 
 jewels, presented an appearance of exceeding loveliness, as 
 they entered the hall, greeted by inspiring music; the 
 knights, esquires, and pages rising, and standing until the 
 fair procession was seated. 
 
 But the Prioress of St. Agnes must be noticed here; 
 for in these palmy days heads of convents were found at 
 all manner of festivities. We could scarcely have recog- 
 nized the richly-dressed lady as the head of an estab- 
 lishment whose vow renounces the gayeties of the world. 
 She wore, indeed, the costume of her order, with regard 
 to color and shape ; but her robe, instead of coarse serge, 
 was of black velvet ; her frontlet and barb elaborately em- 
 broidered ; her long gloves of white Spanish leather, deli- 
 cately perfumed, and wrought with needle-work of colored 
 silks ; her fingers were loaded 'with rings ; and from her gir- 
 dle, set with the finest gems, were suspended a pomander of 
 gold and enamel, a silver seal, and a rosary of amethyst 
 beads, holding a crucifix made of alabaster and gold. This 
 description may perhaps be deemed overwrought, but it is 
 copied from an ancient book, which gives an account of the 
 10 
 
110 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 extravagance of prioresses in mediseval days. Maude some* 
 times wondered, when she looked at her stately aunt, what 
 her vow of renunciation meant. But she is here at the 
 birthday banquet, among the troubadours and knights, one 
 of the most exalted and engrossed of that array of noble 
 ladies. 
 
 There were many dishes unknown to us of modern days, — 
 almost every green thing that grew in the garden was eaten, 
 rose-leaves not excepted ; salt was despised, sugar very ex- 
 pensive, and honey used instead ; pepper, and cloves, and 
 mustard used in large quantities, and wine flowed abun- 
 dantly ; but it is quite beyond the power of a modern pen 
 to describe the various little dishes that graced the table. 
 
 It was a cheerful banquet, and the returned knights, with 
 anecdotes of foreign manners and customs, did much to en- 
 liven the occasion. 
 
 At the close of the feast. Sir Bryan courteously proposed 
 a toast to the young demoiselles of the castle, which was 
 drunk, all standing. 
 
 “We pledge our devoirs to the Ladies Maude and Eveline 
 de Vere,” said the knight, “ twin queens of love and beauty.” 
 
 After the tables were cleared, the minstrel of the castle 
 entertained the company with some Proven 9a! music ; and at 
 the last, the baron whispered a word to Maude, who, seating 
 herself at the harp, held the whole company enchained by 
 her own inspiring air, which had so delighted her father. 
 After tlie singing of several verses, the whole company, 
 catching the inspiration, joined in the chorus, standing : 
 
 “ Our Lady calls. To arms ! to arms 1 ” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The great hall resounded with the ringing calls, — the 
 crusaders, with their right hands raised tc heaven, and their 
 eyes turned upward, while the baron waved the flag of Eng- 
 land ; and, at the close, all joined in the crusaders’ cry ; 
 
 “ Down with the Moslem ! It is the will of God I St. 
 George for merry England ! ” 
 
 When Sir Bryan de Bourg heard that the Lady Maude 
 was the author of the air, he bowed over her hand with 
 knightly reverence, saying : 
 
 “Thou shouldst be canonized, fair lady, as one of our 
 tutelar saints; for, by St. George! no troubadour hath 
 equalled thy lay, I trow.” 
 
 Then followed a stirring call by the troubadours; for, 
 travelling from castle to castle, it was their thrilling poetry 
 that roused the spirit of the third crusade. The flrst had 
 been the effect of a general enthusiasm, the second of indi- 
 vidual eloquence, but the third of poetry, — the flrst being 
 brought about by the clergy alone ; but this was the work 
 of the troubadours. 
 
 The rich, manly voices of the minstrels, accompanied by 
 their harps, gave a power of expression to the call that 
 follows . 
 
 Wake, drowsy knight, the trumpet calls I 
 It calls thee once, it calls thee thrice ; 
 
 An’ that thou doze ^by life away, 
 
 Thou ne’er canst reach sweet paradise. 
 
 Up, craven knight! Away! away! 
 
 Hear’st thou the call repeated thrice? 
 
 An’ that thou hidest from the strife, 
 
 Thou ne’er wilt enter paradise. 
 
112 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 Up, men-at-arms! The world awakes. 
 
 Doth not the trumpet-call suffice? 
 
 Follow the crowd that marcheth on 
 The path that leads to paradise. 
 
 The trumpet calls. The banners point 
 , To sacred Palestine’s bright skies; 
 
 Raise high the cross, and follow on 
 The crowds that march to paradise, 
 
 Fair lady, bind the helmet on, 
 
 And bid thy lover quick arise; 
 
 Go bid him take the battle-axe, 
 
 To cleave his path to paradise. 
 
 Forsake the world ; bind on the cross ; 
 
 Join the crusader’s battle-cries: 
 
 . “ For merry England and St. George I ** 
 
 With this march on to paradise. 
 
 List to the shout that fills the air! 
 
 “It is the will of God!” he cries; 
 
 With this the soldier of the cross 
 Enters the gates of paradise. 
 
 A day or two longer brought the stay of the crusaders to 
 an end, and we find them about to take their departure. 
 
 ‘•Canst count upon thine aid?” said Sir Bryan to the 
 baron, “ shouldst another army march to Palestine ? ” 
 
 “ Truly as the sun shineth in the heavens,” was the reply ; 
 ‘and England’s king already chafeth under the defeats of 
 ihe crusaders. When King Richard marcheth, the Lord 
 if Ravensclifif followeth.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 113 
 
 Heading the procession that left the castle, the friar bore 
 the cross aloft ; the whole retinue following, chanting the 
 miserere. 
 
 After the departure of the crusaders, we find Maude and 
 Guy walking with slow and measured steps along the shaded 
 walk in the pleasance. 
 
 ‘‘ The happy, quiet days draw to an end, Guy,” said the 
 young demoiselle; ‘‘for no true Christian tarrieth at home 
 while the holy land continueth in the hands of infidels.” 
 
 “ It seemeth so, Maude ; for when England stirreth her- 
 self in earnest, there lacketh not thousands of brave hearts 
 to spring to arms. Thine own song calleth us, Maude.” 
 
 “ Methinketh, Guy, that there soundeth not a summons 
 to loftier deeds than calleth all true knights to Palestine. 
 I could gird on thy sword with mine own hands, and bid 
 thee strike for the redemption of the holy sepulchre.” 
 
 Guy drew nearer to the young enthusiast, and whispered 
 in low tones : 
 
 “Soon I leave thee, sweet one, and return to Hawks- 
 worth ; but in these uncertain times I go not without the 
 dear assurance of thy love. Not a sister’s, Maude ; I seek 
 a dearer, holier tie. Dost love me, Maude? Wouldst joxn 
 thy lot with mine? in the bright sunshine or in the days of 
 darkness and sorrow ? ” 
 
 Maude raised her pure saintly face to Guy’s, and, placing 
 her hand within his own, answered, in a voice tremulous 
 with deep feeling : 
 
 “ Thine own, Guy. I have always loved thee with a pure 
 and holy affection, and now, before Heaven, I give thee my 
 10* H 
 
114 
 
 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 plighted troth, to love thee with mj" whole heart. But still 
 I bid thee go on the holy errand that stirreth up all 
 Christendom; and may the Master that we love defend 
 thee, Guy, and bring thee back fo thy native land and to 
 
 me.” 
 
 “ And then, Maude, when our holy work is done, I come 
 to claim thee, sweet one, for mine own ; and thou wilt be my 
 tutelar saint, I trow.” 
 
 Maude’s countenance fell, as she replied sadly . 
 
 “We know not, Guy, what lieth in our future path; for 
 thy father, the Baron of Hawksworth, welcometh none of 
 the hated race of De Vere to his castle.” 
 
 “We hope for a better end of our betrothal, sweet one; 
 «n’ thou be true to thy plighted troth, Maude, I fear naught 
 else.” 
 
 “ Thou hast my word, Guy ; and thou mayest be sure that 
 naught but death parteth thee and me. But still I bid thee 
 go, beloved ; go to redeem the holy places from the pollu- 
 tion of infidels ; and when the rising sun calleth us to matins, 
 and his departing beams cast their shadows upon the hour 
 of even-song, thou mayest know that Maude prayeth for thee 
 in the chapel of Bavensclilf or in the quiet turret.” 
 
 There was a look of lofty feeling in the fair face, but tears 
 in the dark eyes, as the young maiden uttered those tender, 
 yet heroic words; and passing his arm around the Lady 
 Maude, Guy replied, in a voice full of feeling, “ Heaven 
 bless thee, Maude, forever and aye I ” 
 
 Maude had no concealments from the Lady Jaqueline, 
 therefore we find her seeking her after this interview with 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 115 
 
 Gxiy. She told her simple story ; and the mother, smiling, 
 replied : 
 
 ‘‘ It scarcely seemeth like unto surprising news, Maude, 
 for thy father and I have looked for it to come to this syth 
 the days of childhood ; and thou couldst not have chosen 
 a braver hand, or a nobler, warmer heart to guide thee, 
 daughter mine, I trow, than beateth in the bosom of Guy 
 de Mowbray/’ 
 
 With these words, the mother pressed a kiss upon the 
 cheek of the young maiden. 
 
 Guy likewise sought the baron, who gave his hearty ap- 
 proval, but with the caution : 
 
 “This be a union long delayed, Guy, an’ thou tarriest 
 for thy father’s sanction.” 
 
 The pleasant season is at an end, for the De Mowbrays 
 had stayed far beyond the time allotted, and now they must 
 part. Brave as Maude had been in the expression of heroic 
 sentiments, her woman’s heart sank within her as she caught 
 the last glimpse of the plume waving in the cap of Guy de 
 Mowbray passing out of the gate that led to the drawbridge, 
 and in the quiet of her little turret we find her committing 
 the three, from whom she had ju«t parted, to the care of hei 
 newly found Saviour, 
 
CHAPTEK X. 
 
 MAUDE IN THE DAY DAWxi. 
 
 AIT AUDE is still a faithful visitor to her little turret ; and 
 now the spring is dawning, for it is the bright month 
 of April in merry Angoland. 
 
 It is an inspiring picture which Maude studies, leaning 
 thoughtfully on the sill of her open casement ; for she has 
 from this height a commanding view of the country for 
 miles around, as well as the pleasance within the ballium 
 around the castle. 
 
 In the green fields beyond the castle, the. children of the 
 peasants are rushing about in their giddy joy, chasing each 
 other like gay butterflies ; some lying on their backs tossing 
 up the sweet clover over their heads ; and some more quiet, 
 seated under the shade of branching trees, are making 
 wreaths of daisies; and infant toddlers are filling their 
 homely aprons with flowers, — a charming picture, exhibiting 
 the unstudied grace of childhood. An old man is pacing 
 slowly along on the shady side of the field: he is leaning 
 on his cane, but stops now and then to look at the sports of 
 the light-hearted children. It is with a sad and tender smile 
 that he watches the merry groups, for the old man is think- 
 ing of the pale faces beneath the green sod that were once aa 
 merry as tliese. 
 
 lie 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 117 
 
 
 Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! ah ! well he knows that note, and taking 
 off his hat, that hinders his vision, he looks up among the 
 green foliage, as he did when a boy, for the welcome har- 
 binger of spring ; but his eves are dim and misty now, and 
 he sees not the bird. Jtle hears the song of other familiar 
 birds, and he thinks of those who listened to the same song 
 in the spring-time of by-gone days, and link by link he is 
 unwinding the chain which reaches from the grave to 
 heaven : he is seated now under the old oak, leaning on his 
 cane, wiping now and then a large tear that steals over his 
 withered face ; rising slowly, he takes the hand of his chubby- 
 cheeked grandchild, who is always ready to leave her sports 
 for grandfather’s bidding. 
 
 The trees are clad now in the fresh tints of the spring 
 foliage, and one of the most beautiful trees now in blossom 
 is the almond-tree, which stands in the pleasance covered 
 with a bloom of lovely pink, that, at this distance, looks 
 like one great flower. The bright blue of an April sky is 
 so charming too, for if occasionally a slight veil of a gentle 
 shower dims its beauty, it is only to shine again like a gay 
 coquette through most of the spring days. 
 
 , Crowds of birds have returned now to their nests, some 
 in the hollows of old woods among the bushes that dot the 
 heaths, and some amid the hawthorn bloom ; for there builds 
 the pretty May -bird. The whole .land is musical, the woods 
 like one great cathedral of praise. 
 
 There is an old wall-flower just outside of Maude’s case- 
 ment, and here a red stork has built her nest for several 
 
118 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 succeeding seasons. Perched sometimes on the sill of the 
 turret, the mate continues his song from early morn, shaking 
 his tail all the time with a tremulous motion, while the 
 female is sitting anxiously upon her nest. 
 
 The sweet spring flowers are everywhere, cowslips and 
 daisies by the roadside, blue-bells and lilies of the valley, 
 and sweet violets on the shady hills, yielding their sweet 
 perfume to passers-by ; and this is the picture seen from the 
 casement of the lonely turret, this the sweet face of nature: 
 but Maude has a deeper study in the volume on the little 
 table. She is reading to-day some of our Lord’s most re- 
 markable words : 
 
 “ Verily, verily, I say unto you. Except ye eat the flesh 
 of the Son of man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in 
 you. 
 
 ** Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath 
 eternal life ; and I will raise him up at the last day. 
 
 “For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink 
 indeed.” 
 
 Maude read on six or seven verses farther, bewildered by 
 the early teaching of the Eomish Church ; for, from the dawn 
 of reason, she had been accustomed to worship the host in 
 the sacrifice of the Mass ; but a mind even partially enlight- 
 ened by the Spirit of God could not embrace the doctrine 
 with intelligent faith. 
 
 Maude remembered that Jesus said elsewhere, “ I am the 
 door,” and again, “ I am the vine ; ” and turning to the pass- 
 age in the same chapter, she read again the blessed words 
 which had so often relieved her perplexities. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 119 
 
 ** It is the spirit that quickeneth ; the words that I speak 
 unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.” “ Truly this is 
 the bread of life, dear Saviour ; on thee feed I in my heart 
 by a living faith,” whispered Maude, in her retirement. 
 
 There is a knock at the turret-door, and good old Cicely 
 stands there with a tray of refreshments ; for Maude has been 
 longer than usual absent from the Lady Jaqueline. 
 
 “ What keepeth thee apart from the young demoiselles. 
 Lady Maude ? ” said the old servant ; “ they are in the ’broid- 
 erie room, and the gay troubadours sing brave songs for 
 them while thou tarriest here in this old turret.” 
 
 “ Wouldst like to know my company. Cicely?” said the 
 young maiden, as she pointed to the book lying on her table. 
 “ This be the blessed Gospel of St. John, Cicely ; and I be 
 writing the third copy. I wish that thou mightest read the 
 holy book.” 
 
 “ Be this thy wonderful work. Lady Maude ? Why writest 
 thou three ? ” 
 
 “It seemeth such a gift. Cicely, that I would that all 
 might read the good news.” 
 
 “ The priest telleth all that we need, I trow ; and the 
 Blessed Virgin leadeth us straight to paradise an’ we say 
 our pater-nosters and obey Holy Church.” 
 
 Cicely turned to leave the room, and was soon followed 
 \)f the Prioress of St. Agnes, now on a visit to Kavenscliff. 
 
 “ Strange tidings I hear, Maude, about thy work here in 
 this lonely room. What doest thou with the holy Gospel, 
 child?” 
 
 “ Father Ambrose lendeth me his copy ; and I have learned 
 
120 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 every word of it, holy mother, and can show thee nearly 
 three copies written by mine own hand.” 
 
 “That is not the work for a young demoiselle: hie thee 
 to Father Ambrose ; he hath learning enough to lead souls 
 home to paradise. The Holy Church willeth not that her 
 children know the Gospel for themselves.” 
 
 “ But, holy mother, I have learned blessed lessons up here, 
 away from the noise below ; for Jesus our Lord hath come 
 nigh to open mine eyes.” 
 
 “ What learnest thou, Maude ? ” 
 
 “ That we eat not our Lord’s body in the service of the 
 Mass, for he declareth himself that his words are spirit, 
 and they are life.” 
 
 “ This be heresy, Maude,” said the prioress, with a dark 
 frown; “just such like as sixty-four years ago broke out 
 among a pestilential set at Orleans, in France ; and the Holy 
 Church, to protect herself from the poison, had to rid the 
 world of such heretics.” 
 
 Maude looked her horror, for she had never heard of the 
 old Vaudois. 
 
 “ Can it be that the Church of our dear Lord could put 
 any one to death for reading his blessed Gospel ? Why, the 
 whole Gospel of St. John be naught but a letter full of the 
 love of our dear Lord : how then cometh punishment and 
 death from the Church that he left ? ” 
 
 “ Passing ages call for divers ways of ruling ; and when 
 enemies to the true faith appear, it become th the duty of the 
 Clinch to cut off such offenders.” 
 
 A lump of lead sank down into the heart of Maude de Vere, 
 
MACJDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 121 
 
 for no sophistry could blind her now to the wickedness of 
 such deeds. 
 
 ‘‘ Father Ambrose is a weak and foolish priest/’ continued 
 the prioress; ‘‘he hath only disturbed thy faith, Maude, by 
 his indulgence. Thou hadst better give up the Gospel, and 
 go back to the good old paths of submission to Holy Church.’’ 
 
 Maude smiled. 
 
 “ That can never be, holy mother, for every word of the 
 Gospel be hidden here, down in the depths of my heart ; an’ 
 shouldst thou take away my books, thou canst never take 
 the words out of my mind.” 
 
 Maude was careful as ever in attending upon the services 
 of the chapel, but the Lord saw that the worship of the 
 heart was addressed no more to the Holy Virgin or the 
 blessed saints, but to Jesus only, as the great Mediator be- 
 tween God and man. 
 
 The postures in the Komish service were still observed, 
 but the reverence was paid to Jesus, and not to fallible 
 saints, or a human mediatrix. 
 
 “ Thou hast done a foolish thing, Father Ambrose,” said 
 the prioress, seeking him in the sacristy. 
 
 “What meanest thou, holy mother?” was the monk’s 
 reply. 
 
 “ Thou hast furnished Maude with the Gospel in our own 
 tongue ; and here we find her questioning the doctrines of 
 the Holy Church.” 
 
 “ I trow that it harmeth her not, good mother, for she ii 
 a wise and holy child of the true Church. 
 
 11 
 
122 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “She talketh like the old Vaudois, father; and thou 
 deniest not their heresy.” 
 
 “She hath never heard of such deniers of the faith. But 
 I will talk with her; an’ I find her infected, I take away the 
 Gospel.” 
 
 “ Thou canst not, foolish priest, for she hath hidden every 
 word down in her heart.” 
 
 Father Ambrose has summoned the young inquirer to an 
 audience in the sacristy. 
 
 “ I sent for thee, my daughter, to ask an’ it be true that 
 thou deniest the real presence of the Lord in the Holy Eu- 
 charist ? ” 
 
 Maude replied, meekly : 
 
 “ The book teacheth me that the words of Christ giveth 
 spiritual life, and that maketh a great diflPerence in the un- 
 derstanding of the words coming before. So I read, father, 
 that when our Lord saith : ‘ I am the bread of life,’ and that 
 we eat his flesh, and drink his blood, it meaneth no more 
 that we really eat the body in which he dwelleth when here 
 below than that he be truly ‘ a door ’ or ‘ a vine.’ ” 
 
 “ The Church teacheth not so Maude. Dost pray to the 
 Holy Virgin and the saints ? ” 
 
 “ I have looked all through the book for such like prayers, 
 hut I find none; and methinketh that the Holy Mother 
 liketh not the worship of her Son to be paid to herself : but 
 I love the Holy Virgin and the blessed saints, father, and 
 ^hope to meet them at the gates of the holy city, and to 
 dwell in the same paradise with them, though at a great 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 123 
 
 distance from the heights of holiness which they hAT6 
 reached.” i 
 
 “ Dost strive to do good works, Maude, such as frequent 
 prayer, fasting, alms deeds, confession, and the sacrifice of 
 the Mass ? ” 
 
 “ I read in the book that Jesus hath done the work of 
 our salvation, and that by faith in him only we have peace 
 with God. I know it, holy father, — the peace of God 
 that passeth all understanding ; but then I love to pray, to 
 fast, to confess my sins, and to give alms, because Jesus 
 commandeth it, and not because it purchaseth an entrance 
 into paradise.” 
 
 “I fear, Maude, that thou be departing from the doctrine 
 of Holy Church.” 
 
 ‘‘ It seemeth not so to me. Father Ambrose ; for the holy 
 apostles that lived near our Lord knew more of the true 
 doctrine than any since that day; and the holy Apostle John 
 was one that Jesus loved, and I have learned from him the 
 Gospel.” 
 
 “ Wouldst give up the book, Maude?” 
 
 ^ “ There it is, father. Thou hast thine own ; but I have 
 
 hidden every word of it deep in my heart of hearts.” 
 
 Dost reverence the Holy Father the Pope, Maude ? ” 
 
 I honor him as the head of the Holy Catholic Church, 
 father, and pray daily for him and all the holy fathers.” 
 
 “ He needeth not thy prayers, Maude ; for, as the vice- 
 gerent of Christ upon earth, in him are stored up all the 
 treasures of grace.” 
 
 
124 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘‘ But, father, he is but mortal, and liable to err, sa did 
 the Apostle Peter.” 
 
 Thou utterest heresy, Maude. The Holy Father, the 
 Pope, cannot err ; for in him dwelleth the Holy Spirit, and 
 he is the dispenser of the blessed gift.” 
 
 But the book telleth me, father, that when our Lord 
 comforteth his disciples, he saith : ‘ Whatsoever ye shall ask 
 the Father in my name, he will give it you ; ’ and in his last 
 prayer, he telleth to whom these words belong ; ‘ for them 
 also which shall believe on me through their word,^ — the 
 word of the apostles and all the holy preachers of the true 
 gospel, down through the centuries, father, until they come 
 to us, to humble Maude de Vere.” 
 
 The priest looked upon the glowing face and the clasped 
 hands of the youthful speaker, and, realizing how deep a 
 hold the faith of the Vaudois had taken upon his favorite 
 pupil, he said : 
 
 “I may have greatly erred in lending thee the book, 
 Maude; but be careful to observe all the rules of Holy 
 Church, for in her bosom only is salvation.” 
 
 Centuries ahead of the dwellers in this mediaeval castle, 
 we find Maude in her simple faith ; for contact with the word 
 of Christ had wrought in her the same moral change as 
 among the Vaudois in the valleys of Piedmont. 
 
 The Prioress of St. Agnes had left an invitation to a cere- 
 mony about to be celebrated at the convent, where several 
 of the companions of the young ladies were soon to take 
 the veil. 
 
 Accordingly, we find Wilfred in the stable, examining the 
 
125 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM.^ 
 
 palfrey destined for tfte Lady Maude; for her own jennet 
 was under the care of the farrier, and she would, therefore, 
 be obliged to ride a strange animal. 
 
 “Art certain that the beast be safe, Hugh?^’ inquired 
 the page. 
 
 “ He hath never harmed his rider,’' was the reply ; only 
 a trifle mettlesome, forsooth.” 
 
 “Thou rememberest, Hugh, that he beareth the Lady 
 Maude,” replied the page, as he turned away. 
 
 “Thou needest not raise thine eyes so high, bold page,” 
 said the hostler, when Wilfred was fairly out of hearing ; 
 “ for a crow matcheth not with a proud merlin, 1 trow.” 
 
 The gay cavalcade started off in high spirits, and for a 
 few miles all went gallantly along, Maude’s })alfrey can- 
 tering on apparently gentle as the rest ; but Wilfred remem- 
 bered the gleam in his eye, and kept a close watch upon his 
 movements. Suddenly a large "flock of sheep appeared in 
 sight, driven by two men on horseback. Having reached a 
 cross-road, the leader led the way oflT in that direction. The 
 cries of the driver, the loud baaing of a large flock of fright- 
 ened sheep, the galloping to and fro across the path of the 
 cavalcade, alarmed Maude’s palfrey, who began to rear 
 and plunge violently. Wilfred was quickly at her side, en- 
 couraging her eflbrts to keep her seat ; but in spite of all her 
 horsemanship, the animal stood almost upright, throwing 
 Maude backward. Wilfred, perceiving her danger, hastily 
 threw the reins of his own horse into the hands of a man-at- 
 arms, and springing to the ground, at the next furious 
 plunge downward, headed the frightened animal, and suc- 
 11 * 
 
126 
 
 UAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 ceeded in obtaining the bridle, the horse's feet, however, 
 coming down upon his head. Prostrate on the ground, 
 and keeping his hold upon the bridle, he called out to the 
 maiden : 
 
 “Keep thy seat, for the Holy Virgin’s sake. Lady 
 Maude.” 
 
 All was the work of a minute ; for in an instant Lancelot 
 had received the Lady Maude, as she fell, in his arms. One 
 of the men-at-arms had dragged Wilfred from under the 
 horse’s hoofs, and two others sucoeeded in obtaining control 
 of the animal. 
 
 Wilfred was severely injured, having a gash in the right 
 cheek, and another on the side of the head, from which the 
 blood flowed profusely. Maude wa? only frightened and 
 bruised ; but, in a fainting condition, both were carried to 
 the nearest house on the roadside. Maude ^oon recovered 
 suflSciently to administer to the relief cf her preserver. 
 Calling for sponge and water, we And her rtaunching the 
 blood, and with her own gentle hand carefvdly stitching 
 the gashes, which were deep, and, obtaining scmt adhesive 
 matter, she finished her work with the skill of a ^Jirgeoii. 
 
 When the operation was completed, Wilfred raised his 
 grateful eyes to the face of the young damsel, and p"TS«.iir 
 his pale lips upon her hand, he whispered ; 
 
 “ It were worth the pain to have such gentle surgery 
 thine, fair lady.” 
 
 “ How can I thank thee, good Wilfred ? for, at the risi 
 of thine own, thou hast preserved my life. I shall remem 
 her the debt, good friend,” 
 
M ^ IT T> E AND MTU 1 A U, 
 
 127 
 
 Not as I remember thee, fair lady.” 
 
 Finding that the two were not dangerously injured, the 
 remainder of the party resumed their journey ; but a litter 
 was sent for, to conduct Maude and Wilfred back to the 
 castle. 
 
 Fever followed in Wilfred’s case, and for several days 
 Maude was by his side, reading the Gospel and ministering 
 to his wants. Dangerous intercourse for the page, — drink- 
 ing in not only the teachings of St. John, but the sweet mur- 
 murs of a gentle woman’s '^oice. avakening dreams never 
 to be realized 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ROYAL VISITORS. 
 
 0 AVENSCLIFF is all astir ; for a messenger has just 
 
 arrived from court to announce a visit from King 
 Richard and the queen-mother. 
 
 “ The king proclaimeth a tournament to be held near the 
 castle/’ said the herald ; ‘‘ and I trow that none such hath 
 been seen for many a year agone.” 
 
 “ Make my devoirs to my liege/’ was the baron’s reply, 
 ‘■and bid him welcome to Ravenscliff.” 
 
 ‘‘What meaneth this visit at this time,” said the Lady 
 Jaqueline, “when the whole kingdom seemeth to think of 
 D aught but the crusades ? ” 
 
 The baron smiled, as he^ replied : 
 
 “ ISTo mere sport is this grand gathering of the nobles ; for 
 
 1 trow that thousands come to the tournament, and the 
 king witteth that soldiers flock to the cross from such like 
 places.” 
 
 “ When look we for the court ? ” 
 
 “ In a fortnight hence ; and there must be speed at Ra« 
 venscliflT.” 
 
 The young demoiselles were like a flock of butterflies in 
 
 128 
 
M A i/ D E AND MIRIAM. 
 
 129 
 
 their eager delight; each one already planning her costume 
 for this great occasion : Eveline, the leader among them, 
 and Maude also pleased with the idea of the grand spectacle. 
 
 The youth of the castle redoubled their zeal in the prac- 
 tice of their military sports; for, although but few of them 
 had quite reached the age when they could enter the lists at 
 tournaments, still there might be other occasions when they, 
 could display their accomplishments; as it was usual tc 
 allow a trial of their skill on the day before a tournament. 
 A horseman of modern days would hang his head with 
 shame to see these youth, completely armed, spring upon 
 horseback without putting a foot in the stirrup, the young 
 equestrians much stimulated by the presence of the ladies 
 of the castle ; for all was military excitement now. Lean- 
 ing over the palisade which bounded the tilt-yard, they 
 stood applauding the efforts of the riders. Some turned 
 somersaults in heavy armor, for the purpose of strengthenin v 
 their arms. Some leaped upon the shoulders of a horsema i 
 from behind, wdth only one hand laid upon his shoulder. It 
 would seem, at first view, that few constitutions could un- 
 dergo such violent exertions for any length of time ; but one 
 nrust read of the results produced ; for in after-life men 
 were found bearing a weight that few persons of the present 
 day could lift, through the heat of a summer's day undei 
 the burning sun of Palestine. Throughout the castle was 
 everywhere seen the stir of preparation. The state apart- 
 ments were thrown open, and cleaned according to the 
 ideas of such work in those feudal days. The heavy, oaken 
 bedsteads were covered with a canopy of crimson, orn»- 
 
 i 
 
130 MAUDE AND MIRIAM 
 
 merited with gilt stars ; the walls hung with tapestiy ; the 
 coverlet corresponding with the canopy. By the side of 
 eacli bedstead was spread a small carpet, — a piece of rare 
 wealth, — on which, standing near the wall, was a table, 
 holding a silver crucifix and a lamp filled with perfumed 
 oil. A footstool, before the table, for kneeling, a few mas- 
 sive chairs of rude workmanship, and six silver candelabra 
 with wax candles, completed the furniture of a sleeping 
 apartment for royalty. 
 
 The country has been scoured all around for provision for 
 such a retinue, and old Raoul, in the kitchen, is in a state 
 of fever-heat as to how he shall provide for the court. 
 
 The day has arrived at length. The ladies, in their 
 richest attire, and the young esquires, in their armor, await 
 the coming of the royal party. Maude, from her turret, 
 sees -the cavalcade in the distance; the banner of England 
 waving in the summer breeze, the rich dresses of the court 
 glittering in the sunshine, and the trumpets announcing 
 their speedy approach. The baron and his retinue, mounted, 
 await the royal train at the drawbridge, the banners of 
 England floating proudly from the keep and barbican, and 
 the martial music of the castle playing national airs. 
 
 They are in sight now; the warder’s horn answers the 
 blast of the trumpets, and “ Down portcullis ! ” calls the 
 baron. Issuing out from the ballium, and crossing the 
 drawbridge, the baron and his retinue, lowering their lances 
 and fixing them in the ground, made their deep obeisance 
 to the king. 
 
 ^ Welcome, Richard Plantagenet, King of England, to our 
 
MAt/DE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 131 
 
 castJe of Kavenscliff! said the baron, and then making his 
 obeisance to the queen-mother, repeated the salutation. 
 
 Heading the procession, the baron conducted the royal 
 train over the balliuin ; the music playing ; the walls lined 
 with eager spectators, anxious to see the lion-hearted King 
 of Englan 1. Mounted on a noble charger, splendidly ca- 
 parisoned with a foot-cloth of cloth of gold heavily em- 
 broidered, and reaching nearly to the ground, we behold 
 Richard Plantagenet. 
 
 He is tall and majestic, very finely formed, with blue eyes 
 full of fire, and hair of a yellow hue, much admired in those 
 days. He is arrayed in the dress of peace, with a dalmatic, 
 or long tunic of crimson, starred with gold, girded by a rich 
 belt, over which was worn a mantle, elegantly embroidered 
 with half-moons and orbs of silver ; sandals of purple cloth 
 fretted with gold, in long bandages crossing each other 
 equally up the leg. The boots were green, with gold spurs 
 fastened by red leather. The gloves, reaching nearly to the 
 elbow, were embroidered at the top, with jewels on the back 
 of the hand. He wore a beard and mustache, and the hair, 
 curled, hung down over his neck ; the head covered by a 
 Phrygian cap bordered with jewels, on the wrist carrying 
 a falcon. 
 
 Thus appeared Coeur de Lion in the sight of the multi- 
 tude upon the walls, who shouted, with loud voices, ** Long 
 live King Richard I ” 
 
 The queen wore a rich green robe or tunic, long and flow- 
 ing, with tight sleeves, encircled by a girdle, to which was 
 suspended an almoniere, somewhat like a modern reticule 
 
r32 
 
 MAUDE AND 
 
 Over tlie tunic she wore a robe embroidered with golden 
 crescents. The wimple, or veil, wrapped around the head 
 and chin, was bound upon the forehead by a jewelled fillet, 
 having a diamond in the centre. Short boots and embroid- 
 ered gloves, jewelled also, completed the costume of the 
 (pieen. 
 
 Onward to the banqueting-hall the baron led the royal 
 party, where the ladies of the castle were in waiting. Two 
 massive chairs were placed at the head of the dais, over 
 which was suspended a rich canopy ; six heavy candelabras 
 having been added to the banqueting-hall. 
 
 The king and queen marched with majestic step up the 
 great hall, to the chairs of state, all standing until the royal 
 pair were seated. Then, one by one, the ladies advanced 
 to do homage, kneeling before the king, who looked with 
 bold, admiring gaze upon the lovely daughters of De 
 Vere. 
 
 Escorted to their apartments by a retinue of serving-men, 
 headed by the steward and cupbearer, the royal party re- 
 tired to rest awhile after their long journey, and in their 
 private apartments were bountifully served with refresh- 
 ments. 
 
 The banquet, meanwhile, was in a state of preparation ; 
 old Raoul driving his serving-men with no very gentle 
 words. The table occupied by the royal party and the 
 family of the baron, covered with scarlet cloth, was stretched 
 across the dais, and those for the lower orders standing 
 lengthwise, formed a letter T. When all was ready, the 
 irumpets announced the fact, and, headed by twelve torch- 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 133 
 
 beareis, the royal party entered the hall, and took their seats 
 amid strains of martial music. " The ceremony of bringing 
 in the peacock, served in the most showy style, was performed 
 by the Lady Eveline, followed by the ladies of the castle. 
 
 Thou boastest queens of beauty in thine old castle, De 
 Vere,” said the king, gazing rather freely at the sisters. 
 
 - Very diverse in their characters, my liege; one of earth, 
 the other of heaven.” 
 
 “Lost think that we have chosen a fair spot for our 
 sports, De Vere?” 
 
 “We have as fine a slope as can be found throughout the 
 kingdom, my liege. But is that all that draweth thee away 
 from London ? ” 
 
 “ Believe it not, De Vere. Taking the cross ourself, from 
 the crowds coming here we gain many soldiers. Perchance 
 there be some among the noble youth at the castle ready for 
 knighthood.” 
 
 “ Certes ! that be so, ray liege ; and many haste to the lists 
 when the royal hand bestoweth the honor.” 
 
 Lancelot de Vere, Guy de Mowbray, Walter Davenant, 
 and several others, have passed through all the prelimina- 
 ries. Long vigils, fasts, penances, prayers, and confession 
 preceded the ceremony, and, consequently, we find the young 
 esquires in the chapel nightly, keeping their midnight 
 vigils. Guy de Mowbray has heard of the opportunity, and 
 has eagerly joined the aspirants. Perhaps none of those 
 young esquires were more promising ; for, possessed of every 
 knightly virtue, he was truly prepared to take the vows of 
 chivalry. _ 
 
 13 
 
134 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 On the day appointed, the Bishop of Durham, with all 
 the knights and nobles of the castle, — the prelate in the 
 vestments of his order, the knights in their armor, — con- 
 ! acted the young aspirants to the Abbey of St. Hilary. 
 
 The ladies of the castle, and others, crowded to witness 
 me ceremonieSj especial seats being appointed for the court; 
 the king acting as godfather to the young novices. 
 
 After high Mass had been celebrated, the novices ap- 
 proached the altar and presented their swords to the bishop, 
 who blessed and consecrated them to the service of religion 
 and virtue. The occasion was one of more than usual in- 
 terest ; the number of the aspirants, the military zeal of the 
 age, the presence of the king, the magnificence of the prep- 
 arations, all gave dignity to the ceremony. We find, there 
 fore, the Bishop of Durham warning the youth of the diffi 
 cuities which they would encounter in fulfiling the vows of 
 the order. 
 
 “ He who seeks to be a knight,” said the bishop, “ should 
 have great qualities. He must be of noble birth, liberal in 
 gifts, high in courage, strong in danger, secret in council, 
 patient in difficulty, powerful against enemies, prudent in 
 ]\is deeds. He must also swear to observe the following 
 rules r To undertake nothing without having heard Mass 
 and fasting, to spare neither his blood nor his life In defence 
 of the Holy Catholic faith, to give aid to all widows and 
 orphans, to undertake no war without just cause, to favoi 
 no injustice ; but to protect the innocent and oppressed, 
 to be humble in aL things, to seek the welfare of those 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 136 
 
 placed under him, never to violate the law of his sovereign, 
 and to live irreproachably before God and man.” 
 
 Guy de Mowbray, in the dress of an esquire, approached 
 first ; the bishop, then taking his joined hands in his own, 
 placed them on the missal, and received his oath ; this por- 
 tion of the ceremony being followed successively by each of 
 the others. Then the novices carried the sword, which had 
 been blessed, to the king, and, kneeling before him, they 
 plighted their solemn vows. 
 
 After this, the knights advanced to receive their armor ; 
 Lancelot and Guy, having selected Maude and Eveline, — 
 as ladies often performed that office ; Maude arming Guy, 
 and Eveline her brother Lancelot; the corslet and the 
 greaves buckled on first, the spear and sword last. Com- 
 pletely armed, the novices still remained kneeling before 
 the king, who, rising from his seat, bestowed upon each 
 the accolade, which consisted generally of three blows of the 
 naked sword upon the neck or shoulder, the king pronounc- 
 ing, in a loud, clear voice; “In the name of God and St.^ 
 George, I make thee knight. Be loyal, bold, and true ; ” 
 adding also; “Bear this blow, and never bear another.” 
 
 After receiving the blow, which ended the servitude as 
 esquire, the new knights were decorated with their casques, 
 which had hitherto been held beside them ; and then march 
 ing down the aisle of the church, amid a flourish of trum- 
 pets, at the door of the abbey they sprang upon their 
 horses, showing themselves completely armed in the pres- 
 ence of the spectators, while the heralds proclaimed their 
 names and vaunted of their prowess. 
 
136 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 In the after-part of the day, a tilting match was held in 
 the castle-yard, witnessed by the king, queen, and ladies of the 
 castle ; Guy and Lancelot, by the mutual exchange of arms, 
 having solemnly adopted each other as brothers in arms. 
 Both were equally celebrated for strength and skilful horse- 
 manship, and when it became known that the two would 
 engage each other, great excitement was produced among 
 the gay company. 
 
 The weapons blunted and otherwise restrained, the contest 
 was simply one of skill ; but it is probable that a modern 
 lady would have fainted at the sight of the fierce onset, the 
 flashing lances, parried with inimitable skill by the two, and 
 the tremendous power by which the first shock was sustained 
 without unhorsing either; then, retreating with the same 
 wonderful swiftness, a second onset was made, more fierce 
 than the first, the noise of clashing armor mingling with 
 the cries of the spectators : ‘‘ Honor to the brave ! The 
 love of ladies ! Death to the horses ! ” 
 
 At the second onset, a swift and skilful blow of the lance, 
 struck by Guy upon Lancelot’s casque, made him reel in his 
 saddle, his horse, at the same time rearing, upon his hind 
 feet, and before the rider could recover himself, covered 
 with dust, the dismounted knight rolled upon the ground, 
 and Guy was victor of the day. 
 
 Stooping over the fallen knight, Guy assisted him to his 
 feet; but there was no injury, save a slight bruise from the 
 casque in falling. Carrying still farther the mock fight, 
 Guy, claiming the privilege of the day, advanced to Maude, 
 declaring her as the Queen of Love and Beauty ; then, with 
 
MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 137 
 
 a grace all her own, she extended the prize of a bracelet, 
 which was received with the usual knightly privilege. 
 
 ‘'A brave and gallant knight!'' said the king to the 
 Baron of Ravenscliff. ‘‘One can scarcely choose atween 
 the two, the vanquished or the victor. We trow that both 
 perform good service in the holy war." 
 
 Large numbers assembled at the close of that day in the 
 chapel at vespers ; for religious enthusiasm was strangely 
 stimulated by the ceremonies of the morning. Guy prayed 
 with renewed devotion to the blessed Virgin, and Maude 
 with deeper earnestness to her newly found Mediator. After 
 the service, we find the two alone in the rude retreat in the 
 pleasance. 
 
 “ Stirring days be upon us. Grey," said his companion ; “for 
 all the day I have seen thee on the battle-fields of Palestine; for 
 there thou wilt be ere many suns rise upon the Holy Land." 
 
 “ It is a glorious cause, Maude, that calleth every brave 
 knight away ; and thou hinderest not, I trow, by thy soft 
 words?" 
 
 “ When I girded on thine armor, Guy, I prayed that thou 
 mightest be a true and loyal knight ; and though it wringeth 
 the heart to say farewell, I could speak the words for the 
 sake of our dear Lord." 
 
 “ Thou art one of the sainted ones, Maude, and I trow 
 that thy dear prayer entereth the ear of the Holy Virgin." 
 
 “ Rather would I reach the ear of our Lord himself, and 
 the Gospel tel let h us that he saith : 
 
 “ ^ If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it.* " 
 
 “ He heareth thee, Maude, at all times." 
 
 12 * 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 
 
 TTERALDS had travelled throughout the kingdom to 
 proclaim the tournament to be held by the King of 
 England at Ravenscliff ; — by no means a mere sport to Coeur 
 de Lion ; for he meant that it should be an occasion when, 
 the military enthusiasm at its height, the holy cause should 
 be pressed upon the nobles ; and perhaps in no other way 
 could such an impetus be given to the incipient expedition. 
 
 The spot chosen was eminently romantic and appropriate. 
 About half a mile from the castle was an extensive slope 
 of the finest green turf, bordered on one side by a line of 
 noble oaks, and on the other by one of those unbroken for- 
 ests common in those remote days, — the level at the foot, 
 enclosed by a palisade, with an opening at either end for 
 the combatants, having wooden gates wide enough for two 
 hoi’semen to ride abreasl. Two heralds were stationed at 
 each gate. Six trumpets and as many pursuivants, guarded 
 by a strong body of men-at-arms, to preserve order. 
 
 There was a platform elevated beyond, on a natural emi- 
 nence, where were five magnificent pavilions, adorned with 
 pennons of orange and black, the cords of the tents of the 
 same colors. 
 
 138 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 139 
 
 ■\ 
 
 \- 
 
 Before each pavilion luing the sliield of the knight, 
 guarded by his esquire in some fantastic disguise. The 
 central pavilion had heim assigned to Reginald de Vere, 
 whose renown in all games of chivalry, as well as his 
 knightly character, had obtained for him the distinction of 
 chief on the tilted fiehl. Sii’ Rryan d(‘ Bourg and Sir Ame- 
 lot de Russy occupied tents on one side of the chief, and Sir 
 Roger d’Evreux and Sir Hugh de Courcy on the other. 
 
 A gently sloping passage, ten yards wide, led to the j)lat- 
 form on which the tents were ])itched. It was strongly se- 
 cured on each side, as was also the esplanade, and all 
 guarded by men-at-arms. 
 
 There was also at the north an access to the lists, a large 
 enclosed space, for such knights as might wish to enter the 
 lists with the challengers. Behind this space were tents, 
 containing refreshments of every kind, armorers, farriers, 
 and others, whose services might be needed. Outside the 
 lists, there were galleries spread with tapestry and carpets, 
 with cushions for the accommodation of those ladies and 
 nobles who were expected. Banners and bandrols floated 
 proudly over the galleries; silk and cloth of gold formed 
 the draperies. Proud escutcheons everywhere proclainuMi 
 the presence of the flower of the nobility of England. 
 
 A narrow^ space, much like the pit of a theatre, below tin 
 galleries accommodated the yeomanry and spectators of a 
 better degree than the more vulgar. iMultitudes of the hit 
 ter sought places of lookout from large banks of turf j)re- 
 pared for them on an elevated piece of ground. Hundreds 
 perched themselves upon the tree-tops., and even the high 
 
140 
 
 MAUDB AND MIRIAM. 
 
 $ieeple of an old church was crowded with spectators. There 
 was one point, however, of especial interest ; for in the cen- 
 tre of the eastern gallery, directly opposite to the spot where 
 the shock of the combat must take place, seats were raised 
 higher than the others, richly decorated, graced by a sort 
 of throne and canopy of cloth of gold, on which the royal 
 arms were emblazoned. Squires, pages, and yeomanry in 
 rich liveries waited around this place of honor, designed for 
 the king and Queen Eleanor. Opposite, raised to the same 
 height, was another seat of honor, more gayly but less sump- 
 tuously decorated. A train of pages and young maidens, 
 the most beautiful that could be found, in fancy habits of 
 green and pink, surrounded a throne decorated with the 
 same colors. Airy pennons bearing wounded hearts, bleed- 
 ing hearts, bows and quivers, and a blazoned inscription, in- 
 formed the spectators that this seat of honor was designed 
 for the Queen of Love and Beauty. 
 
 And now commenced the arrival of the spectators, press- 
 ing forward to occupy their respective seats ; not, however, 
 without many disputes, which were speedily settled by offi- 
 cers of the field, who, armed at all points, rode up and down 
 to preserve good order. 
 
 Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and 
 nobles in their robes of peace; the many richly-tinted colors 
 of their long mantles contrasting strongly with the gayer 
 and more splendid costume of the ladies, who, in a larger 
 proportion than even the men, assembled to witness sports 
 which a modern lady would think too bloody and dangerous 
 for amusement. A few knights-templar mingled with the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 141 
 
 crowd, wearing under-tunics of dark purple silk, garnished 
 with furs, over which flowed the long white robe in ample 
 folds ; the eight-pointed cross of the order cut on the shoul- 
 der of the mantle in black velvet ; the high cap removed. 
 The hair was worn in short, thick curls. 
 
 Tho lower space was soon filled by those of inferior 
 orders and such of the lesser gentry who, from modesty, 
 poverty, or other causes, durst not assume a higher place. 
 
 But the royal party are entering, announced by the shrill 
 trumpets, the multitude, in their eagerness, rising to their 
 feet to see the spectacle. 
 
 The king and queen rode first, on palfreys splendidly ca- 
 parisoned, attended by a gay and numerous train of laymen 
 and churchmen ; the latter as light in their bearing, and gay 
 in their dress, as their companions. 
 
 Among the latter was the Prior of St. Albans, in the most 
 gorgeous trim which a church dignitary could assume ; his 
 robe one of costly material, over which he wore a cope curi- 
 ously embroidered. Fur and gold were not spared in his 
 attire; for, beside the heavy golden signet ring which 
 marked his dignity, though contrary to the canon, his fingers 
 were loaded with precious gems. His sandals were of the 
 finest leather, imported from Spain ; the points of his boots, 
 exceeding the fashion of the times, turned up so far as to be 
 fastened not to his knees merely, but to his very girdle. 
 His beard was trimmed to as small dimensions as his order 
 would permit, and his shaven cicwn was concealed by a 
 scarlet cap, richly embroidered. 
 
142 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 The king was well mounted, splendidly attired in crimson 
 and gold, bearing on his wrist a falcon. As he caracolled 
 within the lists, at the head of his jovial party, it was with 
 no small share of royal audacity that he criticized the 
 beauties who adorned the galleries; Maude and Eveline 
 evidently attracting his especial notice, who, in the glow of 
 their beauty and the richness of their dress, shone conspicu- 
 ous among the crowd. 
 
 Just at this spot the king halted, and, turning to the prior, 
 said : 
 
 “ By my halidom, sir prior, we need look no farther for 
 our Queen of Beauty, for the white hand of the Lady Eve- 
 line de Vere taketh precedence of all the fair ladies.’’ 
 
 “None fairer, my liege,” replied the prior; “but, with 
 permission from your grace, it seemeth meet that the fair 
 sovereign’s throne remaineth unoccupied until the conqueror 
 shall be named, and then he hath the choice. It addeth 
 another grace to his triumph, and teach eth fair ladies to 
 prize the love which exalteth them to such honor.’' 
 
 Observing signs of impatience among the audience, the 
 royal party took the seats appointed for them, and the king 
 gave the signal to the heralds to proclaim the laws of the 
 tournament. 
 
 The lists now presented a most splendid and imposing 
 spectacle. The galleries were crowded with all that was 
 wealthy, great, and beautiful in the northern and middle 
 parts of England ; the contrast in the dress adding greatly 
 io the splendor. It was, moreover, one of the brightest of 
 September days, when the sun shone in his glory over the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 143 
 
 gorgeous pageant ; the graua old trees spreading out their 
 branching arms over the landscape. 
 
 The heralds ceased their proclamation with the usual cry 
 of Largess, largess, gallant knights ! ” when gold and silver 
 pieces were showered upon them, — it being a boast of chiv« 
 airy to be liberal to those who were esteemed officers of 
 honor, — the bounty acknowledged by the shouts of Love of 
 ladies I Death of champions ! Glory to the brave ! Honor 
 to the generous ! ” accompanied by the flourish of their mar- 
 tial instruments by a numerous band of trumpeters. 
 
 Then the heralds withdrew from the lists in glittering pro- 
 cession, and none remained within save the marshals of the 
 field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless as 
 statues, at the opposite ends. 
 
 The large space at the northern end was now crowded 
 with knights, desirous to try their skill against the chal- 
 lengers, who, when viewed from the galleries, looked like a 
 sea of waving plumage, — the glistening helmets and tall 
 lances, each bearing small pennons fluttering in the breeze. 
 
 At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, 
 chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the arena ; a single 
 champion riding in front, and four others following in pair 
 each wearing some token of his lady-love. The champiox^o 
 advanced slowly, restraining their fiery steeds, at the same 
 time exhibiting their paces and the grace of the riders. 
 With thousands of eyes fixed upon them, the knights rode 
 up to the platform where tlie tents stood, and there separa- 
 ting, each touched slightly; with the lance reversed, the 
 shield of his chosen opponent. Even some of the ladies 
 
144 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 seemed disappointed when it was found that they had chosen 
 the arms of courtesy ; for the interest of a tournament was 
 generally most intense when the greatest danger was in- 
 curred. The champions then retreated to the extremity of 
 the lists, where they remained drawn up in a line. 
 
 The interest of the spectators was now on the qui srive ; 
 for the challengers, headed by Sir Reginald de Vere, sallied 
 out each from his pavilion, and, mounting their horses, de- 
 scended from the platform, and opposed themselves individ- 
 ually to the knights who had touched their shields. Now 
 came the flourish of clarions and trumpets, when the specta- 
 tors arose, the ladies pressing forward in their eagerness, 
 and the combatants rushing out against each other at full 
 gallop. Such was the tremendous force of the shock and 
 the skill of the challengers, that those opposed to four of the 
 knights rolled upon the ground. The fifth alone maintained 
 the honor of his party, and parted with Sir Bryan de Bourg, 
 both splintering their lances without advantage to- either. 
 The shouts of the spectators, the acclamations of the heralds, 
 and the flourish of trumpets announced the triumph of the 
 victors and the defeat of the vanquished. The former re- 
 treated to their pavilions, and the latter, in dejection, with- 
 drew from the lists, to agree with their victors concerning 
 the redemption of their arms and horses. The fifth only 
 tarried long enough in the lists to be greeted by the applause 
 of the spectators, adding greatly to the mortification of his 
 defeated companions. Several other parties took the field 
 with various success ; the advantage, however, remaining 
 with the challengers. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 146 
 
 Three knights only appeared on the fourth, avoiding the 
 shields of De Vere and De Bourg. This, however, did not 
 ijhauge the character of the combat, for the challengers 
 were still successful. 
 
 Then came a long pause ; nor did it seem that any one 
 was anxious to renew the encounter ; the long interval un- 
 interrupted save by the heralds exclaiming : ‘‘ Love of la- 
 dies ! Splintering of lances I Stand forth, gallant knights I 
 Fair eyes look upon your deeds.” 
 
 The music, also, of the challengers breathed defiance ; the 
 old knights lamented in whispers the decay of martial 
 spirit, and agreed that no such dames of beauty could now 
 be found as those which graced +he jousts of their young 
 days. 
 
 At length, as the king began to talk of making ready the 
 banquet, and awarding the prize to Sir Bryan de Bourg, 
 who had overthrown three knights, the music of the chal- 
 lengers was heard again sounding a wild flourish of fierce 
 triumph, breaking the silence of the lists, answered this 
 time by a note of defiance at the other end. 
 
 All eyes were turned now to see the new champion, who, 
 as soon as the barriers were opened, paced into the lists. 
 Mounted on a gallant charger, he advanced straight up to 
 the central pavilion, and struck with the sharp end of his 
 spear the shield of Reginald de Vere until it rung again. 
 
 The families of De Mowbray and De Vere looked on with 
 beating hearts, for the heads of each house were now the 
 combatants ; not with arms of courtesy, but of ou trance, 
 which proclaimed a real combat of a different and more 
 Id K 
 
146 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 dangerous kind. De Mowbray had long desired the oppcr- 
 tunity for revenge which was now presented ; his early dis' 
 appointment, the great popularity of the Baron of Ravens- 
 cliff, his enormous wealth, the recipient of tlie favors of 
 the king, who had chosen his castle for the tournament, and, 
 now, the fact that his hated rival was the chief challenger 
 in the eyes of all England, were all so many drops of gall 
 to his already embittered spirit, and with a determination to 
 humble his rival^die stood opposite to De Vere at the ex- 
 tremity of the lists, the public excitement strained to the 
 highest pitch, for the brave knight of Ravenscliff was the 
 most honored of all the neighboring nobles. The trumpets 
 had no sooner given the signal, than the champions vanished 
 from their posts with the speed of lightning, and closed in 
 the centre of the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The 
 lances burst into shivers at the very grasp, and it seemed 
 for a moment that both knights had fallen, for the shock 
 had made each horse recoil upon his haunches. 
 
 Maude placed her hand upon her heart and raised one 
 earnest prayer for her father ; the Lady Jaqueline gave one 
 faint scream, hiding her face in her hands ; Eveline stretched 
 out both arms, as though entreating; Blanche and Alice, 
 clasped in each other’s arms, awaited breathlessly the issue 
 of the contest. 
 
 By the use of bridle and spur, the riders recovered their 
 steeds, and, glaring at each other an instant with fiery eyes, 
 made a demi-volte, then retiring to the extremity of the lists, 
 refjeived a fresh lance from the attendants. 
 
 A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfe, and 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 147 
 
 general plaudits attested the interest taken, for this encounter 
 was the most equal as well as the best sustained of the day. 
 But there is a dead silence, the multitude seeming almost 
 afraid to breathe, for the knights have resumed their station. 
 
 A few minutes’ pause having been allowed that the com- 
 batants and their steeds might recover their breath, when 
 the king with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound 
 the onset. The champions a second time sprang from their 
 stations and closed in the centre of the lists with the same 
 violence, but not the same equal fortune as before. In this 
 second encounter, De Mowbray aimed at the centre of his 
 antagonist’s shield, and struck it so forcibly that his spear 
 went to shivers, and De Vere reeled in his saddle. In the 
 beginning of his career, De Vere had directed the point of 
 Ills lance toward De Mowbray’s shield, but suddenly chang- 
 ing his aim, he attacked the helmet, a much more difficult 
 blow, but which he knew would render the shock irre- 
 sistible. 
 
 Yet still De Mowbray maintained his seat, and had not 
 his saddle-girth broken, would not have been unhorsed ; as 
 it chanced, however, saddle, man, and horse rolled on the 
 ground under a cloud of dust. 
 
 To exti’icate himself from the stirrups and the fallen 
 steed was but the work of a moment, and stung not only by 
 his defeat, but by the acclamation of the multitude at his 
 rival’s victory, he waved his sword in defiance of his con- 
 queror. De Vere, with knightly generosity, refused the 
 present challenge, desiring no farther humiliation^ and least 
 of all willing to endanger the life of his enemy. 
 
148 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 We shall meet again, I trust,’’ said De Mowbray, “ on 
 foot or horseback, with spear, axe, or sword. I am ready 
 to encounter thee.” 
 
 “ I seek not thy blood, De Mowbray. Why should we pro- 
 long a senseless feud ? ” 
 
 “ Because I hate thee, Reginald de V ere, crossing my path 
 everywhere.” 
 
 More angry words would have been exchanged, but the 
 marshals, crossing their lances between the two, compelled 
 them to separate. 
 
 Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called 
 for a bowl of wine, and, opening the lower part of his helmet, 
 announced that he quaffed it to all true English hearts 
 and to the confusion of foreign tyrants.” Retiring to his 
 pavilion, there was another pause in the combat, when the 
 flourisl of trumpets summoned others to the lists; answered 
 by a single fierce blast of a trumpet at the lower extremity, 
 the barriers opened, and a youthful knight, mounted on a 
 black charger, paced slowly up the lists. The new adven- 
 turer did not much exceed the middle size, and seemed to 
 be rather slender, though strongly made. His suit of armor 
 was formed of steel richly inlaid with gold, a lady’s bracelet 
 fastened in his crest. As he rode gallantly along, he grace- 
 fully saluted the royal party and the ladies by lowering his 
 lance. The dexterity with which he managed his spirited 
 horse, and the youthful grace displayed . by the rider, won 
 for him the favor of the multitude. Moving onward, the 
 champion ascended the sloping platform, and, to the astonish- 
 ment of all, struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 149 
 
 of Sir Bryan de Bourg, the most renowned of all the chal- 
 lengers for strength and skill. 
 
 Maude’s cheek blanched as she recognized the device upon 
 the shield as that of Guy de Mowbray. 
 
 She knew much of his skill as a horseman and his bravery 
 as a knight ; but a thousand fears filled her heart as she 
 looked at the stalwart frame of his antagonist. At the 
 signal, both rushed with the speed of lightning, and closed 
 in the centre of the lists with tremendous force, retain- 
 ing their seats manfully. Sir Guy had the advantage of 
 swiftness. Sir Bryan of strength, and in the combat that 
 followed, each strove for the mastery. Both champions 
 broke their lances fairly ; but Sir Bryan, who lost a stirrup 
 in the encounter, was judged to have the disadvantage. In 
 the second onset, Guy was equally successful. Striking Sir 
 Bryan so forcibly upon the casque that the fastenings of the 
 helmet broke, and only saved from falling by being unhelmed, 
 he was declared vanquished again. Sir Bryan retiring dis- 
 comfited to his pavilion, Guy remained master of the field ; and 
 challenging Sir Hugh de Courcy, the young knight showed 
 as much courtesy as he had hitherto displayed courage and 
 generosity. De Courcy’s horse, which was young and violent, 
 reared and plunged so furiously in the course of the career 
 m to disturb the rider’s aim, and Guy, disdaining to take 
 advantage of the circumstance, raised his lance, and, passing 
 his antagonist without touching him, whirled his horse and 
 rode again to his own end of the lists, offering Sir Hugh, by 
 a herald, the' chance of a second encounter. This, however, 
 was declined. Sir Hugh acknowledging himself vanquished, 
 U* 
 
150 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 as much by the courtesy as by the skill of his opponent 
 Sir Amelot de Russy summed up the list of Guy’s triumphs, 
 being hurled to the ground with such force that the blood 
 gushed from his nose and mouth, and he was borne senseless 
 from the lists, accompanied by Guy to his pavilion, where 
 proper attention was paid to the disabled knight, Guy then 
 riding his horse backward down the slope which he had 
 just ascended, compelling him to move thus through 
 the lists to the northern extremity, amid the loud shouts of 
 thousands who applauded his graceful horsemanship. 
 
 The acclamations of the multitude hailed the announce- 
 ment that the king awarded the day’s honors to Sir Guy de 
 Mowbray. The marshals then led the young knight to the 
 foot of a flight of steps which formed the ascent to the throne 
 of Coeur de Lion, who, with words of strong eulogy upon 
 his valor, caused to be delivered to him the war-horse as- 
 signed as the prize to the successful combatant. 
 
 With a profound obeisance, Guy replied in a few words 
 to the compliments of the king. The horse was then led 
 into the lists by two grooms in livery, the animal himself 
 fully accoutred with the richest war furniture. Laying one 
 hand upon the pommel of the saddle. Sir Guy vaulted at 
 once upon the back of the steed without using the stirrup, 
 and, brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around the lists, 
 exhibiting the points and powers of the animal with tne 
 skill of a perfect horseman. Those who knew Sir Guy 
 would never think of attributing this display to personal 
 vanity, but saw in the act only a proper method of showing 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 161 
 
 his appreciation of the princely reward with which he had 
 just been honored. 
 
 Amid the renewed plaudits of the spectators, ladies 
 waving their scarfs, pennons fluttering, and the shouts nf 
 
 Honor to the generous,’’ ‘‘Glory to the brave,” “Old Eng- 
 land forever,” Guy passed triumphantly through the lists. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the prior reminded the king, in a 
 wliisper, that the victor must now display his judgment by 
 selecting from among the beauties who graced the galleries 
 a lady who should occupy the throne of the Queen of Love 
 and Beauty, whose office it should be to deliver the prize of 
 the tourney on the following day. The king accordingly 
 made a sign with his truncheon, as the knight passed him 
 in his career around the lists. 
 
 Turning toward the throne, and sinking his lance until 
 the point was within one foot of the ground. Sir Guy re- 
 mained motionless, as if expecting the king’s orders, while 
 the spectators admired the dexterity with which he reduced 
 his fiery steed from a state of violent excitement to the still- 
 ness of an equestrian statue. 
 
 “ Sir Knight,” said the king, “ it is now your duty, as 
 well as privilege, to name the fair lady who, as Queen of 
 Love and Beauty, is to preside over to-morrow’s tourney. 
 Raise your lance.” 
 
 Sir Guy obeyed, and the king placed upon its point a 
 coronet of green satin, bordered with a circlet of gold, the 
 upper edge relieved by arrow-points, and hearts placed inter- 
 changingly, like the leaves upon a ducal crown. The knight 
 then paced slowly around the lists, glancing at the fair faces 
 
152 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 which adorned the circle, quite an amusing study to the bo" 
 holder, as the different characters were displayed in the 
 manner with which they endured the scrutiny. 
 
 At length the champion passed beneath the gallery where 
 sat the family of Ravensclilf, and the expectation of the 
 spectators was excited to the utmost. 
 
 Sir Guy remained stationary for more than a minute, 
 while the eyes of the silent audience watched his motions ; 
 then, gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he deposited 
 the coronet at the feet of Maude de Vere. 
 
 The trumpets sounded, and the heralds proclaimed the 
 Lady Maude de Vere as the Queen’’ of the day. 
 
 They then repeated the cry of Largess ! ” that was 
 liberally responded to, and the shout went up from the 
 multitude, ‘‘Long live the Lady Maude! the chosen and 
 lawful Queen of Love and Beauty.” After the king had 
 offered his salutations to the youthful queen, he stepped 
 aside a moment to make room for the father, who, according 
 to the custom, placed the crown upon the head of the only 
 sovereign. The king then leading the way, followed by his 
 train, retreated from the lists, and the sports of the day had 
 ended. In various routes the company were seen in vast 
 multitudes leaving the gay scene, by far the largest number 
 taking the i;oad to the nearest town, the royal party and a 
 numerous company returning to the castle. Some, bent upon 
 their share of the evening’s sports, remained on the ground 
 to enjoy the entertainment afforded by some minstrels, ^ 
 juggler, a saltimbank, arid a story-teller, who tarried behind 
 for the amusement of quite a large audience. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 153 
 
 The menials had stripped the galleries of the cushions 
 and tapestry to put them in a place of safety for the night ; 
 beyond the precincts, several forges gleaming through the 
 twilight announced the presence of the armorers, who were 
 working all night repairing or altering armor. 
 
 A bright moonlight tempted those in the neighborhood to 
 tarry for the sport, and the four made quite a profitable 
 night among the rude peasantry, who seldom met with such 
 brave amusement. The retinue at the castle enjoyed a mag- 
 nificent banquet; their pleasure much marred, however, by 
 the absence of the De Mowbrays, who durst not brave the 
 displeasure of the baron, after the defeat of the day, but 
 took up their abode for the night at the neighboring town. 
 Everything that could interest a barbarous age was here 
 collected, and the banqueting-hall, the kitchen, and the 
 ballium, all had their minstrels and their jugglers, whose 
 songs and merry-making continued until a late hour of the 
 night. 
 
 Note. For the description of the main features of the tourna- 
 ment, the writer is much indebted to Sir Walter Scott, in I is novel 
 of Ivanlioe.' 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EVIL EYE AT HAWKSWORTH. 
 
 1 1HE season for this bright array had been well chosen, 
 - for on the second day the sun rose in all his splendor, 
 and at an early hour the company might be seen assembling 
 to select the best appropriated seats. 
 
 Although the general combat was much more dangerous 
 than the single, there was no lack of numbers in the knights 
 who sought to enter the lists, Sir Bryan de Bourg leading 
 one party. Sir Guy de Mowbray the other. 
 
 About ten o’clock the place was crowded with persons 
 hastening to the tournament, and soon a flourish of trum* 
 pets announced the coming of the royal party, finding the 
 queen of the day already there. 
 
 With all the princely grace that so well became him, the 
 king rode forward to meet her, doifed his bonnet, and, dis- 
 mounting, assisted the Lady Maude from her saddle, .lis 
 followers uncovering at the same time, one of the most dis- 
 tinguished holding her palfrey. 
 
 ‘Ht is thus,” said the king, that we set the example of 
 loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are ourselves 
 her guide to the throne. Ladies,” he continued, ‘‘ attend 
 
 154 
 
MAUDE MIRIAM. 
 
 155 
 
 your queeu, as you wish to be distinguished in like manner.^’ 
 So saying, the king gallantly led Lady Maude to the 
 til rone, while the most distinguished present crowded to 
 obtain seats as near as possible to the sovereign of the day. 
 
 burst of music greeted her new dignity, half drowned 
 by the shouts of the multitude. 
 
 “It was not our choice,’’ said the king to one of the 
 nobles, “ for the light and graceful Lady Eveline beareth off 
 the palm of beauty ; but the young queen beareth herself 
 with modest grace, and a face of saintly guise blusheth 
 beneath that veil.” 
 
 The heralds then proclaimed silence, while the laws of the 
 tournament should be rehearsed. They were such as were 
 intended to diminish danger, as the combat was to be with 
 sharp swords and lances ; thrusts, however, strictly for- 
 bidden. The long procession entered in two imposing files, 
 arraying themselves opposite to each other in the lists, thfl 
 leader’s place in the centre not taken until the ranks were 
 carefully examined by the marshals to see that the numbers 
 were equal. 
 
 It was truly a gallant sight; the one hundred knights 
 heavily mounted, richly armed, seated on their war-horses 
 like so many pillars of iron, the steeds pawing the ground, 
 and fiercely neighing in their impatience for the signal. 
 The knights held their lances upright, the sharp points glit- 
 tering in the sunshine, the gay streamers floating from each 
 over the plumage of their helmets. ^ 
 
 It was not only a gallant, but a fearful sight, — that one 
 hundred should be willing, for mere sport, to risk life and limb 
 
166 
 
 MAUDE AND 3fIRIAM. 
 
 in mortal combat. Who can tell the heart-throbs in that gaj 
 concourse waiting in the galleries, as mothers, sisters, young 
 maidens, saw among that gallant company those so dearly 
 loved, whose hands they might never clasp again until cold 
 m death. Ah ! one quick bound of those throbbing hearts ; 
 for there is the dread sound of Hubert Evelyn’s voice 
 shouting, in tones of thunder, “ Laissez- aller I ” The 
 trumpets gave a shrill, fierce call : spears were placed in 
 their rests ; spurs plunged into the flanks of the steeds ; and, 
 with the s|)eed of lightning, out rushed the two foremost 
 ranks, meeting in the centre with a shock of clanging armor 
 that was heard for a mile distant. For a moment the result 
 was unknown, for the cloud of dust completely bewildered 
 the spectators; but it is all revealed now, — half of the 
 knights were dismounted; some by the powerful lance ; some 
 by the weight which had broken down both man and horse ; 
 some lay stretched upon the ground as though never to rise 
 again ; others had gained their feet, and were closing hand 
 to hand ; some that had been wounded were stopping the 
 bh,od by their scarfs, trying to extricate themselves from 
 the confusion, their squires dragging them out of the press. 
 The clanging of armor, the neighing of steeds, the fierce 
 battle-cries of the combatants were fearful, as the conflict 
 waged hotter and fiercer. The second file then advanced, 
 the followers of Sir Bryan shouting, ‘‘Ha! Beauseant!” 
 “for St. John I for St.John ! ” the opposite party shouting 
 Sir Guy’s watchword on his shield, “Jerusalem and the 
 Holy Cross ! ” The combat now raged with redoubled fury, 
 success alternating first to the northern, then to the southern 
 
MAUDE AND I R I A M. 
 
 157 
 
 extremity of the lists. FearfulVas the conflict now : the clang 
 of the heavy blows, the blasts of the trumpets, the groans 
 of the wounded, who lay helpless beneath the feet of the 
 horses, and even the cries of the ladies, exclaiming, “Brave 
 lance!” “Good sword!” when a successful blow was given, 
 imparted to the whole scene an aspect of the fierce barbarism 
 of these feudal days, even though restrained by the laws of 
 chivalry. But Maude is leaning forward in breathless sus- 
 pense, for a cry goes up from many voices, “Beware! be 
 ware ! Sir Guy ! ” 
 
 He is fighting hand to hand with the gigantic arm of Sir 
 Bryan de Bourg ; his own dexterity, and the wonderful 
 strength and activity of his horse, making him an equal 
 match for the brave crusader. 
 
 But the day is doubtful, for he is beset on the other side 
 by Sir Hugh de Courcy ; the quick and powerful blows of 
 the two antagonists telling upon the young knight with fear- 
 ful power, for he is reeling in his saddle. 
 
 Maude and Alice de Mowbray are seated together, with 
 blanched cheeks and distended eyes, watching the conflict, 
 the former calling upon the blessed Saviour, the latter upon 
 the calendar of the saints, while Blanche de Lacy is stop- 
 ping her ears, and covering her face in silent anguish. 
 
 “ To the rescue ! to the rescue ! ” shouts Lancelot de Vere, 
 and joined by two brave knights, they are dealing heavy 
 olows upon the assailants. Lancelot has lost neither lance 
 nor sword ; with great activity and force, he deals a blow 
 fn.m behind, seconded by his companion, up^n the s.Wv>rd of 
 Sir Bryan, which sends it flying from his hand ; he has 
 14 
 
m 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 already lost his lance, and nothing remains now but hii 
 battle-axe. Seeing the situation of the brave young knight^ 
 several more joined the fight ; some, however, for Sir Bryan 
 as well as for Sir Guy, and the cries are shouted by the 
 heralds, Fight on, brave knights ! ” “ Man dies, but glory 
 
 lives! Fight on, death is better than defeat! Fight on, 
 brave knights, for briglit eyes behold your deeds ! ” 
 
 Both parties display great bravery, and the multitudes 
 watch the conflict with breathless interest. Lancelot is ever 
 between his brother-in-arms and his foe, doing deeds of won- 
 der, and Guy is laying heavy blows about him upon both 
 of his antagonists. Aiming at Sir Bryan’s helmet, he deals 
 the blow which, followed by another from T^ancelot, stunned 
 the strong crusader, and, reeling in his saddle, he fell be- 
 neath his horse’s feet. Guy saw the defeat, and calling to 
 his own squire, he said : 
 
 ‘‘ Draw the brave knight away quickly.” 
 
 At that moment, a skilful blow from Sir Hugh de Courcy 
 laid Sir Lancelot low, blood gushing from a wound in the 
 side ; and the king, anxious to save further bloodshed, threw 
 down his warder, and put an end to the conflict. 
 
 Thus ended the memorable field of RavenscliflT, — one of 
 the most gallantly contested of the age ; for although but 
 three knights died upon the field (one smothered by the 
 heal of his armor), yet more than twenty were desperately 
 wounded ; four or five of whom never recovered. Several 
 were disabled for life, and those who escaped best, carried 
 the marks of the conflict to the grave with them. 
 
 The king, without hesitation, named Sir Guy de Mow- 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 169 
 
 bray as victor of the field; and through a field slippery with 
 blood, and covered with broken armor and the bodies of 
 slain and wounded liorses, the marshals conducted the young 
 knight to the foot of King Richard’s throne. 
 
 “ Sir Guy de Mowbray, we a second time award to thee 
 the honors of the tournament ; we award to thee the right 
 to claim and receive from the hands of the Queen of Love 
 and Beauty the chaplet so richly merited by deeds of 
 knightly valor.” 
 
 Sir Guy bowed low, murmuring a few modest wor^s ; and 
 while the trumpets sounded, and the heralds proclaimed 
 honor to the brave, while ladies waved their silken ker- 
 chiefs and embroidered veils, the marshals conducted Sir 
 Guy across the lists to the foot of the throne occupied by 
 the youthful queen of the day. 
 
 The victor knelt upon the lowest step of the throne, his 
 helmet in the marshal’s hand ; and the Lady Maude, de- 
 scending from her station with a dignified step, placed the 
 chaplet upon his head, saying : 
 
 “ I bestow upon thee this chaplet, sir knight, as the meed 
 of valor assigned to this day’s conqueror ; ” pausing a mo- 
 ment, and then adding, in a lower tone : “ and upon brows 
 more worthy could a wreath of chivalry never be placed.” 
 
 Sir Guy stooped his head, and kissed the hand of the 
 ovely sovereign by whom he had been rewarded. 
 
 But let us pay a visit to the brave young knight lying 
 wounded in his father’s pavilion. 
 
 “Art badly hurt?” said Sir Guy, as he clasped the hand 
 of his brother-in-arms 
 
160 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 “ Naught but a scratch/’ replied the wounded mau ; ** and 
 that be well borne for thee, Guy.” 
 
 “A mere fiesh-^ound,” said the leech, as Guy turned an 
 anxious glance upon his face. 
 
 I trow that thou art the crowned knight, Guy,” said his 
 friend; “for no more valiant arm wielded the sword and 
 lance on the field of Ravensclilf.” 
 
 “ It were hard to say, Lancelot, were I the judge; but so 
 the king hath ordered.” 
 
 King Richard held his high festival at a castle in the 
 neighborhood, belonging to a nobleman absent in the Holy 
 Land. Anxious to dazzle men’s eyes by his magnificence 
 and generosity, he had given large orders, and, with the full 
 authority of royalty, his purveyors had swept the country 
 of all that could be desired for so grand an entertainment. 
 Guests were invited in great numbers ; and especially 
 anxious to seek popularity at this time, he had extended 
 his invitations to many of the gentry iia well as the nobility. 
 
 The tables groaned with good cheer ; the cooks having 
 exerted all their art in varying the dishes. Delicacies were 
 brought from foreign parts, and a quantity of rich pastry, 
 as well as simnel bread, and wastle cakes, used only at the 
 tables of the nobles. The banquet was crowned, too, with 
 the richest wines, both foreign and domestic. 
 
 The long feast at length had its end ; and while the gob- 
 let circulated freely, and martial music gave zest to the 
 feast, the king had not forgotten the great object which had 
 been the moving motive in all this gathering of the p©)ple 
 of his kingdom. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 161 
 
 The marshal gave notice that the king was about to 
 speak, and silence pervaded the banqueting-hall. 
 
 “ Truly this is a gallant company,” «aid the king, as he 
 glanced down over the retinue of brave knights in Uieir 
 heavy armor. ‘‘Why tarry so many at home, when the 
 call from Palestine summoneth the faithful from all Europe 
 to avenge the cause of our slaughtered brethren, and to re- 
 deem the Holy Sepulchre from the hands of infidels ? It is 
 our sworn intention to march on a crusade in the winter 
 Who joineth the army of the Lord ? ” 
 
 Not a right hand was wanting in the audience ; for all 
 were raised to heaven in token of the solemn vow to follow 
 the king, the crusader’s battle-cry bursting from every lip : 
 “ It is the will of God.” 
 
 “ Money and men be needed in large supplies,” continued 
 the king. 
 
 “ There be no lack of either throughout England,” said 
 Sir Amelot de Kussy. 
 
 The greatest enthusiasm prevailed, and the lion-hearted 
 king had reason to rejoice in the success of his present enter- 
 prise, for men of all grades were ready to rush into the 
 ranks that were preparing for the third crusade. 
 
 “ The spirit of the crusader is fully awake,” said the king 
 to De Vere. “And now we summon all England to the 
 expedition, we count largely upon the Baron of Kavens- 
 cliflr.” 
 
 “Thou mayest be sure, my liege, of loyal service; but 
 ere our departure, I see thee at London.” 
 
 “ Thou art welcome at our palace, De Vere. And the twin 
 
 14* L 
 
162 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 queens of beauty come in thy train, I trow they would 
 create a stir at court, fot no such loveliness have we among 
 Queen Eleanor’s court ladies. ' 
 
 The Lady Eveline blushed at the compliment, and look- 
 ing eagerly toward the baron, she said : 
 
 “Thou sayest not nay, good father, I ween.” 
 
 But Maude, less eager for court gayeties, replied : 
 
 “ I cry thee mercy, my liege, for the glitter of a court 
 hath no attractions to tempt me from old Ravenscliff.” 
 
 Sir Walter de Courtenay, one of the retinue in the train 
 of the king, stood near his royal master, and, regarding the 
 Lady Eveline with looks of admiration, joined his desires 
 tv those expressed by the royal visitor. 
 
 “ Thou wilt not say me nay, fair lady, for there is much 
 to draw a young demoiselle to the palace; and Queen Eleanor 
 maketh thee welcome.” 
 
 The royal party have departed — the king to make vigor- 
 ous preparations for the expedition, and the Baron of Ravens- 
 clilf to fulfil his solemn vow. The excitement of the tourna- 
 ment at an end, Maude was glad to return to her quiet 
 employments and her lonely turret. 
 
 A cool September morning finds Maude in her sanctum 
 of holy rest. The gentle breeze is fanning her brow, 
 as it steals in through the open casement ; and the red 
 fitork is singing still his joyful carol in the nest built in 
 the wall-flower, for it is too soon yet to leave his northern 
 home. 
 
 Maude has another treasure now of old Latin hymns, 
 which the monk has lent to his favorite, — Ambrose and 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 163 
 
 Pruderitius, John of Damascus, St. Bernard, and Bernard 
 of Cluny, all singing to her in the sweet language of the 
 original. 
 
 The scenes through which she had so lately passed had 
 sorely disturbed the serenity of her spirit, for flashing armor 
 and the heat of barbarous warfare suited not the tone of a 
 mind that held daily communion with the Saviour; and 
 conscious of a sense of weariness, the sweet hymn that fob 
 iows tranquillized her hour of retirement ; 
 
 “ Art thou weary, art thou languid, 
 
 Art thou sore distrest? 
 
 ‘ Come to me,’ saith One, ‘ and, coming, 
 
 Be at rest.’ 
 
 “Hath He marks to lead me to Him, 
 
 If He be my Guide ? 
 
 ‘In His feet and hands are wound-prints. 
 
 And His side.’ 
 
 “Is there diadem, as monarch, 
 
 That His brow adorns? 
 
 ‘Yea, a crown in very surety. 
 
 But of thorns ! ’ 
 
 “If I find Him, if I follow, 
 
 What His guerdon here ? ^ 
 
 ‘ Many a sorrow, many a labor, 
 
 Many a tear I ’ 
 
 If I still hold closely to Him, 
 
 What hath He at last? 
 
 Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, 
 
 Jordan pasu * 
 
164 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “If I ask Him to receive me. 
 
 Will He say me Nay? 
 
 ‘Not till earthy and not till heaven 
 Pass away I ’ 
 
 “ Finding, following, keeping, struggling, 
 
 Is He sure to bless? 
 
 ‘ Angels, martyrs, prophets, virgins, 
 
 Answer, Yes ! ’ ” 
 
 And so Stephen the Sybarite, nearly four hundred years 
 before, had sung the hymn which now found its answer in 
 the heart of Maude de V ere ; so much of oneness is there 
 in the inner life of all God’s saints in every age. How 
 very precious are the words of the dear Lord to-day ! 
 
 It is true that Maude had borne her part in the tourna- 
 ment, — for the customs of the times had sanctioned them for 
 many years. — but her real self had so little to do with those 
 anti-Christian sports, that while the young demoiselles below 
 were rehearsing daily the incidents connected with the royal 
 visit, Maude had well-nigh forgotten that she had been the 
 Queen of Love and Beauty, the envied of many a young 
 as}»irant. 
 
 There is a knock at the door, and Wilfred d’Arcy pre- 
 sents himself 
 
 ‘"Sir Guy de Mowbray sendeth me with his devoirs, and 
 a message to the Lady Maude, and craveth a hearing to- 
 night in the chapei at ten o’clock. What answer bear I in 
 return ? ” 
 
 “ Tell him that I will be there, good Wilfred ; and thou 
 wilt attend me at that hour.” 
 
MAUI>E AND MIRIAM. 
 
 166 
 
 Accordingly, at the appointed hour, we find Maude in 
 the chapel ; Guy already there, who advanced to meet the 
 young lady, leading her to a seat near the altar, while Wil- 
 fred tarried at the door. 
 
 Wilt thou be seated a moment, Maude,’’ said the young 
 knight ; ‘‘ for I have much to say to thee ere I seek the 
 Holy Land? I trow that it may be many a long year ere 
 we clasp hands again, Maude.” 
 
 ** Art really going, Guy ? But why this secrecy ? ” 
 
 “My father, the Baron of Hawksworth, forbiddeth inter- 
 course between the two households. Syth the tournament, 
 his anger be redoubled ; and he charge th trespasses on the 
 hunting-grounds of Hawksworth by the retainers of Ravens- 
 cliff. W ere it not for the present stir about ,the crusades, I 
 trow that thou wouldst have sore distress at Ravenscliff ; for 
 it lacketh no further cause of strife to array the two barons 
 against each other as mortal foes.” 
 
 “We be glad then, Guy, that the crusades calleth off the 
 thoughts from such warfare.” 
 
 “ I am pledged to the king on his setting sail, as also is 
 Lancelot, an’ he be well enow ; for we be his chosen knights 
 to .attend upon his own royal person ; and I come now to say 
 farewell.” 
 
 Between the windows, over the altar, there was a picture 
 of the Virgin Mother, on which the moon was shining ; and 
 Guy, turning his eyes in that direction, said : 
 
 “ I./ook, Maude ! doth not the Holy Mother seem to 
 smile upon us? I trow that our holy work pleaseth her 
 well I ” 
 
166 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 I would rather have the smiles of Jesus, Guy. An’ thou 
 mayst have them an’ thou askest the Lord.” 
 
 Wilt pray for me, Maude, when I am far away ? for thy 
 prayers, sweet saint, I trow, availeth much in heaven.” 
 “Thou mayst be sure of my poor servic^e, Guy. Thou wilt 
 not forget me in the distant land? See! here is my scarf. 
 Wilt wear it, Guy ? ” 
 
 Taking off her blue scarf, she bound it over the shoulder 
 of the knight, who replied : 
 
 “ That inspireth me to deeds of valor, Maude.” 
 
 “ I have something yet more precious, Guy, and thou must 
 take it with thee to the Holy Land.” Taking the small manu- 
 script from her pocket, she handed it to her companion, 
 and said : 
 
 “Kneel, Guy, while we ask God’s blessing on his own 
 precious Gospel.” 
 
 Side by side they knelt before the altar, and Maude, in 
 solemn tones, uttered her simple words of prayer. 
 
 “ Go with this blessed Gospel ; for it is thine, dear Lord. 
 May the Spirit of all truth take its holy words, and make 
 them a light to the path of the pilgrim who goeth forth to 
 lioly warfare in thy service. Lord. Defend thy young ser- 
 rant, and bring him at last home to the paradise above.” 
 They arose deeply solemnized ; and Maude continued : 
 “Thou carriest this Gospel, Guy, under thy coat of mail. 
 Read it daily, and mayst thou love its precious words be- 
 cause they be our Lord’s. It is the first that I give away ; 
 for it be my own writing ; and now I see the fruit .of my 
 labor.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 167 
 
 “I will never part with it, Maude, an’ it be only for thy 
 «ake. But how fareth thy brother Lancelot ? ” 
 
 ** Better, Guy, but weak from the loss of blood ; more se^ 
 verely wounded than he chose to tell thee. Thou wilt be 
 faithful to him, Guy, and send tidings an’ thou canst of thy 
 welfare.” 
 
 ** Now, farewell, my own dear Maude. I must not detain 
 thee longer, for this chapel is very cold.” 
 
 They clasped hands before the altar ; and Maude, with 
 streaming eyes, said, in low, soft tones ; 
 
 “I ever thought that it would be so. Farewell 1 fare- 
 well ! and may God forever bless thee ! ” 
 
 Throwing his arm around the waist of the young damse^, 
 Maude’s head drooped upon his shoulder, and, pressing his 
 lips fondly upon the fair brow, he whispered : 
 
 “ Farewell, sweet one ! and may the blessed Virgin, and 
 all the saints, protect thee ! ” 
 
 Guy watched her departing figure as she walked slowly 
 down the aisle, and joined Wilfred at the door. Guy then 
 hastened his departure from Hawksworth. 
 
 Maude had no concealments from her mother, and next 
 day communicated the news of Guy’s departure and the 
 painful knowledge of his father’s increasing enmity. Ihe 
 Lady Jaqueline had long been conscious of the fact, and re- 
 garded the approaching crusade as a blessing, — turning the 
 thoughts of the grim baron in another channel, — for the evil 
 eye at Hawksworth had followed the family for many years. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT MASS. 
 
 T ANCELOT is still confined to his couch, although 
 mending rapidly ; and Maude is a daily visitor. The 
 confinement is galling to a spirit like his, and his sister^s 
 ministry is peculiarly soothing. 
 
 “ Hast brought thy cithern, Maude ? ” said the brother, 
 smiling. ‘‘ I see thou hast thy book, too.” 
 
 “ I have just learned one of St. Bernardos sweet hymns, 
 Lancelot. Shall I sing it ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Thy voice is ever soothing, Maude ; ” and, closing his 
 eyes, Lancelot composed himself for listening. 
 
 “0 Jesul Thou the beauty art 
 Of angel worlds above ; 
 
 Thy name is music to the heart, 
 
 Enlightening it with love. 
 
 “ 0 my sweet Jesu I hear the sighs 
 Which unto Thee I send; 
 
 To Thee mine inmost spirit cries, 
 
 My being’s hope and end. 
 
 1S8 
 
MAflDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 109 
 
 “Stay with us, Lord, and with Thy light 
 Illume the soul’s abyss ; 
 
 Scatter the darkness of our night, 
 
 And fill the world with bliss. 
 
 “O Jesul spotless virgin-flower! 
 
 Our love and joy ! to Thee 
 Be praise, beatitude, and power 
 Through all eternity.’’ 
 
 ‘ Very sweet, sister mine 1 ” said the invalid ; “ but it 
 rnijmeth a strangely familiar way of worshipping our 
 \jordr 
 
 “Thou wouldst not think so, Lancelot, an’ thou readest 
 the holy Gospel ; for there be naught but words which 
 bringeth us very close to the dear Lord. Let me read a 
 few.” 
 
 Running her eyes hastily over the text, she said, as though 
 speaking to herself : 
 
 “Here be miracles of power, but all full of love and 
 mercy. Here is the blessed talk with Nicodemus, so full 
 of the love of God, his precious teaching about himself; 
 then the resurrection comfort ; then the chapter about the 
 heavenly food, that bread from heaven. Such goodness ! 
 Buch mercy! such love! Where shall I commence?” 
 
 “ Take thy choice, Maude ; the Lord’s words must all be 
 good, I trow.” 
 
 “ Listen, Lancelot ! * I am the true vine, and my Father 
 
 IS the husbandman. 
 
 “ ‘I am the vine, ye are the branches. He that abideth 
 
 16 
 
170 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit ; 
 for without me ye can do nothing/ 
 
 ‘‘Thou knowest how the branches be nourished V the 
 vine, Lancelot,’^ continued his sister ; “ but they must be 
 united to it to get the benefit. Canst think how we be nour- 
 ished by the Lord ? ” 
 
 “ We must be in him, I trow, by being a part of his body 
 the Church.’’ 
 
 “ There seemeth something more than that, Lancelot ; for 
 Judas belongeth to the Church, and, certes! he was no 
 branch of the true vine.” 
 
 “ How know we then, Maude, an’ we are in the true 
 vine?” 
 
 “ By the Spirit which he giveth us, Lancelot. Father 
 Ambrose telleth us that by holy baptism we be made mem- 
 bers of Christ ; but how can we believe that the wicked peo- 
 ple all around us are members of the true vine, when they 
 bring forth no holy fruits ? ” 
 
 “Doth not the Gospel teach as Father Ambrose, 
 Maude?” 
 
 “ I trow not ; for not a word about praying to the saints 
 and doing penance do we see in all the blessed book. I 
 trow, Lancelot, when the blessed Lord hung upon Calvary, 
 he did all the work of our salvation, and that when he said 
 ‘ It is finished ! ’ he meaneth more than giving up the 
 ghost.” 
 
 “ Thou icarnest much from the blessed Gospel, Maude.” 
 
 “ Wouldbt read the booJi an’ I leave it with thee, Lance- 
 lot? Thou wilt be a soldier of the cross, I trow; and when 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 171 
 
 thou art far away, the holy Gospel comforteth and blesseth 
 thee, Lancelot.” 
 
 “ Thou be a holy saint, Maude ; and I promise thee to 
 read the holy book.” 
 
 ‘'That is the second that I have given: who knoweth what 
 the good seed bringeth forth ? ” 
 
 And so another copy of the blessed Gospel was laid by 
 Maude in the hands of one shejoved. 
 
 The trumpets of the tournament are echoing still through 
 all classes, and multitudes are meditating upon the new 
 crusade. The lion-hearted king, with all the impetuosity 
 of his nature, is stirring up the kingdom, and making vigor- 
 ous efforts to raise the funds necessary for such an expedi- 
 tion. In the meanwhile, the news of the calamity at Kome 
 had reached England ; for in three days after Pope Urban 
 heard of the fall of Jerusalem, crushed by a broken heart, 
 his remains were deposited in the church at Ferrara, and 
 a new pope immediately elected. 
 
 Determined not to abandon the sacred cause, the new 
 pope appointed the Archbishop of Tyre to visit France, 
 Germany, and England, for the purpose of rousing up the 
 people, and sending out a third crusade ; and the King of 
 England has appointed the mitred Abbey of St. Hilary as 
 a fitting place foi meeting. 
 
 The refectory of the abbey was prepared for the solemn 
 audieUve; and seldom had a more magnificent array of 
 kingly glory been displayed. Gorgeous tapestry hung from 
 the walls, hiding the rare beauty of the vaulting shafts in a 
 blaze of lustre. At the upper end, beneath a canopy, sat 
 
172 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 King Kichard, in his royal robes ; the crown on his head, 
 the sceptre in his hand. On his left, a vacant place was 
 served for the archbishop, around which clustered the earls, 
 barons, and knights. The princesses and ladies of the court 
 occupied seats on the right. The high-roofed building glit- 
 tered with a hundred wax lights, and two metallic crowns, 
 suspended from the ridge-beam, carried each forty tapers, 
 shedding a flood of brilliancy over the knightly armor ' md 
 the sparkling jewels of the ladies. 
 
 Knightly hearts beat high in the prospect of a third jru- 
 sade. Bright eyes looked their warm approval, and sweet 
 voices were ready to bid them God speed. 
 
 In this objective age, when the worship of the Christian 
 Church was so highly sensuous, such an occasion seemed 
 the very season for exhibitions of the greatest self-sacrifice. 
 Accordingly, in that crowded assembly were many hearts 
 ready for any deed of heroic valor, if by this they could 
 hope to relieve the exiles in the Holy Land, who were giv- 
 ing away their lives in their zeal for what was deemed the 
 highest act of Christian devotion. Among these knights, 
 none were more deeply imbued with religious fervor than 
 the Baron of Kavensclifl*, nor among the Norman ladies 
 were any more saintly than the Lady Maude. It re- 
 mained for a future age, when, after the Keformation, a 
 subjective era of piety dawned upon the world, to aflerd ob- 
 jects upon which to expend Christian energy. Then amidst 
 the explosion of the old superstitions, the effete mum- 
 meries of Romanism burnt out, and ^Uhe just shall live by 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 173 
 
 taith glitte.*ed like stars of glory in the Christian firma- 
 ment, — then dawned the age of active piety. 
 
 The door at the lower end opened, and, introduced by the 
 lord abbot, the Archbishop of Tyre entered. His face was 
 sad ; for at home he had seen the dissensions of the cru- 
 saders and the defeat of the holy cause. Throughout Eu- 
 rope, he had met with naught but discouragement ; and his 
 hopes were now all centred in the lion-hearted King of 
 England. 
 
 Joselyn de Vallier, the Master of the Hospitallers, followed, 
 clad from head to foot in a coat of scaled mail, the picture 
 of a soldier monk. Then followed two hospitallers and two 
 templars, bearing respectively the banner of the kingdom, 
 the keys of the sepulchre, those of the tower of David, and 
 of the Holy City. 
 
 Amid profound silence, the archbishop and De Vallier 
 stepped forward, and, after making due obeisance, the former 
 spoke : 
 
 ‘‘ Behold, 0 great king ! the banner and the keys of Jeru- 
 salem, which we lay at your feet. The holy city hath fallen, 
 — the city that for eighty-eight years was under Christian 
 rule is now under the foot of Saladin. Blood hath flowed 
 like oceans, our great princes have fallen, our people are 
 exiles, and the holy places are polluted by the tread of 
 infidels. 
 
 “ I witnessed the marching out of the long procession ; the 
 weeping queen in her litter, followed bv seculars and reli- 
 gious orders. Then came knights and men-at-arms ; then 
 burgesses, wUh their families; then the poor and destitute, 
 16 * 
 
174 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 and, lastly, a strong body of Christian cavalry to protect the 
 rear from insult. 
 
 “Then I heard the shouts of the infidels ringing from 
 Mount Calvary to the Mount of Olives. I can never forget 
 the terrible cry. Saladin entered first, followed by thou- 
 sands, sounding still the same taunting shouts. Hammer 
 and axe were busy; ladders were planted against the 
 churches; bells cracked beneath the thundering sledge; 
 crosses tottered and fell ; altars were shattered and defaced ; 
 pictures and images trampled on the ground. Twenty men 
 scaled the temple, — a cable being fixed to the great cross of 
 gilt copper that surmounted its dome. Some struck at it 
 with maces ; some tried to wrench it with levers ; some 
 pulled from below, while hundreds stood by to shout and 
 cheer. It resisted the ungodly assault for a long time. At 
 length, with a tremendous eflfort, it was heaved oflP, and 
 thundering down from its height crashed in the street 
 below. 
 
 “Its fate afterward was still more terrible; for it was 
 sent as a trophy to the Sultan of Bagdad, who, overjoyed, 
 proclaimed a public holiday. Then the holy cross was 
 dragged through the streets of the city, covered with filth, 
 trampled on and spurned, and at length thrown into the 
 place where the sewers discharged themselves. 
 
 “ These, great king, are the horrors that I have seen. I 
 have appealed to Christendom ; still no assistance comes. It 
 is true that we are justly punished for our sins ; but this per- 
 taineth to God, not man, to punish us. If from God we 
 hope for remission, surely from man we may expect assist- 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 176 
 
 ance. We have gone from noble to noble, from court to 
 court ; we- have wept and prayed ; we have besought and 
 implored ; and now, as our last resource, we turn, O mighty 
 king ! unto thee. From his Holiness we come furnished with 
 indulgences. They that in penitence take the cross are at 
 once absolved from their sins. They are dispensed from the 
 obligation of fasting, and other penal works. His Holiness 
 chargeth himself with the care of their families and effects ; 
 and, dying in Holy Land, they shall, if they continue in 
 the same condition of soul, go at once into Paradise. In 
 the name, then, of all those who have fallen in defence of 
 that blessed religion for which we still fight, — in the name 
 of those glorioles saints who, from time to time, have so 
 manifestly battled for us, — for Godfrey de Bouillon, of 
 saintly memory, hath been seen by many of the crusaders, 
 — above all, in Hismame, who there conversed with men; 
 who there, by the space of thirty-three years and upward, 
 left us our example ; who there accomplished the salvation 
 of man by His most precious death and passion, and who 
 there ascended into the kingdom of Heaven, — I beseech 
 your gracious majesty to take the vow of serving in person 
 in the Holy Land.” 
 
 “ We have already, holy father,” replied the king, ‘‘ taken 
 advice with our council in this matter. For ourselves, our 
 whole heart is in this enterprise, and we gladly offer our 
 life, our money, and our army for the holy cause of warring 
 against accursed Paynimrie. We shall summon a great 
 council of lords, to be hoi den at We&tminster, on St. Michael 
 and All Angels’ day, when this matter shall be finally dis- 
 
176 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 cussed. We not only give license to such of our subjects a« 
 shall be willing to take the cross, and furnish them with all 
 arms and necessaries, for the voyage, and money for their 
 sustenance as long as they serve in Holy Land, but we 
 head the army in our own person, God and St George being 
 our helpers.” 
 
 “Now God be praised ! ” said the bishop, tears of joy fill- 
 ing his eyes. “ These are the only words of hearty good- 
 will syth I left Palestine. God and the holy saints bless 
 and keep you, Eichard Plantagenet, mighty King of Eng- 
 land.” 
 
 Then stepping forward, the king said in brave, clear 
 tones : 
 
 “ Holy father, I will make my vow in your hands.” 
 
 “ Kneel down, my liege,” said the bishop, taking his seat 
 in the chair prepared for him, and in the midst of that 
 august assembly the king, kneeling, said : 
 
 “ I, Eichard Plantagenet, King of England, knight, do, 
 for the love of God, and the remission of my sins, promise 
 and vow, in the sight of the Holy Trinity, the most blessed 
 Virgin Mary, the holy apostles SS. Peter and Paul, St. 
 Michael the archangel, and all saints, service in the Holy 
 Land in our own person for the length of the crusade. 
 And we further promise and vow, as aforesaid, and for the 
 afore sacred ends, to maintain an army fully equipped, and 
 BO help us God, at our utmost need.” 
 
 Then followed Sir Eeginald de Vere and Sir Lancelot, 
 his son; Sir Eichard de Mowbray and many other knights 
 taking the same vow, with alterations according to theii 
 
M4UDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 1?7 
 
 rank and circumstances. There was a pause of a moment 
 :n the solemn ceremony, when the Lady Jaqueline de Vere 
 stepped forward also. Observing her hesitate, the bishop in- 
 quired, in a gentle voice of encouragement : 
 
 “ What wouldest thou, daughter ? ” 
 
 I would do that,” she replied, “ which my lord and hus- 
 band hath even now done.” 
 
 With hands clasped and eyes bent upon the floor, the 
 Lady Maude followed her mother. 
 
 “Kneel on either side of the knight, my daughters,” 
 directed the bishop, and, in a voice that trembled with 
 emotion, each separately took the vow of pilgrimage to the 
 Holy City, and of doing all that in them lay to serve the 
 warriors of the cross. 
 
 Other noble ladies followed ; and, amid a silence that 
 might be felt, the bishop spoke. 
 
 “ And I,” said the prelate, “ by the authority of our Lord 
 and his blessed apostles SS. Peter and Paul, and all saints, 
 and by the authority of the Holy See, in this case especially 
 committed unto me, do, as far as the keys of holy Mothei 
 Church extend, absolve you from all guilt of excommunica- 
 tion, interdict, or any other sentence which, knowingly oi 
 ignorantly, you have to this hour incurred. I absolve you 
 from all sins confessed, particularly or generally, or which, 
 if they had been remembered, would have been confessed. 
 I absolve you from all offences against God, and offences 
 against your neighbor, fj om fault and from punishment. I 
 close, by the authority of blessed St. Peter, V’icar of Chri.^, 
 the gates of hell and purgatory, and I open those of Para- 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 dise; and in token liereof receive the cross of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ/^ and with these words, he attached round the 
 neck of the knights, and to the right shoulder of the ladies, 
 the red cross pattee, that separated them from the world 
 and marked them out for God. “Provided always,” he 
 continued, “ that in case you fail to perform this vow, the 
 absolution received becometh null and void, and yourselves 
 incur the penalty of excommunication, according to the 
 canon in that case provided. Now the God of armies be 
 praised,” continued the bishop, “ who hath put it into the 
 heart of the King of England to undertake this holy cru- 
 sade ; for we hope much from the strong arm and brave 
 spirit of your gracious majesty.” 
 
 “ God and St. George prosper our cause,” was the reply. 
 “ Amen ! amen ! ” answered the bishop. 
 
 The conference broke up amid a flourish of trumpets ; but, 
 ere they separated, a midnight mass was held at the abbey 
 The splendid church was gorgeously illuminated, the pic- 
 tures all uncovered, and, amid the grandest music of those 
 days, the imposing procession filed into the church ; the 
 bishop and clergy in their most showy vestments, the king 
 in royal robes, the ladies in their court magnificence, and 
 the nights in glittering armor, — royalty and knighthood 
 and Norman loveliness in all their glory ; and perhaps nevei 
 ^ again in that century would such a spectacle be seen. 
 
 Strong contrast with the days of the lowly Nazarene, of 
 whom we can remember but two processions, — one on 
 entering Jerusalem on the humblest of animals ; the utmost 
 that can be said of worldly applause that it came from the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 179 
 
 children, whose youthful voices shouted “ Hosanna ! ” and 
 strewed simple palm leaves in his way. No mitred bish : ps, 
 no swinging incense, no gorgeous vestments nor glittering 
 banners, no worldly pomp was there. Then that other, 
 along the Via Dolorosa, — the mocking robe, the crown of 
 thorns, the shameful cross, the jeering multitude on the way 
 to Calvary. These were the Lord's processions. What 
 must he have thought of the pomp of those Eomish shows 
 in that day, and of their childish imitations in this later 
 day? 
 
 All hearts in this old abbey were filled with the great 
 idea of redeeming the Holy Sepulchre from the hands of the 
 infidels ; and it is probable that the fanatical leaders of that 
 day felt as if the smiles of Heaven must be bestowed upon a 
 cause so holy. Very different emotions, however, filled the, 
 hearts of the worshippers. 
 
 The king was seeking worldly glory, and many sympa 
 thized with him. The archbishop really sincere in hisjnis 
 taken zeal, and Maude felt as if life itself might well b( 
 offered upon the altar of sacrifice, if thus the Holy Land 
 could be redeemed. After the celebration of the Mass, the 
 procession marched several times around the church, sing- 
 ing the old recessional hymn of the Koyal Banners. Then 
 the multitude separated, and henceforth all England ^vas 
 astir in preparations for the third crusade. Men of all 
 ranks, stimulated by the example of the king, were eager to 
 enlist ; and the sign of the cross was seen everywhere upon 
 the numbers w^aiting for an opportunity to embark. 
 
 Kavenscliflf was no longer a peaceful garrison, at ease 
 
180 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 their arms ; for the din of warlike preparation was heard 
 from morning until night. The baron is frequently absent 
 summoning his retainers, who were arriving in companies to 
 register their names, to procure arms, and to receive orders. 
 Each day now was heard the shrill trumpet marshalling 
 the companies that were training in the ballium of the cas- 
 tle, and the fierce neigh of the war-horses exercising in the 
 tilting-yard. The cleaning and repairing of arms occupied 
 the time not employed in military exercises, and once a 
 week there was a grand review in the ballium, where four 
 thousand men-at-arms were drilled by their commanders. 
 But that which interested the ladies of the castle most, was 
 the gallant display of five hundred cavalry, mounted on 
 spirited chargers, going through their military evolutions 
 with matchless skill and fire. 
 
 The banners of England and Jerusalem floated from the 
 towers of the keep, and every evening the military music 
 of the castle practised in the tilting-yard. 
 
 Everywhere the martial spirit prevailed, and more pre- 
 cious than ever were Maude’s sweet hours in the turret, for 
 she felt that they were drawing to a close. 
 
 Lancelot had quite recovered, and, summoned by the 
 king, he had joined the army gathered around the royal 
 person, where he had also met Guy de Mowbray. Old 
 Cicely was frequently found in tears at the thought of 
 losing her valued mistress and the dear young den|oiselles, 
 and Maude tried to comfort the faithful servant of so many 
 years. 
 
 “ Be not so sorely grieved, good Cicely,” said the young 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 181 
 
 lady ; we be on a holy errand. The Lord and his saints 
 be with us; and the holy work done, we return again to the 
 old castle.” 
 
 - ‘‘1 wish that I might go with thee, Lady Maude. What 
 doest thou an thou be sick in that far-off land ? ” 
 
 '‘Thou art too old, good Cicely. Tarry thou at home, 
 and take care of Father Ambrose. Let him not miss his 
 good ale and furmety ; but I know that thou wilt be good to 
 the old friar.” 
 
 Cicely wiped away the tears, and said : 
 
 “ I trow that it is a good and holy work that calleth thee 
 away ; but it seemeth that women had fain tarry at home.’’ 
 “ What becometli, then, of the wounded and the dying, 
 Cicely? Women may not join the warfare, but they can 
 bind up the bleeding limbs of the soldiers of the cross.” 
 
 “ Thou wert ever a saint. Lady Maude. I trust that thou 
 mayst sit once more in the little turret, with the blessed 
 Gospel. But last night I dreamed that I saw thee there, 
 and thou didst smile upon me in such a loving and holy 
 way ; and just as I was about to touch thee, thou vanishest 
 out of the casement ; and the last that I saw of thee was 
 thine own sweet smile, and a pair of white wings that soared 
 upward to the sky.” 
 
 “ And so, good Cicely, thou thinkest that never again sit 
 I in the lonely turret. And what then? I be in sweet 
 Paradise, with my Lord and the holy angels ; and it mat- 
 tereth not whether I go there from the castle of Ravenscliff 
 or from the fields of Palestine.” 
 
 It mattereth much to me, dear Lady Maude ; for an the 
 16 
 
182 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Lord taketh thee away, I wis that thou liest in thy father’s 
 chapel, whither I might go and look at thy dear name upon 
 the marble, like the Lady Eleanor that sleepeth there, with 
 her feet upon a hound, her hands clasped in prayer, and 
 her eyes fixed upon the image of the crucified.” 
 
 The Lord doeth all things well, Cicely : an I do \m 
 blessed will, I leave all the rest to him.” 
 
 This was the sweet spirit of self-resignation with which 
 Maude contemplated her vow. 
 
 Just as expectation was at the highest point, from some 
 sudden caprice. King Kichard delayed the expedition. 
 Many who were fully prepared waited not for the tardy 
 sovereign, but in large numbers passed over into the Holy 
 Land and joined themselves to Guy of Lusignan, who had 
 now collected the remnants of all the military orders, and, 
 with the princes and knights who had escaped the Moslem 
 scimetar, was engaged in besieging Acre, — his forces thus 
 become immense. Saladin pitched his tent on the mountains 
 to the south not long after the Christians had commenced 
 the siege, and innumerable battles in the open field suc- 
 ceeded, in which neither army gained any material advan- 
 tage that was not soon compensated by some following re- 
 verse. Both sides were so well supplied with provisions 
 that the confiict seemed interminable, from the equal force 
 and zeal of the contending parties. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 EVELINE AT COURT. 
 
 TjIINDING that the king delayed his departure untiJ 
 December, the Baron of Ravenscliff postponed his own 
 motions until spring, and Maude was busily engaged with 
 her favorite employments all winter. 
 
 Wilfred is making real progress now in the study of the 
 Gospel. We will take our seat by the side of the two when 
 the page is able to read slowly, but correctly, his first chap- 
 ter in the blessed book. 
 
 “ But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom tho 
 Father will send in my name, he shall bring all things to 
 your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.” 
 
 “ Thinkest thou. Lady Maude,” said the reader, “ that it 
 l)e that blessed Teacher which speaketh to me in the night 
 season ? for the voice bringeth many past sins to my remem- 
 brance ; but with it ever cometh the voice of a Saviour s 
 love.” 
 
 “Doubtless it be the Holy Spirit. And I have long 
 w^atched thee, good Wilfred ; and now I ween that thou art 
 among the blessed ones whom Jesus meaneth when he 
 eth these words : 
 
 188 
 
184 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 No man can come to me except the Father which hath 
 sent me draw him ; and I will raise him up at the last day/ 
 Blessed art thou, good Wilfred, an the Father draweth thee ; 
 for listen again to these precious words : 
 
 ‘ And this is the Father’s will which hath sent me, that 
 of all which he hath given me, I should lose nothing, but 
 should raise it up again at the last day.’ Dost thou thus 
 believe, Wilfred? An it be so, the promise belongeth unto 
 thee of a surety.” 
 
 Deeper draughts of the pure fountain of truth were drunk 
 all the winter season, and much happiness did Maude find 
 in the docile spirit of the young student. 
 
 Eveline’s head was completely intoxicated with the pros- 
 pect of a visit to London ; and the young damsels in the 
 ’broiderie room spent much time in discussing the pleasures 
 in store for the youthful beauty. Having been long aware 
 of Maude’s employments, hitherto she has had no reason for 
 trespassing upon her retirement ; but one day we find her 
 knocking at the door of the turret. 
 
 Can I come in, Maude? ” said the voice in the corridor. 
 
 Opening the door, Maude took her sister’s hand, greeting 
 her with a pleasant smile. 
 
 ** Certes thou art welcome, sister mine,” said the young 
 student, kissing the rosy cheek. It pleaseth me well to 
 see thee ; but what bringeth thee to this quiet turret, Eve- 
 line ? My work here is very serious ; but to me very 
 precious.” 
 
 “Yea, truly, I wot what thou art doing, Maude; but now 
 I come to ask thy help, for the time be growing very short. 
 
MAUDE AND M I U I A M. 
 
 185 
 
 and I am not half ready for my journey. The damsels 
 below have their hands full with my kirtles and tunics; but 
 I must e’en have thy skilful fingers on my wimple and my 
 gloves, sweet one.” 
 
 What wouldst thou, Eveline ? I am ready to help thee, 
 sister mine.” 
 
 ‘‘I must have my wimple embroidered with silver thread, 
 and my gloves with silk. 1 have brave patterns ; but none 
 can ’broider as thou canst. Wilt help me, Maude?” 
 
 “I begin them to-day an thou wiliest it; but I like not 
 the journey to the court, sweet one; for raethinketh that Sir 
 Walter de Courtenay looketh upon thee with a lover’s eyes, 
 sister mine; and what do I without thee in this old castle?” 
 Eveline blushed deeply as she took from her girdle a 
 note of rose-colored paper, fastened with a small silver arrow 
 through the impression of a heart. 
 
 ‘‘This cometh from London, Maude; and syth writing I 
 read not, I bring it to thee to read for me.” 
 
 Maude opened the billet, and read : 
 
 “To THE Lady Eveline de Vere: 
 
 These few hasty lines be written to the lady of my heart, 
 praying that she cometh truly to Westminster with the 
 noble baron. I count the weary days and hours, hoping to 
 see thee, sweet one, ere many days pass by. There be many 
 banquets in store for thee, fair lady, among the highest in 
 the land. Queen Eleanor fitteth up thy bower daintily, and 
 hath already installed Winifred Bertram, of gentle birth, 
 to be thy bower-woman. One word let me write, and when 
 thou readest, destroy this note. Be thou very coy and dis- 
 tant toward the king; for, though a brave and gallant 
 16 ♦ 
 
186 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 knight, he is no fitting admirer of a young maiden. I 
 would write this to my own fair sister Mabel. Come 
 speedily, sweet one, and thou wilt be truly welcome to thine 
 own true knight, Walter de Courtenay. 
 
 Westminster, St. Agnes’s Eve.” 
 
 The bright smile and rosy cheek with which Eveline 
 listened, betrayed the pleasure given by these few hasty 
 lines. 
 
 He will be thy lover, Eveline ; and I shall lose thee, 
 sweet one,” said Maude; “but ere thou goest, let me show 
 thee my work,” and, bringing out her manuscript, she laid 
 it before her sister. 
 
 “ It must have cost thee much toil, sister mine,” said the 
 /oung lady. 
 
 “ Some toil, it is true, Eveline, but more of blessedness. 
 llVould that thou couldst read it, sister mine! I have 
 .aught Wilfred. Wouldst thou not spare one hour daily ? ” 
 
 “Not now, Maude. Wait until I return, and then I 
 ome to thee daily.” 
 
 “Thou wilt not, Eveline; for thy young heart will be 
 filled with other thoughts.” 
 
 “What colors would’st thou choose for my gloves, 
 Maude?” 
 
 “ Not too many. I would like small rose-huds and green 
 leaves.” 
 
 “ That would be brave, indeed ! But what for my net, 
 Maude?” 
 
 ‘ Seed-pearls are really the loveliest, sister.” 
 
 “ The good baron, my father, hath promised me a new set 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 187 
 
 of jewels when I go to court. What sayeat thou to dia- 
 monds, Maude ? ” 
 
 Very showy, Eveline ; but suit thyself, sweet one. Now 
 let me read thee a few verses of my blessed Gospel ere thou 
 leaves! me.” 
 
 But the precious words fell upon pre-occupied soil; and, as 
 Eveline left the turret, she turned back once more to say : 
 ‘‘ I must have two wimples, Maude, one of gold and one 
 of silver thread. So come down soon;* for we go in ten 
 days,” and the sister heard her retreating figure singing a 
 merry air of Provence all the way down the long flight of 
 stone steps, until the voice faded in the distance, still 
 carolling her gay song as she entered the ’broiderie room. 
 
 Very beautiful was the delicate work so gracefully 
 wrought by Maude’s skilful fingers, and when it was really 
 completed, all the young damsels crowded around to praise 
 the skill with which she had traced the lovely flowers. 
 
 It was cold when they started on their journey ; Eveline 
 in a litter, warmly clad in woollen garments trimmed with 
 fur, and hood of the same materials, attended by a numer- 
 ous retinue of men-at-arms. Stopping for the night by the 
 way, it was several days ere they reached London, where 
 they were warmly greeted by the king and Queen Eleanor. 
 
 “ There be many waiting for thee, fair lady,” saia the lat- 
 ter ; “ one coming daily to wot of the motions of the Lady 
 Eveline de Vere. He be in the ante-chamber now.” 
 
 Calling an attendant, she sent for Sir Walter de Courte 
 nay, who betrayed, in a way not to be mistaken, the deep 
 interest felt in the young stranger. 
 
188 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Tlie first greetings over, a lady in waiting conducted Eve* 
 line to her bower, where ^Yinifred Bertram was ready to 
 receive her. Her first desire was rest; for the journey had 
 been long and wearisome ; but after a few hours we find her 
 ready for the hands of her attendant, who spared no pains 
 in adorning the beautiful creature before her. 
 
 For the first evening, Eveline was introduced to a select 
 number, who looked, some with envy, others with unmingled 
 admiration, upon “the new star in their midst ; for certainly 
 there were none present who could bear any comparison 
 with the stranger. 
 
 The undisguised admiration of the king was wormwood 
 and gall to Sir Walter, who took an opportunity to whisper 
 a few words apart ere she retired. 
 
 Remember my caution. Lady Eveline ; for the king’s 
 devotion argueth no good to the fairest and most high-born 
 of his subjects.” 
 
 In a day or two we find her introduced at court, where 
 her grace and beauty made a great sensation — the words of 
 flattery pouring in upon her from all quarters. And now 
 followed a succession of banquets, and other scenes of gayety 
 common to courts ; Eveline constantly attended by Sir Wal- 
 ter de Courtenay, one of the most admired and respected of 
 gallant knights, as well as the most favored of the young 
 lady’s numerous admirers. She had not forgotten Sir Wal- 
 ter’s hints concerning the king, and, although treating him 
 with the dignity due his exalted rank, she most carefully 
 avoided all occasions when she might be found alone by 
 Coeur de Lion, whose admiration was opcm and undisguised, 
 
MADDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 189 
 
 but accompanied by a freedom especially iffensive to so 
 pure-minded a maiden as the Lady Eveline de Vere. 
 
 She had cautioned Winifred always to keep the door of 
 her ante-chamber locked ; but on one occasion, having 
 passed out on an errand for the Lady Eveline, the lattei 
 had forgotten to turn the lock. Seated by a small table, 
 she was completely engrossed by the contemplation of a 
 miniature of Sir Walter, which she held in her hand, un- 
 conscious that the door slowly opened ; but hearing a step, 
 she raised her eyes to encounter the king, who boldly ad- 
 vanced, Eveline rising to her feet and stepping a few paces 
 backward. 
 
 “ We cry thee mercy, fair lady ! ’’ said the king ; and 
 would not have thus intruded on thy privacy, an thou wert 
 not to our person so coy and distant.^’ 
 
 Be seated, my liege,” replied the lady ; but I hide it 
 not that thou wouldst be more welcome an thou wert at- 
 tended by Queen Eleanor.” 
 
 The king drew a chair close to the lady. 
 
 “ What aileth thee, fair maiden ? ” said the king. “ Thou 
 be gracious to all but to thy sovereign.” 
 
 ‘‘ I forget not, my liege, the distance atween monarch and 
 subject; and to Eveline de Vere thou be Richard Plan- 
 tagenet. King of England, naught more, naught less.” 
 
 The king bit his lip ; for under this expression of respect 
 for royalty he felt that there was a rebuke thac he dare not 
 resent. 
 
 This is our cause of complaint, fair Eveline. We would 
 not be only and always king ; for it is vain to hide the fact 
 
190 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 that to thee we be adorer, and that syth the first hour that 
 our royal eyes looked upon thee at Ravenscliffl” 
 
 Eveline drew her chair away, and, rising to her feet, said 
 with dignity : 
 
 ‘‘ I cry thee mercy, my liege. This language becometn 
 not a king addressing a subject.” 
 
 ‘‘And why not, fair Eveline, an I love thee? Wouldst 
 scorn Richard Plantagenet? Kings have their lady-loves 
 as well as their subjects.” 
 
 “The betrothed of Sir Walter de Courtenay listeneth not 
 to words of love from aught in the kingdom, not even from 
 the King of England. And now, my liege, I cry thee 
 mercy, an I ask permission to retire from the royal pres- 
 ence.” 
 
 With these words, bowing gracefully, Eveline, opening 
 the door of her sleeping-room, loft the discomfited suitor 
 alone. From this period, there w^as no more enjoyment at 
 court for the Lady Eveline ; and the baron’s business at an 
 end, the party prepared for a return to Ravenscliff, Sir 
 Walter, as the betrothed of the Lady Eveline, accompany- 
 ing them on their journey, for he had been made acquainted 
 with the story of the king’s advances. Winifred was also 
 of the party; for, attached already to the fair lady, she 
 had asked the privilege of a permanent liome at Ravens 
 clifi*. ' 
 
 By the side of Eveline’s litter rode Sir Walter, the twc 
 engrossed by each other, saying those sweet rotl.ings inter- 
 esting only to the speakers. At home once more IWaude 
 Boon perceived that her fair sister had no time ^ the 
 
 I 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 19J 
 
 quiet studies of the turret ; and we find her telling the storj 
 of her betrothal on the eve of her return. 
 
 “ Dost remember, Maude, about the charm of St. Agnes’s 
 Eve? I tell thee, sister mine, that it was Sir Walter de 
 (ourtenay that gave me the flower in my dream/’ 
 
 The winter passed rapidly. It is now the eve before de- 
 parture, and Maude is spending her last hours in her holy 
 sanctum. Accustomed all her life to hear that a pilgrimage 
 to the Holy Land is the highest act of piety, we therefore 
 find the young devotee, with hands clasped and eyes raised 
 to heaven, imploring protection in her long and weary pil- 
 grimage. Though she has never heard the name of the 
 doctrine so cherished by reformers, and so hated by papists 
 in later years, she enjoys the peace, though she knows not 
 the name, of the precious doctrine; for justification by faith 
 lay deeply entombed in these mediseval days. 
 
 Maude dreams not of obtaining the absolution of her sins 
 by this voluntary pilgrimage ; but she loves the Lord and 
 Saviour, and imagines that it is pleasing to her Master to 
 rescue the land, that he hath sanctified by his presence, from 
 the pollution of infidels. Therefore Maude asks his bleeeing 
 on her journey, his smile upon her path. 
 
 Turning to take one last look at her little sanctum, she 
 stands a moment at the casement, looking sadly at the red 
 glory of the sunset disappearing below the tree-tops, won- 
 dering when she shall visit the dear spot again. Taking 
 out her pencil, she records the day and hour when she 
 closed its door, to enter no more, perhaps, for many weary 
 years. 
 
192 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 It is a sharp, clear morning,. — the last matin service in 
 the chapel, the last gathering around the family board ere 
 the crusaders take up their march from England. 
 
 But little was eaten on that morning, for hearts were too 
 full for appetite. In silerce the sisters parted, and then the 
 prioress laid her hand in blessing upon the consecrated 
 heads of the females of the party. 
 
 “ The blessing of the Holy Mother and all the saints be 
 with you,” said the solemn voice of the speaker ; and may 
 our good Lord give success to the holy work.” 
 
 Be kind and watchful over my beloved Eveline,” said 
 the mother’s trembling voice, and, giving her last kiss, she 
 added : “ Be of good cheer, my daughter. The Lord and 
 all the saints be with as.” 
 
 The Lady Eveline and Sir Walter stood aside to whisper 
 their last parting words. 
 
 “ This is a heavy weight of sorrow,” said the weeper ; 
 “ father, mother, brother, sister, and thou, too, Walter. 
 Almost too much for a feeble woman’s heart ! ” 
 
 “ Keep heart, my sweet one,” replied the young knight. 
 “Time flies speedily. The blessed Virgin keepeth watch 
 over us, and when our days of warfare be over we meet 
 again.” 
 
 “ It may be years, Walter. It may be never.” 
 
 “ Harbor not such gloomy fears, rny own Eveline. And 
 now farewell.” 
 
 Snatching one last embrace, the knight gave Eveline to 
 the prioress, and turned hastily to join the cavalcade out of 
 doors, while the ladies knelt to receive" the blessing of the 
 
M A U D K AND MIRIAM. 
 
 198 
 
 priest. Father Ambrose stood at the entrance of the castle 
 with the holy cross uplifted. Kissing the sacred symbol, 
 the ladies once more bade farewell to the priest ; and, turn- 
 ing to Cicely, the Lady Jaqueline said : 
 
 “Thou wilt be good to Father Ambrose, and see that all 
 his wants be well supplied ; and when our holy work is done, 
 we hope to meet again; perchance it may not be here, but 
 at the gates of the Urbs Beata.” 
 
 The red cross on their shoulders, and in the pilgrim's 
 garb, the two entered their litters, their ladies in waiting 
 by their side ; for Bertha Ducange and Gertrude Ellerton 
 had also taken the cross. 
 
 It was a gallant company that marched out in long pro- 
 cession over the ballium of the castle ; the few remaining at 
 home stationed on the wall, and a long line beyond the 
 drawbridge waiting to see the procession pass. 
 
 The Baron of Bavenscliff, in glittering armor, carrying 
 his sword and lance, his battle-axe and mace hanging at his 
 side, mounted on a splendid charger richly caparisoned, 
 headed the procession. Sir Walter de Courtenay by his side. 
 Knights in shining array followed : Sir Bryan de Bourg’s 
 massy form, bearing aloft the consecrated cross, Sir Amelot 
 de Hussy the banner of England, and Sir Hugh de Courcy 
 that of Jerusalem, the gay plumes in their helmets dancing 
 in the wind. 
 
 Then came the litters carrying the female jiilgrims, and 
 the wagons with their camp equipage, surrounded by brave 
 knights, cheered by the spectators as tliey passed over the 
 ballium. Next came the grand array of cavalry, gallantly 
 17 N 
 
194 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 mounted on fine horses full of spirits, followed by the men 
 &t-arms. The retinue thus passed out, all singing the is 
 ipiiing hymn which they had been learning for this day 
 
 Soliiers, raise your banners high ; 
 
 Spread them to the starry sky; 
 
 Sound the warrior’s battle-cry, 
 
 “ It is the will of God 1 ” 
 
 Sound the trumpets! beat the drum! 
 
 Bid the brave crusaders come ; 
 
 Bid them leave the sweets of home. 
 
 “ It is the will of God ! ” 
 
 Take the cross, and join the host 
 Bravest he who leaves the most 
 In the holy cross we boast, 
 
 *‘It is the will of God!” 
 
 Paynim hosts pollute the tomb : 
 
 Hasten on their day of doom! 
 
 To the rescue I soldiers, come t 
 “It is the will of God!” 
 
 See the cross beneath the feet, 
 
 Dragged and trampled in the stra^. 
 
 Haste the Moslem foe to meet. 
 
 “ It is the will of God I 
 
 Join the brave crusaders’ train, 
 
 Haste to raise the cross again, 
 
 Though it be by thousands slain. 
 
 It is the will of God! ” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 IW 
 
 What though through a orirason flood, 
 
 Though thou wad’st through seas of blood, 
 
 Countless hosts that path have trod. 
 
 “It is the will of God I ” 
 
 Bout the Moslem! out them down! 
 
 Be a soldier of renown! 
 
 Then thou’lt wear a starry crown. 
 
 “ It is the will of God ! ” 
 
 By St. George and all his host ! 
 
 By the treasure we have lost! 
 
 Take the cross, nor count the cost. 
 
 “ It is the will of God ! ” 
 
 The glittering armor and waving plumes, the splendid 
 banners and richly caparisoned chargers, and most of all, 
 the swelling chorus of manly voices, full of enthusiasm, sing- 
 ing the crusaders’ battle-cry, imparted to the pageant an 
 aspect of imposing grandeur such as had never before 
 passed out of the ballium of Ravenscliff. The old warder 
 raised the portcullis and dropped the drawbridge, the bright 
 array passing gallantly over, the crusader’s battle-cry “ It 
 IS the will of God! ” still sounding in the ears of the dwell- 
 ers at the castle. 
 
 Eveline is folded in the arms of the prioress, listening to 
 the chorus as, fainter and fainter, it came fraught with sad- 
 ness, until, silenced at last, the shrill trumpets took up the 
 stirring call to battle, and the two, with Cicely and Father 
 Ambrose, stood listening in the same place until the final 
 silence succeeding the exciting pageant left its heavy hand 
 
196 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Upon the liearts that realized now, indeed, that the brave 
 crusaders were on their way to the Holy City. 
 
 The young ladies who waited upon the Lady Jaquelme 
 had all sought other places of refuge, some having entered 
 convents, some having returned to their friends; all scat- 
 tered save Bertha Ducange and Gertrude Ellerton, two of 
 the gentry who had followed the fortunes of their lady. 
 
 Eveline returned to St. Agnes with the prioress, and the 
 castle was left in charge of Sir Koger de Neuville, a brave 
 knight, but too old to go on a crusade. 
 
 We will follow the long procession as it passes through 
 the domains of Ravenscliff, very mingled emotions filling 
 the hearts of the ladies. 
 
 Maude takes one last look at her little turret, which for a 
 long time could be seen by the travellers, and when it dis- 
 appeared, covering her face with her hands, she yielded for 
 a moment, and wept silently at the possibility of seeing it 
 no more. 
 
 We follow them to the place of embarkation, where a 
 fleet is in waiting for many more on their way tc the Holy 
 Land ; among the company the Baron of Hawksworth, 
 whose jealousy is again aroused by the superiority, in miin- 
 oers and equipments, of his rivaTs forces. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 VTELCOME AT ACEE. 
 
 'pHILIP AUGUSTUS and Richard having entered into 
 a treaty to bury their private feuds for awhile, we find 
 both monarchs making large donations to abbeys, churches, 
 and monasteries, in order to bring down the blessing of 
 Heaven upon their work. 
 
 They were both in the pride of youthful ambition, act- 
 uated more by a thirst for glory than by the religious spirit 
 of the age. Interchanging passionate vows of friendship, 
 which might be as easily broken, they agreed to unite their 
 forces, and on the plain of Vezelay, in France, reviewed a 
 gallant and well -equipped host of one hundred thousand 
 men, all armed. Marching together as far as Lyons, they 
 separated — Philip leading the French to embark at Genoa, 
 where he hired vessels to carry them to Messina, the place 
 of general rendezvous, which place he reached after having 
 encountered a storm upon the voyage. Richard, in the 
 meanwhile, proceeded to Marseilles, there to await his fleet ; 
 but with his usual impatience of delay, he remained but a 
 week, and then hiring all the vessels that he could find, 
 sailed for Genoa. In the Gulf of Salernum, the English 
 
 m 
 
198 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 king was met by his fleet, and, anchoring before Messina, 
 caused all the horns of his vast armament to blow as he 
 entered the port. The excessive noise brought all the in- 
 habitants to the walls, where they beheld the thousand ban- 
 ners of England covering the gulf with all the gay. and 
 splendid colors of chivalry. Richard was fond of such dis- 
 play, and perhaps so slight a thing as this first awoke that 
 jealousy in the bosom of Philip Augustus which afterward 
 proved so ruinous. Notwithstanding, the King of France 
 had come down with Tancred, the usurping King of Sicily, 
 who had much to fear from the anger of the hasty King of 
 England. He had treated Richard’s sister with great indig- 
 nity, having imprisoned her. It is true that he freed her 
 on Richard’s arrival, but the king’s first act was to demand 
 the restitution of his sister’s dowry ; a demand met for some 
 time with naught but quibbling and evasion. After a 
 tedious voyage, the De Veres find themselves before the 
 port of Messina, and the English, sharing their king’s love 
 of display, added their shouts of exultation to the blowing 
 of the horns, and amid cries of ‘‘ Long live King Richard ! ” 
 the fleet entered the port. 
 
 Maude was anxious to land, for she knew who were on 
 hoard of the king’s galley ; and being near enough to the 
 royal vessel to distinguish forms, she was almost certain 
 ti l at Lancelot and Guy stood near the person of the king. 
 Her anxiety was soon gratified ; for on the moment of land- 
 ing, the two young knights hastened to welcome their 
 friends. 
 
 “ Thou hast gathered roses on thy voyage, Maude,” said 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 199 
 
 her brother ; “ for never saw I thee look so fair in the old 
 castle.” 
 
 “We have had a brave passage, only a few slight gales ; 
 and I trow that the sea-air hath done wonders in preparing 
 us for our hot marches in Palestine.” 
 
 Turning to Guy, she extended her hand. 
 
 “Thou lookedst not for to meet me as a pilgrim, Guy, 
 when we clasped hands in the chapel ; but when my good 
 mother taketh the cross, that seemeth a call tc me , for in 
 the perils of war, what doeth the Lady Jaqueline without 
 her daughter ? ” 
 
 “That holy symbol becometh thee, Maude,” said the 
 young knight, glancing at the cross upon her shoulder ; 
 “ and I wis that the blessed saints take charge of tH%e all 
 the voyage.” 
 
 “ Hast read the book, Guy, that I gave to thee ? ” 
 
 “ Twice through, Maude. It is a wondrous picture ot our 
 Lord; and it seemeth that one studieth not the Gospel, with- 
 out learning to love the Lord in a way that we wist not of 
 before.” 
 
 “ Dost pray, Guy, that the word may dwell in thy heart ? 
 for, certes, it is the word, and not the sacraments, that 
 maketh us free.” 
 
 “ That is not what Father Ambrose teacheth.” 
 
 “ Thou speakest truth, Guy ; but an the good friar 
 teacheth one thing, and the Lord himself teacheth an- 
 other, it seemeth that we hold to the Lord's words, 
 Guy.” 
 
 “The friar teacheth that our Lord left his Church upon 
 
200 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 earth with power to bind and loose, to make new laws an 
 it pleaseth the priests.” 
 
 “ That is true, Guy ; but meseemeth that priests taught by 
 the Lord make no laws, and teach naught but our Loid’s 
 own Gospel which cometh from his own blessed lips.” 
 
 ‘‘Thou art my teacher. Saint Maude,” said the young 
 knight, smiling in reply ; “ for I wot that thou leadest me 
 not astray.” 
 
 Taking a quiet part of the vessel, Guy led the Lady 
 Maude to a seat near the bow, where beneath the bright 
 expanse of a Mediteranean sky they communed together 
 slightly of the past, but more of that rosy future that both 
 hoped for. 
 
 “ It is very pleasant to know that thou art so near, sweet 
 one, in all that may befall us in the holy wars.” 
 
 “ So thought I, Guy, when leaving the dear old castle ; 
 but keep thou near thy Master, beloved. Dost love our 
 Lord, Guy ? ” 
 
 “ Not with such devotion as thou dost, Maude ; but I pray 
 for light.” 
 
 “And he giveth thee what thou askest, Guy, an thou 
 askest only in Jesus’ name.” 
 
 But they have left the vessel for accommodations on the 
 land ; and the baron, finding it probable that the fleet would 
 not leave Messina very soon, placed his family in comfort- 
 able quarters, and we soon find them domesticated in the 
 delicious climate of Sicily; Maude resuming her studies 
 with Wilfred, and enjoying daily strolls in the charming 
 neighborhood of Messina, the most delightful of her recrea^ 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 201 
 
 tions being on the water, with no companion save Guy and 
 the boatman, often laying down his oars to listen to the 
 sweet harmony of their music. 
 
 Serious disturbances soon arose between Richard and Tan- 
 cred, followed by dissensions between the Anglo-Normans 
 and the Sicilians. Richard at length lost control of his hot 
 temper, and fell upon the people who had come forth from 
 Messina to be revenged upon the Normans for their excesses, 
 stormed the walls of the city, and in a short time the ban 
 ner of the King of England was flying over the capital of 
 Sicily. This was a new drop of bitterness in the cup of 
 Philip Augustus, and a coolness rose up between the two 
 monarchs from that moment. 
 
 But the conduct of Richard was calm and moderate far 
 beyond his usual habits. He offered to give up the guard 
 of the city to either the Knights of the Temple or of St. 
 John, until his claims upon Tancred had been fairly met. 
 This quieted matters somewhat; but just about this time, 
 Queen Eleanor, Richard's mother, arrived in Sicily, bring- 
 ing with her the beautiful Berengaria, Princess of Navarre. 
 Richard had been affianced to Alice, Philip's sister, but 
 difficulties arising between the parties, Richard had long 
 thought of breaking oflT an alliance that every day became 
 more distasteful. The arrival of Berengaria decided him. 
 
 Having letters in his possession in which Philip promised 
 to aid the Sicilians in case of a war with the English, Rich 
 ard, with the papers in his hand, in full gallop rushed to 
 the tent of the French monarch. Philip declared them 
 forged, and that it was a mere pretence for breaking off* the 
 
202 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 marriage. High words passed between the angry monarchal 
 and it does not appear upon record how war was avoided ; 
 but the concessions were on the part of Philip, who re- 
 nounced all pretensions to Richard’s hand on behalf of hia 
 slstei Alice, confirmed him in all the feoffs which he held 
 from the crown of France, and, leaving him and Berengaria 
 to conclude their marriage, set sail with his fleet for Acre. 
 
 , The appearance of the French fleet before that place 
 caused great joy among the Christians ; for, notwithstanding 
 the efforts on the part of the assailants, the city still held 
 out; and girt in themselves by the army of Saladin, the 
 scarcity was little less in their camp than in the town. For 
 two years they had withstood the siege of the crusaders, 
 who had never relaxed their efforts, using all the means 
 that human ingenuity could invent to reduce the city. 
 
 It was plain now that nothing but assault by a large force 
 could carry the fortress, and this the arrival of Philip seemed 
 to promise. 
 
 But from some unknown cause of delay, the King of 
 France waited for the arrival of Coeur de Lion, contenting 
 himself with battering the walls in the meantime. 
 
 The coming of the King of France had spread much 
 alarm among the Saracens ; but his inactivity quieted their 
 fears ; and the escape of a magnificent white falcon which 
 Philip had brought from Europe was considered by the in- 
 fidels as an evil omen for the French monarch. The bird 
 flew into the besieged city, and was thence sent to Saladin, 
 who would not part with it, though Philip offered ^ thou* 
 sand pieces of gold for his favorite falcon. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 20S 
 
 But to return awhile to Messina. Berengaria is there 
 under the protection of Queen Elleanor, and we find the 
 king seeking an early o{)portunity to make her acquainted 
 with the ladies of the De Vere household. Lancelot and 
 Guy are appointed to conduct the party into the presence 
 of royalty. We find Queen Eleanor holding her court in a 
 palace of the capital, surrounded by all the pomp that could 
 be obtained in a hurried entrance, for a temporary sojourn. 
 Led up a flight of marble steps, they are on the piazza of 
 the palace, where servitors are in waiting to conduct them 
 into the royal presence. Passing over the marble floors of . 
 the great vestibule, they are in the midst of fountains of 
 cool water and vases of charming flowers, whose perfume 
 fills the air. Onward through two or three antechambers, 
 they find themselves in the presence of the royal party. 
 
 Queen Eleanor, of majestic presence, was a strong con- 
 trast to the almost girlish beauty of the queen-consort ; for 
 Berengaria was slight in figure, graced with a complexion 
 unusual among her countrywomen, a profusion of fair hair, 
 and features so juvenile, as to make her appear younger 
 than she really was. Under the consciousness of this child- 
 ish appearance, she practised petulant and wilful airs of 
 manner, not unbefitting, as she thought, a youthful bride 
 whose rank and age gave her a right to be humored and 
 petted. Full of little graceful whims, sometimes choosing 
 to be a little out of health, at others out of spirits, and they 
 who waited on her capricious fancies were sometimes at 
 tlicir wits’ end to kimw what to do next to {)lease their wil- 
 ful mistress. Just now sire chose to be especially gracious ; 
 
204 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 for the quiet dignity and saintly beauty of the Lady Maude 
 and the noble bearing of the Lady Jaqueline impressed the 
 volatile lady with a consciousness that she was in the pres- 
 ence of superior persons ; although the royal princess knew 
 not that in the form of the gentle girl that stood before her 
 there was one of a royal priesthood that should one day 
 become “ kings and priests unto God.” After the ceremony 
 of introduction, bidding the ladies to be seated, Berengaria 
 addressed the Lady Maude. 
 
 ‘‘ Takest thou the cross in sooth, fair lady ? ” 
 
 ‘‘In the Abbey of St. Hilary, the Lady Jaqueline and 
 Maude de Vere took the cross that maketh us pilgrims; 
 and I trow that no holier cause calleth us away from home 
 and native land.” 
 
 “ Art tempted to turn back. Lady Maude ? ” 
 
 “ Your Royal Highness fo'*getteth that we are under vows 
 the most solemn, and to turn back, I trow, would be deadly 
 sin.” 
 
 “Thou seeraest a holy saint. We take the cross, too; 
 but there seemeth naught of the devout spirit in our vow, 
 the glory of King Richard being our weighty concern in 
 this crusade.” 
 
 The interview between the ladies was short but pleasant, 
 and several such hours of intercourse were passed together 
 at Messina. 
 
 Richard remained some time in Sicily enjoying the idle- 
 ness and luxury of a delicious climate and a fertile and 
 beautiful land ; in the fascinations of Berengaria^s society 
 almost forgetting his dreams of conquest. But varioua 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 306 
 
 celestial phenomena, which the superstition the age at- 
 tributed to Divine wrath, and the preaching of Joachim, 
 a wild enthusiast, awoke him from his supineness, and after 
 submitting to a humiliating penance, he set sail for Acre. 
 The Baron of Hawksworth was on board of one of the gal- 
 leys with his retinue, but deeply chagrined at the numbers 
 and enthusiasm of those who followed his rival of Ravens- 
 cliff. 
 
 A tempest soon dispersed King Richard’s fleet, and three 
 vessels were lost upon the rocky shores of Cyprus. In the 
 madness of insatiable greediness, the Emperor of Cyprus 
 pillaged the crews and passengers of the English vessels 
 stranded on the coast, and refused a refuge to the bride 
 and sister of Richard himself, when driven by a storm into 
 the port of Limisso at Rhodes. The lion-hearted king, 
 getting his ships together, set sail for Limisso, and de- 
 manded reparation and apology. With more moderation 
 than usual, he made the demand three times before pro- 
 ceeding to aggressive measures. Finding at length that 
 satisfaction could only be obtained by the sword, he landed 
 on the shore, and reduced the whole island to his sway. 
 His wrath was now fully aroused ; he taxed the unfortu- 
 nate inhabitants of the country to an enormous extent ; and 
 then, after spending some time at Limisso, he celebrated his 
 marriage with Berengaria, and once more set sail for Acre. 
 The numbers of the land forces have not been recorded; 
 but the magnitude of the whole armament may be con- 
 ceived of when it is said that there were fifty galleys of 
 18 
 
206 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 war, thirteen large store-vessels, and more than one hum 
 dred transports filled with horses and men. In a short time, 
 Richard, with his fleet, sped rapidly on his way to the place 
 of destination, having been detained by his caprices a period 
 of eighteen months since his departure from England. 
 
 It were difficult to describe Maude’s emotions as they 
 sailed along the coast of the Mediterranean. The blue 
 skies and delightful climate of Sicily had been charming to 
 one so alive to the beauties of nature, but they 'were not in- 
 vested with the halo of glory that sanctified every spot of 
 Palestine in the chambers of her heart. They are almost 
 in view of the Holy Land ; the winds that come wafted to 
 them from the shore are freighted with the perfume of sweet 
 orange blossoms, and the sun is setting behind the distant 
 hills that she is told belong to Palestine. 
 
 With clasped hands she sits gazing upon the shadowy out- 
 lines of those sacred hills, imagining Tabor and Calvary and 
 Olivet ; with heart-longings she strains her eyes in the direc- 
 tion of the Holy City, and sighs at the thought of the pol- 
 lutions of the sacred places, but, most of all, at the desecra- 
 tion of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 
 In a short time, Richard, with his fleet, arrived before the 
 city of Acre ; and if Philip had been jealous at the iclai 
 with which Coeur de Lion entered Messina, he must have 
 been doubly so at the enthusiastic joy with which his rival 
 was greeted. No doubt Richard’s own proud heart beat 
 ivith unholy joy at the snouts which welcomed his arrival. 
 
 The spectacle must have been magnificent, for all the 
 proud chivalry of Europe were upon the sandy plain be- 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 207 
 
 tween Ptolemais and the mountains of Carouba : the Tem- 
 plars, the Hospitallers, the Knights of France, of England, 
 of Germany, of Italy, Flanders, and of Burgundy. 
 
 Thousands of gorgeous banners floated on the wind ; and 
 all sorts of arms, device, and ensign glittered through the 
 camp. The greatest enthusiasm prevailed, for they were in 
 Palestine. 
 
 The mounted cavalry on their spirited war-horses, the 
 glittering armor, the plumed helmets, the martial music of 
 the different nations playing the grand prelude of the cru- 
 saders’ hymn, which, with a chorus of tens of thousands 
 of manly voices, swelled out upon the air ; no doubt reach- 
 ing Saladin’s camp, lying on the inland hills with all the 
 imposing array of Eastern pomp and luxury. It was com- 
 posed of millions ; for Saladin had called out the pride of 
 all the Saracens to meet the swarming invasion of the 
 Christians. 
 
 Through that vast host were seen banners of green, black, 
 and yellow, and armor of as many kinds and of as great 
 magnificence as that of the Europeans. No sooner was the 
 vast encampment fairly settled than the courtesies of chiv- 
 alry were exchanged between the two great armies, who, 
 in times of truce, mingled together in friendship, sending 
 mutual presents to each other. 
 
 King Richard’s tent was large and roomy ; distinguished 
 less by splendor than by the warlike spirit of the age. 
 WeapoiB offensive and defensive were scattered about the 
 pavilion, or disposed upon the pillars that supported it. 
 Skins of animals slain in the chase were stretched upon the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ground or extended along the sides of the tent ; and upon a 
 heap of these spoils lay three wolf-hounds of the largest 
 size, and as white as snow. On a small table close to the 
 couch was placed a shield of wrought steel, of triangular 
 form, bearing the three lions passant — first assumed by the 
 chivalrous monarch ; and before it the golden circlet, resem- 
 bling much a ducal coronet, only higher in front than 
 behind, which, with the purple velvet and embroidered 
 tiara that lined it, formed the emblem of England’s proud 
 sovereign. 
 
 Beside it, as if prompt to defend the regal symbol, lay a 
 mighty curtle-axe, which would have wearied the arm of 
 any other than Coeur de Lion. In an outer partition of the 
 pavilion waited the officers of the royal household, ready to 
 attend their sovereign’s bidding. 
 
 The only luxurious article seen in the monarch’s tent 
 vas a small divan, richly covered with purple velvet and 
 Tinged with gold, evidently designed for the queen when 
 visiting her royal husband. 
 
 Much more display was seen in the pavilion belonging to the 
 queen. The doorway was formed by six lances, the staves 
 of which were plated with silver, and the blades composed 
 of the same precious metal. Pitched into the ground by 
 couples, they were crossed at the top, so as to form a succes- 
 sion of arches, which were covered by a drapery of pale 
 blue silk. Covered with an oriental carpet, the couch was 
 such as became the youthful queen. Scattered around were 
 small ottomans, richly covered, and such articles of taste as 
 were indispensable to Berengaria. By the side of her couch 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 209 
 
 lay her favorite hound ; and the adjoining apartment, sepa- 
 rated only by a curtain, was occupied by her ladies in 
 waiting. 
 
 The tents of the De Veres were near the royal pavilions, 
 all under double guard at night. It was the first day of 
 encampment, and feeling comparatively at rest, Maude 
 drew aside the curtain of her tent, that she might enjoy the 
 evening breeze after a hot and sultry day, such as she had 
 never known in England. Her eyes were turned in the 
 direction of Jerusalem, for her thoughts were there ; and, 
 taking her cithern, she sang with heart-felt expression St 
 Bernard’s sweet hymn in its Latin melody : 
 
 “ Jerusalem, the golden ! 
 
 With milk and honey blest. 
 
 Beneath thy contemplation 
 
 Sink heart and voice oppressed: 
 
 I know not, oh I know not 
 What social joys are there I 
 What radiancy of glory, 
 
 What light beyond compare I 
 
 “They stand, those halls of Zion, 
 
 Conjubilant with scng, 
 
 And bright with many an angel. 
 
 And all the martyr throng. 
 
 The Prince is ever in them ; 
 
 The daylight is serene; 
 
 The pastures of the blessed 
 Are decked in glorious sheen. 
 
 18 * 0 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 21 C 
 
 • There is the throne of David; 
 
 And there, from care released. 
 
 The song of them that triumph, 
 
 The shout of them that feast: 
 
 And they who with their Leader 
 Have conquered in the fight, 
 
 Forever and forever 
 
 Are clad in robes of white I 
 
 “0 sweet and blessed country! 
 
 Shall I ever see thy face? 
 
 0 sweet and blessed country ! 
 
 Shall I ever win thy grace? 
 
 1 have the hope within me 
 To comfort and to bless! 
 
 Shall I ever win the prize itself? 
 
 0 tell me, tell me yes ! 
 
 Exult, 0 dust and ashes, 
 
 The Lord shall be thy part; 
 
 His only. His forever 
 Thou shalt be and thou art.** 
 
 We give tke translation of the sweet old Latin hymn, con- 
 scious that it loses much of its melody in the attempt. The 
 soft music stole out of the tent, drawing many a rude cru- 
 bader to the neighborhood, where two or three reposing on 
 the ground, and others leaning on their lances, lingered out 
 of sight lest they should disturb the singer. The Lady 
 Jaqueline entered the tent quietly and took her seat upon 
 one of the ottomans ; Gertrude Ellerton and Bertha Ducange 
 occupying the others. 
 
MALDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 211 
 
 ** We have had a weary voyage, mother mine,” said the 
 singer, laying down her cithern, “and this hour of evensong 
 whispereth of rest ; but I have that, good mother, sweeter 
 than the loveliest, even the words of our Lord and Master.” 
 Taking the manuscript from her pocket, she continued : 
 “ Shall I read some of his blessed w^ords here in his own 
 land?” 
 
 “ Thou mayest, Maude, an thou likest.” 
 
 “ Listen, good mother.” 
 
 “ ‘ If ye love me, keep my commandments.’ 
 
 “ ‘ And I will pray the Father, and he shall give yon 
 another Comforter, that he may abide with you forever ; 
 
 “‘Even the Spirit of truth, which the world cannot re- 
 ceive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him ; but 
 ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. 
 “ ‘ I will not leave you comfortless.’ 
 
 “ Seest thou, mother mine ? The Lord saith ; ‘ I will pray 
 the Father.’ He sayeth not that the saints pray for us, but 
 the Lord himself.” 
 
 “To whom speaketh the Lord these good words, Maude ? ” 
 “ To his own disciples, good mother : but when he pray- 
 eth for them before he leaveth them, he saith : ‘ Neither 
 pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe 
 on me through their word.’ ” 
 
 “ Sayeth the Gospt 1 so, Maude ? ” 
 
 “ Certes doth it, good mother ; and so it seemeth that 
 these blessed words be written for Maude de Vere ; for I 
 trow that I am one that believeth on his name.” 
 
 “ There is nothing to fright us, Maude, in the words ol 
 that book.” 
 
212 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM 
 
 ‘‘ Naught but love, mother mine ; and what else look we 
 for from him that hangeth on the cross for us ? 
 
 Thus the two communed together until the evening twi- 
 light deepened — the heat of a sultry day cooled by the 
 breeze that came wafted to them from the coast, and the 
 fair moon shining down in her placid beauty upon the 
 camp. 
 
 Maude continued looking at the crusaders slowly walk- 
 ing through the passages between the tents, some talking of 
 the loved at home, some singing a solemn laud ; and then, 
 one by one vanishing from sight, drew the curtains of their 
 tents around them — each, placing his huge cross-handled 
 sword upright, and kneeling before it as the sign :f salva- 
 tion, told his rosary with a devotion enhanced by the con- 
 sciousness that his orisons were performed upon holy 
 ground. 
 
 It is all silent now ; and Maude, fascinated by the impres- 
 sive scene, is gazing at the vast city of white tents gleaming 
 in the moonlight, the banner of England wa.ving on the top 
 of St. George’s mount, where the whole camp could see this 
 proud flaunting of superiority in the very face of Philip 
 Augustus and Leopold of Austria. Naught is seen of liv- 
 ing creatures but the sentinels; and Maude, with unusual 
 fervor, commits herself and the cause she loves to the 
 Saviour of her soul. Now the moon shines down upon a 
 sleeping camp, disturbed only by the heralds calling, in 
 startling tones, at stated hours: ‘‘Kemember the Holy 
 Sepulchre ! ” the crusaders’ watchword, echoed from post to 
 post by the sentinels throughout that vast city of white tents. 
 
CHAFIER X V 11 
 
 THE CAGED LION. 
 
 rpHE haughty King of England had no s loner settled 
 in Palestine than the activity of his spirit infused new 
 life into the crusade ; but the contemptuous arrogance with 
 which he treated the princes engaged in the same enter- 
 prise created enemies, and mutual jealousies took posses- 
 sion of the leaders. Those whom he chose to despise were 
 his equals in rank, yet far inferior in courage, hardihood, 
 and military talents. 
 
 Such dissensions, especially between Richard and Philip 
 Augustus, threw serious obstacles in the way of every active 
 measure proposed by the heroic, but impetuous Richard, 
 while the ranks of the crusaders were much thinned, not 
 only by the desertion of individuals, but whole bands were 
 led off by their feudal leaders, who withdrew from a contest 
 where they saw so little hope. 
 
 The climate, too, did its deadly work among the soldiers 
 of the north, who, owing to the dissolute license which pre- 
 vailed, became easy victims to disease contracted by burn- 
 ing heats and chilling dews. 
 
 The sword of the enemy, too, destroyed many ; for Saladin, 
 iJbe greatest warrior in Eastern history, had learned that his 
 
 213 
 
214 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 light-armed followers were not able to meet the iron-clad 
 Franks ; and he had been taught, moreover, to dread the 
 daring character of Coeur de Lion. His armies had been 
 more than once routed with great slaughter ; but his num- 
 bers gave Saladin the advantage in lighter skirmishes. Aa 
 Richard’s army decreased, the Saracen’s enterprises became 
 more numerous and bold. The camp was surrounded, almost 
 besieged, by swarms of light cavalry, like so many wasps, — 
 easily crushed when once grasped, but furnished with wings 
 to elude superior strength, and stings to inflict harm. 
 
 There were perpetual attacks of posts and foragers, in 
 which many lives were lost, envoys interrupted, and com- 
 munications frequently cut off. 
 
 The crusaders had to purchase the means of life by life 
 Itself, and water was often obtained only by the expenditure 
 of blood. 
 
 But the stern resolution and restless activity of King 
 Richard were equal to the emergency ; and we find him with 
 his best knights ever on horseback, ready to defend any 
 post, often bringing unexpected succor to the Christians, 
 and defeating the infidels when most secure of victory. 
 
 His favorite young knights, Lancelot de Vere and Guy 
 de Mowbray, were ever with him in these' skirmishes, and 
 they had learned to look upon the courageous King of Eng- 
 land as the bravest of brave knights, and he upon the yc ang 
 crusaders as aids to be relied upon in times of the greatest 
 danger. But even the king’s iron frame could not support 
 without injury the trying climate and the constant exertion 
 of body and mind. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 216 
 
 He became afflicted with oue of those slow and wasting 
 fevers belonging to the East — at first unfit to ride on horse- 
 back, and then unable to attend the councils of war held by 
 the leaders. 
 
 It were hard to say whether this inactivity were made 
 more galling or more endurable to the English king by the 
 resolution of the council to conclude a truce of thirty days 
 with Saladin. 
 
 It was at the close of a hot Syrian day, when King 
 Richard lay helpless on his couch, chafing under these re- 
 ports of supineness that were brought day by day to him, 
 much like an imprisoned lion seeing his prey from the iron 
 bars of his cage. 
 
 The natural irritability of his temper preyed upon itself. 
 Dreaded by his attendants, even medical assistants feared 
 to exercise authority over the impatient monarch. 
 
 One faithful friend alone dare approach him at all times 
 and who exercised over him that degree of wholesome re- 
 straint so necessary for his recovery ; for the Baron of Ra- 
 venscliff esteemed his sovereign’s life and honor more than 
 the favor with which he might regard him personally. 
 
 Cceur de Lion knew Reginald de Vere to be brave and 
 loyal, fearing not even the king in the performance of his 
 duty. We find him at this time seated by his royal master’s 
 side, at the close of this hot day ; the king tossing from side 
 to side — now clutching the coverings, now throwing them 
 impatiently aside, his keen blue eye burning with fever, his 
 features showing the wasting of disease, and his beard, neg- 
 lected and uutrimmed, had overgrown both lips and chin. 
 
216 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 The barou had not laid aside his buff coat, which dis- 
 played the cross cut on the shoulder, for three nights, 
 snatching only a few minutes* repose as the caprices of the 
 king might allow. 
 
 De Vere was the only one who could persuade the monarch 
 to take his medicines ; and it was amusing sometimes to see 
 how, like a wilful child, Richard would at last submit to his 
 firm and kindly rule. The king was silent for a moment or 
 two, and turning a keen eye upon his attendant, he said ; 
 
 “What tidings from without, De Vere? Our knights 
 compounding gruel and furmety ? our ladies become devo- 
 tees?” 
 
 “ The truce, my liege, preventeth activity ; and, for the 
 ladies, they are waiting upon the queen to accomplish theii 
 vows for your majesty’s deliverance from sickness, — a holy 
 work, I trow.” 
 
 “What delayeth Philip of France? and that dull por- 
 poise, Leopold of Austria, and him of Montserrat? We 
 know that a fever fit is on us ; but what aileth them ? A 
 palsy hath seized upon them ; not a spark of valor left in 
 the camp. Give me my battle-axe, De Vere. Let me go.” 
 
 And raising himself painfully upon his couch, he vio 
 lently swung his arm over his head, as though wielding that 
 instrument of war, his eye glaring with the excitement cf 
 fever. De Vere, exercising some force, obliged the mon«irch 
 to lie down, saying : 
 
 “ Be calm, my liege ! Such violence only injure tK thee 
 and prejudiceth our cause without ; for loud words are L^rd 
 outside the tent and not always by loyal friends.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 217 
 
 “But tell US; De Vere, why should Richard’s illness 
 check the march of thirty thousand men as brave as him- 
 self? Why chooseth not the council some one who will 
 lead to action ? ” 
 
 “ There are rumors that such councils have already been 
 held?” 
 
 “ Ha ! ” exclaimed the king. “ Sayest thou so, De Vere ? 
 And whom would they appoint to lead the Christian host ? ” 
 “ Rank pointeth to the King of France.” 
 
 The king laughed in scornful derision. 
 
 “Philip of France and Navarre! his most Christian 
 majesty 1 He might make sore mistakes ; for Philip is more 
 bent upon oppressing his feudatories and pillaging his allies 
 than fighting for the Holy Sepulchre.” 
 
 “ There is the Archduke of Austria.” 
 
 “ Out upon him ! I tell thee that Austria careth only 
 for a flagon of Rhenish wine to drink with the herds of 
 Dutch swine that herd around him I ” 
 
 “ What sayest your majesty to the gallant Marquis of 
 Montserrat? ” 
 
 “De Vere, thou trespassest beyond my patience. Mont- 
 serrat the popinjay to lead the Christian hosts! He 
 changeth his purpose as often as the trimmings of his 
 doublet. He a brave man-at-arms, truly! A valorous 
 knight is he, whose sword is blunted at point and edge, I 
 tri:>w ! ” 
 
 “I see how it is, my liege,” replied De Vere. “ We pray 
 nv)t at the Holy Sepulchre until heaven restoreth « King 
 Richard. * 
 
 19 
 
218 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM 
 
 The king laughed, evidently pleased, as he replied : 
 
 ‘‘Wouldst hear thy king’s confession, De Vere? The 
 Christian camp hath many a better knight than King Rich- 
 ard, and it were wise to place such over the host ; but were 
 such a knight to succeed in planting the cross upon the 
 Holy Temple, an’ Richard Plantagenet had no part in the 
 task, he should have my challenge to mortal combat. Mark 
 that, De Vere ! ” 
 
 Just then Sir Bryan de Bourg and the Archbishop of 
 Tyre entered the pavilion. 
 
 ‘‘ What meaneth thy fierce eye, my liege ? ” inquired the 
 latter. 
 
 “ Scanning the brave leaders of the Christian host,” re- 
 plied the king. ‘‘ Not one of them ready to advance upon 
 the fortress ; building trenches and palisades to protect the 
 camp, forsooth ! as though afraid of an attack from Saladin, 
 instead of marching straight on to the town as proud assail- 
 ants.” 
 
 “ There lacketh the presence of King Richard,” said the 
 prelate. ‘‘ But it hath been long since we have had a pro- 
 cession of the host through the camp. Perchance the holy 
 presence inspireth the faithful with new zeal.” 
 
 Certes, and that is a bright thought ! ” said Sir Bryan. 
 “ An the holy father hath some miracle to tell, it would 
 rouse the camp.” 
 
 Next day, at the matin hour, the archbishop bearing the 
 Host, the bishops and priests in their richest vestments, with 
 the holy cross, symbolic banners, and swinging incense, all 
 chanting the Royal Banners, passed through the camp ; the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 219 
 
 king^s tent thrown open, and the whole camp prostrating 
 themselves in mute adoration as the host passed by. 
 
 Stopping at St. George's mount, the archbishop took his 
 stand on an elevation that enabled him to overlook the 
 camp, and in clear, loud tones, thus addressed the army : 
 
 ‘‘ Soldiers of the holy cross ! in the very presence of the 
 Lord himself, I come to ask what meaneth the stupor that 
 hath stolen over the camp? Who doubteth that the Lord 
 is with us? As in the glorious days of the first crusade, so 
 now, the saints are seen fighting for us ; for last night, af 
 the midnight hour, forms clothed in white, mounted oi 
 white horses, were seen by many fighting in the air over th' 
 camp. No doubt one was St. Peter himself, and one wa^ 
 the holy Saint Godfrey de Bouillon. Such visions ha\^ 
 ever been seen before a victory ; and now, when the leader^ 
 call to the warfare, let every valiapt soldier be ready." 
 
 One universal shout went up from the camp, “ God will*» 
 it! God wills it!" and amid the newly-kindled enthusi- 
 asm, the procession marched on, singing now the palmer's 
 hymn. 
 
 A council of war met that evening in the tent of Philip 
 Augustus, where there was a stormy debate. As soon as it 
 was ascertained that Bichard counselled immediate advance, 
 the King of France held back simply to mortify his rival ; 
 and thus another opportunity was lost. 
 
 It was seen, however, that there must soon be activity, or 
 farther departures from the army ; and, without the knowl- 
 edge of the English king, Philip made the attack, but waa 
 repulsed. 
 
220 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 This independent conduct incensed the fiery lion of Eng- 
 land, who, in his turn, ordered an advance, which was also 
 unsuccessful. Necessity at length brought some degree of 
 concord, and it was agreed that while one wing assailed the 
 walls, the other should guard the camp. Still these eflTorts 
 were ineflhctual; for new causes of dissension sprang up 
 daily, and portions of the army were called off to defend 
 posts around the camp. 
 
 Rivalry became still more fierce ; for Philip endeavored 
 to seduce the vassals of Richard to enlist under his banner, 
 as sovereign of their sovereign, by paying three gold pieces 
 a month to each of the Norman knights who would join his 
 standard ; and Richard, in his turn, offered four, and many 
 a French feudatory joined himself to the English king. 
 Lancelot and Guy were devoted to Richard ; and the former, 
 anxious for his recovery, brought a Moorish physician of 
 great renown to minister to his maladies. The king at first 
 displayed not a little suspicion ; but the persuasions of 
 Berengaria overcame his reluctance, and we find him in- 
 stalled in the pavilion. 
 
 The physician felt his pulse for a long time, while all 
 around stood silent. The sage next filled a cup with spring 
 water, and dipped into it a small red purse which he took 
 from his bosom. ^ 
 
 When he thought it sufficiently medicated, he offered it 
 to the king. Raising himself in bed, he drained the cup to 
 the bottom, resigned it to the physician, and sank back upon 
 the cushions which were arranged to receive him. 
 
 With silent but expressive signs, the physician motioned 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 221 
 
 that all should retire save himself and De Vere, ivho abso 
 lutely refused to withdraw. 
 
 Hours passed ; the deep sleep undisturbed by a carousal 
 given by the archduke to bystanders around his pavilion, 
 which alarmed the whole camp with their uproar. 
 
 But the critical hour had arrived when the physician, 
 according to the rules of his art, had said that the patient 
 might be awakened with safety, and the sponge was applied 
 for that purpose. The leech had not made many observa- 
 tions ere he assured De Vere that the fever had left him 
 and that such was the vigor of the monarch’s constitution 
 it would not be necessary to give a second dose. The king 
 himself was of the same opinion, for, sitting up and rubbing 
 his eyes, he inquired of De Vere what sum of money was in 
 the royal coffers. The leech interrupted the reply by his 
 own remark: 
 
 “I sell not the wisdom that Allah hath given me for 
 gold, great prince ; for the divine medicine would lose all 
 its effect did I exchange its virtues for gold.” 
 
 The queen had waited anxiously in the adjoining parti- 
 tion, and now, hearing sounds in the pavilion, she gently 
 put aside the curtain ai/d hastened to the couch. 
 
 ^‘Art better, my liege?” inquired her majesty, at the 
 same time taking the large hand within her delicate palm. 
 
 Passing his fingers caressingly through the light curls, he 
 replied : 
 
 “ The fever hath gone. The pulse is quiet as thine, Ber- 
 engaria. Dost see any gleam of fire in the eye now ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ None now, my liege, but what becometh Richard Plan 
 19 
 
222 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 tagenet ; but methinketh that thy lion nature rouseth itself 
 ere long.” 
 
 Throwing his arm over his head, as though brandishing 
 his battle-axe, he replied : 
 
 ‘‘Certes! there will be stirring in the camp anon an 
 Richard be on his feet to rouse the sleepers.” 
 
 ‘‘Words speaketh not our thanks, wise leech,” said the 
 queen, turning to the physician ; “ for the king seemeth 
 himself again.” 
 
 Making a profound obeisance, the leech replied : 
 
 “ To Allah be all the praise, fair queen ! ” And putting 
 aside the curtain, he left the pavilion. 
 
 Maude had frequently asked herself how she had fulfilled 
 her mission in taking up the cross ; for thus far she had 
 been in a state of listless inactivity, greatly affected by the 
 intense heat of the burning climate. 
 
 Outside of the camp, the Templars and Knights of St. 
 John had charge of the hospital tents, generally full of the 
 sick and wounded, for there were plenty of sufferers at all 
 times throughout the siege. It had been estimated that 
 during the German crusade no less than three hundred 
 thousand had died, and an equal number among the Sara- 
 cens. 
 
 Asking for a safe-conduct, Maude entered her litter, and 
 bent her course toward these tents on the outskirts of the 
 camp. 
 
 The Knights of St. John were much more useful and be- 
 loved than the Templars, who, though they made great pro- 
 fessions of poverty and humility, were at this time one of 
 
MAUDE AND ]Vf I E T A M. 
 
 223 
 
 the richest as well as the most haughty of the European 
 orders. One of the knights, in his long white robe, met 
 Maude at the entrance, and, leading her forward into his 
 own tent, pointed to a rude divan on the inside. 
 
 Art come to do service for the Lord, fair lady ? ’’ in- 
 quired the knight. 
 
 “ I took the cross, sir knight,” was the reply, “ not to 
 waste my days in ease while the soldiers of the cross are in 
 need of my poor service. Can I do aught for their com 
 fort?” 
 
 “ Thou shalt see speedily,” was the reply, “ an’ thou fol- 
 lowest me, fair lady.” 
 
 Passing through wards where, on lowly beds, languished 
 scores of wan sufferers, some in the anguish of recent wounds, 
 others tossing with fever, all in need of woman’s ministry, 
 Maude saw her work. 
 
 At the extremity of one of the wards, her attention was 
 attracted toward a lady, who, with noiseless step and gentle 
 motions, was passing among the sufferers, followed at a dis- 
 tance by an attendant in Oriental garb. Tall and grace- 
 ful, she was dressed in loose white robes, the under gar- 
 ment confined at the waist by a girdle clasped with an 
 emerald set in gold. Her head and face were closely veiled, 
 excepting now and then, as she stooped to speak words 
 of kindness, the hand slightly threw it aside, disclos- 
 ing a face of great beauty: so thought Maude, as she 
 caught fitful glimpses of the lady. She seemed to be well 
 known among the patients ; for each face lit up with a sickly 
 %iuile of welcome as she administered cool drinks and grate- 
 
224 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 fill refreshment to the weary. Turning frequently into a 
 small tent, she returned with h-er tray of delicacies, which 
 she administered with her own tender hand. 
 
 “ CJanst tell me that lady’s name, sir knight ? ” inquired 
 Maude, pointing to the graceful figure. 
 
 The knight smiled, as he replied : 
 
 Thou wilt start when I tell thee that that lady is a 
 Jewess, one of the despised race; but, albeit, she is the most 
 devoted of all that wait upon the sufferers.” 
 
 Maude changed color ; for she had been taught to despise 
 tlie race that had prucified her Lord and Master. 
 
 ‘‘ Pity that one so fair should belong to a race so foul ! ” 
 “ Her name is Miriam, the daughter of Mordecai the Jew, 
 a rich old man that liveth outside of Acre, in one of the 
 bravest houses of this Eastern land. The daughter’s kind- 
 ness to the crusaders hath preserved house and home from 
 outrage throughout the whole siege.” 
 
 “ How cometh it that she is welcomed by the' crusaders, 
 sir knight ? Forsooth ! methinketh it strange, very strange ; 
 for Jew and Saracen alike we look upon as mortal foes.” 
 
 “ She hath a woman’s heart, fair lady, and a purse open 
 at all times for the suffering, — Jew, Christian, or Saracen ; 
 but, most of all, it is a woman, weak and defenceless, that 
 cometh to these rude soldiers, and the sword of a true 
 knight defendeth such.” 
 
 Just then the lady turned, and advanced toward the two, 
 on her way cut. Sir Joselyn bowed low as she passed by, 
 and, looking at Maude with her eloquent dark eyes, the 
 Jewess smiled upon the Norman lady, welcoming lier to 
 
MAUDE ANB MIRIAM. 
 
 225 
 
 labors of love, although she wore the crusader’s cross upon 
 her shoulder. Conducted by the Hospitaller still farthei*, 
 he pointed out such as needed most care. But they are near 
 the couch of an expiring soldier. By his side there stands 
 a priest, holding the crucifix before his dying eyes, and 
 Maude hears the tender words : 
 
 ‘‘ Look at the Lord that died thereon, my son, not at the 
 wooden cross,” and kneeling by the couch, the priest added 
 to the offices of the Church such a prayer as Maude had 
 never heard from the lips of a priest of Rome. Rising, he 
 took the pale hands between his own, and murmured : 
 ‘‘Farewell, my son. We meet at the gates of paradise.” 
 Turning to another, his eyes fell upon Maude. The brow 
 was fair and broad, the dark eyes serene and holy, and the 
 smile with which he greeted the lady was one that could 
 not easily be forgotten. 
 
 “Welcome, fair lady,” said the priest, “to this holy mi/5- 
 sion ; for weary sufferers need the gentle hand of woman. 
 There are many sisters of the Holy Church among us ; but 
 thou wilt find thy work.” 
 
 “ Who is it, sir knight ? ” inquired Maude, as the prieat 
 passed in. 
 
 “Father Matthias,” replied Sir Joselyn ; “one of the 
 holiest of the priests. Another St. Bernard, I trow.” 
 
 This was Maude’s first visit, but it was not her last; fcr 
 her deepest sympathies were all awake for the lowly suf- 
 ferers in the tents of the Hospitallers ; nor could she forg(;t 
 the impression made by the one glance from the eyes of 
 Miriam the Jewess, nor the saintly face of Father Matthias. 
 
 P 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 II /T AUDE’S deep acquaintance with the spirituality of the 
 Gospel had brought her into real fellowship with the 
 Lord Jesus ; and we find her not only partaking of the free 
 gift of redemption through his blood, but the genuine fruits of 
 union with the Saviour appear in her daily life, purifying its 
 inner fountain, dictating its words and actions ; for in all ages, 
 “ if any man have not the spirit of Christ, he is none of his.” 
 Consequently, the romance of the crusader’s lot is fading ; 
 and in the midst of a camp of rude and dissolute soldiers 
 much reaches her pure ear that shocks her inner sense. 
 Sensuality, impurity, blasphemy, cruelty, fill the air, — all 
 abounding in the lives of those who are most rigid observers 
 of the forms of Holy Church, worshippers of the blessed 
 Virgin. Maude reads daily the records of that pure and 
 spotless life as seen in the Gospel, and wonders how it is 
 that his followers should be not only so impure, but the 
 leaders so proud, so arrogant, so supremely worldly. 
 
 The crusader saw only the chief spirit of a great military 
 order in the person of the Saviour of mankind, for whose 
 glory he fought, thinking verily that thus they did the 
 
 226 
 
MACTDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 227 
 
 .Lord good service ; but Maude saw the bright exemplar of 
 all that was pure, holy and heavenly, whose kingdom wag 
 not of this world. 
 
 Fellowship with Jesus had filled the young heart with 
 desires to do his will, and Maude could not imagine that a 
 mere pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and the gazing upon 
 places sacred in the history of redemption, could comprise 
 all of Christian duty ; and so we find her daily rising from 
 the contemplation of his blessed word with increasing de- 
 sires to be like her Master, — lowly, loving, pure, holy, un- 
 selfish. She had caught the inspiration from the study 
 of the blessed picture, being “changed into the same 
 image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the 
 Lord.” 
 
 Daily we find her wending her way to the hospital, where 
 the wan sufferers had learned to welcome her presence. 
 Very sweet are the readings from her book, very soothing 
 are her holy hymns. 
 
 There are many wards to visit, and sometimes it is days 
 before she and Miriam meet in their holy work. But, to- 
 day, Maude is seated by the side of a dying soldier, who 
 turns his eyes upon the face of the young reader with 
 beaming looks of gratitude and devotion. Miriam has been 
 some time moving among her patients with her basket of 
 pomegranates, and tarries awhile by the couch next to 
 Maude, that she may hear the words that proceed from her 
 lips. 
 
 In sweet, low tones she was reading the fourteenth chap* 
 ter of St. John. 
 
228 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 I am the way, the truth, and the life : no man cometh . 
 unto the Father, but by me.” 
 
 “ Hearest thou the Gospel, Sir Kaymond ? Jesus saith 
 that he is the way. There is no need of saint or Holy Vir- 
 gin to pray for us ; for an there be, our Lord telleth us that 
 in his Gospel ; and there is not one word of such like in the 
 holy book.” 
 
 “ Sinful men are we. Lady Maude. Meseemeth that we 
 dare not come so nigh the Lord.” 
 
 “ Jesus knoweth it well, Sir Raymond. He hath done all 
 the work of redemption for us.” 
 
 ‘‘ What must a dying sinner do, Lady Mauae ? ” 
 
 “ Let me read his own words, and then be thou thankful. 
 
 ‘ For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begot- 
 ten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, 
 but have everlasting life.’ ^ Whosoever,’ Sir Raymond. 
 That is the Gospel. Thou believest, dost thou not?” 
 
 “ I trust so ; ” and raising the crucifix that lay by his 
 side, he murmured : Thou who didst die for sinners, have 
 
 mercy upon me.” 
 
 ‘‘ Shall I sing for thee, Sir Raymond ? 
 
 “ Thou mayest, lady ; for thy hymns come to me like the 
 chants of angels.” 
 
 “ Jesu, name all names above; 
 
 Jesu, best and dearest, 
 
 Jesu, fount of perfect love. 
 
 Holiest, tenderest, nearest! 
 
 Jesu, source of grace completest ; 
 
 Jesu truest, Jesu sweetest; 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 229 
 
 Jesu, well of power divine, 
 
 Make me, keep me, seal me Thine I ' 
 
 '"* Thou didst call the prodigal ; 
 
 Thou didst pardon Mary; 
 
 Thou whose words can never fall, 
 
 Love can never vary. 
 
 Lord, amid my lost condition. 
 
 Give — for Thou canst give — contrition I 
 Thou canst pardon all my ill ; 
 
 If Thou wilt, 0 say, ‘ I will ! * 
 
 ** Jesu, crowned with thorns for me, 
 
 Scourged for my transgression I 
 Witnessing through agony 
 ' That Thy good confession ! 
 
 Jesu, clad in purple raiment, 
 
 For my evils making payment,^ 
 
 Let not all thy woe and pain, 
 
 Let not Calvary be in vain. 
 
 “ When I reach Death’s bitter sea, 
 
 And its waves roll higher. 
 
 Help the more forsaking me. 
 
 As the storm draws nigher. 
 
 Jesu, leave me not to languish, 
 
 Helpless, hopeless, full of anguish ! 
 
 Tell me: ‘Verily, I say, 
 
 Thou shalt be with me to-day.*” 
 
 / 
 
 Miriam listened to the holy hymn with deep earnestness ; 
 and when Maude laid down her cithern, she advanced, ex- 
 tending her hand. 
 
 90 
 
230 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 We must be no longer strangers, Lady Maude ; for we 
 are engaged in the same work of comforting the sorrowful 
 and suffering/’ 
 
 Maude raised her eyes to the face of the Jewess, and saw 
 naught there but tenderness and womanly feeling; and 
 taking the offered hand, she replied : 
 
 It pleaseth me much to know thee, fair lady ; for I trow 
 that we are in the midst of the sufferers of all nations.” 
 Miriam smiled, as she replied : 
 
 ‘‘Then thou wouldst not ask. Lady Maude, whether 
 Christian, Jew, or Saracen lie upon these couches.” 
 
 “ I trow not ; for they are children of a common Father.” 
 Seated now side by side, the two ministers of mercy — one 
 i)f the Old, the other of the New Testament — communed to- 
 gether of the scenes through which both had passed, the 
 Jewess offering her delicious fruit for Maude’s patients. 
 
 Miriam glanced at the book in the hands of the Norman 
 lady, remarking : 
 
 “ Thou readest from thy book very good words,, lady, an’ 
 they were only true.” 
 
 “ They are our Lord’s own words.” 
 
 “ How knowest thou, lady ? ” 
 
 “ The Holy Church hath taught us so. Thou believest 
 in the Messiali, Miriam, dost thou not?” 
 
 “ In one that is yet to come, lady, who will restore our 
 ancient kingdom, and bring back our scattered people to 
 their own land.” 
 
 “Then what thinkest thou of Christ, fair Miriam?” 
 
 “ I am not of those that despise thy Master, Lady Maude ; 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 231 
 
 fbr our own rabbis say that there dwelt in Judea a long 
 time syth a good man of pure and holy life, very benevolent 
 and merciful, calling himself Jesus of Nazareth, and as such 
 a good man, I honor him whom you call Master.” 
 
 ‘‘ Nor despise I thy people, Miriam, for our dear Lord 
 
 * 
 
 was a Jew ; and I trow that it were hard to forget that. But 
 how cometh it, Miriam, that thou devotest thy time and 
 money to those who despise thy people?” 
 
 ‘‘The God of our fathers was a God not only of justice 
 and truth, but one of love and mercy ; and I doubt not he 
 acknowledgeth the work in this hospital as one that pleas- 
 eth him.” 
 
 “ Thou must learn to love our dear Lord as thine own Mes- 
 siah, Miriam.” 
 
 The young Jewess smiled, as she replied : 
 
 “ That were a hard task for one brought up at the feet of 
 the most learned of our rabbis ; but we can love to do the 
 same good work, only with a different faith. Lady Maude. 
 But thou must come to our house ; for I trow that life in a 
 tent is not very comfortable.” 
 
 “ I came not for comfort, Miriam ; for our Lord passed 
 many weary days and nights in this land, hungry and 
 thirsty, — for he had not where to lay his dear head; and 
 the servant lefuseth not to follow the footsteps of his Lord.” 
 “But thou wilt come, Lady Maude. My father and 
 Aunt Esther welcome thee for my sake.” 
 
 “Just as my mother willeth, Miriam.* It pleaseth me 
 much to say yea to thy kindness.” 
 
 Parting at the entrance of the hospital, each lady en- 
 
232 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 tered her litter, mutually pleased with their short interview 
 among the wounded. 
 
 Just as Maude was about to move off, Father Matthias 
 stepped up to her side, saying : 
 
 “ I heard thy reading, lady, to Sir Raymond. Whence 
 didst get the blessed Gospel ? ” 
 
 “ In the old castle of Ravenscliff, father, where I copied 
 it from one lent me by Father Ambrose.” 
 
 ‘‘Would that I might read thy copy, lady; for I have 
 never seen the Gospel.” 
 
 “ Canst read our language, father ? ” 
 
 “ I learned to read it in the monastery of St. Alban’s, 
 Lady Maude.” 
 
 “ Canst write, father ? ” 
 
 “An’ thou lendest me thy book, daughter, I faithfully 
 return the same.” 
 
 “ Thou art welcome, father. They are our Lord’s dear 
 words. They bring light and love to all who ask for guid- 
 ance.” 
 
 Handing her copy to the priest, she directed the bearers 
 to move on ; and Father Matthias said, on parting : 
 
 “ Heaven bless thee, daughter ! ” 
 
 Maude had much to tell her mother on her return that 
 day ; especially anxious to visit Miriam the Jewess. 
 
 “ What sayest thou, good mother, to such a visit ^ ” said 
 the young lady. 
 
 “Dost remember, Maude, that the Jews crucified our 
 Lord? Meseemeth that we think of them only as ene . 
 
 mies.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 233 
 
 But this lair Miriam hath no evil feelings toward our 
 Lord ; and who knoweth what cometh of such like visits, 
 good mother?’’ 
 
 ‘‘ Thou mayest go, Maude ; for thou lookest pale and 
 weary after thy labors in the hospital. Thou must not get 
 sick, Maude.” 
 
 In a day or two Miriam drew up to the tent of the De 
 Veres in her litter, bent upon taking Maude back with her. 
 
 “ I came before the day shineth hot upon us,” said Miriam, 
 apologizing for her early call, ‘‘ and will return after the 
 sun sinketh behind the hills.” 
 
 The ladies of the tent were^ charmed with the graceful man- 
 ners of the fair Jewess, and wished Maude a happy day. 
 
 Just outside of Acre, amidst a grove of palm-trees, we find 
 the house of Mordecai the Jew, surrounded by every indica- 
 tion of great wealth. The house was built in Oriental style ; 
 the court-yard in the centre, with apartments surrounding. 
 Maude was led through an entrance paved with fine marble, 
 and filled with vases of charming flowers, into the chief 
 apartment, separated from the vestibule by thin curtains 
 suspended on gilt rings, where two attendants met them. 
 Around this room, which was also paved with marble, 
 were spread rich divans, and a few small tables elegantly 
 inlaid with bright colors. Vases of flowers stood around ; 
 in the centre played a fountain of Damascene rose-water. 
 Two attendants, in Eastern dress, with many-colored tur- 
 bans, stood at the head of the room, with large fans in their 
 
 bauds. Raising another curtain, Maude was conducted into 
 
 20« 
 
234 
 
 MAUDE AND MTETA^r. 
 
 a lady's apartment, to whicli was attached a hath and dress< 
 ing-room. A young Jewish servant was here in waiting. 
 
 ‘^Thou wilt wait upon this lady, Sarah,” said Miriam, 
 “ and then conduct her to the room on the garden.” 
 
 Miriam vanished; and following her guide, Maude en- 
 joyed the luxury of a perfumed bath, the first that she had 
 ever taken. 
 
 Her toilet accomplished, a glass of cool sherbet was 
 handed on a silver waiter, and then conducted to the room 
 appointed : Mordecai the Jew and his sister Esther gave her 
 a cordial welcome. Miriam had changed her dress, and now 
 appeared in one of the richest in her wardrobe. Her form 
 was symmetry itself, shown to advantage by a sort of East- 
 ern dress according to the fashion of her nation. Her tur- 
 ban of yellow silk suited the rich color of her olive com- 
 plexion. Brilliant dark eyes, teeth white as pearl, and a 
 profusion of sable tresses which fell upon a beautifully 
 modelled neck, took Maude by surprise ; for she had never 
 seen one so brilliant as the lovely Jewess. Her vest was 
 closed from the throat to the waist by golden and pearl- 
 studded clasps, the three uppermost unfastened on account 
 of the heat. A diamond necklace with pendants of inesti- 
 mable value were by this means made conspicuous. Miriam 
 of the hospital and Miriam at home were two very diflbrent 
 persons. 
 
 The room opened on the garden, filled with the richest 
 of Eastern plants and flowers, in the midst of which played 
 a delicious fountain ; and large fans suspended overhead 
 kept the room delightfully cool. At a signal given, two 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 236 
 
 attendants entered with a tray of fruit and cakes, with sherbet 
 cooled with snow from the mountains, one of the greatest 
 luxuries of Eastern countries. 
 
 After the refreshment, music, in an adjoining room, enter- 
 tained them for an hour ; and then Miriam led her new friend 
 into her own apartment, where heaps of embroidered cush- 
 ions of the most luxurious kind were spread around the 
 loom. A dressing-room adjoining, and a number of pretty 
 little articles scattered around, showed that neither pains 
 nor expense had been spared in adorning Miriam’s own 
 room. 
 
 ‘‘ It is an Eastern custom to rest in the middle of the day 
 in these hot countries,” said the Jewess ; and inviting Maude 
 to lay aside her tunic, she offered a thin dressing-gown, and 
 the two composing themselves on the divans found the 
 drowsiness of mid-day creeping over them, and were soon 
 asleep. 
 
 Waking up, Maude perceived that her companion held a 
 roll of parchment in her hand. 
 
 “ What hast thou there, Miriam ? ” inquired her friend. 
 
 “ Our ancient Scriptures,” replied the Jewess. 
 
 “ Wouldst read some, Miriam ? ” asked the Norman lady. 
 
 ‘‘ I will try an I can make thee understand my poor at- 
 tempt.” 
 
 Opening at the first chapter of Genesis, she read : 
 
 ‘‘ In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth,” 
 and so on, until she reached the passages where the plural 
 pronoun was used. 
 
 “ Stop, Miriam,” said Maude, “ those be strange words — 
 
236 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 go mucli like those in St. John’s Gospel,” and repeating the 
 words, the Jewess listened, more surprised than she chose to 
 acknowledge. 
 
 “ In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with 
 God, and the Word was God. 
 
 “The same was in the beginning with God. 
 
 “All things were made by him; and without him was 
 not anything made that was made.” 
 
 “ Dost see, Miriam, that some other person besides God 
 the Father is spoken of there ; and then back in Genesis' 
 thou readest : 
 
 “ ‘ Let us make man.’ Who can it be an^ it be not the 
 Lord Jesus?” 
 
 “ It is a strange expression, Maude. I may not have, 
 read it aright. I will ask the rabbi. But let us read o^ir 
 sacred books together. What sayest thou ? ” 
 
 “ It pleaseth me well, Miriam ; for they are the words of 
 God, I trow.” 
 
 The pleasant day passed swiftly, and when the rays of 
 the setting sun had disappeared behind the distant hills, 
 Miriam took her new friend home to the camp, both prom- 
 ising that this should not be the last visit — Esther having 
 joined her cordial invitation to the young lady, for Maude 
 was one chosen by the idolized daughter of her beloved 
 brother Mordecai. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MOONLIGHT AMONG THE WOUNDED., 
 
 rpHE king has entirely recovered, and no supineness could 
 hence be tolerated in the English camp. His enthu- 
 siasm spread rapidly among the soldiers : but the one great 
 obstacle still remained ; for the other princes, seeing his 
 valor and determination, felt that the prize was most likely 
 to fall into the hands of the English king, and neither Philip 
 Augustus nor Leopold of Austria meant that he should have 
 the glory. A fresh attack upon the walls is in contempla- 
 tion; and, carrying forward the preparations vigorously, we 
 find the army under Coeur de Lion himself advancing to 
 the onset. The fury of the crusaders was at boiling heat, 
 when they saw the image of the cross upon the walls pelted 
 with dirt amid shouts of derision on the part of the jeering 
 infidels. 
 
 Rushing forward, the lion-hearted king at their head, by 
 a vigorous effort they carried the barbican and reached the 
 wall. A portion of this was thrown down with axes and 
 picks, and the king, followed by Sir Bryan de Bourg, the 
 Baron of Ravenscliff, Lancelot, and Guy, mounting by lad 
 ders to the top of the battlements under a hail of arrows, 
 fought for some time hand to hand with the Turks. But 
 
 287 
 
238 
 
 ' / 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 after many had fallen on both sides,. it became plain to the 
 leaders that nothing could be effected without the usual 
 machinery, and the assault was suspended. 
 
 Every power was now directed to the construction of the 
 machinery necessary in a siege. Catapults, mangonels, and 
 large movable towers were prepared, as in former sieges. 
 During their fabrication, a dreadful drought pervaded the 
 army. The wells in the neighborhood having been filled up 
 by the Turks, the only water that reached the camp was 
 paid for as if each drop were gold. 
 
 The soldiers, unable to procure it, wandered off in the 
 search, or licked the morning dew from the stones. Vice 
 and immorality stalked abroad, and superstition was obliged 
 to be called in aid of virtue. Maude and Miriam were still 
 devoted to the hospital, for in the late onset a large num- 
 ber had been added to the wounded. The engines were at 
 length completed, and the attack once more began. The 
 towers were rolled on to the walls, the battering-rams 
 were plied incessantly, and while the Saracens poured forth 
 both Greek fire and arrows, the crusaders waged the warfare 
 with equal courage from their machines. The leaders of 
 the Christian army, with King Kichard at the head, occu- 
 pied the higher stages of these towers, and, surrounded by 
 the two De Veres and Guy de Mowbray, the king armed 
 with a bow, directed his shafts against all who appeared 
 upon the walls. Such soldiers as the machines could not 
 contain were ranged opposite the walls, urging the batter- 
 ing-rams, plying the mangonels, and by flights of arrows 
 covering the attack from the towers. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 239 
 
 Irai'nense efforts were made from all quarters, and the 
 tower of King Kichard rolled up until it touched the wall. 
 The movable bridge was let down, and the king sprang upon 
 the wall with battle-axe in hand, followed by Sir Bryan, the 
 two De Veres, and Guy de Mowbray, who, covering the per- 
 son of the king, fought hand to hand with the Saracens. 
 The king performed incredible deeds of valor and strength, 
 hurling one after another over the walls, until the Turks fell 
 back before the giant warrior. The army beheld the Chris- 
 tians on the walls ; but when reinforcements were most 
 needed, none came. The gate was not burst open, Philip 
 Augustus did not send aid, and the critical moment passed ; 
 for the Turks, pressing forward in multitudes, mounted the 
 walls and repulsed the Christians. The fight was fiercest 
 around the king, and the battle-cries of “ Ha, Beauseant ! 
 
 ‘‘ For St. George and merry England ! ” were heard on every 
 8ide. Some have fallen who pressed most closely around 
 the king ; and finding the day lost, the chafed lion retreated - 
 to the tower, and, rolling it away, raised the siege. 
 
 It were hard to describe the rage of King Richard. 
 
 “Where was Philip with his reinforcements said the 
 king. “ It needed but one more desperate charge, and the 
 gates would have been opened. The false-hearted craven ! 
 And Austria, where was he? With his spruch-sprecher 
 drinking his Tokay and Rhenish, I trow, and the gates just 
 waiting for the army to enter.’’ 
 
 Seeking the retirement of his pavilion, we find the queen 
 hastening to meet him. 
 
 “ Now heaven be lauded ! ” said the queen, throwing 
 
24C MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 her arms around his neck. “Thou art safe, my noble 
 lion.*' 
 
 “ Better to be with the brave knights that lie before the 
 walls of Acre, Berengaria, than in this royal tent, a fallen, 
 defeated leader of the Christian host ; and all through the 
 bad faith of France and Austria. Montserrat is scarcely to 
 be named ; for what look we for in a popinjay ? ’* 
 
 Striding up and down the tent like a chafed lion, Rich- 
 ard seized his battle-axe, and, wielding it above his head, he 
 said : 
 
 “Would that I dare cleave their skulls and scatter their 
 brains, Berengaria. The vow of knighthood alone protect- 
 eth them.” 
 
 “ Thou art weary and sore vexed, my liege. Close the 
 curtain around thee, shut out all comers, and let me unbuckle 
 thy heavy armor. Thou must have rest ; for I need none to 
 tell what deeds of valor Richard Plantagenet hath wrought 
 this day.” 
 
 “Do as thou wilt, lady of our heart,” said the king; “ for 
 thou speakest truth. Soothly we need rest.” 
 
 With her own fair hands unbuckling his helmet and other 
 heavy pieces of armor, she brought a short mantle, and with 
 her soft blandishments persuaded the king to lie down upon 
 nis couch. Then bringing a composing draught, she admin- 
 istered it, and giving orders to his attendants to admit no one, 
 she drew the curtains and left the tent. In the meanwhile, 
 Maude was seated by her mother's couch, bathing her head 
 and soothing the invalid by her gentle ministry, her heart 
 
MAUDE AN|D MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘ill 
 
 filled with the deepest anxiety for the fate of the besiegers ; 
 for, near enough to hear the din of warfare and the battle- 
 cries of the crusaders, she felt as if every shout from the 
 walls might be mingled with the dying groans of those she 
 so dearly loved. 
 
 But the warfare for the day is ended, and, with a trem- 
 bling heart, Maude is waiting for news. But there is a hur- 
 ried step at the opening of the tent, and, pushing aside the 
 curtain, Guy de Mowbray hurries forward. 
 
 Starting to her feet, and clasping both hands within her 
 own, Maude hastened to meet him, exclaiming : 
 
 “ Art safe, Guy ? How I have watched for thee ! Now 
 the blessed Lord be lauded.” 
 
 She could say no more ; for, in the tumult of her joy, 
 Maude had fainted, and Guy received the falling figure in 
 his arms. A draught of cool water, with some sprinkled on 
 the fair face, and a few words of tenderness, restored the 
 maiden, and sitting on a divan, leaning her head upon 
 Guy’s shoulder, Maude spoke a few disjointed words ; and 
 then, as though suddenly awaking, she said, starting up : 
 “Is the day really lost? And where tarrieth Lancelot, 
 my beloved brother? Do not tell me that harm hath be- 
 fallen him. And my father, Guy ; tell me of my father ! ” 
 “ Thy father careth for the wounded, and I could not find 
 thy brother, Maude. He fought bravely by the side of the 
 king, amidst a shower of arrows. Many fell around us ; but I 
 saw nothing of Lancelot among the dead or wounded. There 
 is hope that he hath been carried off the field by some one : 
 we trust a friend. It hath been a dark day for the soldiers of 
 21 Q 
 
242 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 the cross, beloved. The king hath done deeds of wondroua 
 courage; but the treacherous princes failed us. Hence our 
 ehameful defeat.’’ 
 
 “ Would that I knew something of my brother! ” 
 
 * Grieve not, Maude. Thou wilt find him ere many hours, 
 I trow.” 
 
 After a long repose, the king awoke, refreshed and vigor- 
 ous. Summoning a council of knights to his presence, we 
 are in their midst. 
 
 Sir Bryan de Bourg, Sir Reginald de Vere, Sir Walter de 
 Courtenay, Sir Guy de Mowbray, the Baron of Hawksworth, 
 with some others, were present. 
 
 Discussing the defeat of the day, the king became greatly 
 excited, and said with bitterness : 
 
 ‘‘Who doubteth the faithless spirit that failed us to-day? 
 Philip careth for feudatory spoils, Austria for revels with 
 his German boors, and he of Montserrat for the tiimmings 
 of his doublet; but thou, De Vere, deservest thy sovereign’s 
 reward. Brave among the bravest, loyal among the false, 
 thou be worthy of the highest honors of knighthood. We 
 dub thee now. Sir Reginald de Vere, in addition to thine 
 other titles, ‘ Knight of the Golden Star,’ ” and the king, at 
 these words, threw a broad crimson band across the shoulder 
 of the knight, which was decorated with a large gilt star and 
 the initials of Richard Plantagenet. Sir Bryan de Bourg 
 and Sir Guy de Mowbray, with other knights, in their hearts 
 approved of the distinction ; but Sir Richard de Mowbray, 
 with a sullen, envious spirit, listened to the monarch’s 
 praises, scowled darkly upon his rival, and left the tent. 
 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 243 
 
 But where tarrieth Sir Lancelot de Vere ? ” inquired the 
 king; “for, in the thickest of the fight, he was ever at our 
 side/^ 
 
 “The last that was seen of him was in the midst of a 
 shower of arrows, when many fell to rise no more,” said Sir 
 Guy. “ I fear that he was one of the brave assailants.” 
 
 “ Lose no time in searching for him,” said the king ; “ for, 
 certes, England is the loser an’ he be among the slain.” 
 
 Guy obeyed the command, but returned with the intelli- 
 gence that no tidings could be obtained of the brave young 
 knight. It is evening now, and the placid moon is shining 
 down upon the spot where the slaughter was greatest. Scat- 
 tered around lay the wounded, the dying, and the dead; 
 some crowded together in heaps, others alone in tlieir an- 
 guish. A female form in white robes is walking slowly 
 among the horrors of the battle-field, a male attendant by 
 her side. She has been in such scenes before, an angel of 
 mercy among the suflTerers ; and, as we glance at the face in 
 the moonlight, we recognize Miriam the Jewess. She heai-s 
 a groan, and, stooping down, sees a wounded knight lying 
 helpless in his heavy armor, calling for water. They have 
 brought some in the litter, for Miriam has seen ^ he anguish 
 of thirst. With the assistance of her attendant raising the 
 knight from the ground, unbuckling his casque she admin- 
 istered the cool, refreshing draught. 
 
 ‘^More! more!” murmured the parched and burning 
 lips. 
 
 “ Tell me thy name, sir knight,” said the Jewess. 
 
 “Lancelot de Vere,” was the faint reply. 
 
244 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Place him iu the litter, Reuben,” said the lady, “ 
 will take him to our own home. The hospital is no place 
 for such ; and we can do much for him in a quiet place.” 
 
 Calling assistance from another who was searching for 
 friends among the slain, he w'as placed in the litter ; the loss 
 of blood and the exertion of moving causing a deep faint. 
 Removing the helmet, Miriam had a cordial at hand, which 
 she administered, bathing the burning head with cool water. 
 After a short time, there were symptoms of recovery ; but 
 the knight was bleeding profusely, and they hastened to the 
 villa. By the time that they had reached the stopping- 
 place, Lancelot was entirely insensible; and, hurrying him 
 into an apartment where Reuben speedily removed his 
 armor, another servant was despatched to the camp for a 
 physician. 
 
 Esther and Miriam, being somewhat skilled in surgery, 
 performed all that they knew of the steps necessary in such 
 a case, — staunching the wounds, which were many, bathing 
 the face in cool water, and employing an attendant to stand 
 by with a fan ; but the deep insensibility continued, and 
 they were anxious for the arrival of the physician. But he 
 is here at length, and pronounces the wounds serious but 
 nut mortal, although there were many. Fever followed re- 
 turning insensibility, and Miriam was a faithful, devoted 
 nurse. She has sent a messenger to Maude, thinking that 
 it must be her brother ; and we find the sister soon by the 
 side of his couch, full of anxious solicitude, for Lancelot 
 knows no one for days. His serving-man is with him ; for 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 215 
 
 as soon as he heard of his master’s injuries, he hastened to 
 his side. 
 
 Maude spends much of her time with her wounded bro- 
 ther; but Wilfred, too, is wounded, ami Maude is daily by 
 his couch at the hospital. Wearied at length with anxiety 
 and toil, and the prostrating power of the climate, she is ^ 
 obliged to seek repose; and now, added to her other cares, 
 the Lady Jaqueline is ill wdth fever, and she is obliged to 
 leave her brother in the hands of his faithful nurse, and 
 the king’s physician. 
 
 The crisis in Lancelot’s case is safely passed, and we find 
 him one morning, after a fever of nine days, awaking to con- 
 sciousness, wondering where he is. He is reposing on a pile 
 of cushions, his room opening on a garden, where fiowers 
 abound and where a delicious fountain is playing in his 
 sight. There is a small table by his divan, on which are 
 placed his medicines and cool water, a luxury enjoyed at 
 great cost. His own man is sitting by him, ready to minister 
 to his wants. 
 
 “ Art there, Robin ? ” said the weak voice amid the 
 cushions. 
 
 “ The holy Virgin be lauded ! ” was the reply ; ‘‘ for we 
 had lost all hope.” 
 
 ‘‘ Where am I, Robin ? This is not our tent.” 
 
 Thou dwellest in the house of Mordecai the Jew, Sir 
 Lancelot, and art nursed by his sister and daughter ; but 
 there hath been sorrow here since thou liest on that 
 divan.” 
 
 “ What sorrow, good Robin ? ” 
 
 21 * 
 
246 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “The father fell in the siege, pierced b} arrows, and 
 burnt bj the Greek fire ! ” 
 
 “ What doeth a Jew in the Christian camp, Robin ? ” 
 
 “ Methinketh from words dropped by Reuben, one of the 
 serving -men, that Mordecai loved gold and treasure, and 
 • that he was searching for such like when the arrows over- 
 took hi*^ ; for they continued firing upon stragglers after 
 the king had retired. His daughter Miriam was sorely 
 grieved at the loss of her father; and, knowing that thou 
 wouldst do the same, I went with Reuben to look for the 
 dead Jew, for it was not safe for him to go alone.’’ 
 
 “ Didst find him, Robin ? ” 
 
 “We did, after long search, and brought his remains 
 home to his daughter, who buried him, according to the 
 Jewish ways, in a sepulchre out at the end of the garden, 
 where the mother lieth.” 
 
 “ Thou didst well, Robin, and would that I could have 
 helped thee in thy work.” 
 
 At that moment the curtain was gently pushed aside, and 
 a lady, young, lovely, and shrinking with modest diffidence, 
 stepped into the room. 
 
 Clad in robes of the East, white, thin, and flowing, 
 Miriam stood before the knight. 
 
 “ Thou art better, sir knight. The God of Abraham be 
 praised ! ” 
 
 “ Where tarrieth my sister Maude, fair lady ? ” 
 
 “ The Lady Maude is sorely grieved that she cannot be 
 with thee ; for thy mother, the Lady Jaqueline, lieth sick 
 of fever, and the young esquire, Wilfred d’Arcy, is wounded, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 247 
 
 and thy sister hath great toil in this land of the burning 
 sun.’^ 
 
 ‘‘ Thou hast been a faithful nurse, fair lady ; for Robin 
 hath told how thou hast cared for a stranger when thine 
 own heart breaketh with sorrow.” 
 
 Miriam’s dark eyes filled with tears, as she replied : 
 
 “ Few have lost a father so good and kind ; but I doubt 
 not that he resteth in Abraham’s bosom.” 
 
 “ Who hath been my physician, fair lady ? ” 
 
 ‘‘The king sent his own. Sir Lancelot, as soon as he 
 heard of thy danger ; but thou must not wear thyself out. 
 Thou art weak yet, and needeth quiet, therefore I leave thee 
 for the present.” 
 
 “ Thou wilt not stay away long, for thy voice cheers and 
 comforts me like unto my sister Maude’s.” 
 
 Miriam, pushing aside the curtain, disappeared; and 
 Lancelot lay thinking a long time of the fair vision that 
 had just broken the silence of his room. Sinking soon 
 into a healthful slumber, his dreams were of cool fountains, 
 gentle breezes, and the whispers of a woman’s musical 
 voice. 
 
 The curtain is pushed aside again, and bearing a silver 
 tray of refreshments, Miriam is here once more, with her 
 own fingers paring the oranges, preparing the pomegran- 
 ates, and pouring out the cool sherbet, thus tempting the 
 capricious appetite of the languid invalid. 
 
 “ Wilt look under the cushion, fair lady ? ” said the 
 knight. “ Thou wilt find a book there which is like cool 
 water in a thirsty land.” 
 
248 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 Miriam brought out the manuscript of Maude’s fair eop) 
 ing. 
 
 “Canst read our language, fair lady? ” 
 
 “ I can answer thee yea, for my good father spareth not 
 his wealth in teaching his daughter, and a priest, who was 
 sick in our house, taught me how to read the English 
 tongue.” 
 
 “ Then thou readest the Gospel to me, fair lady.” 
 
 “I would not deceive thee, sir knight. I believe not 
 the Gospel ; but if it pleaseth thee, I will read to thee from 
 thy book.” 
 
 “ Find the fifth chapter, lady. Thou findest there that 
 thine own Moses speaketh of our Lord.” 
 
 In soft, silvery tones, Miriam read until she came unto 
 the forty-sixth verse, and then read slowly : 
 
 “ For had ye believed Moses, ye would have believed me : 
 for he wrote of me. 
 
 But if ye believe not his writings, how shall ye believe 
 my words ? ” 
 
 “Seest thou not, fair lady, that Moses wrote of our 
 Lord ? ” said Lancelot. 
 
 Miriam smiled incredulously, as she replied : 
 
 “ But who writeth these words, sir knight?” 
 
 “ Truly, the holy Apostle John.” 
 
 “ And seest thou not that he would make all appear ac- 
 cording to his wishes ? ” 
 
 “ But thou seest that these were the words of our dear 
 Lord himself.” 
 
 “ So John believeth, sir knight.” 
 
 / 
 
MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 249 
 
 Many an hour was passed thus during Lancelot’s con- 
 valescence, and Miriam read her own Scriptures too, trying 
 to make him understand her attempt at translation. Very 
 fascinating was the close intercourse of the two in the luxu- 
 rious repose of this Eastern villa, — Lancelot so shut in 
 from the outer world, amid the perfume of flowers, the 
 sweetness of music win* eh came floating across the garden, 
 from a room opposite to his own, and the daily visits of a 
 young and charming woman, evidently interested in the 
 wounded knight; and as for Miriam, she was in a new 
 world, with no kindred on earth save Aunt Esther, so re- 
 cently bereaved, a heart full of deep and tender feeling, the 
 society of the gallant knight was full of danger for her fu- 
 ture peace. There was a great charm in his accounts of 
 Ravenscliff, with its romantic associations, its hawking and 
 its tournament. Even the description of the bleak wintry 
 season, with its roaring fires and its merry sports, had its 
 fascination from its very novelty. She heard much of the 
 Lady Eveline, of Father Ambrose, and good old Cicely, and 
 hopes undefined and shadowy began to stir in the heart of 
 the young Jewess. 
 
 We find the two, one day, out in the garden, Lancelot re- 
 clining on a divan, close to the music of the cool fountain, 
 engrossed completely by the sweet interchange of harmo- 
 nious thoughts. 
 
 ‘‘Dost seem long or short season syth we have known 
 each other, fair Miriam,” said the young knight,* turn- 
 ing an admiring glance upon the blushing face beside 
 him. 
 
250 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “ Both, sir knight,” was the low reply, as Miriam averted 
 ner face. 
 
 Lancelot smiled. 
 
 “ So it seemeth to me short when measured on the dial 
 happiness, long in the crowding memories of hope and fear 
 and deep emotion. Is that thy meaning, Miriam ? ” 
 
 “ So thou sayest. Sir Lancelot ? ” 
 
 ‘‘The season of parting draweth nigh, Miriam, when I 
 return to the duties and dangers of the camp and thou tar- 
 riest in thy quiet home. Wilt remember me, fair lady?” 
 
 “ Friends are few to Miriam the Jewess ; and thou know- 
 est. Sir Lancelot, that these few weeks leave food for thought 
 in lonely hours.” 
 
 “ In this secluded home, Miriam, I have seen thy noble 
 heart, and could I hope for the place next to thy God, I 
 could say farewell more willingly. Dost know, fair Miriam, 
 that I love thee ; thee only, thee fondly ? ” 
 
 Deep blushes suffused the maiden’s cheek, as she replied 
 in low, tremulous tones : 
 
 “ These are blessed words. Sir Lancelot ; for how could 
 I bear to feel that the memories of these short weeks must 
 all be blotted out ? ” 
 
 Taking the maiden’s hand, and fixing an earnest gaze 
 upon her face, Lancelot whispered: 
 
 “ Say but one word, Miriam, and I am happy. Say but 
 * I love thee.’ ” 
 
 “ Easy to say. Sir Lancelot, ‘ I love thee.’ And shouldest 
 thou have left the villa, and no words like unto these had 
 passed atween us, I had buried the feeling in my hearty and 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 261 
 
 joined myself to a band of holy women, who spend their 
 lives in deeds of mercy ; but now,” (and a bright, rosy smile 
 passed over the face of the Jewess,) ** when these cruel wars 
 are over, I go with thee to England, to share thy fortunes 
 and to cheer thy fireside.” 
 
 “ Heaven bless thee, Miriam ! There is but one drawback 
 to our happiness, and that is the difference of faith.” 
 
 “ I have told thee ever. Sir Lancelot, that I am open to 
 conviction. I see the beauty of the teachings of Jesus of 
 Nazareth.” 
 
 Read me now, sweet one, a crfiapter of the Gospel.” 
 
 In her own sweet, silvery voice, Miriam read the sacred 
 record, her mind not yet ready to yield to the internal evi- 
 dence of the divinity which she was beginning to see in its 
 sacred teachings ; admiring its holy, heavenly spirit, which 
 was blessing Lancelot as much as herself in this sweet re- 
 tirement. Seeing only, as yet, ‘through a glass darkly,’ 
 we can leave the two with the Saviour’s prayer : 
 
 “ Sanctify them through thy truth ; thy word is truth ; ” 
 remembering that not by sacraments are we born again, but 
 “ by the word of Ood, which abideth forever.” 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 MAUDE LANGUISHES. 
 
 M aude is frequently brought into contact with Father 
 Matthias, who has become deeply absorbed in the 
 study of the Gospel. 
 
 One day, as she was about entering the hospital, the priest 
 nought her side, and handing her the manuscript, said : 
 
 “ There is thy blessed book, daughter. 1 thank thee for 
 the good words ; for I should have seen them never but for 
 thee. I have a faithful copy which I keep unto my life's 
 end." 
 
 “ That be five copies, father, that proceed from the one 
 lent by Father Ambrose." 
 
 “ That were a blessed apostle, daughter, greatly honored 
 by our dear Lord, spoken of as the one that Jesus loved." 
 
 The priest passed on, and Maude directed her steps to 
 Wilfred's bed. 
 
 He had been looking long and wearily for her arrival, the 
 morning hours dragging slowly on; and composing himself 
 to sleep, he was just on the verge of forgetfulness, when a 
 / light footstep, that he knew so well, approached his couch. 
 It was Maude, pale, weary, sick with watching, but with a 
 small basket of fruit in her hand. 
 
 262 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 263 
 
 ** Is it thou, Lady Maude ? Where tarriest thou so long ? 
 1 have watched the hours of this weary day until heart- 
 sickness hath well-nigh closed mine eyes.’’ 
 
 cry you mercy, good Wilfred, for weakness and weari 
 ness hath laid a heavy hand upon me ; but I wot that thou 
 spendest many lonesome hours, and I made much trial of 
 my strength to see thee, for it may be that I be hindered ere 
 long, from the fever that creepeth on.” 
 
 “ Say not so. Lady Maude. How could I bear the pain 
 and weariness without thee ? ” 
 
 “ I trow that thou art slowly mending, Wilfred ; and 
 when thou leavest the hospital, thou returnest these Visits to 
 thy couch. But I may not tarry long from the Lady 
 Jaqueline, and have “brought my book. Wouldst like to 
 hear some of our dear Lord’s words.” / 
 
 ‘‘ Thou canst not please me more, Lady Maude.” 
 
 will read some that suiteth thee well, Wilfred. ‘But 
 the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father 
 mil send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and 
 bring all things to your remembrance whatsoever I have 
 said unto you.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you : net 
 as the world giveth, give I unto you.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Let not youT heart be troubled, neither let it be 
 afraid.’ ” 
 
 “ Those are blessed words, Lady Maude. Dost think that 
 they are meant for me ? ” 
 
 “Believest thou, Wilfred, simply like unto a little 
 child?” 
 
 22 
 
254 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Clasping his thin hands, he looked upward, saying ; 
 
 “ Lord, thou knowest that I believe thy holy words. ” 
 
 “ Then the Comforter cometh to thee, Wilfred, the Holy 
 Ghost ; and when thou art alone on thy couch, his presence 
 will be with thee to teach thee all things ; but I must go 
 hence, and leave the blessed words of peace with thee.” 
 ‘‘Couldst we choose our companions in the paradise 
 above, I would ask no other among all the blessed saints 
 than thee.” 
 
 She has gone ; and the rest of the day her place is by her 
 mother’s side, who needs her gentle ministry. 
 
 Lancelot is rapidly recovering, and the Scripture read- 
 ings between the young Jewess and bimself will not easily 
 be forgotten. She is an intelligent, ingenuous reader, not 
 concealing the questions which are beginning to arrange 
 themselves in her mind concerning the Messiah ; Lancelot 
 often wishing that Maude were present to answer her 
 inquiries. Entirely convalescent, the young knight is pre- 
 paring to take his departure, deeply grateful for the kind- 
 ness which has been extended by one of an opposing faith so 
 generously to a crossed knight. 
 
 ‘‘ Then wilt be one of us, fair Miriam,” said Sir Lance- 
 lot, ‘‘ and then we be blest indeed.” 
 
 “ Once sure that Jesus of Nazareth is the true Messiah, 
 all the rest is plain enough. I own to thee, sir knight, that 
 there is much in the old prophets that disturbeth me of late, 
 and that seemeth full of mystery.” 
 
 “ I shall sorely miss the cool fountains and sweet odors 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 266 
 
 of this quiet home, sweet one ; but it was not for ease that 
 we bound the cross upon our shoulders : and I hasten now 
 to the side of my royal master, once more to take up arraa 
 against the infidels. And now farewell, my own Miriam. 
 We meet again in brighter days.” 
 
 No words passed the maiden’s lips as in silence she re- 
 ceived the last fond kiss of the young knight upon her fair 
 forehead. Welcomed to the camp by the king, Lancelot 
 is in his accustomed place of honor, awaiting active move- 
 ments on the part of the army. Sick and weary with 
 exposure to the hot suns and chilling dews of Palestine, 
 Maude is unable to continue her ministry of love ; and as 
 soon as Miriam is aware of the fact, she is conducted to the 
 villa, for the Jewess says that Maude cannot be properly 
 nursed in the camp. 
 
 Maude is very ill ; the fever daily on the increase, run- 
 ning its dangerous course of slow, insidious inroads of 
 delirium and wasting of strength, until the deepest anxiety 
 is felt by all who love her. In addition to her own, the 
 Moorish physician is summoned, and on his first visit, 
 Miriam reads deep solicitude upon his serious face, as he 
 said in a low voice : 
 
 ‘‘ I should have seen the patient sooner.” 
 
 The Lady Jaqueline is too ill to leave her tent ; Wilfred 
 d’Arcy suffers and prays on his lonely couch in the hospi- 
 tal ; the noble baron and Lancelot are daily visitors. And 
 Guy de Mowbray is an object of the deepest sympathy, as 
 he paces, hour after hour, up and down the garden paths, 
 glancing hastily in at the open lattice of Maude’s 
 
256 
 
 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 then wringing his hands in agony, returning to hiB lonely 
 walk. 
 
 AIJ are aware that a crisis is approaching. The physi- 
 cian, calling for a cup of spring water, takes.from his bosom 
 the small red purse, which he steeps for a few moments in 
 the water. When sufficiently medicated, he administers it 
 to the patient ; and then motioning all from the room save 
 Miriam, enjoins the most profound silence throughout the 
 house, saying that twelve hours will decide the fate of the 
 sufferer. 
 
 Father Matthias has heard of Maude’s danger, and has- 
 tens to the villa, taking his seat out in the garden that he 
 may comfort Guy in his deep sorrow. Miriam, fearing the 
 noise of the footsteps, has brought out two pairs of soft slip- 
 pers, saying the words : 
 
 “ Perfect silence reigns everywhere by order of the phy- 
 sician.” 
 
 The servants are not allowed to pass in that part of the 
 house. The incoherent mutterings of the patient soon cease, 
 and a deep death-like sleep is falling around Maude. 
 
 The physician is sitting motionless. Miriam’s head is bent 
 in silent prayer. Father Matthias, in low tones, is whisper- 
 ing words of entreaty for the sweet young life, while Guy 
 is speechless with anguish. 
 
 One hour has passed. 
 
 On gentle footsteps Guy approaches the open lattice. 
 
 Can that be Maude de Vere? his own sweet Maude? 
 
 Motionless she lies stretched out upon the couch. Her 
 mass of raven locks, clammy with death-sweats, is lying 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 257 
 
 around her shoulders, pushed back from a marble brow ; 
 for never, when shrouded for the grave, can she seem more 
 cold, more pulseless, more death-like. Her wasted hands 
 are lying upon the thin coverlet, with every mark of disso- 
 lution creeping over them. 
 
 Guy takes one despairing look, and then slowly returns 
 to the priest. 
 
 ‘‘ She is with the angels, father ; and I shall see my sweet 
 one no more. Gone — gone. Oh, Maude I how couldst 
 thou leave me ? 
 
 The priest slowly walked to the lattice. Not one word 
 was spoken ; but a glance at the physician showed that hope 
 was not dead there, although to Father Matthias there are 
 no signs of life. 
 
 The hours rolled on. To Guy they seemed like time 
 without a name, as with anxious gaze, from hour to hour, he 
 looked in at the marble figure upon the couch, at the sikvt 
 figures in attendance. 
 
 Not one crumb of food passed Guy’s parched lips all the 
 dreary day. 
 
 Six weary hours have dragged along, and the silent form 
 has not moved once. Miriam motions to the physician 
 Her look is one of despair, and it is understood. 
 
 A faint smile passes over his face, as, standing by the 
 couch, he places a small silver mirror before the mouth, and 
 handing it to Miriam, she perceives the moisture. He lays 
 his hand quietly upon the heart, and, raising his dark eyes 
 
 b; heaven, a look of hope is there. Placing his hand again 
 
 22* E 
 
268 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 upon his mouth for continued silence, the Jewess undei* 
 stands the signal, and quietly glides out. 
 
 “ What tidings, fair Miriam ? ” said Guy, in husky tones, 
 as he saw her approaching. 
 
 “ She is alive. Sir Guy ; for I saw the moisture on the sih 
 ver mirror which was held to her lips. Albeit the look ig 
 still like death, there is pulsation about the heart ; for the 
 look sent up to heaven, as the physician laid his hand there, 
 was meant for thanks I trow.” 
 
 Even this feeble hope was too much for Guy, for deep 
 sobs burst from an overcharged heart, and the priest hur- 
 ried him away, fearing that he might be heard. The noon 
 passed by. The twilight was falling around the villa. 
 
 Guy is looking anxiously toward the open lattice. An 
 unusual stir is there ; for both Miriam and the physician 
 are on their feet. Advancing to the couch, he said, slowly : 
 ‘‘It is the time for waking the sleeper,” and applying a 
 sponge to the face, slowly the dark eyes opened ; one long, 
 deep sigh, and now another ; the hands moved gently, and 
 a soft smile played around the mouth, as, peering into the 
 distance, the gaze of the dark eyes became more intense, 
 more intelligent, and the lips whispered faintly : 
 
 “ Guy, art there, my own ? ” 
 
 “ Can I call him ? ” said Miriam, eagerly. 
 
 “ Thou canst ; but have thou some refreshment imme- 
 diately, in small quantities, such as I order.” 
 
 Miriam beckoned from the lattice, and Guy hastened to 
 obey the summons. Stretching forth her wasted hands, a 
 smile of pure and tender sweetness passed over Maude^s face, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 269 
 
 and the eyes rested with a look of holy love upon Guy’s 
 bowed form, as, unable to stand, he took a seat near the 
 couch. Taking his hand between her little palms, she said, 
 in slow, dreamy tones : 
 
 “Thou hast been full of sorrow, Guy; and I, beloved, 
 have been in paradise. I have seen the shining ones in the 
 heavenly city ; have heard their harpings like unto the sound 
 of many waters ; and I have seen the Lord.” 
 
 “ But thou art with us yet, fair saint,” said Guy, “ and 
 heaven be lauded ! Art grieved, Maude, to come back to 
 earth once more ? ” 
 
 “ An’ it is the Lord’s will, I have naught to say ; but it 
 was blessed to be with Jesus.” 
 
 “ Be quiet now, sweet one ; for thou mayst weary thyself.” 
 
 Miriam now took her seat by the side of the couch, ad- 
 ministering refreshment at regular intervals, and, by orders 
 from the physician, shutting out all other visitors for the 
 remainder of the night. 
 
 There was great joy next day at the villa; for many 
 hearts were bound up in the life of Maude de Vere. She 
 c^wld scarcely be persuaded that she had not really been 
 in paradise, and seemed so grieved when told that she 
 had only been dreaming, that at length Father Matthias 
 said : 
 
 “ Let the sweet saint enjoy her vision. It cannot harm 
 her.” 
 
 And so Maude repeated in her own artless way the story 
 of her visit to the heavenly city. 
 
 Very soon she is made acquainted with the nature of the 
 
260 
 
 / 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 tie that binds her brother to the lovely Jewess, and Maud6 
 is more anxious than ever that she should become a Chris- 
 tian. She is wan and wasted, and the tender care of her 
 young nurse is what she needs. She is in - an apartment 
 next to Miriam, and the quiet sanctuary of the Eastern 
 villa imparts its healing balm day by day to the invalid. 
 
 She has brought her precious book, and we find the two fre- 
 quently comparing their Scriptures. v 
 
 Maude’s thin hand, almost transparent in its frailty, is 
 lying on the cushions which support the invalid, when 
 Miriam enters to-day. Taking it between her own, the 
 Jewess pressed a warm kiss upon its whiteness, saying; 
 
 ‘‘ This little hand hath worn itself out, methinks, in its 
 deeds of mercy, and must not work again until it is rose- 
 tinted and plump once more.” 
 
 Seating herself, Miriam is reading from the prophet 
 Isaiah ; the Hebrew very clear to herself, but has much dif- 
 ficulty in making Maude comprehend her efibrts at transla- 
 tion. 
 
 She is reading the fifty-third chapter slowly, as if in a 
 questioning tone, the words, “ despised and rejected of men ; 
 a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief : and we es- 
 teemed him not.” 
 
 ‘‘Whom, Maude, meaneth the prophet?” 
 
 “ Read farther, Miriam.” 
 
 ‘ But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was 
 bruised for our iniquities : the chastisement of our peace 
 was u[»on him ; and with his stripes we are healed.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Brought as a lamb to the slaughter, he was taken from 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 261 
 
 prison and from judgment, and he made his grave with the 
 wicked, and with the rich in his death/ Who can it be? 
 Isaiah speaks, and he is a Jew. He speaks of this person 
 as wounded for us.’^ 
 
 ‘‘Seest thou not, dear Miriam, an exact description of 
 what the Gospel telleth of our Lord ? I knew not that such 
 like words were found in the prophets.’^ 
 
 “ The religion of our fathers teacheth us that without the 
 shedding of blood there is no remission of sins. Can it be that 
 the lamb slain by the high-priest was but a shadow of the Lamb 
 of God that taketh away the sins of the world ? Oh ! Maude, 
 an’ it be so, what have we done ? Crucified our Lord ! ’’ 
 
 “ Let me read to thee from the Gospel, Miriam ; ” and in 
 sweet, low tones Maude read portions from the interview 
 of Thomas with the Lord, while, with head bowed upon 
 her hands, Miriam listened. 
 
 “ ‘ Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy fingw, and 
 behold my hands ; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it 
 into my side ; and be not faithless, but believing.’ 
 
 “ ‘ And Thomas answered and said unto him, My Lord 
 ajid my God.’ 
 
 ^ Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen 
 me, thou hast believed : 'blessed are they that have not seen, 
 and yet have believed.’ ” 
 
 Miriam raised her fine, dark eyes, and, clasping Maude’s 
 hand within her own, she said, in tones of deep feeling: 
 
 My Lord and my God ! ” 
 
 “Now God be lauded for his goodness I” said Maade^ 
 tears of joy streaming over her face. 
 
262 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 The word had come with power to the heart of the Jewess^ 
 aud the last fortress of unbelief had fallen. 
 
 “Not only the prophets, dear Lady Maude, have torn 
 away the veil, the Gospel itself beareth on its face its own 
 livinity. We find in our Scriptures God in majesty, power, 
 truth, and holiness; but here he cometh in the might of hia 
 boundless love.” 
 
 Father Matthias is frequently by the side of Maude’s 
 couch of languishing. His visits are so consoling, so dif* 
 ferent from the other priests that wait upon the camp. 
 
 He has embraced with his whole heart the Lord Jesus as 
 revealed in the holy Gospel, and the Spirit of the Master 
 has taken possession of his whole nature ; one of those saintly 
 ones who even in the dark ages had learned to hate sin, to 
 love holiness, to reflect around him the image of his Lord. 
 
 But we turn our steps awhile to the condition of the 
 tedious siege of Acre. Another foe is knocking at the 
 gates ; for, having held out for many months, the city was 
 now cut off from all supplies. The city could resist no 
 j)iiger ; and, after a short truce, which was asked in hope 
 of assistance from Egypt, it surrendered to the monarchs of 
 England and France on r ory rigorous terms. It was a scene 
 of great humiliation to the haughty Saracen. The curtains 
 of King Richard’s tent were thrown aside, and the proud 
 monarch, in his knightly armor, stood by the side of the 
 King of France, surrounded by distinguished knights and 
 churchmen, — the Archbishop of Tyre bearing the cross, Sir 
 Bryan de Bourg, in his Templar’s white robe, bearing the 
 banner of England, and Sir Jacques d’Avesnes that if 
 
MAUDE AND M I R I A M. 
 
 2G3 
 
 France, — the pavilion being filled with knights in armor. 
 Before the tent was the defeated Saladin, bowing in deep 
 obeisance before the lion-hearted king, his emirs and other 
 distinguished officers kneeling on the ground. 
 
 Saladin was to restore the wood of the true cross, which 
 he had taken at Jerusalem, release fifteen hundred chosen 
 Christian captives, deliver up Acre, and ransom the gar- 
 rison by paying two hundred thousand pieces of gold ; the 
 monarchs of England and France agreeing to spare the 
 lives of all the Mussulmans in the place. On these terms, 
 the city was surrendered and the cross planted on its ruined 
 walls. 
 
 The garrison and inhabitants, with the exception of some 
 thousand hostages, were allowed to depart, and the Sultan 
 immediately broke up the camp. But Saladin failed in all 
 particulars, whether from unfaithfulness or inability is not 
 stated. The ransom was not paid, the cross not restored ; 
 and with the fanatical ferocity of a crusader, Richard 
 cruelly commanded the five thousand prisoners to be 
 slaughtered in cold blood, the king boasting of the mas- 
 sacre as an acceptable act in the sight of heaven. 
 
 Maude in her pavilion had heard the fearful order, and 
 rushing into the presence of the king, she threw herself at 
 his feet, the haughty monarch regarding her with stern 
 astonishment. 
 
 “O most noble king!’^ exclaimed the maiden, with 
 clasped hands, and eyes fixed imploringly on his fiice, have ' 
 mercy upon the prisoners ! They have done nothing ; help- 
 less, hopeless, they are in your powerful hands.” 
 
264 
 
 MAUDE AND. MIRIAM. 
 
 The queen, hearing the commotion, liacl also entered the 
 tent, and threw herself by the side of Maude, joining her 
 entreaties to the pleader. 
 
 “ Tut ! tut ! they are only Paynim dogs and miscreants, 
 and deserve to die the death of brutes.’’ 
 
 ‘‘ Say not so, my gracious liege,” continued Maude, tears 
 raining down her face. “They are husbands, fathers, sons, 
 brothers. Think of the anguish, the bitter wails of those 
 who love them, and, for the sake of Him who died for us, 
 have mercy ! Spare their lives ! ” 
 
 “ They die by the laws of the crusaders,” replied the king. 
 “Take her away, Berengaria. Thy pleading is in vain. 
 They die.” 
 
 The queen, raising the weeping suppliant, placed her 
 arm around her waist, supporting Maude’s drooping head 
 upon her shoulder, and thus led her forth. Raising her 
 head for a moment, she had one glimpse of the five thousand 
 marching out of Acre to the place of slaughter, surrounded 
 by a strong guard and preceded by their cruel executioners. 
 
 Falling with a heavy weight upon the queen, one of her 
 ladies hastened out to help her mistress, and, conducting 
 their burden into her own pavilion, they laid her gently 
 upon the couch, applying restoratives to the fainting girl. 
 It had been a terrible shock to Maude, and for days a deep 
 silence fell around her, broken at length by a visit from 
 Father Matthias. 
 
 “ What ailetli thee, daughter?” inquired the priest, who 
 found Maude reclining on cushions at the opening of her 
 teat, with hands clasped before her. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 266 
 
 «Tl.e massacre, father, passeth before me day and night. 
 I hear the cries, I see the flashing swords. Can this indeed 
 be a holy war, which inciteth the followers of our Lord to 
 deeds so bloody? Doth our loving Master smile upon such 
 work, or are we indeed, father, all deluded ? 
 
 “I wonder not that thou feelest thus, daughter, for the 
 same vision hath visited me ever syth the horrible day. 
 When I read the Gospel of him whom Jesus loved, it seem- 
 eth to contain not one word of such cruel murder ; and yet 
 Godfrey de Bouillon, of sainted memory, at the capture of 
 Jerusalem, is said to have committed deeds as dark as this, 
 with his own sword aiding in the massacre of men, women, 
 and even innocent children ; and then, washing his hands 
 of the blood, and exchanging his armor for a white linen 
 tunic, with head and feet bare, he repaired in deep humility 
 to the Church of the Sepulchre to confess his sins, and to 
 pay his vows of thanksgiving for the victory ; this whole- 
 sale murder not reckoned among his transgressions, I 
 trow.” 
 
 “ It cannot be the pure religion of our Lord that maketh 
 men so cruel,” replied Maude; ^‘and with the Gospel of 
 peace open in our hands, what think we of the crusades ? ” 
 “An’ the people had always read the blessed Gospel, 
 daughter, we should soon see no crusades upon the earth.” 
 “ I am so weary, father ; it seemeth all so unlike what I 
 dreamed of at Ravenscliff* ; — the blasphemy and drunkenness 
 of the German soldiers, the tumult of the camp, pitching the 
 bar, throwing the ball, wrestling, roaring of songs, clatter- 
 ing of wine-pots, and quaffing of flagons ; the king himself 
 28 
 
268 
 
 MAUDE A ^ D M r R I A M. 
 
 ready to join the noisy revels when the humor seizeth him 
 I tell thee, holy father, that I long for my quiet turret.” 
 
 '‘And I, daughter, for the peace of the cell in the holy 
 monastery.” 
 
 The sultan w^as not slow to revenge the massacre of the 
 hostages, and on both sides repeated butcheries darkened 
 the hatred of the combatants. 
 
 After the surrender, new jealousies arose betw^een the 
 rival princes ; for, after the capture of the city, the Arch- 
 duke of Austria boldly placed his banner on one of the 
 towers; but no sooner was Eichard aware of the daring act, 
 than with his own hand, in a storm of passion, he tore it 
 down, rent it in pieces, and trampled it under his feet. The 
 insult was neither forgotten nor unavenged, though from 
 that moment the banners of the kings only floated from the 
 walls of Acre. 
 
 Thus arose new dissensions ; and the two monarchs, by 
 taking possession of the whole spoil, dividing it between 
 themselves, gave high disgust to the rest of the cru- 
 saders. 
 
 Soon after this, the crusade received its death-blow by the 
 desertion of Philip Augustus. It is true that his health was 
 seriously affected ; but there is little doubt that the overbear- 
 ing conduct of Richard, and his jealousy of the great supe- 
 riority of his rival in a military point of view, was the real 
 cause. Philip was an able general, a brave knight; but 
 Richard was the wonder of his day ; and what Philip might 
 have admired in an inferior, could not be tolerated in a fel- 
 !ow-king. As bound to Richard by a treaty, his permission 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 267 
 
 to retire was asked by tlie king of France. At first, Rich- 
 ard exclaimed with a burst of indignation : “ Eternal shame 
 on him and all France, if for any cause he leave the work 
 unfinished!” but added afterward: “Well, let him go an' 
 his health require it, for he can't live without seeing 
 Paris.'' 
 
 With this surly leave, Philip hastened his departure, hav- 
 ing sworn in the most solemn manner to respect Richard’s 
 possessions in Europe ; an oath which he soon found occa- 
 sion to break. 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy, with ten thousand men, was left 
 to support Richard, whose next work was to repair the for- 
 tifications of Acre, to purify the churches, and to restore 
 the Christian religion. 
 
 Maude hails the latter with great joy, for it has been 
 many months since her feet had been inside of a Christian 
 church. 
 
 The Moorish physician has been summoned once more, 
 for the queen has been attacked by fever ; and, employing 
 his skill in behalf of the Lady Jaqueline also, he is equally 
 successful as in the case of the king, with the exception of 
 the weakness that still hung about them. 
 
 Miriam’s steps forward in the Christian life are firm auij 
 decided; for the one great fact settled in her mind, obe 
 dience follows. There is to be a grand Te Deum in the 
 principal church of Acre ; and, joining the procession of the 
 ecclesiastics, we find the ladies of the crusade in their litters 
 hastening to return thanks in public for the victory. Miriam 
 is with the party, anxious to receive baptism at the hands 
 
268 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 of the Archbishop of Tyre, Father Matthias assisting in the 
 ceremony. 
 
 The music and all the accompaniments of E jmish wor- 
 ship seemed to impress Miriam, whose ideas of the ancient 
 pomp of the Jewish ritual rendered this acceptable ; though 
 it was but a faint picture of the grandeur of the old ritual, 
 when the Shekinah rested between the cherubim, and when, 
 alone with God in the Holy of Holies, the high-priest offered 
 up the sacrifice. 
 
 Sisters now in the Christian faith,” said Maude, as they 
 took their seats in the litter which bore them back to the 
 camp. 
 
 ‘‘ I lose nothing of the faith of my fathers, Maude,” said 
 the convert. I only believe more, for the old Scriptures 
 are just as sacred ; but new light is dawning upon them, 
 when through the ceremonies of our ancient church, and 
 throughout the prophets now, I see Jesus of Nazareth, King 
 of the Jews. I love my people just the same, Maude, and 
 look forward to the coming of our Lord to restore our 
 ancient glory, when he shall reign upon the throne of our 
 father David, and the days of our mourning and dispersion 
 shall be ended.” 
 
 With locked hands, they talked of Miriam’s new hopes, 
 saddened much by the fear of speedy separation, for there 
 were stirring indications of a change in the pf^sitlon of the 
 Christian forces ere many days. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 ASCALON, 
 
 HILIP is gone; and Richard is able still to muster 
 
 thirty thousand warriors, and is contemplating a 
 change of base. . 
 
 Maude and Lancelot are paying their farewell visit to 
 Miriam. Many tears are shed by the two at the thought 
 of meeting perhaps no more on this side of paradise. 
 Lancelot is deeply moved, for there is a bond of sacred 
 union between the young knight and the lovely Jewess. 
 
 “Wilt wear this, Maude, for my sake?” said Miriam, 
 suspending a small pendant of precious stones by a gold 
 chain around her neck. 
 
 “ What exchange can I make for such a gift, Miriam ? ” 
 
 “ One thou couldst, that I would esteem of more value 
 than all the precious gems within my casket — just one copy 
 of the blessed Gospel.” 
 
 Maude took her treasure from her pocket. 
 
 “ I have but one, Miriam ; would that I could copy it for 
 thee ; but, Lancelot, an’ thou leavest thine with Miriam, I 
 \/ill copy thee another when we reach Ravenscliff once 
 more.” 
 
 “ It is thine, Miriam,” said the knight ; “ and the blessing 
 of neaven go with it.” 
 
 269 
 
270 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘‘It will be my guide, Maude, tlirougli all ray pilgrimage 
 nutil I reach the new Jerusalem/’ 
 
 One more tender farewell, and the three separate — Miriam 
 to find some new and holy work now that the camp is about 
 to move, and Lancelot and Maude to accompany the cru- 
 saders., Late in August the army was ready for depart- 
 ure; but on the evening before, a midnight mass was 
 held at Acre for the souls of those who had fallen in 
 battle. 
 
 Early on the following morning they struck their tents, 
 and commenced their march in a southerly direction upon 
 Jaffa toward the sea-coast. Richard displayed great skill 
 in the discipline with which he conducted this march. 
 
 Nearest the coast, in communication with the English 
 fleet, marched the camp-train and its followers ; the army 
 itself in five divisions, the Templars in the van, the Hospi- 
 tallers in the rear, archers and other light-armed foot- 
 soldiers on the left or outward flank, to check with their 
 missiles the galling onsets of the Turkish cavalry. 
 
 By day, clouds of these horsemen hovered around the 
 front, flank, and rear of the Christians, harassing them with 
 continued assaults ; by night, Saladin encamped in their 
 neighborhood, and broke the repose of the wearied soldiery 
 with frequent alarms. But the unshaken valor of the cru- 
 saders exhausted all the arts of Asiatic warfare. Litters con- 
 taining the ladies of the crusade were in the centre, all un- 
 der a strong guard. At sunset the army regularly halted. 
 During the night the loud voices of the heralds thrice broke 
 the deep silence of the camp with the cry : ‘ ^rewember the 
 
MAUDE AND M I R I A M. 
 
 271 
 
 Holy Sepulchre ! rousing the slumbering sentinels of the 
 host to watchfulness and prayer. 
 
 It is the close of one of those hot, oppressive days so often 
 felt in Palestine, and Maude is faint and weary. Gertrude 
 Ellerton is supporting the sinking pilgrim, when Father 
 Matthias rides up to the side of the latter. 
 
 “Cheer up, my daughter,” said the priest, as he looked 
 at the languid eyes turned toward the voice ; “ we are half 
 way on our march. This glare of heated sand daunteth 
 stouter hearts than thine, I trow.’^ 
 
 “ I am not frighted, father ; but I was thinking of the 
 cool shades in our own dear land, and the walks in the 
 pleasance of Ravenscliff, in the sweet spring-time, when the 
 tender buds put forth their young shoots, and of the soft 
 summer wdnds, when the breeze so gently stirreth the green 
 leaves ; sometimes my heart fainteth with home-sickness.” 
 
 “Patience, daughter! Think of the pilgrims of sacrea 
 memory, who took their lives in their hands and encoun- 
 tered all this, and much more, for the love of our dear Lord, 
 who died for them and us. Here we have hunger and thirst, 
 scorn and mocking : so had our dear Lord. Here evil beasts 
 devour ; but there no lion disturbeth their peace. Here are 
 hills of sand and burning drought ; but there is the river of 
 life. Here the fever and the plague wasteth ; but there sick- 
 ness and death cannot enter. Like true soldiers of the 
 cross, setting their eyes upon the heavenly country, they 
 went onward, and, by the tender mercy of God and the 
 intercession of the blessed saints, their sorrows are all for 
 gotten, their tears all wiped away.” 
 
272 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ** Talk thus to me, father. Thou almost makest me forget 
 the sorrows of the way.” 
 
 Think, my daughter, too, of Him who suffered when He 
 was here on earth. If we be parched with hunger and thirst, 
 so was He; if we be scorned by the Paynira, so was He; if 
 we be without a home. He had not where to lay His head ; 
 if we take our lives in our hand, He did much more for us.” 
 But the sun is sinking lower and lower, and the army h 
 halting for the night. Leaving the litters, the ladies ?re 
 seated under a small grove of palm-trees, watching the 
 golden haze of this sunset hour. The western breeze is 
 rising, and the eastern hill-country of Judea shines with a 
 deep purple brightness for a short time ; the clear west was 
 in a blaze of glory, when the sun dipping suddenly behind 
 the hills, darkness for a short time followed, — the after- 
 light of a tropical country stealing on in its silent beauty. 
 The west, that had begun to die away into a gray tint, 
 blushed out in reviving pink, distant hills assumed a more 
 living purple, the distant murmur of the palm-grove came 
 sweeter, the breeze sighed more gently, and one bright 
 evening star peeped forth in the heavens. 
 
 How lovely ! ” said Maude, as she drank in the beauty 
 v>f the landscape, and felt the reviving influence of the west 
 ern breeze. 
 
 The vesper aves have been said, and the hour of compline 
 stealeth on. Bowing their heads and telling their rosaries, 
 the party under the palm-trees recite seven Pater-nosters ; 
 the most devout among the crusaders reciting daily fifty 
 «cven in all. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 273 
 
 Maude closed her eyes in silence, and in her own way re- 
 peated her evening prayer. 
 
 “ Seeineth it not very strange, mother mine,” said Maude 
 
 that the Church teacheth us to count our prayers, — thir 
 teen at matins, nine at vespers, and seven at compline? It 
 seeineth laid out just for a weary task, when the heart 
 that loveth to pray goeth out at all times, just like unto 
 the vapor rising on dewy wings to descend upon us again in 
 gentle blessing, — heavenward, earthward, — until the last 
 taketh us up above the region of prayer to that of holy 
 lauds in the paradise above.” 
 
 The morning of the sixteenth day dawned beautifully 
 clear, a few fleecy clouds sped across the sky, casting the 
 shadows on hill and dale, filling the earth, air, and sky with 
 a dazy brightness, that a foreign tongue calls the rosicler of 
 a summer day. The Archbishop of Tyre felt that a conflict 
 was near. Already the cry of the muezzins had been heard 
 calling to prayer. 
 
 “ To prayer ! to prayer ! God is the one God 1 
 To prayer! to prayer! Time is flying! 
 
 To prayer! to prayer! Judgment is drawing nigh to you.” 
 
 The bishop, clad in complete armor, bearing the true 
 cross, ascended a mount, and addressed the army as far aa 
 his loud and powerful voice could be heard. 
 
 ‘‘Barons and knights,” he said, “men-at-arms that are 
 children of this land, pilgrims that have come fr^^m the 
 far ends of the earth to do homage to Christ’s dear love, you 
 are soon to meet his great enemy and ours. Our number# 
 
 S 
 
274 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 are smaller to an earthly eye than theirs ; but could oui 
 eyes be purged to behold the world of unseen things, 
 should see an innumerable multitude fighting for us. It 
 may be that Godfrey de Bouillon, of sacred memory, shall 
 do more wondrous deeds to-day than when he scaled the 
 walls of the Holy City, and that the saints who laid down 
 their lives for the Holy Cross are already out in battle-array 
 to fight for us in our day of need. But, above all, we have 
 the unconquered cross of our Saviour Christ that conquered 
 the Persians. How shall it not do valiantly against the 
 Saracens? And doubt not that albeit the voices of Saint 
 Peter and Saint Bernard are hushed in death, their spirits 
 are active in our behalf. Doubt not that they are present 
 with us, putting courage into our hearts and strength into 
 our arms. Do we our part, and they will not fail us. 
 Knights of the Temple, lances of St. John of Jerusalem, the 
 stay and prop of Christ’s Church in this land, let the field 
 of Ascalon be as famous as the capture of the Holy City.” 
 Thus spake the prelate, and the Christian host shouted ; 
 “ It is the will of God ! For St. George and merry England.” 
 In expectation of the battle, the tents of the ladies were 
 pitched on the borders of the camp, under a strong guard. 
 It was not long ere the brazen kettle-drum of the sultan 
 sounded the attack, and the whole infidel host, with the 
 Saracen war-cry shrieking in their ears, was suddenly pre- 
 cipitated in one tremendous charge upon the Christian 
 array. So rapid and furious was the onset, so superior in 
 numbers, and so overwhelming the force and weight of the 
 ghock, that the small squadrons of the crusaders, enclosed 
 
M A U J> E A N 1 ) M I U I A M. 
 
 276 
 
 within their own infantry, were for a time crushed together 
 on all sides by the pressure. 
 
 Galled by the Turkish arrows, the chivalry impatiently 
 demanded permission to extricate themselves by a charge. 
 
 “ Lead us on, gallant lion heart! lead us on against those 
 Payniin dogs 1 ” 
 
 But the fiery Plantagenet alone remained calm and col- 
 lected, watching, with dauntless eye, until the Saracens had 
 exhausted their arrows. 
 
 “ Stand firm, brave knights, deliverance cometh!” called 
 out the king. Then suddenly brandishing his battle-axe, he 
 shouted in tones of thunder: 
 
 ‘‘On Burgundy I On D’Avesnes ! ” and dealing his pow- 
 erful blows right and left, he let loose the cavalry upon the 
 Saracens in one terrific charge. A cloud of dust far on to 
 the right, shrieks from the infidels, and shouts of “Caesa- 
 rea!^’ told that the lances were doing havoc among the 
 enemy. 
 
 “ Charge ! charge ! Ha, Beauseant ! ” still shouted the 
 fiery king. 
 
 Lancelot and Guy were gallantly defending the holy cross 
 in the hands of the archbishop ; Sir Bryan de Bourg and 
 Sir Hugh de Courcy bravely defending the two knights, who 
 were sore beset. 
 
 “The cross’s weight in silver,” shouted Assoread-el-Kar- 
 gel, “to the man that shall first seize it! Its weight in gold 
 to him that shall keep it! ” 
 
 The bishop was sorely })ressed, placing his back against 
 a fragment of a wall, with laoth hands grasping the crosa 
 
276 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 Terrific was the conflict now, for a Saracen had succeeded 
 in wresting it from the bishop’s hands ; but Guy, with tre- 
 mendous eflTorts, defended by knights and men-at-arms, 
 while the cross swayed to and fro in the struggle, obtained 
 the sacred wood once more, and many a brave man-at-arms 
 fell around him, with eyes fixed upon the cross as they 
 closed in death. 
 
 Once more the cross is wavering ; once more it is in the 
 hands of a Saracen, who, hand to hand, is struggling with 
 Sir Guy. 
 
 “ The holy cross is in danger ! ” shouted the bishop, who, 
 with his battle-axe, was cleaving on all sides. 
 
 At that moment, the king dashed forward, dealing blows 
 which sent terror into the hearts of the Saracens. With the 
 fearful cry : Ha ! Beauseant! Fight for the holy cross ! ” 
 
 he made one stupendous charge, which sent the whole infidel 
 host fiying to the hills before the mighty conqueror, unable 
 to resist the steel-clad squadrons of the crusaders. 
 
 ’ But there is a deed of darkness in another part of the 
 field of Ascalon, where the Baron of Hawks worth, seeing 
 his rival in an unprotected situation, with the malignity of 
 a fiend, rushed upon De Vere. 
 
 Thy time hath come, miscreant ! ” shouted de Mowbray. 
 “Said I not that I would meet thee yet in mortal combat?’ 
 
 “ Hast forgotten thy knightly vow, De Mowbray ~ sworn 
 never to strike one whose shoulder beareth the cross ? ” 
 
 But the faithless knight was dead to honor and truth, 
 and, rushing upon De Vere, attacked him with relentless 
 fury; He would have brought him down to the ground, 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 277 
 
 were if Aot for the timely succor of a dozen men-at-arms, 
 whO; seeing the dastard knight, set upon him ^\’ith sword 
 and lance, and soon the Baron of Hawksworth lay welter- 
 ing in his blood. 
 
 The day is with the lion-hearted king. So sanguinary 
 were the charge and the pursuit that above twenty emirs 
 and seven thousand of the flower of the Turkish cavalry 
 were slain upon the battle-field ; and Richard boasted that, 
 in forty campaigns, the sultan had never sustained so severe 
 a defeat as this at Ascalon. 
 
 The feats that he performed on that memorable field were 
 almost incredible; but certain it is that his voice, his eye, 
 his look, brought inspiration to the Christians and dismay to 
 the Moslem host. 
 
 Richard had to mourn the loss of a few of his knights ; 
 but, among these brave men, none were more lamented than 
 the heroic Sir Jacques d’Avesnes and the gallant Templar 
 Sir Bryan de Bourg. The king found the former dead, the 
 latter mortally wounded. Too far gone to be removed, he 
 desired his brethren in arms to kneel around him, while 
 he received the offices of the Church at the hands of the 
 archbishop. He lay upon the ground, the king and Sir 
 Hugh de Courcy supporting him. 
 
 “God’s will be done!” said Sir Bryan. “This is to die 
 as I have ever wished, — knightly and Christianly ; and I 
 do well believe that by the intercession of our Lady of De- 
 liverance, whom I have served, that my pains will be short 
 and ray joys long. I pray you to forgive me, all that are here, 
 24 
 
278 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIA.M. 
 
 — for methinks it waxeth dark, — wherein I have offended 
 any. Sir Amelot, take my capuchoii to remember me by, 
 I commend myself to your prayers, brethren in arms.” 
 
 The archbishop began the commendation of the soul, 
 while all the knights knelt around, and ere it was finished, 
 the soul of the brave knight had departed. 
 
 In another part of the field knelt Sir Guy de Mowbray 
 by the side of his dying father. He had confessed, and ob- 
 tained absolution at the hands of the priest. Scarcely able 
 to articulate, he whispered : 
 
 “ Lay me at Hawksworth, Guy ; and may the Lord have 
 mercy on my sinful soul ! ” With these words the knight 
 departed ; Guy mourning in deep humiliation over a parent 
 who had so transgressed not only the laws of chivalry, but 
 those of God. 
 
 Without further hindrance from the Saracens, the army 
 now pursued their triumphant march to Jaffa, taking pos- 
 session of that city, Caesarea, and other dismantled castles 
 in the neighborhood.- 
 
 Richard desired at once to march upon Jerusalem; but 
 was prevented by the opposition of the French barons, who 
 insisted upon the necessity of rebuilding the fortifications 
 of Jaffa. On their arrival at Jaffa, the funeral of the 
 knights who fell in battle took place ; the king denying the 
 same honors to the remains of the Knight of Hawksworth, 
 who had so tarnished his knightly name. Sir Jacques 
 d’Avesnes was one of the most distinguished of French 
 knights, as Sir Bryan de Bourg was of the English; and 
 several others distinguished for valor having fallen, the 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 279 
 
 king was determined to bury them with the highest military 
 pomp of these days. For each knight there was an official 
 present, who wore the armor of the defunct, mounted on his 
 horse in full trappings, carrying the banner, shield, and hel- 
 ni(‘t of the deceased, the point of the battle-axe downward, 
 a token like a reversed torch of death. Six horses thus 
 mounted entered the church at Jaffa, bells tolling, and 
 solemn rolls of music filling the building. Then came the 
 Archbishop of Tyre in his pontifical robes, bearing aloft the 
 sacred cross, followed by the priests in their vestments, who 
 preceded the coffins borne by knights and covered with 
 black velvet palls richly decorated with silver fringe. The 
 Mass for the dead was performed with solemn pomp ; and 
 although the Baron of Hawks worth was refused the honors 
 of representation in this procession, his name was remem- 
 bered in the service of the Mass. 
 
 For two months the army remained at Jaffa, restoring the 
 works, before the crusaders again moved forward toward 
 Jerusalem, reaching Ramula, within a short distance of the 
 Holy City. Here the inclemency of the season, want of pro- 
 visions, and sickness arrested their march, and Richard 
 l)(‘gan to grow hopeless. 
 
 The army, therefore, fell back to the coast, and the winter 
 was spent by the soldiers in repairing the walls, and by the 
 leaders in treacherous intrigues and dissensions. But toward 
 the spring, Richard so far succeeded in restoring unanimity 
 as to gather all the forces under his standard, and at their 
 head marched again toward Jerusalem. The general enthu- 
 siasm was enkindled by hope of success ; the chieftains and 
 
280 
 
 MAUDB AND MIKIAM, 
 
 soldiers joining in a solemn oath that they would not quit 
 Palestine until the sepulchre of Christ should be redeemed. 
 But they are steadily on the march now ; and, encamping 
 one night on the borders of the valley of Hebron, they are 
 aware of their near approach to Jerusalem. 
 
 The thoughts of near proximity to the Holy City banished 
 sleep from their eyelids, and soon after midnight was well- 
 nigh passed, the host were all awake, watching for the dawn 
 of day. It v/as a lovely morning in the spring-time ; and, 
 waiting for some time in silence, the sun rushed suddenly 
 into the sky with the glory of an Eastern dawn, and Jeru- 
 salem lay before their eyes. 
 
 The remembrance of all that had happened in that mighty 
 city, the enthusiasm of faith, the dangers through which they 
 had passed, the ills, the weariness, the sickness, the toils that 
 they had conquered, the end of fear, — the bright fulfilment 
 of hope awoke in every bosom the sublime of joy. 
 
 “ Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! ’’ was echoed by a thousand 
 voices, as the sun flooded the domes and minarets of the 
 mosques in one flame of glory. Some shouted to the sky, 
 some knelt and prayed, some wept in silence, and some, 
 in transport, kissed the sacred earth. 
 
 Father Matthias is on his knees in deep devotion ; the 
 archbishop, bearing aloft the cross, strikes up the hymn 
 Urbs Beata, and soon the whole camp joined in the volume 
 of sacred music. The arrival of the host so near to Jerusa- 
 lem alarmed the Saracens. Numbers fled from the Holy 
 City, and even Saladin himself despaired of preserving hia 
 proudest conquest with such a conqueror at the gates M 
 Coeur de Lion. 
 
CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE TO JERUSALEM. 
 
 HEN the Saracens were most alarmed, Saladin wa« 
 
 suddenly relieved by the unexpected departure of 
 the crusaders. Many reasons have been given for this un- 
 accountable caprice. The best attested accounts, however, 
 attribute the abandonment to Richard himself. A variety 
 of reasons may have influenced the act, — the treasonable 
 defection of Burgundy and his French followers, the news 
 from England of the dangerous intrigues of his brother 
 John, and a secret consciousness that the resources of the 
 crusaders were now unequal to the capture of the city; 
 but it is vain to speculate. Suffice it to say that when its 
 v\^alls were in his view, Richard proposed a council, selected 
 from among the barons and chiefs of the Orders, to decide, 
 upon oath, if it were preferable to engage in the siege of the 
 Holy City, or to make a diversion against Damascus or 
 Cairo. To the general disappointment, the council decided 
 against the siege; and Richard, amid the discontent of the 
 whole army, commenced a second retreat to the sea-coast. 
 Whatever may have been his motives, he felt keenly the 
 shame of his failure; for when led to a height from which 
 he might take a last view of Jerusalem, he hid his face in 
 his shield, exclaiming t 
 
 24 • 
 
 2«1 
 
282 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “ Wret<'hed kiug ! he who is unable to rescue is unworthy 
 to look upon the Holy Sepulchre/^ 
 
 Finding that Kichard had continued his march from 
 Jaffa to Acre, Saladin poured down from the hills with hia 
 troops on the former city, assaulting it so unexpectedly that 
 many of the Christian garrison were slain in the streets, and 
 the remainder only saved their lives by shutting themselves 
 within some of the towers. They had already been reduced 
 to sue for a capitulation, when Richard suddenly arrived at 
 the port to succor. 
 
 He had prepared to set sail for England ; but, fired with 
 indignation when he heard that Saladin had renewed the 
 offensive while his foot was still in Palestine, he threw him- 
 self into a galley, and, followed only by a few knights and 
 archers in six other vessels, sailed for Jaffa, leaving his army 
 to retrace their march after him along the coast. When his 
 small squadron reached the shore, finding that the garrison 
 still held out, with his shield around his neck and his 
 Danish axe in his hand, he plunged into the sea. Inspired 
 by his heroism, his attendants quickly followed ; Lancelot 
 and Guy close upon his footsteps. The Moslems were so 
 dismayed by the fury of his attack, that they fled before 
 this handful of assailants, and abandoned Jaffa to its de- 
 liverers. 
 
 Richard had with him but fifty-five knights, — ten only 
 mounted, — and two thousand foot-soldiers. He displayed 
 his contempt for the infidels by encamping without the gates ; 
 and in this situation, on the second day of his arrival, the 
 Turkish cavalry, recovering from their surprise and finding 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 283 
 
 the smallnesa of his force; renewed the F.ttack in overwhelm- 
 ing numbers. 
 
 lie not only sustained their charges, but rushed into the 
 thickest of their squadrons at the head of his ten knights, 
 everywhere carrying death and confusion into their ranks. 
 Whole squadrons fled before him. Never had he done such 
 deeds of valor and strength. When Saladin saw his troops 
 flying, he is said to have asked : 
 
 “ Where is the King of England ? ” 
 
 “ There, sire, upon that hillock with his men.’' 
 
 “ What ! ’’ cried the sultan. “ The king on foot among 
 his servants ! This is not as it should be,’’ and Saladin sent 
 him a horse, charging the messenger to say that such a 
 man ought not to remain on foot in so great danger.” 
 
 Night put an end to the unequal conflict ; but so hopeless 
 now was Saladin, that he raised the siege of Jaffa without 
 any farther attempt. 
 
 This was the last and most brilliant achievement of the 
 lion-hearted king on the shores of Palestine, and with it 
 ended the third crusade. His violent exertions had brought 
 on a return of fever; and Saladin himself was wearied 
 with fruitless hostilities and laboring under a bodily de- 
 cline, which in a few months laid him in the grave. 
 
 Richard consented to dismantle the fortifications of Asca- 
 lon ; and the sultan, on his part, agreed to leave the Chris- 
 tians in possession of Tyre, Acre, and Jaffa, with the mari- 
 time territory between the first and last of these cities, to 
 abstain from attacking the tarritories of Antioch and tbs 
 
284 
 
 MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 Count of Tripoli, and to grant ail Christian pilgrims fte# 
 access to the holy places of Jerusalem. On these terms thci 
 two monarchs concluded a truce between the nations of their 
 respective faith for three years and three months ; and Rich- 
 ard prepared to bid a last adieu to the scene of his glory. 
 We will follow him to his tent on the evening after these 
 events. 
 
 Thus endeth our dream of glory, Berengaria,” said the 
 king. We are needed in England more than in Palestine, 
 an’ all that reacheth us be true ; for our treacherous brother 
 soweth dissensions in our realm.” 
 
 “ Now that the way is open,” replied the queen, “ we 
 would join the pilgrims that march to Jerusalem ; for thou- 
 sands will go to worship at the holy places.” 
 
 “ An’ we could go with thee, fair queen, it would be well ; 
 but the defeated leader of the third crusade looketh not 
 upon the sacred spot that he could not conquer ; and thou 
 returnest to England speedily with our sister Joan.” 
 
 “Without thee, my liege?” throwing her arms around 
 his neck. 
 
 “We follow with the army, Berengaria; and we be not 
 [)arted long season.” 
 
 Maude is weary and heart-sick of bloodshed, strife, and 
 wickedness, longing for the quiet of England, but unwilling 
 to leave Palestine without the long-desired visit to Jerusa- 
 lem. She is talking with her brother Lancelot, at the close 
 3f this eventful day. 
 
 “What thinkest thou, good brother?” said the young 
 lady. “ Would our Miriam join us in our pilgrimage? ” 
 
M A. U D E AND MIRIAM 
 
 286 
 
 Doubtless such would be her desire. I will send a guard 
 for her. Jerusalem is doubly sacred to her, as a Jewess and 
 a Christian, Maude.” 
 
 Without delay we find Miriam, in pilgrim garb, among 
 the crusaders. 
 
 When the first joyful greetings were over, Miriam, hold- 
 ing Maude in her arms, said, anxiously : 
 
 ‘‘Thou lookest pale and weary, Maude. What aileth 
 thee?” 
 
 Smiling languidly, she replied : 
 
 “So weary of burning sands and chilling dews, of blood- 
 shed and strife and sorrows ; longing for the quiet turret and 
 my blessed Gospel, longing for the cool fields of my native 
 land.” 
 
 Berengaria and her court are preparing to sail for Eng- 
 land. The king is at Acre, making preparations to follow; 
 but ere he left, he bestowed upon Lancelot and Guy especial 
 marks of the royal favor, by conferring upon each the order 
 of the Golden Star. 
 
 The pilgrims have purchased the palmer’s garb at Jaffa, 
 and a large company of knights, peasants, and persons of all 
 grades in life, join the procession ; the ladies and invalids in 
 litters. Outside of the Holy City, the company dismount, 
 and, barefoot, prepare for their march. 
 
 The archbishop, bearing the holy cross, barefoot like the 
 rest, headed the procession, the clergy following after. Then 
 came the throng of knights and men-at arms and ladies all 
 on foot, save Maude, the Lady Jaqueline, and Wilfre^^l 
 
286 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 d’Arcy, too weak to walk far. Entering the first gate, the 
 whole multitude sung the palmer’s hymn : 
 
 “Holy city, happy city, 
 
 Built on Christ, and sure as He; 
 
 From my weary journeying. 
 
 From the wastes I cry to thee ; 
 
 Longing, sighing, hasting, crying, 
 
 Till within thy walls I be. 
 
 Ah I what happy, happy greeting 
 For the guests thy gates who seel 
 Ah I what blessed, blessed meeting 
 Have thy citizens in thee ! 
 
 Ah ! those glittering walls how fair, — 
 
 Jasper sheen and ruby blee. 
 
 Never harm, nor sin, nor danger. 
 
 Thee can tarnish, crystal sea I 
 Never woe, nor pain, nor sorrow. 
 
 Thee can enter, city free I 
 
 We follow them as they pass the Via Dolorosa. Imme- 
 diately beneath the window where the Ecce Homo was pro- 
 nounced, the archbishop intoned the Deu6 Mens, Deus Mem 
 — a thousand voices taking up the Gregorian chant ; and 
 with slow, solemn step the procession moved on, the Saracen 
 population looking on without jeering, for Saladin had kept 
 his promise of allowing none to disturb the Christians on 
 pilgrimage. Now they paused at the Church of Our Lady 
 of Grief ; the spot where our Lord, bending under his cross, 
 was met by his blessed mother. Then arose the Stabat 
 Mater, echcing over Mount Moriah on one side and Mount 
 Calvary on the other They passed the place where Simon 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 287 
 
 the Cyreiiian bore tlie cross ; and tliere they began the seven 
 psalms with the litanies. 
 
 And so they passed on by the house of Lazarus, by the 
 spot where our Saviour said: “Daughters of Jerusalem, 
 weep not for me,” by the dwelling of Saint Veronica, by the 
 judicial gate; and so they began the ascent of Calvary, 
 chanting the Miserere, and then continued their march to 
 the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 
 It were hard to describe the highly-wrought emotions of 
 the Lady Maude, as, bathed in tears, she stood by the empty 
 tomb ; solemn funeral dirges chanted by the priests in the 
 chapel in the meanwhile. 
 
 Taking up their march outward, to allow the crowds wait- 
 ing outside to enter, Maude and Miriam asked to be led to 
 the places sacred to the Jews ; and, standing in silence on 
 the site where the temple once reared its glorious walls, 
 Miriam broke the stillness by saying : 
 
 “‘Our feet shall stand within thy gates, 0 Jerusalem! 
 
 “ ‘ Pray for the peace of Jerusalem. They shall prosper 
 that love thee. 
 
 “ ‘ Peace be within thy walls and prosperity within thy 
 palaces. 
 
 “ ‘ The Lord shall build up Zion,’ and ‘ He shall sit upon 
 the throne of his father David,’ for thus saith the prophet 
 Isaiah : ‘ The Lord of hosts shall reign in Mount Zion, and 
 ill Jerusalem, and before his saints gloriously.’” 
 
 “When, dear Miriam ?” whispered Maude, looking upon 
 the rapt countenance of the Jewish Christian with feelings 
 of solemn awe. 
 
288 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 “At his coming, Maude; when our people will return to 
 the Holy Land, and the days of our mourning will be 
 ended.’’ 
 
 “ They will be Christians then, Miriam.” 
 
 “ Y es, and Christ shall be among us, as the king so long 
 pioinised, — Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” 
 
 This visit of the crusaders was attended with no expres- 
 sions of contempt excepting from a few isolated individuals, 
 such as are found in every community, mocking the fallen. 
 The Bishop of Salisbury was entertained in the sultan’s own 
 palace, and obtained from the generous Saracen leave to 
 establish three societies of Latin priests in Jerusalem, in 
 Bethlehem, and in Nazareth. Various were the splendid 
 acts of kingly magnanimity which closed Saladin’s commu- 
 nication with the crusaders. 
 
 On the 25th of October, 1192, Bichard sailed for Europe. 
 The fruits of this crusade were small ; but in his own per- 
 son he had acquired a degree of military glory that none in 
 future ages could wrest from him. He had many failings ; 
 his own arrogance, as much as the jealousy of his rivals, 
 tending to create disunion and frustrate his object. But he 
 had man) noble qualities, and carried the heart of a lion to 
 his grave. 
 
 After encountering a violent storm, which scattered his 
 fleet and wrecked most of his vessels, Richard, in a single 
 ship, touched at Lara, where he lauded, accompanied only 
 by two priests and a few knights of the Temple, whose garb 
 he had assumed. 
 
 From Lara, he endeavored to make his way through Ger* 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 289 
 
 many in disguise ; but in vain. The news of his journey had 
 already spread ; and the unforgiving Archduke of Austria, 
 whose banner he had trampled under his feet, caused every 
 road to be watched. One after another of his companions 
 was dismissed by the king, until at length, with a single 
 squire, he arrived at a small town near Vienna, where, 
 taking his abode at a petty lodging, Richard sent out his 
 squire for provisions. Recognized by some of the arch- 
 duke’s spies, Richard was taken and cast into prison. 
 
 The royal captive was soon given into the hands of the 
 Emperor of Austria, who concerted with Philip Augustus 
 the means of detaining him in secrecy. His confinement, 
 nevertheless, was soon known in England, and in Palestine 
 also. No sooner did Lancelot hear the news, than he re- 
 solved to set out in search of his master ; and we find him, 
 therefore, in the pavilion, seeking an interview with the 
 Jewess. 
 
 ‘‘ I come to say farewell, my own fair Miriam, but hope 
 soon to meet again. I go to rescue my beloved master, and 
 return not until I discover the place of his confinement, for 
 I am solemnly bounden to his service. But there is a seat 
 for thee, Miriam, by the fireside of Ravenscliff ; for I have 
 spoken to tlie baron and the Lady Jaqueline, who will wel- 
 come thee to England. But canst thou go with all thy 
 heart, Miriam? One word is quite enow, and that be 
 come. 
 
 Turning to the young knight a face beaming with emo- 
 tion, she laid her hand within open palm, saying sol 
 emnly : 
 
 26 
 
 T 
 
290 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ^ Come I ’ for with Ruth of ancient memory, Miriam 
 sayeth : 
 
 “ * For whither thou goest, I will go ; and where thou 
 lodgest, I will lodge : thy people shall be my people, and 
 thy God my God : 
 
 “ ‘ Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried : 
 the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death 
 part thee and me.’ ” 
 
 Taking leave of his friends, Lancelot has gone, and Maude 
 is overjoyed at the thought that the fair Jewess, whom she 
 has learned to love so well, is indeed to be her sister, to 
 dwell with her at Ravenscliff. 
 
 We will follow the young knight on his journey, having 
 met with Blondel de Nasle, a favorite minstrel, whoj. in com- 
 pany with Lancelot, visits all the old castles on the Danube 
 around which there seemed to be any mystery. 
 
 For a long time their search was in vain ; but we find 
 them at length, at the close of a winter day, in sight of an 
 old fortress around which was thrown a great air of mystery. 
 
 A peasant was seen standing on this side of 4he moat, 
 looking up at a small window, where there was evidently a 
 hand moving aside the casement. 
 
 ‘‘What seest thou, my good man?” inquired Lancelot. 
 
 “ A man’s hand, I trow ; an’ thou waitrst a moment, thou 
 hearest some good music, for he playeth on soraf» sweet in- 
 strument ev'ery evening at this hour.” 
 
 Just then a plaintive air came wafted to them on the even- 
 ing breeze. 
 
 Blondel took his harp, and played a familiar air. The 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 291 
 
 musician in the turret ceased, and then answered it ; follow- 
 ing with one still more familiar. They betrayed nothing in 
 the presence of the peasant ; but after he had gone, Blondel 
 turned to his companion, and said : “ It is the king, ;cur 
 beloved master! Would that we could see him! But the 
 window is too high and too distant to recognize a face.” 
 
 I trow that we have certain knowledge row,” replied 
 Lancelot. Let us hasten to make it known.” 
 
 The place of the king’s confinement was soon known. 
 Knightly honor and religious feeling were invoked, and the 
 infamy of detaining a traveller — a pilgrim and a crusader 
 — was proclaimed with the powerful voice of a people’s 
 indignation. Henry at length felt himself obliged to yield 
 some appearance of justice for detaining an independent 
 monarch ; and Richard was brought before the diet at 
 Worms, charged with imaginary crimes, the chief of which 
 was the assassination of Conrad, Marquis of Montserrat. 
 
 Had the least shadow of reason been left on the side of 
 the emperor, Richard’s fate would have been sealed ; but 
 tlie English monarch defended himself with so much elo- 
 quence, that no doubt remained in the minds of his audi- 
 ence, and his ransom was agreed upon at one hundred thou- 
 sand marks of silver. This money was obtained with diffi- 
 ciilty ; and John and Philip strove to raise greater sums, to 
 tempt the cupidity of the emperor to retain the lion-hearted 
 monarch. The avaricious Henry hesitated ; and thus was 
 the liberty of the noble king of England set up at auction, 
 till the Germanic body indignantly intei-fered, the runsom 
 waa paid, and Richard was released. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE PRIORY OF ST. AGNES, 
 
 NXIOUS to visit still more of the holy places, we find 
 
 the De Veres, Sir Guy cle Mowbray, Miriam, and a 
 few more pilgrims, with Father Matthias, seeking the gar- 
 den of Gethseraane, wh-ich, with uncovered heads, they 
 entered barefoot, chanting one of the old Latin hymns, and 
 gathering from the sacred place some leaves and wild flowers, 
 to be kept as sacred relics, then onward to the Mount of 
 Olives they pursued their pilgrim path. Ascending its 
 sacred height, for a few minutes they stood in silence, and 
 then Father Matthias spoke : 
 
 “ From this holy mount our Lord ascended into heaven 
 nearly twelve hundred years agone, spreading out his blessed 
 hands in hrdy benediction as he vanisheth out of sight; and 
 on this very Mount of Olives he cometh again when he 
 de^scendetli to judge the world. Let us, beloved, be found 
 ready to meet him at his coming ; and so the priest con- 
 tinued a train of solemn and eloquent appeals, at the clcee 
 ail joining in the ascension hymn of the venerable Bede : 
 
 “A hymn of glory let us sing; 
 
 New songs throughout the wdrld shall ring; 
 
 292 
 
MAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 293 
 
 By a new way none ever trod, 
 
 Christ mouuteth to the throne of God. 
 
 ‘ The apostles on the mountain stand, — 
 
 The mystic mount in Holy Land ; 
 
 They, with the Virgin-mother, see 
 Jesus ascend in majesty. 
 
 ‘The angels say to the eleven: 
 
 ‘Why stand ye gazing into heaven? 
 
 This is the Saviour, — this is Hel 
 Jesus hath triumphed gloriously 1 * 
 
 "‘They said the Lord should come again. 
 
 As these beheld him rising then, 
 
 Calm, soaring through the radiant sky. 
 
 Mounting its dazzling summits high. 
 
 “ May our affections thither tend 
 And thither constantly ascend, 
 
 Where, seated on the Father’s throne. 
 
 The reigning in the heavens we own I 
 
 “Be Thou our present joy, 0 Lord 1 
 Who wilt be ever our reward; 
 
 And, as the countless ages flee. 
 
 May all our glory be in* Thee I” 
 
 We will direct our steps to the Priory of St. Agnes, where 
 Eveline has been all these weary months, even years, with- 
 out tidings from those she loved, save the news which 
 reached England of events in the Holy Land, frequently 
 26 * 
 
294 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 false rumors: for there were no posts in those days, and only 
 by private hand could friends communicate. 
 
 But such an opportunity has come at length ; and a holy 
 palmer is at the gate of the convent, direct from Palestine, 
 having come on the fleet that brought the queen to Eng- 
 land. 
 
 The prioress extended a hearty welcome to the palmer, 
 raying : 
 
 “Hast news from the holy land? for truly our hearts 
 pineth for tidings.’’ 
 
 Drawing a letter from his scrip, he replied : 
 
 “I have that for the Lady Eveline de Vere that glad- 
 deth her hear^^ I trow,” handing the letter to the prioress. 
 
 Ordering refreshment for the palmer, the lady sought the 
 presence of her niece ; and holding the letter before her, 
 Eveline sprang forward with hands clasped, exclaiming : 
 
 “From Palestine! Would that I could read the dear 
 words ! ” 
 
 Seated quickly, eagerly she listened to the contents, which 
 had been written but recently. 
 
 ’ To MY WELL-BELOVED SiSTER EvELINE DE VeRE: 
 
 “ 111 this far-off land of the burning sun and scorching sand, 
 mine eyes turn ever, with eager longing, to the green trees 
 and cool shades of Ravenscliff, and to thee, sister mine, the 
 more beloved from the long absence. 
 
 “AVe have seen perils by sea and perils by land, sick- 
 ness and wasting fever, and bloody strife and wickedness 
 abounding, dearest Eveline, that make me long for the quiet 
 turret and the winter fireside ; albeit the sharp, fierce winds 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM, 
 
 296 
 
 whistle through the old castle. By the blessing of God, we 
 are all alive ; albeit many a brave knight sleepeth with legs 
 crossed and hand sheathing the sword, resting from his toils, 
 so far from home. 
 
 “ But I wot, sister mine, that thou art waiting for a name 
 dear to thee, and would fain hear of Sir Walter de Courte- 
 nay ere I write of others. Thy gallant knight is well, Eve- 
 line, and hath distinguished himself in several battles. He 
 was wounded at Jaffa, but not severely. 
 
 ^‘He pineth for sight of thee, sister mine; and I trow 
 that will be a joyful day, when thou seest the cavalcade of 
 the returning crusaders crossing the drawbridge at Ravens- 
 cliff. 
 
 ‘‘We have had much converse with Sir Walter, and the 
 more we wot of him, the more we love and honor him. He 
 sendeth a box of gifts to thee by the palmer who beareth 
 this letter. I could wish much to see thy bright face when 
 opening thy treasures, for there are some brave gifts among 
 them for a young demoiselle. 
 
 “ Many of us are sore wasted by reason of the fever that 
 consumeth our flesh ; but we are bounden by our sacred vow 
 to tarry until the end be. There have been many battles, 
 and much sorrow and suffering following; and for a long 
 season I waited upon the tents of the Hospitallers, where, 
 in mine own feeble way, I could comfort the servants of the 
 Lord. I there met with a lovely Jewess. Start not, Eve- 
 line, while thou makest the sign of the holy cross at the 
 name so despised ; for I have learned to love her well, and 
 so wilt thou. Like an angel of mercy she hath visited the 
 sufferers of all nations in the warfare ; and thou shouldst see, 
 sister mine, with what smiles of joy the Avan faces greet the 
 fair Miriam in her walks through the hospitals. 
 
 “ Lancelot was sore wounded in the siege of Acre, and 
 taken to the house of Miriam, where she tenderly nursed 
 
296 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 our brother, and thy sister, too, when she fell prostrate with 
 fever. 
 
 talk much together of our Holy Scriptures . she 
 reading to me the old prophets, and I the blessed Gospel 
 of him whom Jesus loved. Miriam hath a quick, inquiring 
 mind, and none of the hard unbelief which we have been 
 taught belongeth to the Jews ; and so it fell out that as we 
 read together, the true light dawned, and out of her own 
 Scriptures she hath learned to love our Saviour as her own 
 Messiah — much like the time when our Lord appeared to 
 Mary as the gardener ; for, like unto her, as we read, Miriam 
 hath learned to say ‘ Rabboni.’ We are dear friends now, 
 as thou wilt be also when thou seest the dark, eloquent eyes 
 of our lovely Jewess beaming upon us all around the hearth- 
 stone at RavensclifF, as one of our own ; for when the cru- 
 sade is at an end, she returneth with us as our brother 
 Lancelot’s chosen wife, or waiteth for him an’ he be not in 
 Palestine when we depart. 
 
 “ It was a long time ere Acre capitulated ; and then the 
 king had all the churches purified, and in long procession 
 we marched to the church, where a solemn Te Deum cele- 
 brated our victory. 
 
 It would have been one of great joy had not the king 
 ordered the cruel massacre of five thousand Moslem prison- 
 ers in cold blood. I besought their pardon on my knees ; 
 but the laws of the crusades ordered the terrible deed ; and 
 ever syth that day, doubts and questions arise in my mind 
 about the name of the Holy War ; and I begin to think that 
 in our own England, and in my father’s castle, I can serve 
 my Master better than in this fierce and bloody land. 
 Lancelot and Guy have made great names in the warfare ; 
 and the king hath bestowed upon our father and the two 
 young knights the order of the Golden Star, — the highest 
 honor of knighthood. I must not forget to tell thee that 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 297 
 
 our Miriam hath been baptized, and pai taken of the Holy 
 Eucharist, and is now with tlie Christians heart and hand, 
 as it regardeth our holy faith. We had a weary march to 
 A.scalon ; but we were brought safely through all its perils, 
 a ad after doing wondrous deeds of valor, the crusaders were 
 victorious, and the Saracens fled to the hills. Lancelot and 
 Gjy defended the holy cross throughout the battle, the 
 brave knights Sir Bryan de Bourg and Sir Jacques 
 d’Avesnes, with several others, fell mortally wounded. The 
 Templar died like a brave knight. And now I have dolor- 
 ous news for the Lady Edith de Mowbray, for the Baron 
 of Hawksworth was among the killed, of whom I will tell 
 thee more when we meet. 
 
 ‘‘The battle of Jafla closed the third crusade, and it is 
 said that never did the king do greater deeds of valor than 
 before that city. One of our last acts was to witness the 
 funeral ceremonies of six brave knights, conducted with 
 great pomp by order of the king, who forbade like honors 
 to the Baron of Hawksworth, for reasons that I put not on 
 paper. In his last moments, he charged Guy to bury him 
 at HaAv^ksworth, and, under the care of a skilful person, his 
 remains have been embalmed. 
 
 “ Then came the great event for which I came to Pales- 
 tine ; for, Eveline, I have seen Jerusalem. My feet have 
 trodden the hill of Calvary, up which the blessed feet of our 
 deu'* Lor^i toiled on the doleful night before he sufiered. 
 I have a sione from the holy mountain. Mine eyes have 
 looked upon the Holy Sepulchre, and have wept holy tears 
 on the sacred spot. At the door of the church, I bought 
 five crosses of wood from the Mount of Calvary, — one for 
 the lady prioress, one for thee, one for Father Ambrose, not 
 forgetting good old Cicely, and keeping one for myself. 
 
 “ I have stood in the garden of Gethsemane, and plucked 
 leaves from the trees, and a wild flower from tlie spot where 
 
298 
 
 MAUDE AKD MIRIAM. 
 
 oiir I^rd agonized ; and on tlie Mount of Olives, a small 
 company of us heard Father Matthias, a holy monk, preach 
 such a sermon as I shall never forget. 
 
 “ This is a reward for all our toil, sister mine ; but new I 
 must tell thee of the sorrows of our pilgrimage. Our mother, 
 the Lady Jaqueline, hath been sick of fever, and, though 
 relieved of that, languisheth in great weakness. Wilfred 
 d’Arcy was sore wounded before Acre, — hath had the fever, 
 and I trow draweth nigh to the gates of the holy city. 
 Sir Amelot de Russy hath been many times wounded; 
 hath endured great hardship and weariness, and will fight 
 never again in the holy war. 
 
 “The queen and her court, with the king s csister, Joan 
 of Sicily, soon sail for England ; this letter going with the 
 fleet, and the king and his army will soon follow. Thou 
 knowest, Eveline, with what devotion I took the cross; 
 but two years in Palestine have shorn the Holy War of its 
 right to that name, so long as I read the blessed Gospel, 
 — debauchery, blasphemy, drunkenness in times of inac- 
 tivity, pride, arrogance, cruelty in times of warfare, — 
 this is not the way for Maude de Vere, I trow, in which to 
 serve the meek and loving Master of the Gospel of St. John. 
 Henceforth a path more womanly and quiet, and more holy 
 and heavenly, will be my choice. 
 
 “Thou wilt bear ray reverence and love to good Father 
 Aml)rose. Tell him that I will soon be at Ravenscliff* to 
 make his furmety and gruel, and to wait upon him an’ he 
 be sick And good old Cicely ! tell her to have my tur- 
 ret ready, for, an’ we sail this autumn, we be with you, God 
 willing, in the winter, or in the spring at latest. 
 
 “ Making all due account of wintry gales and detentions 
 on our voyage, we hope to be with you long before the 
 cuckoo sings 
 
 “ Gertrude Ellerton and Bertha Ducange have borne 
 
MAUDE AND MlRIA M. 
 
 299 
 
 their hardships well, and good help and comfort have they 
 been to the sick and weary, for they have been preserved 
 from wasting sickness, suffering from the climate only a 
 few days. My greeting and dutiful love to the lady prioress. 
 Tell her to have prayers for us at St. Agnes, for we set sail, 
 I trow, ere long. All join me in sending much love — our 
 father, the Baron of Ravenscliff, the Lady Jaqueline, Sir 
 Guy de Mowbray, and Miriam the Jewess, who will soon 
 be one of us. God he knoweth that she be one of the true 
 followers of our Lord. And so I commit you with much 
 love to God's dear keeping. Thus writeth Maude de Vere 
 to her well-beloved sister, the Lady Eveline. 
 
 Eve of St Michael and All Angels^ 1192." 
 
 Taking the letter with them, the Lady Eveline and the 
 prioress hastened to the castle of Bavenscliff, where they 
 gladdened the heart of the good old priest and Cicely. 
 
 “ The Holy Virgin and the blessed saints be lauded for 
 this good tidings," said Father Ambrose, crossing him- 
 self. 
 
 “ I need no second bidding about the turret," said Cicely. 
 “ Truly thou hast gladded my old heart. It is such joy to 
 think of the Lady Maude once more in her little turret ; 
 but it troubleth me to wot that they come in winter, when 
 there are so many wrecks on the sea." 
 
 ‘‘We will have holy prayers for them twice a day, good 
 Cicely," said the priest ; “ and the blessed Virgin send them 
 in safety to us once more." 
 
 In charge of a guard, the ladies hastened to Hawksworthj 
 wliere the prioress read the letter to the Lady Edith, with 
 bolding, however, all that might give pain. 
 
300 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM* 
 
 In her delicate state of health, it was a great shock : but, 
 turning to the prioress, she said : 
 
 “ It comforteth us to know that we can lay his remaimi 
 among us, and can inter him with the honors of knightly 
 burial.’^ 
 
 The affairs of the kingdom greatly needed the presence 
 of the king, and the readers of the letter were glad to know 
 that he had left Palestine ; for John was busy with his in- 
 trigues among the nobles, and the realm was in a state of 
 great disorder and confusion. But it alarmed them not a 
 little to find from the palmer that he was a prisoner in some 
 unknown fortress. 
 
 The crusaders are now separating. The Baron of Ra- 
 venscliff, gathering the remains of his gallant host, is pre- 
 paring to leave Palestine ; Maude and Miriam parting with 
 the hope of a speedy meeting at Ravenscliff, and in one 
 month after the king’s departure, they sailed for England ; 
 the autumn storms near at hand, in those days of imperfect 
 navigation the more to be dreaded. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 RETURN OP THE CRUSADERS 
 
 rpHE voyage was tedious and stormy, and, with the miser^ 
 able accommodations on ship -board, much suffering 
 was endured by the invalids. Constant sea-sickness in the 
 heavy gales wore out the frames of the Lady Jaqueline and 
 Maude, and Wilfred gave signs of daily decline. 
 
 The sailors, too, had begun to grow suspicious of the large 
 box on board that contained the remains of the Baron of 
 Hawks worth ; for, with the superstition of their craft, had 
 they known that there was really a corpse on board, they 
 would have attributed all their mishaps to the presence of 
 the dread passenger ; but the fact was carefully concealed, 
 lest there should be a mutiny. 
 
 In the closer associations of a sea voyage, we find Guy 
 constantly t>y the side of the Lady Maude ; for the duties 
 of a knight had engrossed his time in Palestine, and had 
 frequently caused weeks to intervene between their mo- 
 ments of hurried intercourse. But now we find Maude with 
 her cithern, whenever the weather allowed it, on the deck, 
 singing her sweet hymns in company with Guy, (for he was 
 beginning to love the same,) and improving the time in read- 
 ing the blessed Gospel, 
 ae 
 
 ioi 
 
302 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 They are discoursing now about the wonderful appea^ 
 ance of the Lord on the Lake of Tiberias. 
 
 “ Thou seest, Guy, how the disciples w ere frighted when 
 they saw that vision on the water; but how their hearts 
 were cheered when his blessed lips spoke the pi^cious 
 words : ‘ It is I, be not afraid.’ Methinketh that we need 
 tever be frighted in our voyage to Paradise an’ we always 
 1 ear that voice of our dear Lord.” 
 
 “ The din of warfare drowneth it, I trow ; and it seemeth 
 now that the Church of our day be sadly astray from the 
 Spirit of our Lord. How cometh it, Maude ; for holy men 
 Lave often led the army of the crusaders?” 
 
 “ We know but little, Guy, of the history of our world in 
 tbe centuries between the days of the holy apostles and our 
 >wn ; but, in some way, a spirit of pride and cruelty hath 
 entered into the Holy Church.” 
 
 “ Father Jerome saith that the infant days of the Church 
 needed nursing when it was weak and persecuted ; but as 
 the years roll on and heresies creep in, there is need of pun- 
 ishment, as there is when children travel on to youth and 
 manhood.” 
 
 “ This is a hard question, Guy. Which is the heresy,— 
 that which keepeth close to the footsteps of the twelve, or 
 that which departeth wide from their holiness and heavenly 
 love?” 
 
 “It seemeth so, I trow; but there is another side for- 
 /ooth I an’ they are gifted by St. Peter with the spirit that 
 crreth not, this that puzzleth thee may be the Gospel of the 
 present day.” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM 
 
 303 
 
 Think it not so, Guy. Our blessed Lord changeth not. 
 His ministry is ever one of holiness and love ; and that 
 which breatheth not his spirit is not the real Gospel. But 
 see, Guy, there is the rising moon. How calmly she smileth 
 on the sea ! It mindeth me of the city where there needeth 
 no sun, neither moon to shine upon it ; for the Lord is its 
 everlasting light. But this mindeth me, too, of the story 
 of the old boatman that we met in Palestine. He told a 
 marvellous tale of the Lake of Tiberias, saying that ever be- 
 fore the day of the transfiguration there shineth a flood of 
 fire all over the mountain, and strange sights and sounds 
 for those who have courage to ascend Mount Tabor.” 
 
 Wilfred, too, is a listener to this conversation ; and not a 
 day passes by without hearing the words of the Lord from 
 the lips of Maude de Vere; and, comforted by the sweet 
 message and the holy hymns, he is learning to look with 
 hope toward the deep river that he is so soon to cross. 
 
 After the sea-sickness is over, the Lady Jaqueline is re- 
 viving under the influence of the sea -air, and is anxiously 
 looking forward to the day when she shall once more tread 
 the shores of England. 
 
 But as the winter months approach, the storms are more 
 frequent and violent ; and, disabled at last in a heavy gale, 
 diey are obliged to put in port for repairs, which detains 
 them a month at least. 
 
 Setting sail again, the fleet is once more on the voyage, 
 the home - sickness increasing with the long delay. But 
 they are in sight of England at length, and sailing merrily 
 up the channel, with every pennon flying and trumpets 
 
304 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 sounding their return, amid the cheers and shouts of the 
 multitude on the shores, they cast anchor in the port of 
 Seaford, where all the bells of the town greeted the arrival 
 of the crusaders, but are obliged tc halt awhile to disband 
 the troops. And now the baron’s army take up their march 
 for home ; the news of their coming having travelled before 
 them a day or two by a herald dispatched to the castle. 
 
 Eveline is watching in the turret, for, with the prioress, 
 she has returned to Ravenscliff, anxiously waiting for the 
 returning crusaders. It is a bright morning of the early 
 spring-time, two years since they had left their native land. 
 The warder in his tower and the inhabitants of the castle 
 in the walls are watching too. There is at length the shrill 
 uound of a distant trumpet ; the bells of the churches, for 
 miles around, are pealing out the national joy, and Eveline 
 IS straining her eyes for the first glimpse, remembering the 
 glories of the setting out, — but what will be the return? 
 
 Maude, in her litter, with beating heart, is watching too 
 inhaling the sweet breath of spring and the refreshing pic- 
 ture of her own dear England, in that early season, — all 
 the way they are greeted with the ringing of bells and the 
 shouts of the inhabitants of the towns and the wayside spec- 
 tators in the country districts. They are ascending a hill 
 which commands a fine view for miles around. 
 
 ‘‘Ravenscliff!” exclaimed Maude, as the joyful tears 
 rained over her pale face ; and the Lady Jaqueline, bowing 
 her head between her hands, shared the silent joy. 
 
 “ Home again 1 ” said Wilfred d’Arcy. “ Home to die 
 — blessed thought to one so weary 1 ” 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 305 
 
 And now they are at the drawbridge. The banners are 
 lloating on the barbican and on the keep, the people on the 
 walls are shouting in transports of joy, the peasants follow- 
 ing the procession even to the very gates, the children 
 (browing up their caps, while the rich voice of the baron 
 calls out, “ Down portcullis ! ’’ and the warder with his one 
 rough hand wipes the moisture that dims his old eyes, a>s, 
 with the other, he obeys the order of his lord. 
 
 There are gallant knights and noble ladies in that caval- 
 cade, — there are brave men-at-arms and banners too ; but 
 out of forty-five hundred that marched out so gallantly, but 
 twelve hundred return, and the banners that then floated 
 so gayly on the breeze are torn and tattered jiow. The 
 baron and Sir Guy de Mowbray head the procession, wear- 
 ing the insignia of the Golden Star, — the latter bearing 
 the cross that he rescued so bravely in the battle of As- 
 calon. Following them comes the brave Sir Walter de 
 Courtenay. Then come the litters containing the ladies, 
 Wilfred d’Arcy and Sir Amelot de Russy, the brave knight 
 who will fight no more. 
 
 Though defeated and disappointed, the knights that fol- 
 low, with the dauntless spirit of chivalry, join in singing 
 the palmer’s hymn ; referring it now not to Jerusalem be- 
 :ow, but to that above. 
 
 Father Ambrose is at the entrance, bearing aloft the holy 
 cross, ready to welcome the brave Baron of RavenscliflT. 
 
 Not in the banqueting - hall tarries Eveline and the pri* . 
 oress, for by the side of the priest she stands, tears of joy 
 raining over her sweet face ; for she hath seen, with beating 
 26^ U 
 
S06 
 
 MAUDE AND M I R I A M, 
 
 heart, the waving plume in the tall figure so long looked 
 for, and, in another minute, clasped in the arms of Sir Wal- 
 ter de Courtenay, the long suspense and weary watching are 
 at an end ; then, folded to the bosom of father, mother, sis- 
 ter, alternately, the rapture is speechless for a moment, and 
 she exclaims : 
 
 ‘‘ The Holy Mother and all the saints be lauded for this 
 blessed meeting ! ” 
 
 The lady prioress is a partaker of the joy. Old Father 
 Ambrose, too, is garrulous with blessings, and Cicely, in the 
 fulness of her heart, clasps the knees of the Ladies Jaque- 
 line and Maude. The joy is felt throughout the domains 
 of the baron. For several days there was roasting of oxen 
 at Ravenscliff, and many a barrel of good ale was freely 
 broached in the banqueting-hall, where the retainers of the 
 baron had opportunity to express their welcome in their 
 rude but heartfelt way ; for Saxon and Norman mingled 
 here, at least, in hearty good-will. Many inquiries were 
 made by the lady of the castle ; and the Saxon mothers had 
 their own grievances, which they were not afraid to tell to 
 the Lady of Ravenscliff, whose smile was always ready at 
 accounts of their prosperity and her tears when listening to 
 their sorrows. 
 
 The Lady Maude was equally engrossed by the younger 
 visitors. 
 
 Maude is in her turret once more, weak and weary, look- 
 ing out upon the sweet landscape. The fresh tints of the 
 early spring are on the trees, the singing of sweet birds fill 
 the air — the song of the cuckoo bringing tears, it sings so 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 307 
 
 much of home in England. The red stork is building her 
 nest again in the wall-tower ; and, in the midst of the quiet 
 repose of her sanctum, Maude’s thoughts are framing them* 
 selves into visions of a future life of usefulness, in which 
 the glitter and glamour of the crusades bewilder no more. 
 Away from its noise and tumult, she is travelling again by 
 the side of the Crucified, — present in thought at the mar- 
 riage feast at Capernaum, where Jesus wrought his first 
 miracle, she adores the divine teacher; again she listens 
 to the conversation between Christ and Nicodemus in the 
 concealment of the night, weighing, in silent gratitude, 
 the wisdom, truth, and love of that silent hour. She sits 
 by the well of Samaria, where Jesus invites the woman 
 to the living fountains; she adores the mercy that heaU 
 the nobleman’s son and the multitudes at the pool of Be- 
 thesda. Following the Lord, she listens to the glorious doc- 
 trine of the resurrection, and, with deeper reverence, reads 
 the injunction of the Lord to Search the Scriptures,” be ' 
 cause they testify of him. Watching his miracles of power, 
 she is with him again on the Lake of Tiberias, and hearn 
 the blessed words to the trembling disciples ; then she studies 
 with all the windows of her heart wide open, the precious 
 doctrines of the Son of God, — his wonderful mercy to tin 
 sinful woman, his revelation of himself as the Good She])* 
 herd, his love for Lazarus and his sisters, the raising from 
 the dead, his last supper with his disciples, his washing nf 
 their feet, his words of cheer to those who were so soon tc 
 oe bereaved, his last prayer for the church of the redeemed, 
 the promise of the Holy Ghost the Comforter, his baptism 
 
308 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 of suffering, the agouy of the garden, the jeers of the multi* 
 tude on his way to the cross, the shame, the anguish of 
 Calvary, the glory of the ascension on Mount Olivet, — all 
 one record of mercy, one bright example of self-forgetting, 
 self-sacrificing love. Back to the day when John the Bap- 
 tist first found the Lord by the river Jordan, she reads, 
 with deep emotions, the words of the great harbinger : 
 
 Behold the lamb of God ! ’’ and as one after another was 
 led to follow the Lord, the words of the narrative fell upon 
 Maude’s heart with deep power, impressive in their simplic- 
 ity, suggesting a world of active thought. 
 
 ‘‘And he brought him to Jesus.” 
 
 In reviewing the crusades, she remembered naught but a 
 record of fanaticism and cruelty, of blasphemy and revenge. 
 Putting it side by side with the example of our Lord, not a 
 lineament could she trace of his holy character, save in the 
 benevolence of Father Matthias, the simple faith of some few 
 who have learned truly to trust in and follow Jesus in the 
 midst of mediaeval darkness and superstition. Looking out 
 upon the homes of the Saxons, the huts of the peasants, and 
 the inhabitants of this feudal castle, Maude sees now what 
 the Lord would have his people do in the six words that 
 have opened such deep fountains of thought: ‘^And he 
 brought him to J esus.” 
 
 Day by day the image of the Lady Eveline appeared 
 first in her prayers ; and we find Maude reminding her of 
 the engagement of long ago. 
 
 “ Dost mind, dear Eveline, of the pledge made before 
 thou wentest to London ? 
 
&f A U JJ S AND MIRIAM. 
 
 309 
 
 ‘‘It hath visited me in thy days of absence, 
 
 Maude; and sorely it grieved me when thy letter came, 
 and the lady prioress wotteth much that I would read 
 alone.*' 
 
 “ Art ready, Eveline, to take thy lessons ? " 
 
 “ Right glad would I be, sister mine, an* I could read, but 
 methinketh that it be hard toil." 
 
 Kissing the fair cheek, Maude replied : 
 
 “I trow not; for when the heart longeth for aught, the 
 wit cometh with the toil." 
 
 Thus the compact was sealed between the two ; and early 
 on the following day, the lessons commenced in the tur- 
 ret, not interrupted by the presence of Sir Walter, who 
 liad returned to court. Sometimes discouraged, Eveline 
 would have given up the task, but iMaude's skill and per- 
 severance kept her pupil up to her work, and in a few 
 weeks there was progress. Eveline was truly happy when 
 she found that she could read simjde words, and there was 
 no turning back now\ 
 
 But the letters from Sir Walter puzzled the young lady, 
 for there was much that she would have preferred that her 
 eyes only should read, and all must come to her through 
 Maude. 
 
 One day, Eveline lingered in the turret, evidently with 
 something to say. 
 
 ‘‘What wouldst thou, sister mine?" said Maude. 
 
 “ Another boon, fair sister,” was the reply. “Wilt trou 
 ble thyself once again ? " 
 
 “ Methinketh it no great task to serve thee, Eveline.^ 
 
310 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ** I would give much to write, sister miue. Thinkest thou 
 that I could learn ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Doubt it not. Thou hast taken brave steps in reading ; 
 and thou failest not in writing when thou hast such an ob- 
 ject ; for I trow that Sir Walter be the gainer.” 
 
 And now we find an earnest pupil in the turret daily, 
 Eveline as much pleased as her teacher with her progress. 
 Never a day did Maude allow to pass without reading the 
 blessed Gospel, 1 ')oking in simple faith for the blessing. 
 
 But we turn awhile to Hawksworth, where ihe Lady 
 Edith received the remains of her lord. Clad in the armor 
 of his father. Sir Guy de Mowbray, mounted on the charger 
 of the deceased, richly caparisoned, bearing shield and ban- 
 ner, headed the funeral procession ; and Sir Bichard de 
 Mowbray had knightly burial in the chapel of his own cas- 
 tle, where, amid the solemnities of a Mass for the dead, he 
 sleeps his last sleep. 
 
 Maude is found at the castle, welcomed with outstretched 
 arms by the Lady Alice and Blanche de Lacy. 
 
 Seated by the couch of the Lady Edith, with hands 
 clasped in sweet reunion (for the estrangement between the 
 two families had never chilled the love of the females), slie 
 is a blessed minister of comfort 
 
 Daily visited by Father Jerome, who is a rigid Romanist, 
 the Lady Edith partakes regularly of the offices of the 
 Church ; but the sweet readings of the Gospel by the Lady 
 Maude, and the heavenly piety of some of the old Latin 
 hymns, are really the food which nourishes the soul of th€ 
 departing. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 311 
 
 “ Thou w lit be sister to ray dear children, Maude when 
 lAou coraest to Hawksworth,^^ said the lady. “I have 
 ever looked to thee as the future lady of the castle, and 
 bless the holy Virgin every day that she sendeth thee to 
 Cxiiy/’ 
 
 Methinketh, Lady Edith, that there is much need of wis- 
 dom in such a calling, for I learn in the Gospel that there is 
 more than ’broidery and music, more than even cooking and 
 surgery, to be taught by the lady of a feudal castle.” 
 
 Thy holy work in Palestine fitteth thee for saintly work 
 at home, I trow, Maude.” 
 
 “ Long tarrying in that land hath changed much my 
 thoughts of the crusades. Lady Edith. I may have learned 
 patience and compassion there, but love divine only in the 
 Gospel.” 
 
 “A long season of wasting sickness hath wearied my 
 heart wholly of the world, Maude, and the music of the 
 holy city seemeth very near ; but syth thy coming, the words 
 of Jesus have become so much more precious, that in m3’' 
 secret prayers I find my heart goeth up to him more thar. 
 to the holy saints.” 
 
 “ That pleaseth our Lord, I trow, and comforteth thee in 
 thy last passage.” 
 
 The last nour is nearer than any imagined, for in a very 
 few days Maude summoned the family to the couch, for the 
 soul of the Lady of Hawksworth is passing away. She has 
 bidden farewell to all of earth, and ere the prayer of com- 
 mendation is oflfered up by the priest, she has entered into 
 rest 
 
312 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 A solemn funeral follows ; and, laid in the same chapel 
 by her lord, we leave the castle to return to Ravenscliff. 
 
 Maude is rapidly regaining her strength in the invigo- 
 rating climate of her own land ; and it is well that it is so, 
 for she has much holy work by the side of the dying yet. 
 for Wilfred d’Arcy is rapidly failing, never having rallied 
 since the sickness in Palestine. 
 
 “ Thou wilt see me daily, Lady Maude,” said the young 
 esquire ; “ for it seemeth that I am almost in sight of the 
 gates of the holy city. I trust that, by the goodness and 
 mercy of God, and by the intercession of the blessed saints, 
 the way to Paradise be open ; for Father Ambrose hath ad- 
 ministered the last rites, and I am only waiting. But the 
 priest leaveth disquieting thoughts, Lady Maude, and talk- 
 eth to me of mortal sins and venial sins. How wot I which 
 before the throne of God is venial and which is mortal? 
 How wot I whether the penance laid upon my sinful soul is 
 enow to obtain absolution ! ” 
 
 “Think thou of Gethsemane and the bloody sweat of Cal- 
 vary and the dying agony. Look thou to Jesus, good Wil- 
 fred. Thou canst do naught to buy salvation. Prayers, 
 ()enances, saints, sacraments, naught must come in the place 
 of Christ himser. He hath done all the work ; we stretch 
 out the hand of faith and take the blessing.” 
 
 Wilfred has had a weary, restless night, and the Lady 
 Jaqueline has ordered the sufferer to be removed from his 
 own gloomy sleeping-room to one adjoining the ‘ broidery- 
 room, — comfortable, airy, and having an eastern exposure 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 313 
 
 Cicely bringing her own couch into the room, that she may 
 wa^ch his declining hours. 
 
 iV’e find the Lady Maude at an early hour by the side of 
 ^he sufferer, who, propped up by ])illows, receives her with a 
 wan, but grateful smile. Turning his languid eyes towards 
 the east, he said : 
 
 “This is, in sooth, a blessed change from the dark closet. 
 Lady Maude ; for here I see the first rosy beams of the sun, 
 and it mindeth me of the city whose sun never setteth.” 
 
 “ The Lady Jaqueline, my good mother, hath ordered the 
 change, with commands to see that thou hast all that sick- 
 ness needeth.” 
 
 “ Naught have I to remember in the castle of Ravenscliff 
 but gentle deeds ; ’’ and, fixing his eyes tenderly upon the 
 face of the young damsel, he continued in low tones of deep 
 feeling, “ and thou, Lady Maude, hast been a joy and light 
 in my path ever syth, as a lonely orphan, I came to thy 
 hearthstone. Thou hast cheered many a weary hour ; and 
 here I may tell thee, fair lady, that I have ever loved thee 
 silently, deeply, hopelessly. Thou art in my thoughts by 
 day and my dreams by niglit, and here I bless thee. Thou 
 wilt be a holy saint at Hawksworth, as thou art here, I troM 
 and Sir Guy hath naught but joy in thy gentle rule in his 
 castle; but I be far away, waiting for thee at the gates of 
 the holy city, where there is neither marrying nor giving in 
 marriage.** 
 
 Maude sat in silence with her face buried in her handa 
 large tears trickling through her fingers. 
 
 “Weep not. Lady Maude. The sorrow hath all passed 
 27 
 
314 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 with me, and I leave thee with no bad blood to Sir Guy d€ 
 Mowbray — naught but blessing in my heart for thee. I 
 only ask to be remembered.*' Taking a ring from his 
 finger, he placed it upon Maude's, continuing : Wilt wear 
 
 this, lady, for the sake of Wilfred when he sleepeth under 
 the green sod ? And could I ask one boon in Paradise, it will 
 be to attend upon thy steps as thy guardian angel through- 
 out all the days of thy pilgrimage, and when thou diest, to 
 be the first to bear thee home to the city where there is 
 naught but peace and joy and love divine, — neither sin nor 
 sorrow, nor parting nor crying any more. Lady Maude." 
 
 “ Blessed art thou, Wilfred d'Arcy, an’ thou hast a sure 
 liope of a home with Jesus," said the trembling voice beside 
 the couch. “ Thou mayst be sure that I forget thee never, 
 ’\Vilfred ; for my childish sports, the joys of my youth, the 
 sorrows of pilgrimage, are all linked with thy name, good 
 friend; and I trow that it will be holy joy when we reach 
 the shining shore of the blessed city, and sit upon the banks 
 of the river that floweth through the golden streets, to talk 
 together of the way that the Lord hath brought us. It hath 
 plc^ased him that we walk not together on our pilgrim path ; 
 but an' we reach the same blessed home, we sorrow not, I 
 trow, that for a short season we part; thou to enter into 
 rest before me, and I to do the Lord's work in my earthly 
 home." 
 
 Wottest thou, fair lady, what we shall most remember 
 in that far-off city ? " 
 
 ‘‘ It seemeth, Wilfred, the days spent in the turret, when 
 thou first didst learn in sooth, to love our Lord and his truth." 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 816 
 
 “ Yea, truly, Lady Maude, for it was there that I learned 
 the lioly Gospel, and thou wert my blessed teacher, fair 
 saint. Seest thou, fair lady, this faded glove?’’ (at the 
 same time taking one from his doublet.) “Thou didst drop 
 it once when thou wert passing through the wards of the 
 Hospitallers, and I have treasured it with the remains of a 
 withered flower gathered in the same way! But sing to me, 
 lady, one of thine own sweet hymns just once more ; ” and 
 tenderly the maiden sang of the life that is and that which 
 is to be. 
 
 ‘ Brief life is here our portion ; 
 
 Brief sorrow, short-lived care; 
 
 The life that knows no ending, 
 
 The tearless life, is there. 
 
 “0 happy retribution I 
 Short toil, eternal rest ; 
 
 For mortals and for sinners 
 A mansion with the blest 1 
 
 “And now we fight the battle, 
 
 But then shall wear the crowB 
 Of full and everlasting 
 And passionless renown. 
 
 “And now we watch and struggle. 
 
 And now we live in hope. 
 
 And Sion, in her anguish. 
 
 With Babylon must cope. 
 
 “But He whom we now trust in 
 Shall then be seen and known; 
 
 And they that know and see Him 
 Shall know Him for their own t • 
 
316 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 ‘‘One more boon have I, ladj; once more to visit th« 
 chapel, and receive the holy Eucharist from the hands of 
 Father Ambrose.’’ 
 
 “ Thou shalt have thy wish, Wilfred.” 
 
 At the hour of even-song, Wilfred was carried to the 
 (;hapel, and laid upon a couch before the altar, and with the 
 members of the household around him, old Cicely not 
 forgotten, partook, for the last time, of the memorials of 
 the Lord’s passion on Calvary. 
 
 The music was low and sweet ; the glowing rays of the 
 setting sun flooded the picture of the Virgin over the altar ; 
 and, after the service, Wilfred tarried a few moments to 
 take his last look at familiar objects. 
 
 “Seest thou the face of the Holy Virgin, lady?” said the 
 sufferer. “ Truly the blessed face seemeth to look upon us 
 with favor.” 
 
 “It is naught but a picture, Wilfred, of one that was 
 highly honored as the mother of our Lord, but in no wise 
 to be worshipped or adored. I trow that the Holy Mother 
 w>uld not herself be over-well pleased an, she wist how 
 men do worship unto her that belongeth unto her Son ; and 
 the like, I trow, may be said of all God’s saints.” 
 
 Stopping at the chapel-door on his way out, he turned 
 one sorrowful look backward, saying : 
 
 “ Never again — never again.” 
 
 From this day Wilfred faded rapidly, and Maude is daily 
 by his couch. 
 
 It is Easter morning, — the queen of days, — bright, glo- 
 rious in its earthly sunshine on this holy day — brighter 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 317 
 
 and more glorious in its grand, stipendous hopes for the 
 children of the resurrection. The shadows of the death- 
 angel’s wing are slowly creeping over the face of the suf- 
 ferer, and, taking the clammy hand within her own, Maude 
 said in low, sweet tones ; 
 
 “Thou art in the troubled waters of Jordan, Wilfred; 
 but the Lord is there, too. Hear his blessed words : ‘ It is 
 I : be not afraid.’ ” 
 
 He turned his dying eyes upon the speaker, as he replied . 
 
 “ I know it. Lady Maude, But read to me about the re- 
 surrection ; for this is the resurrection day, and it is blessed 
 to go home on Easter morning.” 
 
 “Listen to our dear Lord’s words, good Wilfred. 
 
 “‘Verily, verily, I say unto you. The hour is coming, and 
 now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of 
 •Grod: and they that hear shall live. 
 
 “ ‘ Marvel not at this : for the hour is coming, in the 
 which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, 
 
 “ ‘ And shall come forth ; they that have done good, unto 
 the resurrection of life ; and they that have done evil, unto 
 the resurrection of damnation.’ 
 
 “And, furthermore, good Wilfred, hear his words to 
 Martha. 
 
 “‘Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the 
 life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall 
 he live : 
 
 “‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never 
 die. Believest thou this ? 
 
 “ ‘ She saith unto him, Yea, Lord : I believe that thou art 
 27 * 
 
318 
 
 MAUDE AND M^IRIAM. 
 
 the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into iht 
 world/ 
 
 ''Canst thou echo Martha's words, good Wilfred?” 
 
 A look of rapture passed over the face of the dying, as he 
 replied : 
 
 “ Lord, thou knowest all things. Thou knowest that I 
 believe in thee, and that I love thee.” 
 
 Calling Father Ambrose to the side of the couch, they 
 watched by the departing spirit throughout the sunny hours 
 of that holy day. Finding the spirit about to pass, the 
 priest read the prayer of commendation, and, amid the joy^ 
 bells of Easter morning, when the earth was clothed with 
 flowers, Wilfred d’Arcy went home tu his everlasting rest. 
 Who knows what echoes of sweet bells were heard from the 
 heavenly turrets, as he passed the bounds of time and sense 
 and was with the angels? 
 
 At the appointed time, the chapel-bell called the dwellers 
 in the castle to the Mass for the dead ; and interred within 
 the chapel, we leave the lonely orphan of KavenscliflT, and 
 return to the invalids from Palestine. The Lady Jaqueline 
 is rallying daily ; but the gallant knight Sir Amelot de 
 Pussy has accomplished his work upon earth, and his frame, 
 wholly worn out by excessive action, is about to pay the 
 debt of mortality. 
 
 Anxious to die like a brave knight, he was arrayed in 
 his richest uniform, with his sword girded to his side. With 
 a spear in his hand, he summoned the two priests, the Baron 
 of Ravensclifi’ and Sir Guy de Mowbray to attend upon 
 him. Held up by the two knights, he exhorted them to go 
 
MAUDE AND MTRTAM. 
 
 319 
 
 on unwearied in the patli of glory ; and then committing 
 himself to the priests, the offices of the Church were admin- 
 istered, and with an eye fixed upon the crucifix, he passed 
 sway. Buried with great pomp at the abbey of St. Hilary, 
 I he Baron of Ravenscliff riding his richly caparisoned 
 charger, and bearing his helmet, spear, and banner, Sir 
 Amelot de Russy took his place among the brave knights, 
 who, beneath the cloisters of the chapel, lay with crossed 
 legs and chain armor, bearing the triangular shield, and the 
 hand sheathing the sword, as a token of rest from their war- 
 fare. 
 
 The excitement of these few weeks having passed away, 
 the females return to the daily routine of life in a feudal 
 castle ; for the Lady Jaqueline has summoned her ladies 
 once more, and in the ’broidery-room Maude recounts the 
 days spent in Palestine. But instead of the frivolous talk 
 of former days, Maude reads daily from the Gospel, and 
 teaches her sweet Latin hymns to the young maidens; one 
 hour being thus daily spent in this holy employment. 
 
CHAPTER XAV 
 
 ONE OF A ROYAL PRIESTHOOD. 
 
 rriHUS far the intrigues of Prince John had seemed to 
 prosper, and the friends of the king were beginning to 
 grow impatient for his return. With much difficulty, the 
 ransom of silver had been agreed upon, and with mon 
 difficulty paid. The conspirators against the throne are 
 beginning to tremble, for well they knew the vindictive 
 character of Richard towards his enemies. Closeted one 
 day with some of his colleagues, the prince was suddenly 
 alarmed by the entrance of an attendant, who placed a 
 small billet in his hand. 
 
 “ Who brought it ? ” inquired the prince. 
 
 A Frenchman, my lord, who said that he had ridden 
 night and day to put it into the hands of your highness.’’ 
 The prince examined it carefully, looking first at the 
 superscription, then at the seal, bearing the impression of 
 fleurs-de-lis. The billet was opened with great agita- 
 tion, which increased as he read the startling words : 
 
 “Take heed to yourself, for the devil is unchained!” 
 
 A face blanched to a marble hue betrayed his terror, 
 looking around like unto a person under sentence of death. 
 The news fell like a bomb-shell among the Oviispirators. 
 
 S20 
 
M A U D 5! AND MIRIAM. 
 
 321 
 
 It may perchance be a forged letter,’’ said one. 
 
 ‘‘ It is Francis’ own hand and seal,” replied the prince. 
 
 ** It is time then to be at work,” said another : “ what is 
 to be done, must be done quickly.” 
 
 All England is suddenly aroused by the news of King 
 Richard’s release; hastening forward, suddenly he appeared 
 in the presence of his treacherous brother John, who, con- 
 science stricken, and trembling with fear, fell upon his 
 knees, acknowledged his sin, and implored pardon. 
 
 The conspiracy was at an end : the king was soon seated 
 firmly on his throne again; and from all parts of the realm, 
 the barons hastened to London to welcome the returning 
 king with fresh vows of allegiance — the Baron of Raveniv- 
 cliff one of the first. 
 
 “Thou art welcome, De Vere.’* said the king. “ What 
 with our defeat in Palestine, and the troubles in our realm, 
 there be much work before us, for our faithless brother 
 hath wrought much evil throughout England.” 
 
 “ He can do naught when King Richard is at home,” 
 was the speedy reply; “for the barons are ready to rally 
 around the banner of the Lion of England.” 
 
 But to return awhile to the castle. 
 
 Now that the king is at home again, every heart is look 
 ing anxiously for Lancelot, for there seems to be no reason 
 now for delay. 
 
 It is not many weeks, and accompanied by his bride, he 
 appeared in their midst. 
 
 A heart- warm Avelcorne awaits the stranger, for her ami- 
 able qualities as a Jewess had triumphed over prejudice. 
 
 V 
 
322 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 And now that Miriam was a Christian, there was evei 
 of the most honored seats at the fireside for Lancelots 
 companion. 
 
 Clasped in the arms of Lady Maude, who was the first 
 to greet her, she was presented to Eveline, who was charm e 1 
 with her brother’s wife ; and to Father Ambrose, wh(»; 
 uttering a Latin prayer, laid his hand upon the head ol 
 the young Jewess. But good old Cicely is not so ready to 
 extend the welcome, for she has ever looked upon the Jews 
 as dogs and miscreants, and can scarcely be persuaded that 
 any good thing can come of a race so despised. 
 
 But time works wonders ; and it will be seen in the case 
 of old Cicely, when receiving nothing but acts of kindness 
 from the converted Jewess. 
 
 There is much to interest the young lady, for life in 
 England is so different from what she has been accustomed 
 to. But we find her with Maude in her turret, deep in one 
 of those confidences so common among the young. 
 
 Laying a manuscript in her hand, Maude said, smilingly : 
 Thou rememberest my promise, Miriam, when Lancelot 
 gave to thee the Gospel ; and I have redeemed it, for here be 
 another copy of St. John.” 
 
 ‘‘ Thou wilt be doubly pleased, Maude, that thou keepes^ 
 thy word, when thou hearest of the other. Aunt Esther 
 was deeply grieved when she found that I was coming to 
 England, and pained at the thought that I had forsaken 
 my father’s faith ; but I comforted her at length with the 
 truth, telling her that I still believed Moses and Al)raham, 
 and that the holy prophets were my oracles still, only J 
 
MAFDE ANP MIBTAM. t^28 
 
 believed more than she, for I had found that Jesus 0/ 
 Nazareth was the true Messiah of whom Moses wrote. I 
 left my Gospel with her: was not that right, Maude?” 
 
 Now, heaven be lauded, Miriam, that I know there be 
 one copy of our Lord's Gospel in Palestine.” . 
 
 “ My father left great wealth, Maude, and so I gave the 
 villa to Aunt Esther, with means to keep it open ; and she 
 will gather a society of holy women of her own faith, who 
 devote their lives to the suffering and afflicted : who knoweth 
 what the gospel may be there? For our own scriptures 
 saith : 
 
 ‘‘ ‘ So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth : 
 it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish 
 that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing where- 
 to I sent it ; ' and the Gospel, Maude, be His word, I trow.” 
 
 Everything was so different from Palestine to the young 
 Jewess in this old castle. The winter snows, the keen blasts 
 whistling through the loose casements, the Christmas sports, 
 the services at the chapel ; but sometimes, when shivering 
 around the huge fire-place, watching the flames as they 
 roared up the great chimney, she remembered the balmy 
 air of her own land more than the burning sun. thus 
 turncth the heart in all parts of the world towards home. 
 
 But the services in the chapel pleased the Jewess; for 
 familiarity with the old rituals, though its glory had faded 
 from among the Jews, prepared her for the showy ceremonial 
 of the Catholic Church in those days, for the Jews could 
 certainly trace a likeness between the two. 
 
 Winter has passed, and Miriam is glad to exchange the 
 
324 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 discomfort of the old castle for the charming freshness of 
 the English spring-time. 
 
 “ We have nothing like this in Palestine,” said Miriam, 
 as they sat in the pleasance; “so cool, so refreshing, so 
 beautifully green ! ” 
 
 With arms interlaced, they trod the walk beneath the 
 spreading branches of the trees. 
 
 “I shall miss thee, Maude,” said the young lady; “for 
 after Whitsuntide thou leavest for thy new home, and 
 there are none to take thy place, Maude.” 
 
 “Thou wilt love and cherish my good mother, when I am 
 gone, Miriam ; and promise me that thou takest my place 
 in the ’broiderie-room. The Lady Jaqueline readeth not in 
 our tongue, nor any of the ladies of- the castle; but thou 
 readest so well, Miriam, and it would so rejoice my heart 
 to wot, fair sister, that thou readest the Gospel at Ravens- 
 clitf at the self-same hour that I read at Hawksworth.” 
 
 “ I promise thee, Maude, ard the Lady Jaqueline con- 
 sen teth.” 
 
 Maude smiled, as she replied : 
 
 “ ]My mother the Lady Jaqueline consenteth, I trow 
 not oiil}> for my sake, Miriam, but for the GospeFs, for she 
 misseth the readings an’ I be unable ; and thou knowest, 
 Miriam, that there be many around us who hear not the 
 Gospel of our Lord, and it will be blessed work to gathei 
 such when I get iiome to Hawksworth. Father Matthias 
 goeth v/ith me, of which I am right glad, for he mindeth 
 me of Saint Bernard of holy memory.” 
 
 “ One of the old saints that most I honor, Maude ; tb« 
 
MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 32ft 
 
 rmlj one who extended his protection towards our defence* 
 lees people.” 
 
 “ He had the spirit of our Master, Miriam ; let us try, 
 fair sister, to follow such examples. But to return to 
 Father Matthias ; he approveth of my w^ork at Hawksworth. 
 Every Friday the children come to hear the Gospel, to learn 
 it, and to sing sacred hymns ; and on Wednesday any one 
 that chooseth.” 
 
 ‘‘That pleaseth me truly, Maude. But what sayeth 
 Father Ambrose ? ” 
 
 “ The good priest doeth much to please me, Miriam ; a 
 good, easy soul ! And he groweth old and feeble-minded, I 
 trow. Our work be not preaching, Miriam, only reading 
 the Word, and singing our own old hymns.” 
 
 Whence cometh the spirit of active piety that was stirring 
 in the depths of Maude de Vere’s heart? Was she in spirit 
 with the primitive Christians centuries back? or was she 
 centuries ahead of her own days ? So deeply had she drunk 
 of the pure fountains of truth, that, leaping over the dark 
 gulf of the past, she had the same spirit that actuated the 
 early Church of Jerusalem, though she knew it not in 
 name ; — “ continuing daily in the apostles’ fellowship and 
 doctrine ; ” ready, if needs be, to sell all that she had for the 
 love of her Master. 
 
 We listen to the two in this quiet home, planning work 
 for the Lord ; we read of human assumptions of priestly 
 power in those feudal days, and of the same spirit that 
 eialteth itself in these of the nineteenth century; and, turn- 
 ing over the leaves of our Gospel, we read Peter’s address 
 $9 
 
326 
 
 MAUDE AED MIRIAM. 
 
 ** to the elect, scattered throughout Pontus, GalatiA, Gapp» 
 docia, Asia, and Bithjnia : 
 
 Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, 
 a royal priesthood^ to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable 
 to God by Jesus Christ. 
 
 But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood.^* 
 
 And the beloved Apostle John, too, bears the same 
 glorious testimony in his ascriptions of praise to our dear 
 Lord: 
 
 “ Unto him who hath loved us, and washed us from our 
 sins in his own blood. 
 
 And hast made us kings oxii. priests unto God and the 
 Father.^' 
 
 And farther on we read of the glory in store for such a 
 spiritual priesthood : 
 
 And hast made us unto our God kings and priests^ and 
 we shall reign on the earth. 
 
 “ Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resur- 
 rection ; on such the second death hath no power ; but they 
 shall be priests and kings of God and of Christ, and shall 
 reign with him a thousand years.” 
 
 Such glory have the saints of all ages, and to such a 
 royal priesthood belongeth Maude de Vere and Miriam 
 the Jewess. Two of a royal household, showing forth the 
 praises of the Lord. 
 
 Whitsuntide is hastening on, and Sir Guy de Mowbray is 
 often in the pleasance, listening to Maude’s plans of benev- 
 olence for Hawksworth. 
 
 It is Maude’s last visit to her turret, for she is soon to be 
 
MAUDE AND MIPIAM. 
 
 327 
 
 the Lady of Hawksworth. On bended knees, she pours out 
 holy thanks for all that she has learned in this secluded 
 room, and reviews, with pious gratitude, the history of the 
 manuscript found in the sacristy of Father Ambrose — the 
 mustard seed is spreading its branches now, sheltering 
 many beneath its shade. 
 
 Lancelot hath not read in vain, and Miriam the Jewess 
 hath embraced its doctrines ; Sir Guy is one in spirit with 
 Maude; Father Matthias is spiritualized by its heavenly 
 teaching ; the precious Gospel is in the Holy Land, in the 
 hands of Esther the Jewess; the Lady Jaqueline listens 
 with increasing interest to its message ; the Lady Eveline ie 
 coming with her questions to Maude ; the good baron steals 
 in sometimes to the novel sight in the ’broidery-room, often 
 taking his seat near the youthful reader, and carrying away 
 wholesome food for thought. Wilfred d’Arcy departed, 
 sustained by its blessed hopes ; and the Lady Edith, too, 
 had reposed her departing spirit not upon the Church, but 
 upon the bosom of her Lord. 
 
 Maude de Vere was truly one in faith with the ancient 
 Vaudois, and, living centuries later, would have probably 
 attested her faith with the scarlet seal of martyrdom ; but 
 the Church of Rome had not yet laid her hand of power 
 upon the word of God ; though not freely circulated among 
 the masses, who could not read, it had not yet been placed 
 under the ban of the law. Ignorance withheld the light 
 whose glory it could not see ; intolerance, in future ages, 
 imprisoned it, when it shed its benign rays upon human 
 intalleots 
 
328 
 
 MAaDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 Ravenscliff is quite astir now, for the wedding-day 
 draweth on. 
 
 Gertrude Ellerton, under charge of Raoul, was despatched 
 to London to purchase the wedding gear — scarlet cloth, 
 rich satins, cloth of silver, and costly jewels. 
 
 All was cutting out and fitting on, with sundry discus- 
 sions about trimmings, and head-dresses, and gloves, and 
 wimples. 
 
 The baron had ordered two splendid saddle-cloths of 
 green velvet, heavily embroidered, and a handsome outfit 
 for the two brides, for there was to be a double wedding at 
 RavenscliflT. 
 
 At length the preparations were completed, and on a 
 splendid summer morning, when the birds sang their most 
 joyous melodies, and the sky was cloudless, Maude and 
 Eveline de Vere were married in the chapel, by Father 
 Ambrose, according to the rites of the Catholic Church. 
 
 The brides were attired, one in blue cloth of silver with 
 satin kirtle of the same color, the other in pink ; for white 
 would then have been wholly out of place, that being the 
 dress of deepest mourning ; their beautiful hair inclosed in 
 nets of silver thread ornamented with seed-pearls, and their 
 jewels the finest diamonds. 
 
 The bridegrooms, in crimson velvet trimmed with gold 
 lace, and waving plumes in their caps, and the guests in 
 rich attire, made a grand display in the chapel. 
 
 With deeply serious feeling, the young brides assumed 
 their solemn vows ; the one to dwell at Hawkswortb, the 
 other at London, to mingle with the gay circles at court. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 329 
 
 A banquet, to which large numbers were invited, cele- 
 brated the joyful event at Ravenscliff, and Miriam the 
 Jewess bore the peacock, dressed in the most costly style, 
 to his place of honor at the table ; all awarding to the fair 
 Jewess the palm of beauty, her fine complexion glowing 
 in the rich Eastern costume chosen by Sir Lancelot for 
 that occasion. 
 
 And in the moonlight, on the evening of this wedding- 
 day, was seen coming over the ballium a company of 
 quaint little figures to do honor to the youthful brides, who, 
 in their rich attire, descending to meet the children, kindly 
 greeted the delighted group, and each in her turn kissed 
 the hands extended to them. Each, with a basket of flowers 
 in her hand, stood smiling in innocent wonder at the lovely 
 brides, and then, in sweet silvery voices, piped their humble 
 song of childish gratulation. At the close, the little ones 
 were rewarded by an invitation to the castle, where they 
 were abundantly regaled at the wedding-table, each carry- 
 ing away her portion of good cheer for the good folks at 
 home. Presenting their graceful offerings of flowers to the 
 brides, and singing another song, they took their departure. 
 One of the most humble of all the tributes paid to the 
 ladies, it will be most gratefully remembered as a heartfelt 
 oflTering from the poor; and, doubtless, these little ones will 
 tell in future years how they were entertained by the lovely 
 brides at the grand wedding at RavenscliflT on this lovely 
 moonlight night in June. 
 
 But Maude is leaving Ravenscliff; the cavalcade is at 
 the entrance. It need not be told how Father Ambrose 
 28 » 
 
330 
 
 MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 mourned for his favorite ; nor 1k)w the large tears fell upon 
 his withered face, as he laid his hand in blessing upon the 
 kneeling figure ; how old Cicely stood weeping so long as 
 the cavalcade remained in sight ; nor what a void was left 
 in the household when Maude bade farewell. It is true 
 that banners floated on the keep in honor of the day, and 
 joy-bells rang out their merry chimes ; but tears mingled with 
 the smiles of gratulation, as Maude, by the side of Sir Guy 
 de Mowbray, attended by a gay retinue, passed out of the 
 ballium, over the drawbridge, waving her farewell to the 
 old warder in the tower, to the people on the walls, and the 
 peasantry by the road-side, who revered and loved the 
 young lady of the castle. 
 
 Father Jerome has left Hawksworth for a monastery, 
 his place to be filled by Father Matthias ; the Lady Alice 
 and Blanche de Lacey are with the company who are 
 escorting Maude to her new home. She is in the bright 
 sunlight now, growing daily in grace and in the knowledge 
 of her Lord and Saviour. 
 
 On the next day after her arrival, Guy is leading her 
 through the castle, and finally up a long flight of stairs to 
 a little door, which, smiling, he unlocked. 
 
 “ Thou must not miss thy turret, Maude,” said Sir Guy, 
 as he introduced her into a small room, not quite so high as 
 her sanctum at Ravenscliff, but with a casement opening 
 upon a lovely vista of landscape. A small carpet lay upon 
 the middle of the floor, a table and crucifix, with a vase of 
 flowers, stood near the window, with the most comfortabltj 
 chair that could be found, though high-backed and straight 
 
KAUDE AND MIKIAM. 
 
 SSI 
 
 ft picture of the Last Supper hung upon the wall ; two 
 metallic fire-dogs graced the chimney-place, and a small 
 candelabra, with four wax candles, hung from the ceiling. 
 
 “Thou art very good, Guy,^’said the lady; “thou couldst 
 not have pleased me better.” 
 
 “ I bought the carpet for thee, sweet one, in Palestine : 
 thou seest that it is Turkish. And the picture of the Last 
 Supper I bought at Jerusalem.” 
 
 “ The carpet will be such a comfort, Guy, in winter ; the 
 vase shall be daily filled with flowers. I can never tire of 
 looking at the picture, and the crucifix mindeth me ever of 
 the sufferings of our blessed Lord ; albeit I use it not in 
 adoration. This will be another turret of sweet retirement, 
 Guy, when I gather strength for the duties at Hawksworth. 
 But I must know the servants, Guy. Wilt bring them to 
 the *broiderie-room ? ” 
 
 And here the youthful lady met her serving-people, and 
 chose for her own bower-woman a young girl by the name 
 of Ellspeth, who entertained her companions in the servants* 
 hall with accounts of their new lady. 
 
 Fairly domesticated, we find the Lady Maude assembling 
 lier ladies daily in the ’broiderie-room, where the first hour 
 was devoted to the reading of the Gospel and the singing 
 of sweet hymns in the Latin tongue, while Sir Guy is 
 directing the employment of the young pages and esquires 
 that belong to the castle. The reading ended, Maude joins 
 the embroiderers, — for she is working an historical piece 
 for the Lady Jaqueline, to be presented at the time of the 
 Christmas joy; the young ladies always glad to see her 
 
832 
 
 MAUDE AND MIUIAM. 
 
 take up her frame, for that is the time when she entertainii 
 them with stories of the Holy Land. 
 
 On Wednesday and Friday, she invites any who desire it 
 to meet her in an apartment set apart for the purpose, with 
 one long table, some rude benches, and her own seat at the 
 head of the table, slightly raised, where, with her sweetly 
 solemn voice, she reads the Gaspel, interspersing it wnth her 
 own simple remarks to the listeners. She is teaching them 
 to sing sacred hymns, too; and the children, who come in 
 large numbers, are never tired of talking about the good- 
 ness of the Lady Maude, who thus learns much of the 
 private wants of the people who surround the castle. 
 Her audience increases weekly, and Father Matthias fre- 
 quently steps in to drop a few words of encouragement to 
 the lady of the castle and instruction to the people. Thus 
 out of the darkness they are travelling into the light. 
 
 Truly, it is a new era at Hawksworth ! Formerly, the 
 people only obtained access to the castle in the Christmas 
 holidays, when all old castles were thrown open for two 
 weeks; but now, children of the Saxon gentry and the 
 humbler children of the soil mingled together weekly, in 
 friendly terms, around the Lady Maude. 
 
 The priest, too, is very active among the people ; visiting 
 daily, interesting himself in their affairs, drawing hearts to 
 good Father Matthias by the magnetism of love. 
 
 The services at the chapel are attended by many ; for, 
 although three old churches were in sight, most prefer the 
 teachings of Father Matthias, and crowd to the chapel at 
 Hawksw^orth. 
 
MAUDE AND MIRIAM. 
 
 333 
 
 We will take a seat in the chapel, and listen to one of 
 these old sermons. Strange contrast between this and those 
 of old Father Ambrose, who seldom preached, and when 
 he did, it were better that he had been silent, for it was only 
 to talk about some of the absurd dogmas of the schoolmen, 
 or to speculate about Michael the archangel, wondering if 
 he were yet chief in hell, or if he might not be overthrown 
 by some other mighty angel ; sometimes a whole sermon 
 would be filled with vain speculations about the Wandering 
 Jew ; but here at Hawksworth all was so different. 
 
 Reading his text first in Latin, he translated the same; 
 and then, in glowing language, exhorted his hearers to fol- 
 low the Lamb that was slain. 
 
 ‘‘You see, ray children, an* ye have not the Spirit of 
 Christ, ye are none of his. Meek and lowly was the Lamb 
 of God: are ye, ray children, meek and lowly? Pure and 
 heavenly was the Lamb : are ye, my children, pure and 
 heavenly ? Full of love and pity was the Lamb of God : 
 are ye, my children, loving and pitiful? AVould ye, my 
 children, stand before the throne, clad in glistening raiment ? 
 you must follow the Lamb now, an* ye would walk with 
 him forever in the holy city. Would know how ye may be 
 made like unto him ? Bow down before him in dust and 
 ashes, and pray that he may give unto you his own Spirit ! 
 Be not weary of praying ; for our much praying wearieth 
 not him, and he liketh his people to ask great things.** 
 
 Thus Father Matthias taught the people at Hawksworth ; 
 and the Lord was with him to bless tiim and give him mor« 
 light 
 
834 
 
 MAUDE AND MIBIAM. 
 
 Much singing, too, was there at the chapel; for the 
 people were learning many of the old hymns; and it waa 
 ever the good priest’s delight to sing the praises of the 
 Lamb that was slain. 
 
 Stepping aside from the usual seclusion of ladies in those 
 days, with Sir Guy’s consent, we find the Lady Maude 
 among the sick, the needy, and the suflTering, — attended 
 always by a page, however ; the Lady Alice and Blanche 
 de Lacey frequently her companions. 
 
 Once a week she distributes her charities among the 
 people; and on Christmas week the neighborhood rejoices 
 in the bounty of the good lord and lady of the castle. 
 
 The same offices doth Miriam perform at RavenscliflT; 
 and very sweet are the days when the Lady Maude is 
 expected at her former home. The old warder sounds a 
 call from his horn that all have learned to understand, tip- 
 ping his cap to the Lady Maude and her retinue as they 
 pass gayly over the ballium ; the young pages peep over 
 the palisades of the tilting-yard to welcome the lady ; and 
 good old Cicely and Father Ambrose are ready to clasp the 
 small hand as soon as she descends from her palfrey, the 
 music of whose silver bells hath called them to the 
 lower hall. 
 
 The Lady Jaqueline and Miriam are striving for the first 
 kiss, while the baron and Sir Lancelot stand smiling by, 
 patiently waiting for their turn. 
 
 One would say that thou comest just from Palestine, 
 MAude,” said the baron, ** to mark the joy thy visit giveth ; 
 
■ V 
 
 MAUDK AND MTRIAMJ \] \ 385 j \ ' 
 
 but thou art ever welcome as a May morning/ daughter 
 mine I 
 
 But the most joyous of all the reunions are the family 
 gatherings at Christmas, when all its members gather 
 around ie hospitable board at Ravenscliff. 
 
 And so the years roll on, life bringing its many 
 changes. Father Ambrose rests before the altar in the 
 chapel ; old Cicely sleeps in the church-yard near the castle. 
 Miriam, at Ravenscliff, and Maude, at Hawksworth, are 
 filling up the measure of their benevolence in their separate 
 spheres, gathering around them households, who are taught 
 from lisping infancy to love their Master, — stars in the 
 night season of these mediaeval days. 
 
 In connection with the only Church of Christ that they 
 knew upon earth, they remembered Jesus in his dying 
 agony when they partook of the Holy Eucharist, holding 
 spiritual communion with the Lord whom they loved. So 
 much deep experience of that personal love had filled their 
 hearts, that neither holy saint nor Blessed Virgin was 
 allowed to occupy a throne that was his alone. Out of the 
 darkness of nature into the spiritual life of grace, on the 
 ladder of faith, they were stepping heavenward. Out of 
 ihe darkness of tradition into the light of an unveiled 
 Gospel, as living epistles of truth, they displayed its power 
 in their daily lives. 
 
 Throughout our story, we have been searching for the 
 hidden ones of our Lord, who have been found in all ages 
 of the world ; concealed sometimes in mountain fastnesses, 
 following the liord^ t/' be slaughtered at last by savage 
 
SS6 
 
 MAUDE AND MTEIAM. 
 
 monsters ; sometimes in caves of the earth, or in the dark 
 catacombs of Rome, to be dragged forth for gladiatorial 
 shows ; sometimes even in the convents of Rome, where the 
 light of truth has penetrated. 
 
 We have found them, in this story, in a feudal castle, 
 taught by the pure Word and Spirit of God, serving the 
 Lord in simplicity and truth ; and we shall find them all 
 again among that great multitude, sealed by the blood of 
 the Lamb, who stand before the throne in white robes, with 
 palms of victory in their hands. Among such blessed ones 
 shall w’e find Maude and Miriam of ancient memory, as 
 representatives of our Lord’s hidden ones, sealed from all 
 eternity as those ransomed by his precious blood. 
 
 The mortal life of the race of the De Veres is ended ; 
 at eventide it may have been light, for the Gospel was in 
 that feudal castle, and who dare limit its almighty power? 
 
 The Baron of Ravenscliff sleeps in the cloisters of the 
 Abbey of St. Hilary ; Sir Lancelot de Vere and Sir Guy 
 de Mowbray by his side. All, like valiant soldiers of the 
 cross, trample the young lion under their feet, with crossed 
 legs, the chain armor, the triangular shield, and the hand 
 sheathing the sword, as in token that, after long toil,” 
 in the language of those days, they had entered into long 
 peace.” The Lady Jaqueline and the Lady Miriam do 
 Vere, with the Lady Maude de Mowbray, lie all with their 
 feet upon a couchant hound ; all with hands devoutly 
 clasped in prayer, having the eyes fixed upon the image of 
 the Crucified. The work of the crusaders is done; their 
 history with the things tb«t are past. The age of chivalry has 
 
MAUDE AND MiRIAM. 837 ^ 
 
 passed away ; the old abbeys are in ruins ; walking silent!}^ 
 among their crumbling arches, our feet perchance might 
 tread upon some mouldering stones that mark the spot 
 where reposes some brave old knight of feudal days. 
 Where once stood the strong feudal castles of mediaeval 
 days, marks of the heel of Time are everywhere apparent ; 
 for, in some instances, piles of ruins alone are seen; in 
 other localities they have been ^preserved in a state that 
 admits of the visits of travellers ; and then, again, naught 
 but grassy mounds, or piles of rough, gray stones appear. 
 The proud escutcheons have mouldered and fallen from 
 their ruined walls ; the shrill trumpets of the gay tourna- 
 ments are heard no more ; the clangor of martial warfare 
 and the song of the troubadour alike are silent. 
 
 The pageant has passed, and another picture of lifers 
 panorama has faded; the great realities evolved out of 
 these ages ,f confusion and strife yet to come in theii 
 perfection. 
 
 The imperishable seed found in the Gospel of St. John 
 alone remains ; its germs, planted so silently in the lonel 
 turret, developing into ransomed spirits in the Paradise oa 
 God, to be clothed hereafter with the glorified image of 
 our Lord. 
 
 IHB SITD. 
 
 29 
 
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