L I B RAR^Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N 1VER_S ITY 
 
 or ILLl NOIS 
 
 QZ3 
 
 SmG\s 
 
 1888 
 
 V. i
 
 STANFIELD HALL: 
 
 AN 
 
 HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 By J. F. SMITH, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 minnigbey;' ^^ woman and her master;^ 
 
 '' WILL AND THE WA F," Etc. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Illustrated hy SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A., 
 
 AND OTHER EMINENT ARTISTS. 
 
 I M^ I 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADLEY & CO., 12 and 13, FETTER LANE, E.G. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVIII.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PBINTED BY C. W. BRADLEY AND CO. 
 
 12 AND 13, FETTER LANE, E.G.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK. 
 
 I, The Fkanklin's DAUcanEii 3 
 
 II. Haga the Druid — Uleick thk Oiti'irAN's Dan<;er . 19 
 
 III. The Dovble Arrest — Hei{.man"s Defeat . . .38 
 
 IV. The Secret Passage— Stanmield in Flames — Ernule's 
 
 Fate 53 
 
 V. The Poison— The Prayer— The Ordeal ... 67 
 
 VI. Father and Son — The Druid's Gave — Editji and Edda 84 
 
 VII. Ulric'k's Escape — Death ok Fatiiki; Oswald and 
 
 Ernulf i){) 
 
 VIII. Ulricic Proclaimed Earl di- Stanfield — The 
 
 AliDUCTION lid 
 
 IX. RoiiEitT OE Artois Foiled lv Isahei 131 
 
 X. The Vow of Vengeance — SiicciE of Filhv Castle . 149 
 
 XI. The Herrew Physician lijtj 
 
 XII, The Jew's Revenge — The (Iiieat Council — Flight 
 
 OF Prince William . . .' . . . 182 
 
 XIII. The Punishment of RoitEirr of Aktois . . . 199 
 
 XIV. A Good Samaritan . .215 
 
 XV. On THE Road— A Strange ExcorNTEi; . . , . 231 
 
 XVI. The Black Knk.ht — Ulrkk San kd ikom the Gibbet 247 
 
 XVII. The King's O.VTH— A Fatheu's Cfisf . , . . 263 
 
 XVIII. Arrest ov Hester the Jewess 279 
 
 XIX. Hester's Deliverance 293 
 
 XX. Hester Restored to Life — Fate of William Rufus 310 
 
 XXT. Marriage of Henry and ^Matilda— The Heirfiss of 
 
 Stan field 329 
 
 XXII. Ulrick Falsely Accused 341; 
 
 XXIII. The Sisters— A Terrible Revelation. . . .3(54 
 
 XXIV. Father and Dau(;titer — Fouoivkn .... 382
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Staxfield Hall 
 
 1 
 
 Discovery of the Body ok Hugh de Bigod . 
 
 17 
 
 Ernulf Demanding the Person of Ulrick . . . . 
 
 33 
 
 The Old Seneschal Describing the Secret Passage . 
 
 49 
 
 The Prayer of Matilda and Isabel 
 
 65 
 
 Father Oswald's Intervieav with his Son Ernulf 
 
 81 
 
 Ulrick and the Priest Crossing the Chapel . 
 
 97 
 
 Herbert de Lozenga Pointing to the Head of Herman 
 
 113 
 
 Matilda Protecting Isabel from Robert of Artois 
 
 129 
 
 Rachel's Revenge ON Robert OF Artois .... 
 
 145 
 
 The Death-bed of Robert of Artois .... 
 
 161 
 
 Robert of Normandy Proclaimed King of England 
 
 177 
 
 Robert of Artois Attacked by his Men-at-Arms . 
 
 193 
 
 Ulrick Defendin(; Himself and Gilbert. 
 
 209 
 
 Encounter between Ulrick and Richard of Lisieux , 
 
 225 
 
 Death of Herbert de Lozenga 
 
 241 
 
 AVilliam Rufus Takikg the Oath 
 
 257 
 
 Gilbert Protecting Hester from the Monk. 
 
 273 
 
 Hester- Rescued from the Violence of Eborard . 
 
 289 
 
 Death of the Red Kinc; 
 
 305 
 
 Marriage of Henry with the Saxon Princess 
 
 321 
 
 Ulrick Appealing to his Countrymen .... 
 
 337 
 
 The Confession and the Pardon 
 
 353 
 
 Ulrick Blessing his Daughter Etiira .... 
 
 . 369
 
 STANPIELD HALL,
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 witii funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/stanfieldhallhis01smit
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Stanfield Hall, the scene of so many remarkable events and 
 fearful crimes, is one of the oldest manors in England. It is called 
 in the Norman register, known by the name of " Doomsday-book," 
 Stainsfields, and sometimes Stanfells. It seems to have been erected 
 into a lordship as early as the Heptarchy, having probably been 
 held at that remote period by one of the powerful franklins of the 
 East Angles. 
 
 In the^ reign of Edward the Confessor it was possessed by the rich 
 and ancient family of Hale, or Held, as they are denominated in the 
 chronicles of Walter of Cotessy, a monkish writer of the twelfth 
 century, whose quaint histories and obscure Latin will well repay 
 the labour of those who have either time or patience to pore over 
 his dusty manuscripts. 
 
 At the period at which our tale commences — the year preceding 
 the fatal battle of Hastings — it was the chief residence of HerwaM 
 de Hale, so called by all the Norman writers — the distinctive par- 
 ticle de marking their acknowledgment of the nobility of the 
 powerful Saxon, who was more familiarly known to those of his 
 own race as Herwald of Stanfells, or Herwald of the Tower. 
 
 Stanfield, in the age of which we write, presented a far different 
 appearance from the present comparatively modern pile, which 
 offers a fair specimen of the mixed domestic architectitre which 
 characterised the reign of Elizabeth ; a low range of buildings, built 
 of sunburnt bricks and rough stones, inclosed a large quadrangular 
 court, capable, in case of need, of containing the herds of cattle 
 which formed no inconsiderable portion of the wealth of the Saxon, 
 proprietor. The windows — if the unglazed apertures might be so 
 designated — were all to the interior, a few narrow loopholes only 
 being left in the outward walls for the purpose of reconnoitring or 
 defence. The place, or holm, as the buildings were called, was still 
 further strengthened bv irregular towers at its respective angles. 
 
 B 2
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 The principal tower, from which the Saxons gave to the lord of 
 Stanf ells his distinctive appellation, was a lofty building, with more 
 pretension to architectural ornament than the rest. Over the low, 
 circular arched door was a rudely-sculptured shield, displaying a 
 bittern in the centre of a cross engrailed — the arms, doubtless, of its 
 founder ; but how obtained, or by whom bestowed, it might puzzle 
 the Heralds' College to decide. A corresponding door on the oppo- 
 site side of the tower admitted into the interior of the quadrangle, 
 of which it formed the principal object and defence. The lands 
 surrounding the edifice were rich pasture, well drained by irregular 
 channels, cut to convey the water to the extensive moat, which said 
 moat was crossed by a rude drawbridge of Avood, which partially 
 extended over the stream, and rested on an irregular bridge of stone, 
 whose arches reached to the middle only of the moat. The draw- 
 bridge was capable of being either removed or destroyed upon the 
 first approach of danger. Low, thick woods extended from the 
 clear pasture lands even to the limits of the town of Wynmondham, 
 or Wyndham, as the inhabitants now call it, then celebrated as the 
 residence of a sainted anchorite, upon the ruins of whose cell the 
 present church is built. These woods served as the retreat of vast 
 herds of swine, which lived in a half-savage state within its almost 
 impervious recesses, and served as shelter to the deer and game for 
 which that part of England has so long been celebrated. 
 ; Herwald of the Tower, the owner of the edifice we have endea- 
 voured to describe, was a true Saxon, generous, fierce, and impetuous 
 — a mixture of the good and evil qualities of his unhappy race. 
 Passionately addicted to war, and its mimic pastime the chase, his 
 character naturally bore the impress of his pursuits. He w^as proud 
 of his wealth and lineage, but still prouder of the object in which 
 they were both to centre — his only child, Edith, the heiress of 
 Stanfield, and many a fair broad land beside. Resolute aa .the 
 franklin was, he had seldom been known to resist the slightest wish 
 of his daughter, who might without impropriety have been called 
 Our Lady of Bon Secour's by all who stood in fear of her impetuous 
 father's resentment. As good as she was beautiful, even the 
 extravagant indulgence of her sire had tailed to spoil her — an 
 indulgence more frequently forced upon her than sought. Edith 
 possessed neither the blue eyes nor fair hair so characteristic of her 
 race ; on the contrary, her tresses might have vied with the raven's 
 wing in blackness ; her eyes, of the same colour, were chastened in 
 their brilliancy by a melancholy expression, which seemed to fore- 
 shadow some impending doom ; but the maiden's complexion was 
 fair as e'en the fairest of her race — so pure, so transparent, and so 
 clear, that her rising thoughts might be read in roseate changes, as 
 clouds are seen reflected on the bosom of some tranquil lake. To 
 the advantage of personal beauty, Edith added that of simple as 
 Avell as rich attire.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. "< 5 
 
 It is true the arms and neck of the noble Saxon maiden -were 
 circled with jewelled bracelets and a collar of gold — ornaments 
 indispensable to her birth and station ; but her robes were made in 
 the simplest form, and generally of white ; the girdle which bound 
 them to her slender waist being of needlework, and matching with 
 the embroidered hem of the ample veil which floated round her. 
 
 It was in a costume much like the one we have attempted to . 
 describe that Edith, surrounded by her handmaidens and two or 
 three officers of her father's household, stood, at the close of a cold 
 autumnal day, within the narrow entrance of the principal tower of 
 Stanfield, to await the franklin's return. Darkness already obscured 
 the horizon, and a shower of sleet began to fall. 
 
 " I wish," exclaimed Judith, Edith's favourite attendant and 
 foster sister, shivering, and drawing her wimple closer round her 
 shoulders, " our master would return, or that you, noble lady, would 
 retire to your chamber : the sleet reaches you even here ; and it is 
 not so long," she added, in a lower tonej " since your illness, that 
 you should unnecessarily brave it. Be persuaded, dear lady, and 
 let us in." 
 
 " Not so," mildly replied Edith, whom the whispered allusion to 
 her illness had evidently disconcerted, but not angered. " Thou 
 knowest, Judith, that my father is displeased if his daughter's step 
 fail to meet him at the threshold on his return ; and I must not 
 anger him. Disobedience in a child is a sin ; in me it would, I 
 ween, be a fearful one," she added, tears suffusing her eyes as she 
 spoke, " having so kind a parent." 
 
 " The kindest are sometimes unreasonable," thought Judith, who, 
 however, was far too prudent to give utterance to her imagination, 
 certain that it would be disapproved by her young mistress. Per- 
 haps her knowledge of her lady's secret cause of uneasiness was 
 present to her ideas, for she knew that Edith loved, and that her 
 love was not blessed with her father's smile. 
 
 " Our master will soon be here," exclaimed old Hubert, the 
 nominal seneschal of the holm — we say nominal, for, on account of 
 his great age and blindness, the duties of his office were performed 
 by his nephew, Huon, a sturdy man-at-arms, whose tender assi- 
 duities had, it was supposed by the gossips of the household, at length 
 found favour with the pretty Judith. 
 
 " Soon be here, indeed ! " he repeated ; " why, uncle, do you 
 pretend to the gift of second sight ? Our eyes are young, and keen 
 enough, yet we can discover no traces of our lord's approach." 
 
 " If my eyes are dim, boy," answered the old man, " praise to St. 
 Cuthbert, my ears are as true as ever. Hark ! " he added, forming 
 a hollow with his hand to his ear, to aid the sense as he spoke, 
 " black Hubert is giving tongue right merrily. There are other dogs 
 than our lord's," he added, after a pause, during which the rest of 
 the attendants, who had more faith in his perception than his
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 ungracious nephew, had vainly listened for the distant sounds ; 
 ** some stranger of note is with our master. In, knaves, in, and pre- 
 pare for the reception of an honoured guest." 
 
 " By Hengist, lady, but old Hubert is right," said Judith, who at 
 last caught the distant baying of the deep-mouthed hounds ; "your 
 honoured father approaches.; but whether accompanied by guests 
 or no is more than I can guess or tell, though any guest were 
 welcome, provided he were young and handsome, to these old 
 towers." 
 
 " Peace, Judith," answered her mistress, with a smile, " thy 
 tongue outruuB discretion. See ! " she added, as the hunting 
 party appeared in sight, emerging from the thick umbrageous 
 wood, " my honoured father comes ; let us forth to meet him." 
 
 Scarcely had the expecting party, who followed their young 
 mistress, gained the drawbridge, than the hunters reached it. The 
 fi~anklin, a hale, powerful man of fifty, was the first to cross it. 
 Leaping from his horse, which he left to his numerous attendants 
 to catch, he hastily approached his lovely child. 
 
 " Why, how now, Edith, bird ! " he exclaimed. " Why have you 
 quitted your tapestried nook to expose your cheek to the keen 
 blast ? This is no night for maidens to be abroad in. Come," he 
 added, throwing his mantle round her shoulders, after kissing her 
 on the forehead, " let us in. I must see you with your brightest 
 eyes and sweetest smile to-night — we have a guest at Stanfield." 
 Her father indicated with a glance at the conclusion of his speech 
 a man about five-and-twenty, who was in the act of dismounting, 
 that he might in a more seemly manner jiav his homage to the Lady 
 Edith. 
 
 " My uncle said we should have guests," muttered Huon, aside ; 
 " but little did I dream that it would be our lord's nephew. What 
 brings him here ? The old scent, I suppose." 
 
 " Whatever brings him," whispered Judith, who had overheard 
 the observation, " it bodes our lady no good. Why, the two years 
 accorded by her father are not yet expired ! " 
 
 " Perhaps," answered Huon, " he comes to renounce his claim to 
 the Lady Edith's hand, seeing that she hath scant love for him." 
 
 " He renounce his claim to her hand ! " answered Judith, her lips 
 curling with scorn. " No, no ; you know him too well to think or 
 hope it. .He will never renounce it while she is the heiress of 
 broad lands, or his craven heart thirsts for gold. He resign her I 
 As well ask thy hawk, Master Huon, to forego its prey, when poised 
 to make t^ie deadly swoop, or lure the bloodhound from the track 
 it hath followed for days, as expect Herman of the Burg to forego 
 the prize which he believes to be within his reach." 
 
 " Believes within his reach ! If our lord's will does not alter, he 
 is sure it is within his reach." 
 
 " Perhaps," replied the damsel, with a smile of intelligence ;
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " but wills as stern as the franklin's have ere now been thwarted, 
 and by a thing as weak as woman's resolution." 
 
 The effect produced by the appearance of Herman of the Burg 
 upon the lovely Edith was most distressing ; the blood forsook her 
 lips and cheeks, and her mild eyes w^ere cast hopelessly round, as 
 if to seek a refuge from some impending evil. Her wily suitor 
 either did not or would not notice her distress ; with a high-bred 
 courtesy, whose refinement was a mockery, he half -bent the knee 
 as he saluted his cousin's hand ; his triumphant glance gave the lie 
 to the humility of the action- — the latter was for his uncle, the former 
 for his intended victim. 
 
 " Come, my children," uttered Herwald, who at last perceived his 
 daughter's agitation, " this is no place for greeting. You, Herman, 
 go and change your rough riding gear — women love not to look 
 upon soiled garments and stained plumes ; and you, Edith," he 
 added, " to j'our tire-women. Rememb^," he whispered, in reply 
 to her glance of supplication, '' your bwghtest smiles and gayest 
 robes to-night." 
 
 The passionate fondnees of the Saxon franklin for his daughter 
 will at first, perhaps, appear to our readers incompatible with the 
 violence which he evidently placed upon her inclinations. A few 
 words will explain the seeming incongruity. Herman of the Burg 
 was the heir of his name, and consequently preferred by him as a 
 suitor for his daughter's hand. 
 
 In Herwald the love for his child, deep and indulgent as was the 
 sentiment, was second only to his pride of ancestry. No other 
 Saxon, no matter how noble his lineage, how valiant his achieve- 
 ments, could perpetuate to his race the name which he himself so 
 proudly bore, and to this vain j)ride the happiness of his child was 
 to be coldly sacrificed. 
 
 Indulgent to excess in every other matter, he would listen to no 
 remonstrance to this. Two years previous to the commencement 
 of our history he had quarrelled violently with his oldest friend 
 and brother in arms, Edda, the Saxon, because his son Edward had 
 presumed to love his daughter. In birth, disposition, and fortune 
 they were equal. As children they were reared together. The 
 gentle disposition of the gallant boy had won the maiden's heart, 
 and they mutually loved, in the confiding innocence of their natures, 
 before they were aware that the fatal passion had found an entrance 
 to their souls. Time at length revealed to Edward the nature of his 
 hopes and wishes. 
 
 His high sense of honour told him how to act. He sought his 
 father, confessed his passion, and besought him to demand the hand 
 of Edith of the franklin. The result of their interview has been 
 already stated. The tAvo fathers, who had so long been sworn 
 friends, parted declared enemies ; each commanding their offspring 
 never to think of such a marriage more.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 How easy it is for parents to utter commands which the heart 
 finds it impossible to obey ! Edith, who till that moment had 
 found her chief happiness in fulfilling her father's wishes, for 
 the first time in her life found them harsh and difficult. Edward, 
 till then all submission to his venerable parent, declared obedience 
 impossible. Vainly they strove to forget each other — memory had 
 too fondly treasured each loved image in its shrine for mere com- 
 mands to part them. In short, aided by the faithful Judith, whose 
 indignation at her master's cruelty was often loudly and vehemently 
 expressed, the lovers contrived to *neet. Eloquence is doubly 
 persuasive when uttered by those we love. Edward succeeded ; 
 and the unhappy Edith was, at the period of which we write, in 
 secret both a wife and mother. 
 
 " Now, may the Mother of Heaven aid me ! " exclaimed the un- 
 happy Edith, as soon as she had reached her chamber, throwing 
 herself at the same time mp. the neck of the faithful Judith. " The 
 hour I have so long dreaaed has arrived — the hour when I must 
 brave a father's curse. Oh, the sin," she added, ^Tinging her hands 
 as she spoke, " the bitter sin of disobedience I " 
 
 " Be comforted, dear lady," soothingly uttered her attendant, 
 alarmed at the despair of her mistress. " Your noble father loves 
 you dearer than aught on earth. He will never resist your prayers 
 and tears. Besides, you have an advocate in your fair boy. Think 
 you, that when he sees the heir of his proud name, the son of his 
 loved Edith, his iron nature will not at last give way ? Besides," she 
 added, with a half -smile, " at the worst, it is but running away. 
 Your lord hath a fair castle to rec*eive and brave friends to protect 
 you. Things are never so bad but that they may be mended, or but 
 they might be worse," 
 
 " This visit, this ill-omened visit ! " murmured Edith, scarcely 
 conscious of the utterance of her thoughts. " This very night, too, 
 I was to have seen my Edv/ard." 
 
 " And your boy, your fair, sweet boy ! " interrupted Judith, will- 
 ing to change the current of her thoughts. " You must think of 
 him, act for him. I would that black Herman had met the foul 
 fiend in his path ere he had crossed yours. But since it is so, let's 
 meet him bravely. At ten to-night your lord and infant will arrive 
 at my mother's cottage. The little rogue, how I do long to kiss 
 him ! You must contrive to see him, and consult what is to be 
 done." 
 
 " Impossible ! I must remain within the banquet hall. You 
 heard my father's words ? And even supposing I could contrive to 
 escape the feast, how quit the manor ? " 
 
 " Leave that to me," answered Judith. * " Huon keeps the keys, 
 and never more shall he have smile or fair word of me unless he do 
 my bidding. And now," she continued, " dear ladj', let me arrange 
 your hair. Your veil is damp with the night dew and the sleet.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 The bell will soon sound, and your noble father is impatient of being 
 kept waiting." 
 
 Edith, seating herself upon a faldstool, resigned herself into the 
 busy hand of her attendant, who, removing the veil and fastening 
 from her mistress's head, suffered her long tresses to flow for a few 
 seconds over her shoulders, while she sought in a small, quaintly- 
 carved ivory cabinet a rich circlet of gems to replace the simple 
 bandeau which she had removed. 
 
 "While so occupied Edith sat like a statue of Grief, fair in its pen- 
 sive loveliness, her long hair, like a sable veil, shading her pallid 
 features ; her pure heart torn by the agony of conflicting emotions ; 
 her mind absorbed, calmed by the intenseness of its agonies. 
 
 The hall was illuminated by pine torches, and huge candles of 
 coarse tallow placed in iron sconces at irregular distances on the 
 wall. The logs of v/ood burned briskly in the v/ide chimne3- ; their 
 dancing flames and crackling embers sent forth a genial heat, and 
 gave an almost comfortable appearance to the desolate apartment. 
 
 The broad-chested staghounds were lying at their ease before the 
 fire, fatigued by the day's protracted chase. A careless observer 
 would, from their half -closed eyes, have pronounced them sleeping ; 
 but whenever a fresh footstep fell on the rough stone pavement the 
 open eye and prickedear shov/ed that they v; ere wakefullj" attentive 
 to all that passed. 
 
 The numerous domestics had already placed the manchet bread 
 and spiced cover, when Herwald entered the hall, accompanied by 
 Herman and others of his guests. His pet hound rose lazily to 
 meet him, and with the familiarity of ah admitted favourite, thrust 
 his long nose into the franklins hand, in order to attract his atten- 
 tion and obtain the customary caress. 
 
 " Down, Odin, down ! " cried his master, peevishly, his displeasure 
 excited at the absence of his daughter Edith, who had not yet made 
 her appearance. " What do the hounds do here ? Is there no 
 chenery at Stanfield,that Ave must have them in our very chambers ? 
 See to it, knaves, for the future, and force me not to look to it." 
 
 The faithful animal was not to be repulsed bywords, but continued 
 to press his claim to notice, the canine courtier not knowing, like 
 his human brother, that there are moments of ennui in the lives of 
 despots when even flattery offends and homage fatigues — a truth 
 of which poor Odin soon received a practical illustration. An 
 impatient kick sent him howling to a distant corner of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Come," continued Herwald, '* let us to the feast, and you, Huon, 
 must serve my cup to-night. It seems my child hath forgot it is her 
 father's hour of service." 
 
 " Not for lack of being reminded," said Herman. " For 'tis not 
 so long since you bade her to the feast." 
 
 " Humph ! " muttered the franklin ; '' that speech were better
 
 10 STANFIELD HA.LL. 
 
 from her father's lips. Thou hast scant courtesy, Herman, in that 
 rugged heart of thine, and I sometimes wish that thou wert 
 other than my brother's son. What right hast thou to blame 
 her?" 
 
 The wily nej^he w pei'ceived that he had gone too far. Herwald's 
 parental love and pride took the alarm that another should presume 
 to blame his child. Herman knew that his uncle loved him not for 
 himself, but as the heritor of his name, and that, if provoked, he 
 was capable of sacrificing even the fixed purpose of his life to Edith's 
 tears and his own resentment. 
 
 " You deal not fairly with me, noble franklin," he replied. " You 
 first cut short my speech, then blame me for its harshness. I was 
 about to express my fear that the keen blast and sleet which blanched 
 my cousin's cheek had chilled her blood. That illness might " 
 
 " Illness ! " interrupted Herwald, his love to Edith changing the 
 current of his thoughts. " What a churl am I to blame her ! It 
 must be so. I marked her pallid cheek and clouded eye, and thought 
 they both proceeded from a different cause. Now, knaves, can ye 
 not stir ? Haste to your lady's chamber ; tell her " 
 
 His further words were cut short by the entrance of Edith, who 
 at last had mustered sufficient courage to meet her father's glance — 
 to endure her cousin's detested assiduities. 
 
 " Why, this is well," cried the franklin, kindly taking her by the 
 hand to lead her to a seat, his eye glancing in approbation on her 
 improved attire. " Our feast were dull, Edith, without thy presence. 
 To your places," he added, turning to his guests. " Our worthy 
 chaplain will ask the blessing, and my daughter speak her father's 
 welcome." 
 
 The portlj- ecclesiastic spoke the hurried benediction, and the 
 flowing wine cup soon began to circle in the hall of Stanfield. 
 
 In a distant chamber of the holm a different scene was passing. 
 Hubert, the aged seneschal, was sleeping in a rough settle lined 
 with deer-skin, beside a smouldering fire, whose red, flickering 
 blaze, as it alternately rose and fell, gave a Rembrandt-like expres- 
 sion to his features. His bunch of ponderous keys hung on a hook 
 within reach of his shrivelled hand ; the doors had all been fastened 
 for the night, and the faithful servitor, conscious that he had ful- 
 filled his duty, was indulging in repose. 
 
 The sounds of revelry came louder and louder, when Huon, 
 followed by Judith, appeared cautiously at the door of the chamber 
 in which his uncle sat ; and, after reconnoitring awhile, slowly, and 
 with the stealthy pace of a cat, approached the old man's chair. 
 His manner would have seemed suspicious, had not the open, manly 
 expression on his roiigh, handsome face, and the half-laughing, 
 half-anxious countenance of the damsel, who was watching him, 
 precluded all idea of any sinister design. 
 
 Comparatively noiseless as were the steps of Huon, they fell
 
 STANFiELD HALL. 11 
 
 upon the sleeper's ear, or perchance his breath fell upon his aged 
 face as he leant over him to reach the keys ; for at the very moment 
 he grasped them, Hubert aAvoke, and caught the culprit's receding 
 arm. 
 
 " Eh ! what ? " exclaimed the seneschal, " have we thieves in 
 Stanfield ? What, ho ! help ! knaves ' Help, I say ! " 
 
 Fortunately at that moment a fresh burst from the banquet 
 chamber covered the speaker's voice. 
 
 Silence, uncle, silence ! " whispered Huon, "'tis I, yOur nephew. 
 Have you been dreaming ? or do you suppose that I am come to rob 
 you?" 
 
 ' I don't know," replied the old man, suspiciously, " the world 
 has grown so changed and wicked. What want you with the keys ? 
 The gates are all made fast ■; and without the franklin's order, none 
 may enter or have egress to-night." 
 
 " Pshaw, uncle, our master carouses ; would you have me disturb 
 him for a trifle like this ? It is only for Judith, who is anxious to 
 visit her mother's cottage to-night ; her young lady hath given her 
 permission to be absent, and — here, Judith," he added, " come and 
 speak for yourself." 
 
 The maiden advanced and laid her hand upon the arm of the 
 valiant guardian, half -smiling and half -pouting as she did so. 
 
 " Come, Hubert, you surely won't refuse me," she said ; "my poor 
 mother is ill, and tards to see her child." 
 
 " Well, well," replied the old man, gradually relaxing his grasp 
 upon the keys, for Judith was a favourite with him, " I am glad it 
 is no worse. Thou art a duteous child," he added ; " unlike my 
 roystering scapegrace ; thou canst honour grey hairs. There, take 
 the key ; but who is to go with thee ? True, the land is quiet, and 
 there is little fear of robbers, but still it is not seemly that my old 
 cummer's daughter should cross the wold like a wayfarer or run- 
 away serf." 
 
 " I shall accompany her, uncle ; under my care it must be a bold 
 arm that would do her wrong." 
 
 Huon's glance of affection as he spoke was answered by Judith 
 with a corresponding one of innocent confidence 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " laughingly exclaimed the old man, " what ! is my 
 dainty springer caught at last ? Huon," he added, checking his 
 tone and speaking in a more serious voice, " this must be no light 
 of love." 
 
 " Uncle " 
 
 " Well, well — there now, 111 trust thee — I'll trust to thee," and 
 the aged man sank chuckling in his warm seat by the fire, his 
 thoughts gradually becoming confused, wandering from Huon and 
 Judith to the recollection of his own all but forgotten boyish 
 passion. 
 
 " In an houu meet me at the gate," whispered Judith to her
 
 12 STAIS'FIELD HALL. 
 
 lover. " Bj'tliat time the household v/ill have retired to rest, and I 
 may pass forth unperceived." 
 
 " But my guerdon," replied the squire, not willing to be baulked 
 of his promised reward. 
 
 " Out on thee for an unreasonable creditor ! " said his mistress. 
 " Wouldst have me jtay thy service before it is performed ? It were 
 poor wisdom that." 
 
 Huon, expecting that he should have a fair opportunity of urging 
 his suit during their walk to the cottage, grumblingly submitted to 
 the postponement of the kiss, the bribe for which he had been 
 tempted to steal the keys from his uncle, to whose charge, after the 
 fastening of the doors, they were invariably given. 
 
 On reaching her chamber, Judith found her young mistress, who, 
 under the plea of indisposition, had contrived to withdraw from the 
 banquet, awaiting her return. The triumphant confidence of Her- 
 man terrified her ; her father's open allusion, when warmed with 
 wine, to her approaching union too plainly told her how fixed was 
 his resolution, how hopeless the chance of moving him from his 
 long-settled purpose ; and the timid girl, with a firmness springing 
 from desperation, almost rejoiced at the insuperable bar which her 
 secret marriage placed to the intended union. 
 
 A few moments under the hand of her nimble confidante served 
 to remove the jewels and gaj' attire, which, in obedience to the 
 franklin, she had assumed. A dark dress and linen wimple sup- 
 plied their place ; and as they passed forth together the heiress of 
 Stanfield might have been taken by any straggling domestic for a 
 fellow servant passing to perform some household duty. 
 
 " How now ? " whispered Huon, as they reached the gate where, 
 by appointment, he waited the arrival of Judith ; " a companion ! 
 This is more than I bargained for, surely," he added, in a tone of 
 reproach, " you cannot mistrust me ? " 
 
 " And surely," said his mistress, in a corresponding voice, " you 
 cannot judge so lightly of me as to suppose that I would quit the 
 holm at such an hour alone with any man. No, Huon, no. Evil 
 tongues are too often busy with a maiden's fame. They may say I 
 have a careless laugh and a light word, but none shall say my acts 
 were not of honesty and virtue." 
 
 " Tell me, at least, who is to be our companion," he replied, at the 
 same time opening the great door. 
 
 Edith, who overheard the words, passed hastily through. 
 " Humph ! it can't be old Alice," he continued ; " her step is too 
 nimble for her." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Judith, "it is deaf Ann, But no matter who it 
 is. Give us your arm, make fast the tower, and Heaven and St. 
 Cuthbert guide us on our way." 
 
 The astonishment of Huon on his arrival at the cottage may be 
 imagined when he fotind that he had been instrumental in the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 13 
 
 absence of his young lady. His fair tempter's smile and kiss re- 
 assured him, and the visions of punishment and terror of his master, 
 which the discovery at first conjured up, gradually gave way to 
 the smile of Judith and the iterated thanks of Edward and his 
 lady. 
 
 The jest and song had long ceased in the hall of Stanfield, and its 
 inmates retired to rest, when a phantom-like figure might be seen 
 approaching the walls. With the utmost deliberation he counted 
 the loopholes, commencing with the left of the principal tower, and 
 paused at the twelfth. Looking carefully round, he threw himself 
 into a crouching position beneath the shade of an aged pollard, and 
 placing his fingers to his lips imitated the peculiar cry of the 
 bittern, paused for a few moments twice, and after each pause 
 renewed it. 
 
 At the end of the third signal Herman and his confidant, Unolff, 
 appeared upon the walls, their usual costume hid by the close 
 leathern shirt usually worn by the superior vassals and ecclesiastical 
 serfs. A cord, which the squire fixed to one of the rough projecting 
 stones of the tower, enabled them to descend, and in a few moments 
 from their first appearance on the walls they stood before the holm. 
 At a signal from Herman the crouching man approached. 
 
 " Speak," whispered the Saxon, repressing passion, causing the 
 words to whistle through hie close set teeth ; " have you dogged him 
 to the lair ? " 
 
 " I have, noble franklin,'" replied the man. " I followed him for 
 many a weary mile, often burying myself in the bog to the shoulders 
 to avoid recognition ; sometimes trailing my limbs like a serpent 
 through the woods ; and I housed him safely at last in the cottage." 
 
 " Thou art the best of bloodhounds ! " exclaimed his master, a 
 gleam of ferocious joy lighting up his pale and agitated features. 
 " Are your fellows posted ? 'Tis well," he continued, in answer to 
 a sign of assent. " Now, then, follow me. Let your hearts be firm 
 and your hands sure. You know the recompense." 
 
 His two companions inclined their heads in token of obedience, 
 and the doomed murderer sullenly pursued his path, bent on his 
 crijiel purpose, reckless alike of human or divine retribution, which, 
 sooner or later, with its iron hand, crushes the mail of guilt, lays 
 bare the sinner's breast, and vindicates the eternal laws of justice 
 unto man. 
 
 How sweet, how ennobling, are the sentiments of maternity ! 
 how vast the courage inspired by a pure and virtuous love ! In the 
 caresses of her child and husband, the sorrows, the wild despair of 
 Edith became calm, and she viewed the inevitable eclaif^cissement no 
 longer with the sullen stupor of a hopeless heart, but with the calm- 
 ness of reason and'the trustfulness of religion. 
 
 It was finally arranged that Edith should disclose her marriage 
 to her father, trusting to his extreme affection and the impression
 
 stajnfield hall. 
 
 likely to be produced by the eight of his infant grandson, ^vho was 
 consigned to the faithful Judith's care, to effect a reconciliation. 
 
 " Trust me, dearest Edith," said her husband, as the parting 
 moment arrived, " that all will yet be well. Stern as is the frank- 
 lin's heart, it hath a stream of tenderness for thee too deep for anger 
 to freeze, too piire to be sullied by unreasonable resentment. At 
 first, I doubt not but his rage Avill be fearful ; fortunately, violent 
 emotions soon exhaust themselves. Would," he added, " that I 
 could be the first to bear the brunt of his indignation, to turn his 
 wrath from thy dear head ! Remember, it is for our boy you plead : 
 a mother's eloquence is ever irresistible. Take courage, Edith ; and 
 many a joyous hour in Stanfield's halls shall well repay thee for 
 each sorrow past." 
 
 "With this and similar arguments did Edward sustain the courage 
 of his trembling wife, whose resolution rose and fell as hope or fear 
 alternately prevailed. The hour of parting at last arrived. The 
 iron tongue of night had long told the birth of morning when Edith 
 and her attendants set forth to return to the hall. 
 
 " I must to my father," said Edward ; " I can trust his generous 
 nature for forgiveness. His anger, like a summer's storm, is fierce, 
 but quickly dies away. With the morning, I am sure he will be at 
 Stanfield to calm your father's ^sTath, or, at the worst, protect his 
 child." 
 
 The parting kiss was given — the last that cruel destiny permitted 
 them on earth. A serpent envious of their happiness was in their 
 path, and Edward's guardian angel slept. Agreeable to his inten- 
 tion of seeking his parent, he directed his steps towards the distant 
 village, where his horses and attendants waited him, chewing, as 
 he walked along, the cud of many a sweet and bitter fancy, hope 
 and confidence alternately giving way to the gloomy forebodings of 
 desi^air. 
 
 Just as the first streak of ruddy day, piercing the veil of night, 
 appeared above the horizon, he reached a rising knoll, where rustic 
 piety had erected a rude cross and seat, to invite the traveller to 
 prayer or repose. Just as he gained the spot the distant matin bell 
 fell upon his ear. Kneeling on the turf -raised altar, he commended 
 his wife and child to the protection of that Being whose arm can sus- 
 tain the weak, whose wisdom guide them through the storms of life. 
 While absorbed in prayer he might be seen suddenly to spring 
 from the earth : one convulsive bound, and all was over. The being 
 lately all life, intelligence, and animation lay a senseless corpse — a 
 bolt winged from an arbalist had pierced his manly heart ; sent him 
 in the moment of prayer, his pure soul raised to God, strong in the 
 hopefulness of youth, in the confidence of a happy future, to meet 
 the Judge Avhose ear was even then mercifully inclmed to his 
 supplication. A few moments afterwards, and Herman, together 
 with his companions, stood by the dead man's side.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 15 
 
 As the hour drew nigh in which Edith was to meet her father 
 and confess the secret of her mai'riage, her high-wrought courage 
 began to fail her. It needed all the encouragement of her faithful 
 Judith, and the contemiDlation of her slumbering child, to nerve her 
 for the task. She was in the act of rising from her knees, which 
 had been bent in prayer, when the franklin entered the room. 
 Despite her resolution, she trembled at the sight of him. 
 
 " Edith, my child," he said, kindly taking her hand, " why start ? 
 A daughter's prayer should ever be fitted for a parent's ear ; and 
 thine, I doubt not, has been to bend thy unreasonable objections to 
 my will. Is it not so, my child ? " 
 
 Edith remained silent. 
 
 " Listen to me," resumed her father, " "When thy mother died 
 there was left a tender, gentle flower ; so fragile, that the slightest 
 breath of coldness or unkindness would have cut the slender thread 
 of its existence. Edith, thou hast known me only as the rough 
 hunter, the successful soldier, or stern franklin." 
 
 " More," interrupted his hearer, weeping, and passionately kissing 
 his hand, " as the father — the kind, the generous, too indulgent 
 father." 
 
 " Somewhat, perhaps, too much so," he resumed. " It was my 
 nature, and I cannot change it. But I have been thy nurse, Edith 
 — watched night after night the little cot where slept my motherless 
 treasure ; schooled my rough voice to woman's softness not to dis- 
 turb thy slumbers ; tended thee with more than a father's fondness 
 — with almost the yearning tenderness of a mother's love. Say, have 
 I not the right to demand some recompense ? " 
 
 His daughter clasped her hands in silence, 
 
 *' For thy sake I have sought to rear no other heritor to my proud 
 name. Must, then, that name, which is dear to me as my own 
 existence, be transmitted through another ? Mttst the long-cherished 
 hope of years be disappointed ? Will the child whom I have so 
 blindly loved blight the one hope of my existence, or by an effort 
 worthy of herself assure her father's happiness ? Think what will 
 be your feelings when, standing by my grave, you are enabled to say, 
 ' I have done my duty — I have closed my father's eyes in peace.' " 
 
 During the franklin's last address the agitation of Edith had 
 visibly increased. The tone of affectionate entreaty pierced her 
 very soul ; and had the sacrifice been possible, at that very moment 
 gladly would his child have submitted to become its victim. 
 
 " Would — would that it were possible," she replied ; " in this 
 bitter hofir I feel the sin, the curse of disobedience." 
 
 "Yv'hat mean you ?" uttered the franklin : "what fearfttl mystery 
 is this ? Speak I Have I still a c^ld ? " , 
 
 '' You have ! you have ! " frantically exclaimed his daughter, 
 
 " but know that child is " 
 
 " What .? "
 
 16 
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " A wife and mother ! " 
 
 Edith, exhausted by the effort, remained gazing in speechless agony 
 upon her father's face — life, hope, happiness, all seemed to hang 
 upon his lips. 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Herwald he could not have 
 been more astonished, 
 
 " Married ! '' he exclaimed, " and a mother ! Well, well, I have 
 no child now." 
 
 " Do not say that," sobbed Edith. " Do not say that ; speak to me 
 — look upon me — call me daughter — for Heaven's sake, call me 
 daughter ! " 
 
 " No," sternly answered the franklin, shaking himself from her 
 grasp. " My curse pursue thee ! Hear it in the arms of thy husband ! 
 tremble at it when the tempest rages ! and when the sun shines 
 upon thy father's grave, remember whose disobedience laid him 
 there ! When the thunder roars, mayst thou fancy thou heardst thy 
 father's curse ! If thou hast children " 
 
 At this moment Judith, who had been a trembling spectator of 
 the interview, with one of those sudden acts of inspiration to which 
 only woman's heart can aspire, and which no philosophy can teach, 
 placed his infant grandson at his enraged grandfather's feet. The 
 shock was electrical. Vainly he struggled to continue his maledic- 
 tion ; nature was too powerful for passion, pity too strong for anger. 
 The kneeling mother and the helpless infant formed an appeal he 
 could not resist. 
 
 " No, no ! " he murmured in a broken voice, " I cannot, dare not 
 curse thy child — Edith's child," he added, gazing almost with love 
 upon the little stranger who lay smiling at his feet. " Edith," he 
 added, after a short struggle with his better nature, " 'tis past— this 
 boy hath made thy peace. Come to thy father's heart — once more 
 his child ! " 
 
 With a cry of joy, which burst from the deepest recesses of her 
 heart, Edith threw herself into the arms of her forgiving father. 
 
 The words of parental forgiveness — the caress of parental love — 
 were the last rays of happiness the unfortunate Edith was destined 
 to taste on earth. Scarcely had the reconciled Saxon and his child 
 recovered from the agitation of the scene which we have so faintly 
 endeavoured to describe, than the Recluse of Wynmondham entered 
 the apartment unannounced, the universal reverence in which he 
 was held rendering his visits everywhere a welcome honour. 
 
 "Franklin," he exclaimed, "to horse! Blood hath been shed upon 
 thy land ! the blood of the noble and the good ! Edward, the son 
 of thy oldest friend Edda, the Saxon, lies murdered at the foot of 
 the cross ! " * '^' 
 
 A piercing shriek burst from the lips of Edith — a shriek fearful 
 as the despairing agony of a departing soul ; and the heiress of 
 Stanfield lay a senseless maniac at the feet of her agonised father.
 
 STANFIELD HALL.
 
 STANFIELU HALL. lf> 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the rage and confusion of 
 Herman when his uncle informed him not only of Edith's mar- 
 riage, but of the bli'th of an heir to Stanfield ; the prize for which he 
 had imbrued bJB hands in blood, and yielded his soul to the dark 
 fiend, seemed for ever to have eit'caped him. 'Tis true the melan- 
 choly state of Edith gave but little hope of recovery ; but the boy 
 lived — Edvv-ard's boy — to become the inheritor of the broad lands 
 for which his cupidity panted, and perhaps the avenger of his 
 father's assassination. This last consideration, or both combined, 
 determined him on attempting to remove the infant heir. Open 
 force, guarded as was the holm, he knew to be hopeless : he deter- 
 mined, therefore, to seek by other means the accomplishment of his 
 detested purpose. Aspromptin execution as inthought, he mounted 
 his horse and, attended only by ihe easy contldant of his crimes and 
 pleasures, directed his head towards the thick Avood of Wynmondham, 
 where he trusted to find a fit agent for the crime he meditated. In 
 the deepest recesses of the wood in question stood a rude hut 
 partially formed of unhewn stones and logs of wood ; strength, more 
 than convenience, seemed to- have been the builder's object, not less 
 in choice of material than situation. A thick stagnant pool cut off 
 all access to the back part of the building, where the only apertures 
 for admitting light were situated. The stout oaken door was thickly 
 studded with nails, and, from its solidity and strength, seemed to 
 defy intrusion ; the danger of v^'hich was still fui-ther lessened by 
 the absence of all regular road, and the thick, lovv^, stunted pollards, 
 which prevented the traveller or hunter from seeing the edifice 
 until close upon it. When by accident any such approached, they 
 hastily crossed themselves, and fled, casting furtive glances in their 
 flight, to assure themselves that they were not followed by its 
 mysterious inmate, Haga, or the dark man of the wold, as the occu- 
 pant was called. He bore a most equivocal character for miles 
 around ; none knew his place of birth, or the history of his past 
 life. Deeply skilled in medicine, and in the knowledge of all 
 healing jjlants, his wisdom was seldom taxed by the superstitious 
 boors or neighbouring franklins, and then only in extreme cases, 
 when all other remedies had failed. In his intercourse with such 
 rare visitors, his v/ords were few, but to the piirpose ; his manners 
 cold, stern, and dignified ; added to which, he invariably rejected 
 all gifts or profiers of remuneration. In person Haga was tall, 
 though bent with age ; a long beard fell over his ample dark tunic, 
 reaching the silver girdle which bound it to his waist ; on it wei-e 
 engraved certain Kunic characters, the meaning of Avhich were 
 
 c 2
 
 20 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 known only to the Druids, and bards of the Saxon nation ; indeed, 
 by some he was considered as belonging to the all but extinct order 
 of the former sacerdotal race — a supposition in some measure con- 
 firmed by his never having been seen, within the memory of man, 
 in any building dedicated to Christian worship. From whatever 
 source he obtained his means, they were ample ; indeed, he had 
 been frequently known to bestow on the wayfarer or the unfortunate 
 an alms which many a noble and wealthy franklin would have 
 grudged. Still he was not beloved ; but fear served him as a 
 more efficient protection, for the wretch who would have plundered 
 and fired the roof which sheltered him, trembled as he passed the 
 rude hut of Haga of the "Wold. The fact of several children having 
 been missed from the neighbouring villages still further tended to 
 increase the superstitious dread in which he was universally held ; 
 for altAough few tongues ventured to accuse, there were many who 
 doubted not but that Haga Avas in some way connected with their 
 disappearance ; some, more charitably inclined, suggested that they 
 had probably wandered too far into the woods, and either perished 
 of hunger, or from the attacks of the wolves, at that period so 
 plentiful in England. When Herman had approached within bow- 
 shot of the hut, he reined in his steed, and, dismounting, took from 
 his attendant a dark hunting cloak, in W'hich he enveloped his 
 person so as effectually to prevent recognition, and directed his 
 steps towards the unhallowed spot, leaving his squire lost in 
 admiration at his master's hardy courage. 
 
 '• Enter ! " exclaimed the deep voice of the inmate, as the third 
 blow of Herman's dagger fell on the iron-studded door of the hut ; 
 " be thou jjoor or wretched, rich or noble, weak or strong, craven or 
 brave, enter the hut of the recluse." 
 
 The visitor did as he was commanded, and found himself for the 
 first time in his life face to face with the being whose name was 
 seldom pronounced without awe, and even whose benefits were 
 received with a secret malediction. 
 
 The interior of the cottage presented a far more comfortable 
 appearance than its exterior seemed to promise. A long carved 
 oaken settle extended on one side of the wall ; over it was hung 
 several antique bronze instruments, such as are still occasionallj' 
 found in cairns and Druid mounds, and which modern antiquaries 
 have alternately decided to be instruments of sacrifice or divination ; 
 a withered leaf of ivy lay upon the huge block of wood which 
 served as a table, and whose roots, still deeply embedded in the earth, 
 shoAved that it retained its primeval position. 
 
 Haga was occupied in sorting a collection of herbs gathered in 
 the neighbouring woods, when Herman entered, and seated him- 
 self opposite to him. For a few moments they gazed on each other 
 without speaking. The recluse was the first to break the silence. 
 * " What brings the franklin to mv secluded dwelling ? " he de-
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 21 
 
 mauded ; " his cheek seems flushed with health. Why comes he 
 disguised ? " he added, a shade of displeasure passing over his 
 haughty brow ; " it was not thus his fathers of yore sought the wise 
 men of their race." 
 
 " The wisdom of the sage," replied his guest, " is medicine alike 
 unto the body and the mind : if my cheek is flushed with health, 
 and my limbs are strong, my heart is sick " 
 
 "For vengeance ! " interrupted the old man ; "for vengeance ! I 
 read it in thy knitted brow — the paleness of thy lip, which shames 
 thy cheek's deep red. Thou wouldst remove a rival from thy path 
 of love, or of ambition ! Begone ! — I cannot aid thee." 
 
 " Will not, rather," answered his guest. " Come, let us under- 
 stand each other ; although I give not credence to the idle tongues 
 of superstitious fools, I have not now to learn that thou art skilled 
 in herbs — that nature, like one vast book, is opened to thy gaze — 
 and that thy wisdom may be turned to good or evil. Come, sell me 
 a draught, the slightest drop of which shall stop life's current at its 
 very spring, yet leave no tell-tale evidence behind. I'll pay thy 
 price in gold." 
 
 " Gold ! " replied Haga, with a scornful laugh ; " were a mine of 
 the pale yellow dross beneath my feet, I would not raise the soil 
 which covers it. Gold ! I loathe it more than I loathe humanity, 
 for 'tis its worst weajDon. Go, man, go : the outcast of the world — 
 the condemned of men's opinion — will not justify their judgment 
 i)y participating in a crime like this." 
 
 " This is cant ! " exclaimed Herman, starting to his feet with 
 ill-suppressed rage, " mere cant, to enhance the value of the service 
 I demand. Fear not to tax my purse — it shall pay thee both for 
 thy conscience and thy nostrum. Why, man," he added, "if what 
 men say of thee be true, thou art already damned beyond the reach 
 of mercy ; earth hath no absolution, holy Church no prayer for 
 crimes so black as thine." 
 
 " Such is thy Christian creed," retorted Haga ; " I trust not. in it 
 — it binds not me ; I worship not in temples made with hands — the 
 umbrageous forest is my tabernacle — primeval rocks my altar — my 
 matin hymn the feathered minstrel's song — my oracles the running 
 stream or brook." 
 
 " Thou art a Druid," observed Herman, " one of a race pro- 
 scribed." 
 
 " The last of a race proscribed, thou mightesthave said," proudly 
 answered the old man. Cruel hath been our persecution, and cruel 
 vengeance follows it ! The Norman is at hand — the avenger of our 
 sacred race ! Odin and Thor no longer guard a land where their 
 altars are deserted and their priests unhonoured ! Soon, soon will 
 their judgments be accomplished." 
 
 " Pagan," said the Saxon franklin at the same time devoutly 
 crossing himself — for, like most of the nobles of his age, his character
 
 ^^:i STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 formed a stro,nge mixture of cruelty and superstition — " darest thou 
 avow such heresies to me ? Although the sainted Edward no 
 longer wears a mortal crown, the Church is powerful still." 
 
 " And who will be my denouncer ? " demanded the Druid with 
 a sneer — " the noble franklin who came to solicit a poison at my 
 hands, to remove from his path a rival whom he fears, perchance, 
 to meet in open fight ? I have no fear of such an accuser." 
 
 " No man have I ever feared to meet on equal terms, or against 
 such soiight the aid of ministry like thine," said Herman ; " it is 
 an opening flower I would close, not uproot an oak — I would efface 
 the stain upon an ancient house, without, if possible, steeping my 
 hand in an infant's blood." 
 
 "An infant ? " eagerly demanded Haga ; " hath it been baptised ? " 
 He fixed his eyes keenly on Herman, as if he would read his very 
 soul. There was a pause, during which the latter weighed in his 
 mind the import of the question. 
 
 " It hath," he slowly answered. 
 
 The old man rose and paced the narrow limits of the chamber, as 
 if communing with himself. His mind seemed at last made up. 
 Laying his hand upon the arm of the franklin, Avhich trembled be- 
 neath his touch, he whispered — 
 
 " I'll make a compact with thee. I'll give thee means to steep 
 the child in sleep, but not in death — in sleep so deep and calm that 
 not one pulse shall indicate that life remains within its secret 
 sanctuary ; the mother's kiss shall not detect the lingering breath 
 upon its lips — the eye of hate discover the latent bloom upon its 
 cheek. I will do this on one condition," 
 
 " Condition," faltered Herman, whose superstition recoiled from 
 the Druid's words. " What condition ? " 
 
 " That when he sleeps his sleep of seeming death," replied the 
 old man, " you shall convey him here to me ; that I shall remain 
 sole master of his fate — no question asked — no future count de- 
 manded." 
 
 " Horror ! " exclaimed the' Saxon ; " wouldst have me barter the 
 infant to the fiend ? Never, never ! Though criminal, I am a 
 Christian." 
 
 " Begone then at once," said the tempter ; " thou knowest the only 
 terms on which my services are to be bought. The child here, 
 living at my absolute disposal, what is't to thee whether his blood 
 bedew the shrine of Odin, or that I rear him to serve his neglected 
 altars ? Thy conscience," he added with a sneer, "will be free." 
 
 " True," muttered Herman ; " and holy Church may yet absolve 
 me." 
 
 " It may be," sarcastically resumed the Druid. " Gold will buy 
 pardon for a heavier sin. Is it a compact ? " 
 
 " It is," after a struggle, answered the wretched man. " There is 
 no other way."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 23 
 
 The Druid, without further word, went to a dark recess, and after 
 searching for some time amongst its contents drew a small crystal 
 phial from it, and placed it in the hands of the trembling homi- 
 cide. 
 
 " There is the drug you seek," he exclaimed, " One drop, and 
 the drinker will for hours appear as dead. Once in its death-like 
 trance, it will be easy to remove the body here. In five days I shall 
 expect you. Beware," he added, " how you break faith with me ! 
 None ever did so with impunity ; and Herman of the Burg shall 
 not be the first." 
 
 His hearer started at the ominous manner in which the speaker 
 pronounced his name. 
 
 " You know me, then ? " he murmured, his countenance 
 changing with fear and passion. 
 
 " Well," resumed the old man. " Know thee as the murderer of 
 Edward, heir to the Saxon Edda ; know thee as the betrothed of a 
 bride thou never shalt possess — as the heir of a name which, if thou 
 keep not faith with me, never shall be thine ! Farewell ! Pass on 
 thy way, and till the deed is accomplished darken my door no more." 
 
 That very night Herman, under pretence of leaving the franklin 
 to indulge in his natural grief and watch over his unhappy child, 
 started from Stanfield on his way to Burg — a strong fortress which 
 he possessed, built on the ruins of the Garionorum of Csesar, the 
 Roman remains of which have survived the more modern structure, 
 and still attract the attention of the antiquary and traveller as he 
 passes over the shallow waters of Braidon, which wash their base. 
 But although he left the home of his destined victim, instruments 
 worthy of their master remained behind to work his will. Before 
 the five days were elapsed a fire broke out in that part of the holm 
 where the infant heir reposed. His attendants had been drugged 
 with the Druid's fatal gift, and slej)t when they should have 
 watched. The unfortunate wretches perished in the flames, in 
 which the infant was also supposed to have found an untimely 
 grave. It was long ere Edith and her repentant father recovered 
 this second bloAV. 
 
 Eighteen years had elapsed since the fire at Stanfield, in which 
 so many persons perished ; the base contriver of the deed remained 
 unsuspected ; but the vast political changes which had placed the 
 Norman Conqueror on the throne prevented his profiting, as he an- 
 ticipated, by the deed. It was the policy both of William and his 
 successors to amalgamate as far as possible the still hostile races. 
 In many instances confiscation was avoided by the Saxon heiress 
 marrying some Norman knight, who thus became an inheritor of 
 the soil. The wealthy franklin purchased the peaceable possession 
 of his ancestral domains by allying himself with some powerful 
 noble of the invader's blood, whose dowerless daughter bestowed 
 at least security with the possession of her hand.
 
 24 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Stanfield, as may be supposed, was too rich a prize to escape the 
 Conqueror's cupidity. Had her own safety only been at stake, Edith 
 would have defied the utmost malice of her fate ; but when she re- 
 flected that her father, her indulgent father, even if his life were 
 spared, must wander forth unhonoured and defenceless, exposed not 
 only to the reverse of fortune, but to the conquerors' unpitying scoffs, 
 her last resolve gave way, and she bestowed her hand on Hugh de 
 Bigod, created for his services at the battle of Hastings Earl of Nor- 
 wich, and marshal of the king in that portion of his dominions 
 formerly comprised under the name of the East Angles. Fortunately 
 for Edith, she met with no ungenerous wooer or stern lord. Love, 
 it was not in her power to bestow ; but as the manly qualities of 
 the earl's nature developed themselves, her friendship gradually 
 became his. Like herself, he had mourned the loss of the object of 
 his first afi^ections — two infant pledges of which, a boy and a girl, 
 remained to him. The spirited Norman and his sister Matilda 
 gazed at first with fear upon the pale cheek and gloomy brow of 
 their new mother — whose gentleness, however, gradually won their 
 hearts, and on whom she soon bestowed some portion of that love 
 which her heart still treasured for the memory of her lost boy. 
 The franklin, full of years, had long since slumbered at peace. 
 Even the deeply guilty Herman shared in the protection which the 
 union of Edith with the powerful favourite of the Conqueror ex- 
 tended to her race. He was a frequent visitor at the castle of Nor- 
 wich, where the earl and countess generally resided ; and, if not a 
 welcome, was, at least, a tolerated guest. Age had not taught him 
 penitence, or cured him of his ambitious dreams — the murderer 
 plotted still. 
 
 The sun was shining cheerfully on a fine morning in September, 
 gilding the lofty tower of the cathedral, which still remains the 
 pride and admiration of the ancient city of Norwich ; its rays, after 
 striking the lofty pinnacle and fretted niches, rich in many a quaint 
 device and sculptured saint, fell in q^iet repose upon the emerald 
 turf inclosed by the cloisters of the sacred edifice ; causing the 
 shadows from the western windows to fall upon the pavement. 
 The last chant of the matin hymn was fading through the aisles, 
 when an ecclesiastic, whose chain and cross indicated his episcopal 
 rank, entered from one of the side doors of the church, and began 
 to pace the cloister ; his rich purple soutan fell in graceful folds 
 around his stately form, which seemed bent less by age than sorrow. 
 The arched brow, piercing eye, and aquiline nose of the individual 
 sufficiently indicated his Norman blood. To a casual observer, the 
 general expression of his countenance would have been taken for 
 pride : to those who examined closer, a decided character of 
 benevolence redeemed it. Such, as we have endeavoured to describe 
 him, was Herbert de Lozenga, Bishop of Norwich and Chancellor 
 to William the Conqueror — ^a man of whom even his enemies said
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 25 
 
 much good, and whose friends were enthusiastic in his praise. Born 
 of high rank, and elevated to ecclesiastical dignities, he possessed 
 some of the j)rejudices of his birth, and many of the virtues of his 
 state. Those who saw in him only the noble and the prelate, envied 
 him ; the few who knew the man, wondered that he was unhappy ; a 
 subdued melancholy seemed to be the prevailing feature of his 
 disposition. Perhaps in the priest he had not learnt to subdue all 
 the recollections of the man. The general companion of this solitary 
 morning walk within the cloisters was a young orphan named Ulrick, 
 whom he had reared from infancy, and to whom scandal assigned a 
 nearer claim upon his bounty than mere charity. 
 
 " How keen and freshly blows the mountain breeze ! " muttered 
 the prelate to himself, as he paced the cloister, his eye glancing 
 alternately from the fretted roof to the inclosed space before him. 
 " Where can Ulrick linger ? — the matin song fell harshly on my 
 ear, wanting his voice to give it melody. 'Tis strange," he added, 
 " how the boy hath twined himself round my heart ; I should re- 
 member that the hour will arrive when we must part — when he 
 must mingle in the world, and seek to win by gallant deeds the name 
 which cruel fate denies him." 
 
 The speaker continued his walk with the same languid step, 
 sometimes lingering to catch some new point of view, as the tower 
 and spires of the cathedral were seen through the deep fretwork of 
 the cloister windows — sometimes to listen to the echo of some 
 distant step, as it either receded or drew near the spot where he was 
 meditating. At last the sound of a footfall lighter than the tread 
 of the sandalled monks drew near, and in a few seconds the object 
 of his thoughts presented himself. 
 
 Ulrick the Orphan, as he was generally called, was formed in a 
 mould where symmetry and manly strength were blended. Al- 
 though generally supposed to be, if not the son, at least in some way 
 connected by blood with his patron, his features bore the impress of 
 the Saxon rather than the Norman race — blue eyes,afair complexion, 
 and light chestnut curls ; the first down of manhood shaded his lip 
 and chin, redeeming the almost womanish character of his beauty. 
 Although mildness seemed to be the general expression of his 
 countenance, there was great determination in the mouth and nostrils, 
 the chiselled lines of which generally indicate courage, firmness, 
 and perseverance. His step, though light, was stately, like the 
 " young fawn's, when sauntering from its evening lair, it snuffs the 
 breath of morning with an air in which affection and reverence are 
 mingled. The youth approached the spot where Herbert de Lozenga 
 awaited him ; and, silently bending the knee, he asked the usual 
 benediction, which the prelate bestowed upon him by making the 
 sign of the cross above his head. 
 
 " Forgive me, reverend father," said Ulrick, as he rose from his 
 knee ; " but I have been detained beyond my usual hour. I
 
 26 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 encountered the noble Mirvan in my walks, and " — here the speaker 
 hesitated. 
 
 " With him one," interrupted the prelate, with a melancholy 
 smile, " whose charms, I fear, endanger Ulrick's peace — his gentle 
 sister." 
 
 The youth blushed, and was silent, 
 
 " Hear me, boy ! " resumed Herbert. " I have long wished to 
 speak Avith you on the subject, but weakly hesitated, knowing how 
 sad it is to be sternly wakened from those blissful dreams in which 
 youthful confidence too often plunges us. You love ! " 
 
 His hearer started as the gentle voice of his patron pronounced 
 the fatal words which tore from his soul its sweet delusion ; still, as 
 drowning wretches cling to the last plank, he struggled to avoid 
 confessing even to himself the folly of his passion, the madness of 
 his hopes. Matilda, the daughter of one of the most powerful nobles 
 of the Norman race— and he an orphan, a being without a name — 
 the stain of doiibt, perchance of infamy, upon his birth — and he to 
 dare to raise his eyes so high ! No, no ! He had mistaken friend- 
 ship for love ; it could be nothing else ! 
 
 "Think not, my lord," he replied, as soon as he recovered 
 from the confusion in which the unexpected accusation had thrown 
 him, " that such arrogance and pride e'er harboured here ; the Lady 
 Matilda can ne'er be viewed by me but with such awe and reverence 
 as the shrine of some bright saint enthroned in bliss might claim. 
 Chance, you are aware, led me to preserve her brother's life ; the 
 grateful maid hath deigned to call me friend. Think, father — 
 friend ! That," he added, fixing his eyes almost imploringly upon 
 his interrogator, " is a name distinct from love." 
 
 An expression of sadness clouded the usually calm, clear brow of 
 the priest. For years the page of human life had been his study. 
 Perhaps some recollection of his OAvn ^^outhful dreams came over 
 him, when he, too, had struggled to blind his reason to the true 
 nature of his heart — its weakness, passions. Perhaps his natural 
 sympathy with humanity interested him in the struggle between 
 truth and delusion which was evidently taking place in Ulrick's [ 
 soul — a struggle which, for its victim's happiness, he was resolved 
 at any risk to end. 
 
 " Your sentiments towards Matilda are, then, merely those of 
 friendship — nothing more ?" Ulrick remained silent ; the precipice 
 was becoming gradually defined before him. " Could you," con- 
 tinued Herbert, " with joy be present, see her wed, and her rich 
 beauties grace another's arms ? You tremble, Ulrick, at the thought. 
 Why is this?" 
 
 " Yes 'tis not love ! " passionately iterated Ulrick ; " for I should 
 be content could I but live for ever in her sight, nor frame one 
 wish beyond. But never more to hear the music of her voice, or 
 catch the expression of her dark blue eye when mirth illumes it, or
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 27 
 
 ■when sorrow's tale hath gemmed its fringes with a pitying tear, 
 would give my heart a pang." 
 
 The vehemence of the speaker betrayed too clearly, even to him- 
 self, the state of his affections. Like a child attracted by the pleasing 
 colours of the snake, he had played with the reptile till its venom 
 had infused itself into his soul, 
 
 " We have both been to blame," exclaimed the prelate, rising from 
 the rough stone on which he had been seated, and pacing the cloister 
 with a firmer step than usual ; " we have been dreamers both. You 
 must to the world, boy ; my selfish love hath too long detained thee 
 here. Action is the best cure for sorrow and for ill. Our monarch 
 prosecutes the war in France : honours and lands may be won by 
 gallant deeds : if fate denies a name, thy sword must win one." 
 
 " Honours and lands the sword indeed may win, but what deed 
 can efface the stain of infamy upon my birth ? " 
 
 Ulrick's voice trembled with emotion as he spoke. The general 
 opinion of his being the son of the bishop had at times struck him 
 with a sad foreboding ; he feared to find in the author of his being 
 the man whom he most loved and reverenced on earth, the term 
 " son of a priest " being at that time the most bitter reproach an 
 insulting enemy could bestow. 
 
 " Infamy ! " repeated Herbert ; " and who shall dare pronounce 
 it so, when I, who have reared thee from thy tenderest years — I, 
 who received thee a smiling infant in these arms — believe thee 
 noble ? " 
 
 Never before had Herbert de Lozenga been so explicit with his 
 orphan protege, whom respect, and perhaps a nameless dread, had 
 hitherto prevented from demanding an explanation of the tie between 
 them. The words of his protector fell like a precious balm upon 
 his soul ; they conveyed to him the assurance that he was not the 
 wretched being he suspected. 
 
 " You, then ! " he exclaimed, " are not " 
 
 The blush upon the brow of his guardian arrested Ulrick's words ; 
 he paused, and bent his eyes to earth in silence. 
 
 " No, Ulrick," replied the prelate to the half -uttered interrogation, 
 " I am not thy father ; no oft'spring's tear," he added, in a voice of 
 deep emotion, " will fall upon my grave. Thinkest thou, had I so 
 far forgot the laws of God — my priestly vow — I could have ever 
 gazed without a blush upon thee ? " 
 
 " Pardon, pardon ! " sobbed Ulrick, prostrating himself at his 
 feet, half choked with emotion ; " I am indeed a wretch to have 
 formed one doubt of purity like thine. Tell me, I entreat thee, all 
 that thou knowest touching my wretched state." 
 
 The bishop in his turn seemed confused at his request ; for the 
 required explanation recalled the most painful moments of his 
 existence — ^the struggles of passions which had left their scars upon 
 his very soul. Feeling, however, how necessary it was to make the
 
 28 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 effort, he resolved to subdue the natural hesitation which he felt, 
 and add another to the long list of pangs he had endured. 
 
 " Be it so, Ulrick," he replied ; " l3ut not now, not now. I lack 
 courage for the task — firmness to bring my mind to part with thee. 
 I must seek them both in prayer. In three days thy letters shall be 
 prepared for William's camp — all things arranged for thy departure ; 
 but ere thou leavest the solitary man whose heart has been thy home, 
 thou shalt learn the sorrows of his life, and how thou first wert cast 
 a helpless infant on his care. Go," he added ; " take leave of thy 
 friends at the castle, of the noble Mirvan and his gentle sister ; but 
 remember, Ulrick, not one word of love ; plant not a thorn where 
 thou wouldst place a rose. Since 'tis the lot of man to suffer — to 
 feel his heart consume beneath the serpent -tooth of deathless passions 
 — suffer alone — and, like the wounded eagle on the rock, pine in 
 solitude away." 
 
 On the evening of the same day, Ulrick directed his steps towards 
 the castle, to announce to his two friends his intended departure for 
 the camp. With the peculiar sensitiveness of his nature, he had 
 refused, on several occasions, to partake of the almost regal hospi- 
 tality of the earl, whose residence emulated the splendours of the 
 Court, and w^ho had frequently expressed a wish to meet the pre- 
 server of his son. As he crossed the open space which divided the 
 cathedral precincts from the city, now known by the name of 
 Tombland, his heart beat with contending emotions ; he was going, 
 for the last time, perhaps, to listen to the voice v/hose tone found so 
 deep an echo in his soul — to gaze upon the eyes whose light to him 
 was as twin stars to guide him to his destiny ; was going to part — 
 the words of love which glowed upon his tongue unspoken — the 
 vv'ishes, passions, and regrets which burnt within him as closely 
 sealed as in a sepulchre. Still, despite of the barriers which reason 
 presented to his passion, his step was buoyant ; hope held possession 
 of a corner of his heart, even as she lay hid at the bottom of Pan- 
 dora's box ; and that which was only not impossible seemed half- 
 achieved. 
 
 " Yes," he exclaimed, apostrophising the object of his adoration ; 
 " her name shall be my beacon in the path of honour ; if I fall, she 
 shall feel I was not altogether unworthy of her love ; if I return 
 with fame, that love may crown me." 
 
 Ulrick had crossed about half the distance which separated the 
 city gate from the castle, when he was surrounded by a gay and 
 laughing band of youthful nobles, who, headed by Mirvan and 
 H^erman of the Burg, had been indulging in the pleasures of the 
 chase ; his sister and her fair cousin, Isabel of Bayeux, had 
 accompanied them. 
 
 " So ho ! " exclaimed Mirvan, dismounting from Ixis horse, and 
 placing his arm in Ulrick's, " I have caught the sage at last. No 
 refusal now ; not e'en my sister's vrord shall set you free ; for once
 
 STANPIELD HALL 29 
 
 Ave'll have philosophy at our gay banquet, that when beauty's smiles 
 lead our hearts astray, wisdom, in time, may pull the reins of our 
 understandings to check us. Wouldst believe it, my fair coz," he 
 added, turning to Isabel, " although Matilda and myself, time out of 
 mind, have tried to tempt him, this is the first time we have lured 
 the hermit from his cell ? " 
 
 " And not soon again to return to it," said Ulrick, bowing lowly 
 to the two lovely girls, who had reined in their stately palfreys on 
 first perceiving him. " I am bound to the country of the Lady 
 Isabel, to try my humble fortunes in the wars." 
 
 At the concluding words a close observer might have seen the 
 cheek of Matilda turn pale. Herman observed it, and his heart 
 overflowed with bitterness and gall. 
 
 " You are right, young man," he haughtily and loudly answered ; 
 " Normandy is the land of those who have neither country nor nation, 
 birth nor name ; it is a land for adventurers. You will do w^ell to 
 cast your fortunes there." 
 
 To most of the young men the bitter sarcastic humour of the 
 speaker was well known ; they passed his observations therefore 
 with a laugh. Not so Isabel, who with the penetration of a woman's 
 wit had detected the desire of the franklin to humiliate Ulrick in 
 the presence of Matilda, whose love,, despite the disparitj^ of years, 
 he ridiculously aspired to. 
 
 " Sir Saxon," she exclaimed, " it is the land at least of courtesy, 
 since it permits those whom it has conquered to rail unpunished 
 against their masters. It is the land of the brave," she added, 
 proudly, " and worthy to become the home of those who have true 
 hearts and loyal weapons." 
 
 " By my faith, fair cousin," interrupted Mirvan, secretly annoj^ed 
 at the turn the conversation had taken, " if their swords are but 
 half as keen as thy tongue, I had rather be friends than quarrel with 
 thy brave countrymen. Our kinsman meant not to ofi^end thee, — 
 do not quarrel with him." 
 
 " Quarrel with Herman ! " iterated the haughty beauty, perfectly 
 aware of her power oyer Mirvan's heart ; " ciuarrel with the spleen ! 
 no, no ; he is to be endm-ed, not quarrelled with." 
 
 " Kinsman," exclaimed the young noble, who read in the glow- 
 ing cheek and fihshing eye of his young friend a coming storm, 
 " pleasure me by riding with our friends on to the castle. The ladies 
 will accept of mine and Ulrick's escort." 
 
 The grave tone in which the request was made implied a command 
 to the haughty Saxon. But Mirvan was too important a person for 
 him to offend ; besides he felt that he had already lost ground 
 in his favour by his churlish speech to one to whom he was not only 
 sincerely attached, but deeply indebted. 
 
 " "Willing, cousin," he brought himself to answer. " My absence 
 shall be m^,- punishment ; the fair Isabel, I doubt not, will feel it
 
 30 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 more than siifficient for the crime. At least we part as friends," he 
 added, raising his plumed cap as he spoke, and bowing to the very- 
 saddle-bow of his fair enemy. 
 
 " Friends ! " carelessly repeated Isabel ; " oh, yes ; friends as 
 much as ever." 
 
 The franklin either would not or did not see the irony of the last 
 words of the speake]-, but turned his horse's head towards the castle, 
 attended by ail but Mirvan, Ulrick, and the two ladies. 
 
 " You are too hard, Isabel," said the former, " on our kinsman ; 
 he hath a heart ! " 
 
 " Heart ! " interrupted the maiden, "so hath the tomb its tenant. 
 Heart ! 'tis a cold and frozen spectre ; love, friend skip, confidence, 
 the ties which bind us to our fellow-creatures, the gushing sympathies 
 of love, all that ennobles man, and lights this dull earth with gleams 
 of Eden's sunshine, are his scoffs." 
 
 " I cannot argue with yon," said Mirvan. Then turning to Ulrick, 
 he continued, "and so you leave us for the wars ? The cloister 
 then, it seems, lias lost its charm — is Mars or Venus now in the 
 ascendant ? " 
 
 " Neither, I trust," answered the conscience-striken youth ; " but 
 I am sick of dreaming out my life in cloistered ease. 'Tis time I 
 see the world, and mate myself with men. My guardian's influence 
 hath ope'd the path of honour — I were a sluggard did I not pursue it. 
 If I have neither name nor birth, country nor station, who shall blame 
 me that I strive to win one ? " 
 
 " Blame ! " said Isabel ; " thou shalt have one Christian maiden's 
 prayers at least for thy success ! Nay, 1 think I may venture to 
 promise thee my pensive consin's too ? " 
 
 " You may, indeed," softly uttered Matilda, thus directlj' appealed 
 to ; " they are due not less to his own merits than to the preserver of 
 my brother's life." 
 
 The quiet tone of the speaker's voice told to her cousin that her 
 calmness was assumed ; indeed, she had long suspected a mutual 
 passion, not the less ardent for being unconfessed, between Matilda 
 and the unknown orphan. * 
 
 " Happy Ulrick ! " exclaimed Mirva;i, who, in the blindness of his 
 own passion for the volatile Isabel, did not suspect his sister's ; "did 
 not a dearer tie withhold me, gladly would 1 share thy perils and be- 
 hold thy trii'Tinphs ; as it is, although I may not witness, perchance 
 I can assist them. My father, as thou well knowcst, stands in high 
 favour with our valiant monarch, and I am sure will gladly stretch 
 his utmost influence to serve thee ; he will doubtless furnish thee with 
 letters to those who can place thee foremost in the path of danger 
 and of honour." 
 
 " I ask no more," replied Ulrick. " If I fall, it matters little ; few 
 will mourn me, and none know the wild ambitioxis aspirations wliich 
 perish with me. Should I survive, those who interest themselves 
 
 P_
 
 STANPIBLD HALL. 31 
 
 in my wretched fate shall not blush for the favonz' tliey have shown 
 me." 
 
 On his arrival at the castle, ITlrick was presented to the carl aud 
 countess, the forraer of whom thanked him with stately kindness 
 for the service he had rendered Mirvan, Avhoae life our hero had 
 preserved from the attack of a ferocious wolf, when, wounded and 
 unhorsed, he lay exposed to the savage monster's fury. Edith, 
 whose remarkable beauty time and sorrow had mellowed, but nor 
 destroyed, sighed as she gazed upon the gallant youth, who modestlr 
 knelt to kiss her extended hand ; perhaps some feature jarred the 
 chords of memory, or some mysterious sympathy formed a link be- 
 tvv'een them. The pressure 'of his lips upon her hand thrilled to her 
 matron hearr. 
 
 " Such," she mentally uttered, v/ith a sigh, — '* such might have 
 been my gallant Edv/ard's boy, had cruel fortune spared him to my 
 widowed heart." 
 
 The modesty with which Ulrick listened to the counsel of the ► 
 earl, the extreme grace of his person and piirity of mind, made a f 
 favourable impression upon that powerful nobleman. His guest.- j 
 and officers perceived the entrainment of their host and chief, and | 
 vied wdth each other in courtesies. All who listened to the eager I 
 hopes and noble aspirations of the gallant youth wished him success I 
 in his career of arrizs ; all but one — the jealous, disappointed Her- j 
 man, w'ho sat listening to his rival's i)raise in gloomy silence — for I 
 rivals he already felt they were. At length, unable longer to endure ^ 
 the gnawings of his envious heart, he quietly withdrew from the hall, 
 to indulge in gloomy meditation. f 
 
 " Bring Ulrick to the chapel," whispered Isabel to her cousin | 
 T'iirvan, as, leaning on the arm of Matilda, thej- followed the countess 
 from the banquet ; " although we cannot dub him knight, at least 
 we may arm him for the battle in which he is to win his spurs. I i 
 owe him," she added, " no less a debt of gratitude than Matilda, and 
 am impatient till the debt be paid.'" [ 
 
 The last part of the maiden's speech was too flattering to Mirvan j 
 to make him w^onder at the unusual request. As soon, therefore, as 
 the feast was ended, and the principal guests retired from the hall, j 
 he took the arm of Ulrick, and led his wondering friend towards the j 
 chapel. I 
 
 The two fair cousins were standing near the altar when the young 
 men entered the sacred edifice. The light from the ever-burning 
 silver lamp befcre the shrine gave a religious, mellow tone to the 
 scene ; the segment-formed arches dimly receding till they were 
 lost in darkness. Four purer hearts, or more devoted to each other, 
 were seldom m^t than those assembled there. It is true that between 
 Matilda and Ulrick no vow had e'er been spoken ; each seemed in- 
 stinctively to i-el it woxild be wrong that it should be so : the youth 
 felt that the idol of his worship could receive no clandestine homage ;
 
 32 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the maiden, that the favoured of her choice would fall from the 
 high place he held within her breast by any rash avowal ; and yet 
 they loved — loved with all the pure confiding innocence of youth — 
 the confidence of humanity ere sin or the world's treachery had 
 blighted them. Confident in tlie sinlessness of her passion, Matilda 
 advanced to meet them ; her voice was firm, as her heart was pure 
 and holy. 
 
 " Ulrick," she said, " the sister cannot permit the preserver of her 
 brother's life to go unarmed into the battle. The sword is a strange 
 gift from a woman's hand ; but when grasped by honour, 'tis the best 
 — in thine 'twill ne'er be drawn but in the cause of virtue and of 
 truth." 
 
 " To virtue and justice I devote it ! " exclaimed Ulrick, sinking 
 on one knee, as he received the weapon from her hand. " Lady, 
 this moment shall be graven in the cell where memory treasures up 
 its deepest joys — round it entwines the thread of my existence. It 
 fortune smiles upon the soldier's arm, thy virtues will have been 
 the inspiring cause ; if death should call me on the field of honour, 
 thy image shall console me." 
 
 For a few moments the lovers gazed on each other in silence, 
 drinking, in that brief space, a draught for years, a happiness for 
 ages. 
 
 " Though far less prized," exclaimed Isabel, willing to end the 
 scene, the excitement of which she feared, " do not refuse my 
 gift." % 
 
 She passed a silken scarf, embroidered by her own fair hands, over 
 the shoulders of Ulrick, as she spoke. 
 
 " It was intended for another, but not more worthy object." 
 
 " Less worthy far to wear it," said Mirvan, who understood that 
 it was for himself that the prize had originally been destined. 
 
 " Beggar that I am, in all but thanks," sighed Ulrick, as he kissed 
 the embroidered hem of the maiden's gift ; " how have I merited 
 sttch goodness ? " 
 
 " By prtidence," replied Isabel, in a marked tone ; " by cotirage, 
 not in its brute contests with man to man, but in its loftier struggles. 
 "We have performed our task — farewell ! " 
 
 " Farewell I " exclaimed Ulrick, kneeling, and passionately kissing 
 the extended hands of the fair cousins ; " you have lit my soul with 
 energies — armed me to brave all that the wildest fortune can wreak 
 on me. I will return worthy of such angelic goodness, or retitrn no 
 more." 
 
 The excited youth rushed from the chapel as he spoke. Isabel 
 and Matilda retired in silence to their chambers. 
 
 That night Mirvan had much for study and reflection. 
 
 How delicious is the moment when the youthf vil heart first feels 
 that it is loved ! The soul expands, merges in a new existence, and 
 all around partakes of Eden's bliss.
 
 STANFIELD HALL
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 35 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Ulrick, as he left the bridge which crossed the 
 castle moat, " I now am armed to meet adversity ; armed against all 
 the terrors of impending fate. Matilda wills that I should gain a 
 name ; others alone, by vile ambition led, have for high deeds been 
 raised to greatness and to honour ; and can I fail when her voice 
 bids me on ? No, her name shall prove a beacon-light to guide me 
 o'er life's waves." 
 
 " Say rather an ignis fatuus, to lure thee to thy ruin," interrupted 
 Herman, whose unsocial temper had driven him from the banquet, 
 and who, unfortunately, overheard our hero's meditation. 
 
 The moon was shining brightly, and Ulrick recognised the voice as 
 well as the person of the speaker. The recollection of their pre- 
 vious meeting galled him, and he answered, in a tone as haughty as 
 his own — 
 
 "When I require counsel, it is not of Herman of the Burg 
 that I shall seek it. When I desire a confidant, it is not Herman 
 of the Burg that I shall choose. Pass on, Sir Saxon ; meddle in 
 that which concerns you, and our Lady speed you on your way." 
 
 "It doth concern me, boy," retorted Herman, "that my kins- 
 woman's name should not be sullied by every peasant's breath." 
 
 " Peasant," iterated Ulrick, his eye flashing fire, and his hand 
 instinctively grasping the sword, Matilda's gift. 
 
 Herman beheld the action, but, confident in his strength and 
 presumed superior skill, determined to provoke him. His heart 
 was overflowing with pent-up bitterness and gall. Ulrick appeared 
 to be a subject on whom he might vent them safely. 
 
 " Ay ! peasant ! " he repeated ; " or, if thou likest it better, bastard 
 of a Norman priest." 
 
 " Liar ! " thundered Ulrick ; " I thank thee for that word ; it nerves 
 my arm and justifies my hate. Draw, and defend thy life ; be yon 
 bright moon the witness of our quarrel. Strike at the breast that 
 never did thee wrong — aim at the heart whose manhood thou wouldst 
 trample — strike at the life whose current thou wouldst taint, but 
 Saxon, guard thine own." 
 
 So impetuous was the attack of tJlrick that his opponent must 
 have succumbed, despite his cunning fence and giant strength, had 
 not the combat been interrupted by a voice all were accustomed to 
 obey, — by the earl, whose attention, in the course of his evening 
 walk round the ramparts, had been attracted by the clashing of their 
 weapons, and who, in his haste to separate them, had sought the spot 
 unattended and unarmed. 
 
 " How is this ? " he cried ; " my kinsman and my guest at mortal 
 strife ! Put up your swords, tell me your cause of quarrel, and let 
 me judge between you." 
 
 Ulrick dropped the upraised weapon from his hand. How explain, 
 without compromising Matilda's name, the cause of their dispute ? 
 He bowed his head in silence. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Well may he be silent," exclaimed Herman, with a coarse 
 sneer of triumph. " Wouldst thou believe it, noble earl, this peasant 
 knave, this serf in blood as well as nature, dares raise his eyes 
 where mine have feared to gaze — e'en to your daughter's love ? " 
 
 " Young man," demanded the earl, sternly, his brow so deeply 
 flushed with indignation that it was perceptible even in the pale 
 moonlight, " can this be true ? " 
 
 " An hour since, my lord, I had answered No," replied, Ulrick, 
 " for I knew not then the nature of the fire which threatens to con- 
 sume me. Hear me, sir earl," he added. " If to have loved your 
 daughter as mortals love some distant star, as pilgrims worship the 
 virgin saint before whose shrine they bow, be criminal, I am most 
 guilty ; but never have these lips breathed words of passion, uttered 
 one thought of earth. I have adored as spirits worship — in the heart, 
 in silence ! Farewell, my lord. When men shall speak of the poor 
 orphan boy who dared to love your peerless child, their tongues shall 
 say, ' Proud v/as his sin, as proud was his atonement ! ' — For you," 
 he continued, with a contemptuous glance to Herman, " this time 
 you have escaped me — beware the next ! " 
 
 Bowing with deep reverence to the earl, the excited youth turned 
 his hasty steps towards the episcopal palace. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said the earl, touched by the noble frankness of his 
 manner, and perhaps viewing his passion more in the light of that 
 chivalrous devotion which the manners of the age permitted, than 
 positive love — " were thy birth but noble as thy heart, I would not 
 turn thee hopeless from my door," 
 
 " Perhaps, my lord," said Herman, " this moment may be suited 
 to the words I have to offer ; at least, I'll seek no other. Thou 
 knowest the wars in which our Norman sovereign is engaged have 
 given courage to the Saxon chiefs to attempt one blow for freedom, 
 to cast off the yoke that for long years has galled them ; it is the 
 time to knit still closer the bond of unity between us, or weaken it 
 for ever." 
 
 " What meanest thou ? " demanded the earl, his attention deeply 
 interested by the words which the excited Herman, contrary to his 
 usual caution, had let drop. 
 
 " It means," said Herman, " that I love your daughter : her hand 
 once mine, your interests are mine, your nation mine ; the moment 
 which bestows it sees the conspiracy unravelled, the traitors at your 
 feet." 
 
 The earl, though deeply attached to the interests of his sovereign, 
 was too generous a father to sacrifice his child to a being so base, so 
 utterly void of honour. The hint at a conspiracy alarmed him, for 
 well he knew the uncertain tenure by which the Normans held the 
 land. He determined, therefore, to keep an eye upon his dangerous 
 kinsman. With respect to the proposed alliance, he refused to 
 entertain it for a moment.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 37 
 
 " Franklin," lie replied, "my life hath been one of honour ; so shall 
 be my speech. The difference of your years renders your union 
 with my child impossible. Besides, while I am resolved never to 
 yield her but to one of equal birth, her heart must be consulted. 
 Well I know it never can be yours. Speak of it no more. With 
 respect to the complots of your Saxon friends, we will speak more 
 before the council ; there may be other means of recompense. Come, 
 let us to the castle." 
 
 " No," sternly answered the Saxon, " my path is taken ; to the 
 castle I return no more. I have had enough of Norman justice, of 
 Norman hospitality. Farewell ! " 
 
 " Not so," said the earl ; " you must return with me. You have 
 said too much or too little to be further trusted." 
 
 " Must go with you ! " repeated Herman, who saw too late that he 
 had betrayed himself. "And why must ? " 
 
 " Because it is my will," replied the earl ; " and I have power to 
 enforce it. What, ho ! warder ! " he cried, elevating his voice so as 
 to be heard by the ofl&cer who kept watch upon the distant keep, 
 " a guard ! De Bigod to the rescue ! " 
 
 Scarcely had the words passed the noble lips than Herman 
 sprang upon him, and a short struggle ensued. The earl, though 
 unarmed, was strong, and succeeded in dragging his assailant 
 towards the moat, when the sword which Ulrick had lately 
 dropped, and left behind him in his excitement, struck against the 
 Saxon's foot. In an instant he raised it, and plunged it into the 
 body of the earl, who, uttering a deep groan, expired at his feet. 
 
 The alarm had been given, and Mirvan, with the knights and 
 guests, followed by the castle guard, were seen hastily approaching 
 over the bridge. The alarm bell pealed forth its deep loud notes — 
 flight was impossible : but the assassin's presence of mind did not 
 forsake him ; he first threw from his grasp the blood-stained sword, 
 then raising the dead body, he placed it across his knee, and called 
 loudly for help. In a few moments he was surrounded by Mirvan 
 and the soldiery. 
 
 " Heavens ! " exclaimed Mirvan, " my noble father murdered ! 
 Who hath done this ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I know not," replied the hypocrite. " I came too late to 
 save him. On my approach the assassin fled. Somewhere he 
 dropped his sword." 
 
 A hundred torches were in an instant bent to earth — the fatal 
 weapon was found — blood upon it. The knight who raised it held 
 it to the light. It bore the name of Ulrick.
 
 38 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Night had spread her mantle o'er the twilight world, and found 
 Herbert de Lozenga seated in an apartment of his episcopal palace ; 
 on a table near him were two antique mitres, one pertaining to him 
 as Bishop of Norwich, the other as Abbot of Hulm, by which latter 
 dignity his successors in the bishopric still sit in the House of 
 Peers ; before him lay a steel-clasped casket, containing various 
 papers and memoranda, together with a ruby ring and richly 
 mounted dagger, upon whose hilt some Saxon artist had sculptured 
 a rude crest. The prelate had evidently prepared himself for his 
 promised interview with Ulrick by prayer and stern control ; all 
 trace of the agitation of the morning had disappeared ; his brow 
 was calm aS though passion's tempests had never ruffled it, or 
 human sorrows ploughed cne furrow on its polished surface. 
 
 The prelate wondered at his self-possession, and regretted that 
 he had so long delayed an explanation, which w^ould have pre- 
 vented many a painful impression to the disadvantage of his youth- 
 ful ^rofe^e. 
 
 " How strange," he murmured to himself, *' is the human heart ! 
 how inexplicable in its strength and in its w^eakness ! Philosophy 
 cannot sound its depths. The angels who stand before the throne 
 of Heaven cannot pierce its mysteries ! He who framed, alone can 
 read it ! " 
 
 His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Ulrick, whose 
 flushed brow and hurried step were but the outward signs of the 
 agitation of his soul. For a few moments his benefactor gazed on 
 him in silence, at a loss to account for his unusual manner. The 
 idea that he had been indulging in the wine-cup at the castle, 
 naturally presented itself, and created a painful impression in his 
 mind. 
 
 " Ulrick," he exclaimed, for the first time perhaps in his life 
 using the accent of reproof, "whence this flushed brow and 
 flashing eye .? A step like that might suit the battle-field, but 
 not my peaceful halls. Is this a mood to seek my presence in ? " 
 
 In an instant the words recalled the young man to himself. The 
 fear of giving pain to one whom he so deeply venerated, enabled 
 him to check the passionate impulse of his heart, and control the 
 bitterness of its emotions. Never before had he been exposed to 
 scorn and contumely ; the iron had entered his soul, and he felt it 
 deeply. 
 
 " Forgive me, father," replied Ulrick, bending the knee ; " for- 
 give the boy your charity has reared, if he forgets the lowness of 
 his state, and dares to act and feel himself a man. Scorn have I met 
 from one I never wronged — foul-mouthed reproach, and biting,
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 39 
 
 bitter taunts. Why— why," he added, passionately, " did I ever 
 for a moment quit this calm retreat, to mingle with a world which 
 mocks my wretchedness ? " 
 
 The cold, reproving manner of the prelate immediately changed. 
 He saw that Ulrick had been wounded where youth is most 
 sensitive. In his mind he rejoiced that his first suspicions were 
 unfounded, and sought, by even more than his usual kindness of 
 manner, to atone for the involuntary ^Tong, 
 
 " The world, 'tis true," he said, " is thickly spread with briars 
 and foul weeds ; but trust my word, sweet flowers may still be 
 found. What ! Ulrick, foiled in thy first encounter with the 
 world ! Be more thyself — answer its injustice with high deeds — 
 pursue life's path wherever honour leads ; and even if happiness 
 escape thy search, believe me, boy, thou'lt stumble on content." 
 
 " I feel that I have a heart to bear its dangers manfully," 
 answered the young man ; " but not to endure its sneers, its heart- 
 less falsehoods, and its slanderous tongues. If the world, indeed, 
 be such as schoolmen paint it, and as priests believe, I could, 
 with scarce one sigh, renounce its charms, and seek a refuge 
 here." 
 
 The despondent tone of Ulrick alarmed his benefactor, who well 
 knew the impressionable nature of his character, and the advantage 
 which might be taken from it. 
 
 " Seek not within the cloister's shade for happiness," he exclaimed, 
 " or shelter from the world ; its jealousies, its slanders and deceits 
 may reach thee even here. The man who wastes his spring of life, 
 unloving and unloved, leaving unfilled the ends of his creation, 
 casting aside the tender ties of parent, lover, friend, may reach 
 indifference, but rarely happiness. I will relate to thee some passages 
 of the history of my life," he added — " a life chequered by passions 
 such as sear the heart — by hopes as bright as those which angels 
 dream." 
 
 The prelate motioned Ulrick to seat himself beside him, and was 
 about to commence his tale, when he was interrupted by the 
 entrance of Father Oswald, a Saxon monk, whose frightened mien 
 indicated that some unusual occurrence had taken place. 
 
 " Now, son," mildly demanded the bishop ; " what means this 
 untimely visit ? " 
 
 " Our sanctuary is invaded," answered the intruder ; " armed 
 men are in the cloisters, and the tramp of w^ar disturbs the voice of 
 prayer. A pursuivant and a party of men-at-arms, in the name 
 of the Earl of Norwich, demand an audience, venerable father." 
 
 " A pursuivant and men-at-arms," exclaimed Herbert de Lozenga, 
 hastily quitting the seat he had assumed ; " and at an hour like 
 this !— surely you dream. Follow me, Ulrick," he added ; " but 
 remember, boy, whatever may ensue, mine is the only voice to find 
 an echo here."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 When Herbert and his protege entered the cloisters they found a 
 number of the brothers, like frightened sheep, gathered together, 
 gazing on a compact body of men-at-arms, headed by Ernulf, the 
 reckless squire of Herman of the Burg, who wore over his steel 
 hauberk a tabard blazoned with the arms of the house of Bigod. 
 Insolent as he generally was, his eye quailed before the firm step 
 and indignant glance of the Norman prelate, who, casting a look of 
 reproof upon his alarmed brethren, boldly fronted him. Ulrick and 
 Father Oswald closely followed him. 
 
 " Now, Sir Squire," exclaimed Herbert, " what means your pre- 
 sence here ? Why are these aisles, the house of prayer and peace, 
 invaded in the hour of night by armed men in such discourteous 
 guise ? Was he drunk or mad who sent you here upon this valiant 
 expedition .? " 
 
 " Neither, my lord," replied Ernulf, " but sorrowful at the stern 
 duty others' crimes impose." 
 
 " Sorrow and duty — others' crimes ! Speak not in riddles, man. 
 Art really sent by Hugh de Bigod, or is this some jest, ill placed, to 
 try our patience .? " 
 
 " Noble prelate, the Earl of Norwich, Hugh de Bigod, is dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " interrupted Ulrick ; " impossible ! Not two hours since 
 I left him full of health and vigour, giving the promise of long 
 ^■years of life." 
 
 " The noble earl," continued the squire, addressing himself to 
 Herbert, " has been murdered ; and I am here in the fulfilment of 
 mine office to arrest his murderer ! Behold him there ! " 
 
 The speaker slowly raised the silver staff of his office ; all eyes 
 followed its direction, till it pointed full at Ulrick. For an instant 
 the proud glance of the prelate failed. His recollection of the 
 agitation of his protege — his flushed cheek and quivering lip, drove 
 the blood fearfully to his heart. 
 
 *' Murderer ! " he slowly repeated, fixing his eyes at the same 
 time on Ulrick ; " murderer ! " 
 
 The calm confidence with which the youth met his gaze restored 
 in an instant his benefactor's confidence. Guilt ne'er wore a look 
 so pure, so clear as that. A fearful weight fell from the good man's 
 heart. 
 
 " And who," he demanded, with cold dignity, '4s his accuser ? " 
 
 " My noble master, Herman of the Burg," answered Ernulf, 
 beginning, he knew not why, to feel uneasy at the tone of the priest, 
 and the cold, statue-like self-possession of the accused. 
 i " Anathema maranatha ! " shrieked Father Oswald ; " be his 
 
 name accursed ! Herman of the Burg hath guilt upon his soul 
 would damn his race — his path hath been of blood and human 
 tears ! — he his accuser ! the wolf accuse the lamb ! the kite arraign 
 the innocent dove ! — crime assume the judgment-seat on virtue ! 
 No," he added, " there is yet a bolt in heaven, and a red arm to
 
 STANPIELD HALL 41 
 
 wing it." All were appalled at the vehemence of the speaker, whose 
 vast age, majestic appearance, and fearful penitence had procured 
 him a high character for sanctity. Seldom he spoke but to demand 
 the prayers of his confreres — his days were passed in the most rigid 
 abstinence — his nights in fearful vigils. There was a silence of 
 some minutes after his denunciations. The bishop was the first to 
 break it. " Say to your master that Sir Ulrick is prepared to meet 
 all accusations ; he will remain within these walls until the hour 
 of trial. I grant him sanctuary, and will answer for his ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 " It may not be," insolently interrupted Ernulf, whose orders 
 were at all risks to secure possession of TJlrick's person. "The 
 murderer may escape. Advance — secure him ! " 
 
 The men-at-arms, in obedience to the order of their chief, made 
 one step to advance towards arresting the accused, when Herbert de 
 Lozenga interposed between them. His manner was unruffled and 
 dignified as when seated upon his episcopal throne, in the exercise 
 of his spiritual office — his voice as firm and calm. 
 
 " None may arrest within these sacred walls," he exclaimed. 
 " Have you not heard I grant him sanctuary ? Advance one step, 
 and on each- one I breathe the curse, which, in its wrath, has 
 shattered crowns — broken the sceptres of earth's mightiest kings — 
 the awful curse of Rome ! " 
 
 The soldiers shrank at the prelate's voice as at the presence of a 
 destroying angel, so profound was their dread of excommunication, 
 the most tremendous engine ever yet wielded by priestly power ; 
 even Ernulf, their bold and reckless leader, was prepared to resign 
 a contest in which he saw that defeat was certain ; for not one man- 
 at-arms, it was clear, would second him after that fearful threat, 
 when Ulrick, for the first time, broke silence. 
 
 " No, father, not for me this contest ; I were indeed unworthy of 
 thy love, could I consent to shield my honour 'neath thy sacred 
 mantle. Let craven guilt crouch 'neath the voice of accusation — 
 innocence fears not the lightning, but defies the storm. If Hugh de 
 Bigod hath indeed been murdered, I owe it to his son," he added, 
 " to Mirvan's friendship, as well as my own truth, to lay my heart 
 before him. Sir Squire, I am your prisoner." 
 
 In vain did his more cautious protector struggle against the reso- 
 lution of the noble youth ; he well knew that innocence is not 
 always a protection, and would have preferred to guard his 'protege 
 within the peaceful walls of his own palace. But even his entreaties 
 were useless. The thought that Matilda had heard the fearful 
 calumny stung Ulrick to desperation ; he imagined that to prove his 
 innocence, it was but necessary to assert it ; nor dreamt that there 
 were beings in the world so practised in the wiles of crime, that 
 e'en from virtue's self they coxild weave the net that should 
 entangle it.
 
 42 
 
 STANPIEIiD HALL. 
 
 " Be it SO ! " exclaimed the prelate, won, but not convinced, by 
 his arguments ; " give thyself, in the generous confidence of thy 
 nature, blindly to those now plotting thy destruction : despite thy- 
 self, I'll save thee. Our royal master's confidence gives me a voice 
 in every tribunal in the realm ; at the hour of judgment, thy enemies 
 shall hear it." 
 
 Ulrick, unwilling to prolong a scene as painful to his own heart 
 as to the prelate's, tore himself from his embrace, and surrendered 
 his person to the men-at-arms, who, overjoyed at the unexpected 
 turn the afi'air had taken, immediately surrounded him, and bore 
 him from the cloisters. The monks watched his departure with 
 regret", for he had been reared from infancy amongst them, and 
 like some graceful tendril, had twined himself around their rugged 
 natures. With pensive steps they retired to their cells, leaving 
 their superior and father Oswald alone. 
 
 " He is innocent ! " exclaimed Herbert to himself ; " I feel he is 
 innocent ; guilt never bore a brow so clear as that. Murder scowls; 
 in its restless eye you read the page of guilt. Yet, how to prove 
 it ? ■ This Saxon, Herman, bears an evil name. Could he ? I 
 know not what to think. I'll seek the earl. The cause of quarrel 
 — all must be explained ; the accursed author of the deed made 
 plain, or Ulrick's life is lost." 
 
 " It will be," solemnly answered the monk, " unless we help to 
 save him." 
 
 Herbert started at the deep tone of the speaker's voice ; so ab- 
 sorbed had been his feelings by his favourite's danger, that he had 
 been unconscious of the old man's presence. 
 
 " What mean'st thou, brother Oswald ? " he demanded ; a ray 
 of hope, from certain recollections of the jDast, dawning on his mind. 
 
 " To the confessional, father," answered the speaker ; there, and 
 there only, dare I breathe the fearful tale of guilt within thy ears ! 
 — a tale," he added, clasping his brow in agony, which fiends 
 might laugh to hear — a tale which, uttered but in penitence, would 
 rend tkis massive pile above my head, and make the very saints 
 themselves turn pale." 
 
 " Follow me, son," exclaimed Herbert de Lozenga, in a tone of 
 mild authority : " and remember that there is no sin so dark be- 
 yond the Church's power to pardon : no stain so deep that tears of 
 penitence cannot efface it." Long and fearful was the conference 
 w^hich ensued : the midnight hour found the horror-stricken prelate 
 still seated, pale as some monumental statue, in his confessional, 
 and the guilty penitent prostrate at his feet. 
 
 Morning had just begun to dawn as Ulrick was led by his guards 
 to the great hall of the castle, where the nobles and petty vavasours 
 — a species of landed gentry, dependents on the late earl — were 
 assembled. Unfortunately for the accused, Mirvan was not present ; 
 he had even a more sacred duty to perform than to avenge his
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 43 
 
 father's memory — to dry the despairing tears of his sister and 
 doubly-widowed mother ; for such the gentle Edith had ever 
 proved to him. Besides, gratitude to the preserver of his life, to 
 say nothing of his natural sense of justice, prevented his assuming 
 the jugment-seat, where his feelings were so deeply interested. He 
 had, therefore, despite the remonstrance of Isabel, and the silent 
 tears of Matilda, delegated to Herman the authority so fatally 
 become his ; equally determined, neither by his influence to strain 
 the course of justice, nor to suffer his friendship for the accused to 
 impede it. 
 
 The hall, so late the scene of mirth and generous hospitality, still 
 retained some traces of the banquet which had lately graced it. 
 Side-tables, covered with huge flagons and silver cups, had been 
 removed into the arched recesses on either side. The gallery, 
 where lately rang the sound of the minstrel's harp, was crowded 
 with the sunburnt visages of men-at-arms ; old Norman followers 
 of the house of Bigod, men who had served in many a gallant field 
 with the murdered noble, and whose stern visages bespoke a 
 sombre resolution to avenge him. On the dais at the upper end of 
 the hall was seated Herman de Burg. No outward indication 
 marked his internal struggles for composure ; his eye was clouded 
 as from grief, not restless as through fear. Indeed, so completely 
 had his sense of danger schooled him that even his squire, Ernull, 
 the minister of his many crimes — the instrument of his will — the 
 companion of his thoughts — suspected him not in this. The other 
 nobles were either seated or standing round him, conversing in low 
 whispers ; that involuntary respect which death inspires restraining 
 even the tongues of the more youthful. The body of the deceased 
 earl, covered Avith his marshal's mantle, lay extended on a bier in 
 the centre of the apartment ; two kneeling priests beside it, repeat- 
 ing the litanies of the dead. 
 
 " They are long upon their errand," observed an aged knight, 
 alluding to the expedition sent to secure the person of the accused. 
 " Stirely the monks would never dream of offering resistance." 
 
 " Their superior may," replied Herman, not altogether easy at 
 the idea the words suggested ; " he hath ever shown great love for 
 this same Ulrick. Evil tongues are busy with his name ; men say 
 the orphan is his son." 
 
 No one offered a reply ; the name of Herbert de Lozenga was too 
 much reverenced by every Norman to be lightly spoken ; to be 
 even discourteously glanced at by a Saxon's lips was offensive in 
 the extreme. Herman perceived the ill effect his words had pro- 
 di^ed, and endeavoured to dissipate it. 
 
 * Doubtless," he resumed, " the noble prelate deemed such idle 
 rumours unworthy of his notice. Slander's weapons strike alike," 
 he added, " the noble and the clown, nor stay to ask the difference 
 of degree."
 
 44 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 At this moment the confusion and bustle at the lower end of the 
 hall announced the arrival of the prisoner ; all eyes were fixed upon 
 him as he advanced with a firm step towards the dais where his 
 judges and accuser both were seated. As he passed the bier he bent 
 his head in reverence to the dead ; the only passages in life between 
 them had been of kindness, and deeply he regretted his untimely 
 end. 
 
 As he glanced towards the table his eye fell upon a sword 
 stained with blood ; for an instant he started, and his cheek became 
 flushed ; it was Matilda's gift to him. His judges noted his confu- 
 sion, but were silent. Ulrick was the first to speak. 
 
 " Of what am I accused ? " he demanded, " and by what 
 authority dragged from my peaceful home before this secret, strange 
 tribunal .^ " 
 
 " Of murder ! " solemnly answered the aged seneschal of the late 
 earl. The slumbering echoes of the old hall were awakened at the 
 sound, and the word " murder " was repeated as if whispered by 
 invisible voices. A chill ran through the assembly, whose silence 
 was again broken by the firm, manly voice of the prisoner. 
 
 " By whom am I accused ? " 
 
 " By the noble Saxon Franklin, Herman of the Burg, kinsman to 
 your victim," again answered the same officer. 
 
 For a moment the accuser and accused gazed upon each other. 
 In the glance of the former might be read the dastard triumph of 
 vindictive passion ; in the calm, steady gaze of the latter, scorn of 
 its baseness ; bitter, proud contempt. 
 
 " I do refuse him for my judge. Hear me, noble Normans," ex- 
 claimed Ulrick ; " 'tis but a few hours since I sat beside you in this 
 festive hall, the guest of him whose murderer I am called. Retm-n- 
 ing home I was assailed by Herman ; not as man should meet his 
 foe — with unsheathed sword — but with woman's weapons — base 
 taunts, vile slanders, poisonous words which drink the lifeblood of 
 the noble heart by poisoning its existence, the coward's corn-age and 
 the base mind's vengeance. I had chastised him then but for the 
 interference of the man of whose blood he would accuse me." 
 
 " Tis false ! " retorted Herman, stung by the keen tone of con- 
 tempt which his victim evinced. 
 
 " 'Tis true as thou art false," said Ulrick. " Noble knights, did 
 you not hear him, when first we met, this very day, breathe forth 
 the natural venom of his leprous nature ? sneer at my unknown 
 birth, my orphan state, and mock the heart which never did him 
 wrong ? " 
 
 " We did ! " exclaimed several of the younger nobles, who began 
 to feel interested by the high courage of the prisoner, and to suspect 
 his accuser's disinterestedness in the afiiair. 
 
 " I claim the trial by battle," resumed Ulrick ; " noble knights, 
 you will not refuse me this ! Give me the chance to meet yon
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 45 
 
 craven dastard on the list. Heaven will uphold the righteous 
 weapon and decide between us.*' 
 
 The nobles and knights at the upper end of the hall consulted 
 amongst themselves ; several of the younger were for granting the 
 prisoner's demand, the elder and more influential were against it. 
 Their advice prevailed over the more generous sentiments of their 
 confreres. Odo of Caen announced their decision. 
 
 " It may not be," he said ; " the right you invoke unfortunately 
 belongs only to the noble and the free-born." 
 
 TJlrick bowed his head in shame and silence. The unfortunate 
 mystery of his birth precluded him from meeting his enemy in the 
 list of honour — from appealing from the judgment of his foe to 
 battle. 
 
 " Ulrick is noble and free-born ! " exclaimed a stern voice at the 
 end of the hall ; " the mate of any here." 
 
 " Who dare utter that monstrous lie ? " demanded Herman. 
 
 A stately figure, dressed in the habit of a monk, advanced from 
 the crowd to the higher end of the dais, and steadily confronted 
 him ; slowly he raised the cowl from his still pale features, and 
 discovered the person of Father Oswald. Ulricr'"* heart beat high 
 within him. 
 ' " I dare ! " he said. *» 
 
 Thero was nothing in the features of the monk which spoke to 
 Herman's recollection ; he deemed him a mere emissary of the 
 bishop, sent to watch the proceedings, and whose zeal in the behalf 
 of the prisoner had outrun discretion ; still the boldness of the 
 assertion slightly staggered him. 
 
 " And on what proof are we to believe thee ? " inquired Odo. 
 
 " On the word of a noble Saxon," firmly answered the old man. 
 Then, as if regretting the momentary pride of human life, he 
 added, in deep humility, " on the faith of an unworthy priest of the 
 Most High." 
 
 The firmness of Father Oswald's manner carried weight with it ; 
 and a fresh consultation ensued, in which Herman, who now began 
 to be seriously alarmed at the idea of being compelled to meet his 
 victim on the list, actively joined, and decided the matter by his 
 influence. Odo of Caen announced it : — 
 
 " We neither question, father," he said, " the nobility of thy birth 
 nor the sincerity of thy heart ; but this is a matter of knightly judge- 
 ment, and requires a knightly guarantee. We do again refuse the 
 combat, unless some noble or some knight confirms by his testi- 
 mony the nobility of Ulrick's birth." 
 
 The prisoner, agitated by hope and fear, turned from the haughty 
 speaker to the extraordinary witness who had strangely testified in 
 his favour. The old man met his glance with a smile of encourage- 
 ment and benevolence, but was silent, 
 
 " You hear .?" said Herman, with a sneer ; " a noble and a knight.'' 
 
 c
 
 46 BTANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " He must be noble ? " demanded the monk, with hesitation ; 
 but under which a closer observer than Herman might have perceived 
 a cold smile of conscious triumph. 
 
 " He must," impatiently iterated Herman ; " as noble as my- 
 self." 
 
 " And a knight ? " coolly continued Oswald. 
 
 " Like myself, he must wear upon his heels the golden spurs of 
 chivalry," haughtily replied the Saxon ; " if thou canst find such 
 a witness." 
 
 " He is found already," interrupted the monk ; " thou art that 
 witness." 
 
 All started at the firmness with which the aged man pronounced 
 the words, and Herman himself turned pale. Ulrick, as our readers 
 may naturally suppose, was not the least excited at the scene. The 
 clouds, the dark clouds of mystery which had so long obscured his 
 birth, seemed for the first time about to clear. To him, who knew 
 the sombre character of the speaker — the holiness of his life, his 
 rigid love of truth, his fasts and fearful penance — the words of the 
 monk were as oracles. He feared to speak, lest his voice should 
 break the spell — lest he should find his glimpse of happiness was 
 but a dream. 
 
 " What should I know of the craven bastard's birth ? " faintly 
 muttered Herman, in a hoarse voice. " "What jugglery is this ? " 
 "* Father Oswald advanced to the wretched man, and slowly raised 
 to his view a ruby ring, the same which Ulrick had previously 
 noticed lying on the table of the bishop at the interview which had 
 been interrupted by his arrest. The effect on Herman was electrical. 
 Had an accusing angel risen before him and displayed the record of 
 his secret crimes, he could not have been more appalled ; indeed, 
 his agitation was so visible that all remarked and commented on it. 
 Could the agony of mind which he endured have effaced a 
 life of crime, in that bitter moment Herman had atoned for all. 
 
 " Dost recognise the token ? " demanded the monk, still holding 
 the ring before his eyes. 
 
 " I do," faintly answered the conscience-stricken man. 
 
 " And Ulrick's birth is noble .? " he continued. 
 
 There was a pause — involuntarily the astounded criminal's hand 
 rested on the hilt of his dagger, and then fell motionless beside 
 him. The cold, stony glance of his pitiless questioner seemed to 
 have deprived him of all power of resistance, as birds are supposed 
 to be fascinated by the eye of the rattlesnake ; the struggle between 
 hate and terror was intense, but terror conquered. 
 " It is," he faintly murmured. 
 *' As noble as thine own ? " added the monk. 
 " As noble as my own ! " frantically exclaimed Herman. 
 Unable longer to endure the recollections and terrors which the 
 Bight of the mysterious token conjured up, he rushed from the hall.
 
 STANPIELD HALL, 47 
 
 leaving his brother nobles to make their comments on his conduct, 
 and arrange for the combat which he now felt to be inevitable. 
 
 Surprise and consternation were on the countenances of all ; men 
 felt that they had assisted at a scene whose mystery was yet to be 
 unravelled. The unexpected testimony borne to the nobility of 
 Ulrick's birth by his bitterest enemy, and through the agency of the 
 monk, excited the imagination, and caused a more favourable senti- 
 ment towards the prisoner. Many a half-forgotten tale to the 
 prejudice of his accuser was revived ; most began to doubt the truth 
 of the accl^ser, and it was finally settled that the trial by battle 
 should take place in three days, Ulrick in the interim remaining in 
 close ward, under the custody of Herman. 
 
 Vainly both the prisoner and the monk protested against a deci- 
 sion which placed the former in the power of his deadliest enemy ; 
 their resolution was not to be revoked. In vain Ulrick intreated to 
 be allowed to converse in private with the mysterious being who 
 seemed to possess the clue to his wretched destiny. His judges 
 were inexorable. The youth was conducted to his dungeon, and 
 Father Oswald slowly pursued his pathway to the monastery. 
 
 Thrice was Ernulf summoned by his impatient master, who 
 rushed from the hall, where he had been so singularly confronted, 
 more with the air of a raving maniac than a Christian knight. 
 After long years of fancied security and peace, a clue seemed found 
 to his disgrace ; the baseless fabric of his honour already tottered ; 
 and conscience presented to his tortured imagination the rabble's 
 curse, his brother nobles' scorn. He was pacing his chamber, a 
 prey to these and similar reflections, when the ready instrument of 
 so many of his crimes appeared before him. 
 
 " Hast thou beheld yon cursed monk ? " he exclaimed. " Didst 
 recognise the token by which he mastered me ? Can this Ulrick be 
 indeed the being whom I most fear to name, whose image haunts 
 me in my dreams, the certainty of whose existence would poison all 
 my joys, e'en were they those of Paradise ? " 
 
 " Impossible, my lord," replied Ernulf ; " this stripling is of 
 Norman, not of Saxon blood. The pampered prelate brought him 
 a child to England. Why, I remember him ere he could lisp a word 
 of Saxon tongue. Your fears betray you." 
 
 '* But the ring — the ring — the father's ancient crest," interrupted 
 Herman, " lost on that night when my arm failed me. Cursed be 
 the tempest's terrors which unmanned me, and doubly cursed the 
 meddling fiend who foiled me in my purpose ! " 
 
 " My lord," exclaimed Ernulf, after a few moments' reflection, 
 " I think I can explain this seeming mystery. Some dying penitent 
 gave the ring to yonder monk — perhaps made him the depositor of 
 his suspicions, for proofs he had none ; and the cunning church- 
 man hath used the knowledge to his purposes — it can be nothing 
 more."
 
 48 STAJ^PIELD HALL. 
 
 " Perchance," muttered Herman, but half satisfied at the sugges- 
 tion, yet still grasping at it like some drowning man ; " yet I would 
 make assurance more than sure. This monk — this being who, like 
 Providence enveloped in a thundercloud, unseen can strike me : 
 he must die ! " 
 
 " Die ! " repeated the squire, recoiling with superstitious horror 
 at the idea of steeping his hands in a churchman's blood — " not by 
 my hands, my lord ! 'Tis true they are stained enough already, but 
 not with priestly blood. Oh, never, never ! " 
 
 " Churl ! is it redder than a noble's 1 " said his master, with a 
 sneer ; *' beside, thy life is in the noose. Should this mad priest 
 possess the key to my past crimes, thinkest thou they would 
 hesitate to place thee on the rack to \A'ring confession of them ? As 
 a noble, I might perish by the sword ; but think, Ernulf , how fear- 
 ful a destiny would then be thine ! " 
 
 The argument was artfully used, and not without its due effect 
 upon his hearer, who well knew how little their Norman rulers 
 hesitated to employ the torture upon men of far higher lineage than 
 his own. Herman watched his hesitation. 
 
 " Besides," he added, " in a distant land I will enable thee to live 
 
 in safety and in honour. Thou knowest I am no churlish master ; 
 
 restore to me my signet-ring, no matter by what means ; and let 
 
 ' me hear the only being whom I dread on earth is dead, I'll count 
 
 thee down a thousand silver marks." 
 
 " Faith ! 'tis a tempting sum ! " exclaimed the ruffian, his eyes 
 sparkling with cupidity. 
 
 " And for what ? " continued the tempter ; " for cutting the ex- 
 hausted thread of an old man's life — extinguishing a dying lamp. 
 Decide thee, man ; the tithe part of the sum I offer thee would buy 
 thee pardon for a dozen murders." 
 
 " It will be difficult," said Ernulf musingly ; " Father Oswald 
 seldom leaves the cloister's shelter. 'Tis true he sometimes sits in 
 the confessional, shriving such penitents as speak no Norman 
 tongue ; but then it would be sacrilege ; and that " 
 
 " Too, shall be paid for," interrupted his master ; " 'Tis just that 
 every crime should have its price — are we agreed .? " 
 
 " "We are," rejoined the squire, chuckling at the anticipation of 
 the promised gold ; " be he priest or fiend, I'll drive my weapon to 
 his heart. Within two days you shall have news of me." 
 
 Thus did Herman, and his too willing minister, continue to plot 
 fresh crime. The forbearance of Heaven they regarded as impunity, 
 and in the fancied security of their cunning defied its vengeance. 
 They knew not that if the stejDS of Divine Justice are sometimes 
 slow, they are sure — that her hand is iron, and her blow is death. 
 
 *' What was the decision in the hall below ? " demanded the 
 franklin, *' after the monk — curse on my weakness — drove me from 
 the hall ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 51 
 
 " The combat was decided on." 
 
 " I know — I know ! " muttered Herman — *' they could not well 
 refuse it. Where is the Norman bastard ? " 
 
 " Safe in a dungeon of the castle, in your custody." 
 
 " In my custody ! " repeated his master ; " humph ! — that was 
 kind at least — and in how many days the combat ? " 
 
 " Three days, my lord ! " said the squire ; and a look of peculiar 
 intelligence passed between them. 
 
 " Three days," muttered Herman, as he quitted the apartment ; 
 '* the time is short, but, well employed, much may be done by 
 then." 
 
 At a later period of the day a cavalcade might be seen approaching 
 the castle from the episcopal palace ; heralds with their tabards 
 blazoned with the arms of the Church led the way, then followed a 
 party of priests and men-at-arms, who preceded the litter in which 
 rode Herbert de Lozenga, the ensigns of his office as Chancellor of 
 England being borne before him. Several of the nobles beheld his 
 arrival with dissatisfaction ; they felt indignant at the idea of his 
 lending the sanction of his name and influence to shield the assassin 
 of one of his own order. The greeting between them was, there- 
 fore, more of sullen respect than cordial welcome. The prelate 
 marked their manner, but disregarded it ; his courage was too high, 
 his purpose too holy, to be influenced by the opinion of his fellow- 
 men. Just as he passed the bridge Herman appeared, and in tho 
 name of the young earl bade him welcome, at the same time bending 
 his knee so as to receive the Apostolic benediction ; but no upraised 
 hand, no air-drawn cross, followed the act — the piety of the bishop 
 was too sincere to permit his lips to speak the blessing his heart 
 could not bestow. The disappointed man rose from his knee in 
 bitter mortification, and leading the way preceded his unwelcome 
 guest to the late earl's private apartment, where their conversation 
 could be carried on without interruption. Each was on his 
 guard ; the guilty one felt that a searching eye was upon him, the 
 priest that he had to do with one a master in the art of crime, 
 an adept in dissimulation. Herman was the first to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " Forgive me, reverend father," he exclaimed, "if in the reception 
 you have met with here aught has been lacking to your honour. 
 The hand of grief is on my kinsman's house ; he mourns his father 
 lost, his friendship stained, his confidence abused, else had he shown 
 the reverences it is my lot to offer." 
 
 " 'Tis well," replied the prelate ; " the cloister's shade I quitted 
 not for the sake of man's observance or the world's vain honours, 
 but at the call of justice and of truth. By what right have you 
 profaned with ruffian violence our holy church, and torn the 
 youth I cherish as a son from me, his guardian and protector ? 
 Speak." 
 
 ;vv^^^ 
 
 0^ 
 
 X^^^''
 
 52 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 There was a firmness, a conscious power, in the speaker's voice 
 which grated on the listener's ear. Still he determined to yield no 
 inch of vantage ground — the guardianship of Ulrick's person. The 
 ring which the monk had presented to his view opened to his mind 
 a fearful doubt ; and he determined at any sacrifice to rid him- 
 self of one whom conscience clothed in the character of an 
 avenger. 
 
 '' Is it possible, my lord ! " he answered with well-feigned 
 astonishment ; " would you lend the sanction of your high name to 
 shield a murderer ? The indignant earth, which drank the victim's 
 blood, groans 'neath the homicide's polluted tread, and calls for 
 Ulrick's life." 
 
 " I deem him innocent ; men do not fall at once from virtue into 
 the extreme of vice. I demand that he be committed to my care ; 
 my palace walls will better answer for his safety than can a dungeon 
 here." 
 
 " You deem him innocent," iterated the franklin ; " surely, my 
 lord, you have not heard the proofs ; his quarrel with the earl — his 
 sword found near the spot." 
 
 " Something I heard of taunts and bitter jests, unmanly sneers, 
 which sting the generous soul," gravely answered Herbert ; " but 
 nothing of a quarrel with the earl. The hour of combat is appointed. 
 You yourself," he added with peculiar emphasis, " are witness of 
 the nobility of Uh'ick's birth. I again demand that till that hour 
 he be committed to my care." 
 
 " Impossible," said Herman ; *' the proposition wounds my 
 honour." 
 
 " And would defeat your purpose," 
 
 '' Can you suspect, my lord ? " 
 
 " Everything," replied the bishop, drawing himself proudly up ; 
 " Herman of the Burg, I am not one whom thou mayst trifle with ; 
 Ulrick, or thou, must with me." 
 
 " I ! " faltered the astonished franklin. 
 
 " Thou ! If I cannot release your victim, I can at least enchain 
 his captor." 
 
 " This is madness ! " said Herman, rising with a pride equal to 
 the prelate's, and throwing open the doors of the apartment. 
 " Enter, my lords," he cried, "and judge between us. Our reverend 
 father hath declared that Ulrick must be released, or I become his 
 prisoner." 
 
 " Prisoner ! " exclaimed the several nobles as they entered ; " and 
 on what pretence ? " 
 
 *' Sorcery and murder ! " exclaimed the deep voice of Father 
 Oswald, who had entered with the crowd, and commenced reading 
 from a parchment : " I cite, in the name of the most reverend 
 Father Herbert de Lozenga, Bishop of Norwich and Abbot of Hulm, 
 Herman of the Burg to appear before the above reverend prelate, to
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 53 
 
 answer to the charge of having sold a Christian child to the Arch- 
 Druid Haga for human sacrifice." 
 
 All who heard shrank with horror at the charge. Overwhelmed 
 as Herman was by it, his courage did not quite forsake him. 
 
 " Who," he demanded, " is my accuser .? " 
 
 " I am ! " thundered the priest ; " I, Haga the Arch-Druid." 
 Then, sinking on his knees at the feet of the bishop, he added, in a 
 voice of deep humility, " I, Oswald the Christian." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The consternation of Herman at the unexpected accusation of 
 Father Oswald, or, as he was formally called, Haga the Arch-Druid, 
 may be more easily imagined than portrayed ; the crime of sorcery 
 was, in the eleventh century, the most fearful that could be alleged. 
 Society rejected the supposed criminal with horror — the Church 
 cast him from her bosom — his children deserted him — even the 
 sacred tie of marriage, the bond which mystically united him body 
 and soul with the companion of his life, the mother of his offspring, 
 became dissolved, and the wretched man stood like the genius of 
 desolation in the world — alone. 
 
 The Norman nobles who had hitherto supported Herman drew 
 from his side — ^as superstitious as they were brave, they shrank from 
 an encounter with one whose arms were the spiritual weapons of 
 their mutual faith — and Herbert would have met no difficulty in 
 securing his prisoner had not succour arrived from a quarter where 
 he least expected it. The franklins stepped forward to a man, and 
 guaranteed the appearance of the accused before the ecclesiastical 
 tribunal — a caution which, by the laws of Edward the Confessor, 
 the bishop could not refuse to accept. But this unexpected unani- 
 mity on the part of the Saxons gave rise in the prelate's mind to a 
 strange doubt. 
 
 Uncertain rumours of an intended revolt of the conquered race 
 had indeed reached him ; but nothing tangible, nothing certain. 
 He wiis, however, too cautious a statesman to betray his suspicions 
 — too experienced a huntsman to let the ban- wolf know that the 
 hounds were on his track. Had the deceased earl been equally 
 prudent, he might have been living still. 
 
 " 'Tis well, sir franklins," he said. " I accept your surety for the 
 appearance of Herman of the Burg ; but it is on one condition, and 
 one condition only ! " 
 
 " Name it — name it," cried several voices, impatiently. 
 
 " A man accused of sorcery may not be the guardian of a Christian 
 noble ; for noble Ulrick is, even by the testimony of his accuser. 
 Resign him to my care."
 
 54 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed the Normans, unanimously — who, however 
 submissive in things spiritual, bitterly resented the bishop's inter- 
 ference in their feudal justice — "he is a murderer ! " 
 
 " Grant him such ; still he is a Christian, and may not be the 
 captive of a man o'er whom the Church suspends her awful male- 
 diction. Provoke me, and it falls on him and all who aid him in 
 his crimes." 
 
 " Ulrick shall be our captive," replied Odo of Caen. " I will be 
 answerable for his safe appearance on the day of battle ; will that 
 content you ? " 
 
 " It must," murmured the crowd of nobles. " "We will all answer 
 with our lives and honours for his favourite's safety ; we will keep 
 faithful ward " 
 
 " And honourable treatment ? " demanded Herbert de Lozenga, 
 who, finding he could obtain no better terms, was fain to accede. 
 
 " My word," answered Odo, " is the pledge of that ; till the day 
 of battle. Sir Ulrick shall be honourably guarded and well tended ; 
 nor friends nor Eoes shall have access to him. I'll hold his life as 
 sacred as I would the blazon of my shield — the honour of my house. 
 But his safe keeping touches our feudal privileges : my lord, we will 
 maintain them." 
 
 The decided tone of the speaker told Herbert that all further 
 discussion would be useless ; and having, as he hoped, secured the 
 life of his protege against any possible machinations of his enemy, 
 he resolved to appear satisfied with the concessions he had already 
 obtained ; but three days were to elapse before the day of battle, 
 and in that brief space he had much work to do for Ulrick's safety. 
 
 " Farewell, my lords," he said ; " let us not part in anger. We 
 have each our duties to perform ; judge, then, each other kindly. 
 I leave you with every confidence in your knightly faith ; Heaven 
 will decide between us if you break it." 
 
 Every knee was bent to the earth to receive the parting benediction 
 of the man whose arrival they had so coldly welcomed, whose 
 reasonable demand they had so unjustly opposed. Submissive as 
 were the Norman nobles to the Church in all things spiritual, they 
 were jealously susceptible when it trenched upon their feudal 
 rights ; and Ulrick's cause was even slightly prejudiced in their 
 minds by a churchman's advocacy. 
 
 Afaint smile of mingled satisfaction and triumph passed Herman's 
 lips as the train of the bishop crossed the castle bridge ; but a deep 
 observant eye was upon him, for Father Oswald, who had lingered 
 behind his superior, read that smile, interpreted its purpose, and 
 determined to prevent it. Instead of crossing the moat with the 
 rest of his brethren, the monk hastily drew his cowl over his features, 
 passed quickly to the western side of the massive keep, nor paused 
 till he reached the angle which it formed with the chapel, the 
 entrance to which was by a low-arched door, rich in sculptured
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 55 
 
 imagery. Satisfied that none observed him, he drew a key from 
 his bosom, applied it to the door, and disappeared within its gloomy 
 shade. 
 
 " The meddling churchman," exclaimed Herman, who, surrounded 
 by his brother fijanklins, stood at the foot of Bigod's tower, watching 
 the departure of the prelate, " to accuse one of my blood of sorcery ! 
 The hour is not far distant when dear he may abide it. Noble Odo," 
 he added, addressing the Norman, who was standing near him, 
 "what thinkest thou of yon shaveling's scheme to shield his 
 pampered minion ? " 
 
 " Each power claims its subjects," coolly answered the knight. 
 " The sorcerer to the stake ! the assassin to the block ! Although I 
 will not suflEer Mother Church to interfere with my justice, I am 
 too dutiful a son not to respect hers ; aye, by my crest, and execute 
 it too, let me but see good reason on her side." 
 
 There was something in the tone of the speaker's voice which 
 vibrated to the very heart of Herman, and blanched his cheek with 
 fear. He saw that the Normans, while resolute to obtain justice on 
 the presumed murderer of their chief and brother noble, were per- 
 fectly indifferent as to his fate ; nay, that they would assist, if called 
 upon, to execute any judgment which the ecclesiastical tribunal 
 might pronounce upon him, even though its sentence were the 
 stake. He felt that his only chance of safety lay in the success of the 
 insurrection to which he was so deeply pledged. 
 
 " It would require a keener sword than even Odo of Caen's," 
 retorted Herman, " to execute a sentence that touched either my 
 honour or my life." 
 
 The brow of the Norman became flushed, and his hand instinctively 
 grasped the hilt of his weapon ; but Avith a violent effort he restrained 
 himself. 
 
 " Sir Saxon," he replied, " I will not be tempted ; thou art the 
 champion of a sacred cause. Would 'twere in better hands ! But 
 thou art its champion, and therefore inviolate." 
 
 The speaker turned upon his heel and entered the tower as he 
 spoke, without deigning to cast a second glance on the unworthy 
 franklin. 
 
 The first act of Odo on entering the castle was to give orders to 
 his esquire, in whom he placed unlimited confidence, to conduct a 
 party of his immediate followers to the tower where Ulrick was 
 confined, and to keep joint watch with his gaolers ; to accompany 
 all who entered the prison, and to guard the life of the prisoner as 
 carefully as he would his master's honour — a precaution, as the sequel 
 will show, not unwisely taken, but which would have been defeated, 
 had not an eye more vigilant, a heart more devoted than his, watched 
 over Ulrick's safety. 
 
 Edith, the unhappy Edith, doubly widowed by the death of Hugh 
 de Bigod, had retired to Stanfield on her husband's death.
 
 56 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 It is true he was not the object of her early choice. The passionate 
 enthusiasm of her young heart, the dreams which, b^'oken once, we 
 ne'er can dream again, were long since buried in the grave of Edward ; 
 but respect, esteem, friendship, all that her blighted feelings could 
 bestow, the earl had long since won, and she mourned his loss — if 
 not as women mourn the being whom they love, at least with honour 
 and respect. 
 
 It was on the evening which closed the first day of her widow- 
 hood that she was pensively seated in the long unvisited cabinet we 
 formerly described. Judith, her still faithful attendant, and the 
 confidante of her sorrows, was at her side. Many and sad were the 
 thoughts which occiipied her mind. In that apartment she had 
 listened to the first vow of love breathed into her virgin ear ! It 
 was there she had so oft received her father's blessing, tasted the 
 thrilling pleasure of her child's caress, and there had mourned them 
 both. Her faithful companion's words of consolation fell on a 
 listless ear when she whispered hopes of future happiness and peace. 
 
 '' Happiness ! " she exclaimed ; " no, Judith, no ! The world 
 knows not the word for me. All who ever loved the wretched 
 Edith have been blighted by her fatal destiny ! The gentle Edward, 
 my kind old father, and my noble boy — all, all have perished, because 
 they were dear to me. I am a thing accursed — a withered tree 
 without one verdant leaf ! and when I fall a stranger's hand will 
 lay me in the grave — a stranger's foot pace through my father's 
 halls." 
 
 The hopeless tone in which the words were spoken silenced even 
 the well-meaning Judith, who, with the tact which affection gives, 
 comprehended that her attempts at consolation were ill-timed. 
 
 Sinking on her knees beside her unhappy mistress, she timidly 
 kissed her hand, and as she did so bedewed it with tears — a sympathy 
 more eloquent and grateful to affliction than words, which wake no 
 echo in the heart. 
 
 " Now thou art kind," Judith, she continued. *' Thou hast given 
 me tears, not hopes. I have hoped and trusted, but now I'll trust 
 no more ! The grave is our only refuge from despair, and death the 
 only hope which ne'er deceives us." 
 
 " Religion is a better hope, my child," exclaimed the deep-toned 
 voice of Herbert de Lozenga, who entered the apartment. " Re- 
 member, there is no state so wretched — no fate so dark — but one 
 kind ray of mercy yet may cheer it." 
 
 At the sight of the prelate, whom a holy and important purpose 
 had brought to Stanfield, the widowed countess cast herself upon 
 her knees to implore his benediction, exclaiming as she did so — 
 
 " Your blessing, father, your blessing ! Pour words of peace into 
 my bleeding heart ! Teach rebel nature to submit its tears, its vain 
 regrets, and impious struggles unto His will who chasteneth where 
 He loveth."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 57 
 
 " 'Tis thine, most noble lady ; it is thine ! " replied Herbert. 
 " May Heaven endue thy soul with strength to bear the trials in its 
 -wisdom laid on it ! 'Tis natural," he added, raising her as he spoke, 
 " to mourn for those we love ! Life from its cradle to the grave 
 teaches no other lesson ! But sorrow never should destroy our use- 
 fulness — never should prevent the gentle exercise of charity and 
 mercy." 
 
 The slight tone of reproof, mingled with the earnest benevolence 
 oi: the speaker, excited the attention of Edith, who misconceived, 
 however, its tendency. 
 
 " My gold I'll freely give unto the poor. The Church hath not 
 found me, I trust, a niggard, father." 
 
 " 'Tis not the altar's streaming incense, lady — the costly offering 
 of superfluous wealth — which forms the only sacrifice that Heaven 
 demands ! 'Tis the more active exercise of virtue, shielding the 
 innocent, and aiding the oppressed." 
 
 " I do not understand you," replied the countess. " Point out the 
 way my services can be of use to any ! Fear not my zeal, but tax 
 it to the uttermost." 
 
 " Ulrick," said the priest, " is innocent ! Designing men conspire 
 against the noble boy — in secret work his ruin ! Your voice, lady, 
 must be heard in his defence." 
 
 " 'Tis powerless, father, here. Herman wields his kinsman's 
 delegated rights — ^go, plead to him," 
 
 " To Herman," iterated the bishop ; " no, lady, no ! He hates the 
 gallant youth, and ^\ith untiring vengeance still pursues him ; it 
 burns as fiercely in the villain's breast as when I snatched him first 
 an infant from the dagger's murderous aim." 
 
 " An infant ! " exclaimed both Judith and the countess, the latter 
 of whom became pale as death at the faint ray of hope which the 
 speaker's words let dawn upon her mind. 
 
 " Though now," I'esumed Herbert, " I wear the mitre on my 
 brow, and rank and empty pomp and state are mine, when first I 
 left the world my path was humble — a hermit's cave was my abode. 
 To thee 'twere useless to repeat the wrongs which drove me from 
 my native land. I was a moody, melancholy man, unloving and 
 unloved ! My ties of kindred, my ancestral rank, I cast aside ; and 
 in this distant isle sought refuge for myself. Perhaps the recluse 
 in V\^indham's lonely cell was happier than the prelate in his 
 halls." 
 
 " Is't possible ? " interrupted Edith, with unfeigned surprise. 
 " Art thou the hermit of St. Mary's cave ? " 
 
 " E'en so," said Herbert, with a melancholy smile. " He whose 
 first errand was of grief and death — he who announced the murder 
 of thy lord — perchance his second is of peace and hope." 
 
 " Hope ! " murmured his listener ; " what have I on earth to hope 
 or fear .? " A glance from the prelate thrilled her very soul.
 
 58 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Speak, father," she exclaimed ; " you have raised thoughts that 
 ■will either restore or crush me ! " 
 
 " One stormy night," he continued, resuming his narrative, " a 
 traveller, driven by the unpitying tempest, sought shelter at my 
 cave. Nestled at his breast an infant lay, whose innocent smile 
 had won e'en fiends to mercy. Refreshed, I left him to repose. 
 Returning to perform a midnight penance, I beheld the ruffian aim 
 his dagger at the infant's throat. Heaven lent me courage. I 
 wrenched the weapon from the murderer's grasp. He fled the spot 
 and never more returned." 
 
 " When was this ? " gasped Edith. 
 
 " Twenty years ago, St. Hubert's eve," replied the bishop. *' This 
 ring," he continued, at the same time producing the ruby — whose 
 effect upon her unworthy kinsman we have already described — 
 dropped in the struggle, " bears the well-known crest of Herman's 
 ancient house ! Confounded at the sight of it, he hath already owned 
 that Ulrick's birth is noble." 
 
 " It is ! it is ! " shrieked Edith. " Father, it was my child thy 
 guardian hand preserved. Oh, wretched mother ! to have seen my 
 boy, yet felt no token of his presence ! Had not my heart been cold, 
 seared as the inmate's of a charnel house, it sure had leapt to meet 
 him. Norman," she continued, casting herself at his feet, " swear 
 thou dost not deceive me ! By thine order's' oath, thy mother's 
 blessing, swear that he is mine." 
 
 " I do believe it," answered the bishop. " Haga the Arch-Druid, 
 whom Heaven, through its unworthy servant, hath redeemed from 
 the dark errrors of his pagan creed, hath confessed he gave into 
 Herman's hand a drug of power to steep the senses in oblivious 
 sleep, on condition that the child should be consigned to him." 
 
 " To him ! To Odin's priest ! " exclaimed the excited mother. 
 " No, no ! Better that he had perished in the flames in which I 
 had deemed him lost. It is too horrible. He could not have made 
 a compact for my boy ! Father, what have I done — what deadly 
 crime committed — that Heaven should wreak sueh cruel vengeance 
 on my sinless child ? " Edith pressed her hands to her flushed 
 brow, as if to repress the wild pulsations of its agony. Fortunately 
 a flood of tears relieved her o'erfraught heart, which else had yielded 
 to its wild emotions. A pause ensued, which Herbert wisely for- 
 fore to break. He beheld the mother's tears flow on with pleasure ; 
 for he knew that nature had unsealed their fountain to afford relief. 
 " My boy — my poor, lost, persecuted boy," at last sobbed Edith, 
 her memory slightly wandering, " could no blood but thine bedew 
 the Druids' stone ? Was there no pitying angel to protect thee ? " 
 
 " Heaven hath protected him," said the prelate, in a mild, re- 
 proving tone. " Its justice smote the minister of blood. The night 
 before the fearful compact was to be fulfilled, Haga was stretched 
 upon afiQiction's couch ! Chance led me to his wild retreat, where
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 59 
 
 human footsteps feared to tread. I watched, I tended — saved him. 
 Heaven gave eloquence to my unworthy tongue, and truth prevailed. 
 Ere many days elapsed I poured the regenerating waters of baptism 
 on his repentant head." 
 
 " But my boy — my Edward's boy ? " demanded Edith. 
 
 " Herman, no doubt, would have fulfilled his pledge to Haga, 
 but found him raging on a bed of sickness. Wandering with his 
 burthen in the storm, he sought my cell for shelter. You know the 
 rest." 
 
 " I do ! I do ! Heaven hath heard the widowed mother's prayers." 
 
 " And doubtless will preserve him," added the prelate ; " but this 
 is the time for action, not for words. Ulrick is accused of Hugh de 
 Bigod's death, and hath appealed unto the battle's test. Herman, 
 his accuser is of giant strength, and skilled in cunning fence. 
 Should his sword prevail, the block and axe will be his victim's 
 doom." 
 
 " The block ! " exclaimed Edith, starting like a roused lioness at 
 the appalling image. " The headsman's office for my Edward's boy ! 
 I will call up the vassals of my house. I still have kindred — 
 friends. Enslaved, enthralled, and humbled as we are, the Saxon 
 courage is not yet so low that Norman axe should fall on a son of 
 mine." 
 
 " Be cautious, lady ; one false step may ruin all. Edda, the father 
 of your Edward, lives, honoured and loved, the most powerful noble 
 of the Saxon race. Seek his presence ; fly to him for aid, tell him 
 the heir of his long line yet lives. His strength Avill aid thy weak- 
 ness, his wisdom find a clue to this disastrous maze." 
 
 It was arranged that Edith, that very night, should, under the 
 escort of the benevolent prelate, seek the protection of the aged 
 franklin, whose stronghold was but a few hours' ride from Stanfield. 
 Judith was accordingly sent to give orders for the departure of her 
 excited mistress. The faithful attendant soon returned with con- 
 sternation marked in every feature. It seems that, during the 
 interview, Herman, accompanied by a numerous body of vassals, had 
 arrived at the holm, and learning that the prelate had preceded 
 him, had taken possession of the hall, giving strict orders that no 
 one should be permitted to quit the building without his permission. 
 His conscience told him that all had been discovered ; he determined, 
 therefore, to throw off the mask, and by one bold step secure him- 
 self, if possible, against the punishment of his many crimes. Bis 
 followers, as deeply implicated as himself in the conspiracy against 
 the Norman race, applauded, and were the willing instruments of his 
 design. He persuaded them that their schemes were all betrayed, 
 and that if Herbert de Lozenga left the place alive, the cord and axe 
 would be their general doom. " Let them perish ! " he exclaimed ; 
 " the hunter hath fallen into the lion's lair, and prudence commands 
 that he should die I "
 
 60 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 It was secretly resolved that that part of the holm in which the 
 apartments of Edith were situated should be fired, care being taken 
 that none of its inmates escaped. 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! " said Edith, when Judith had concluded her 
 report. " Fortune hath cheated me with a gleam of happiness, to 
 make me feel my misery the stronger." 
 
 " Courage, dear lady," replied her faithful friend ; " hope hath 
 not yet abandoned us. I have heard that from' this very chamber 
 one of your ancestors, pressed by the enemy, once fled through a 
 secret passage." 
 
 " Known but to one ancient follower of our house," replied the 
 countess, " who, even if he live, must be so aged that memory's seat 
 is shaken." 
 
 " Shaken," said Judith, " but not destroyed. At times flashes 
 will fall from memory's torch, and shed a vivid light on scenes long 
 past." 
 
 " Seek him," said the bishop. " I know the man with whom we 
 have to cope. 'Tis our last hope, and should it fail, and death be- 
 comes inevitable, remember that the priest is present for his office, 
 and that heaven is near." 
 
 Judith required no second command, but hastened to the remote 
 apartment of the venerable servitor, whose vast age had long dis- 
 qualified him for all active service, but who had been retained to 
 dream away the winter of his life beneath the roof of those whom 
 he had so long and faithfully obeyed. The period of her absence, 
 though short, appeared to the prelate and unhappy mother an age. 
 Slight as was the chance of escape, the return of the faithful attendant, 
 leading the seneschal, long since blind with age, was a relief that 
 seemed to say all hope was not extinct. 
 
 " Where, where do you lead me ? " fretfully exclaimed the , old 
 man, displeased at being taken from his favourite nook. " Why 
 have you dragged me here ? I passed the court ; where am I ? 
 There used to be a step. Yes, yes — there used to be a step." 
 
 It was evident that he was endeavouring to recollect the spot to 
 which Judith had conducted him, but that memory was struggling 
 with the infirmities of age. 
 
 " Knowest thou where thou art ? " demanded Herbert de Lozenga, 
 in a soothing tone. 
 
 " No ! no ! " petulantly replied Hubert. " Who is it that questions 
 me ? Thine is no Saxon tongue. Lead me back, I pray. The air 
 blows damp and chill, and my limbs tremble." 
 
 " Hopeless ! hopeless ! " said Edith, sinking on her chair. 
 " His mind is gone — quite gone." 
 
 It was curious to mark the effect of Edith's voice. The old man 
 trembled like an aspen leaf ; its tone had awoke some long-forgotten 
 echo in his heart. He had half -turned, as if to find his way back 
 from whence he came, when its sound arrested him.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. f.l 
 
 " Speak to him, lady," whispered the prelate. " He knows your 
 voice best." 
 
 " Hubert," said the countess, advancing and taking his hand, 
 " hast thou forgotten me ? " 
 
 " I know, I know thee ! " he exclaimed : " thou art my master's 
 child. Lady, the oldest vassal of thy house would bend the knee 
 before thee, but 'tis stiff with age." 
 
 " Hubert," said his agitated mistress, " danger besets my steps, 
 and I must fly — fly from my father's roof." 
 
 The word " danger " seemed to restore the old man's faculties. 
 Twice he endeavoured to erect his curbed limbs, like some worn 
 war-steed, who heard the distant trumpet's clang, and thirsts for the 
 fray. 
 
 " Danger ! " he repeated. " What danger can assail our lady 
 here ? Shall I raise the banner of your house ? " There was 
 something affecting in the spirit of the old servitor, whose devotion 
 had so long outlived his strength. 
 
 " No, Hubert, no," replied Edith. " Mine is a peril that must be 
 met by flight. The times are changed, old man, and we must meet 
 them. This was my grandsire's chamber," she added, " from 
 whence I have heard there is a secret passage which leads beyond 
 the moat — know'st thou of such ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered the aged servitor ; " there is such a passage. 
 It — it — oh, memory, memory, do not desert me now ! " 
 
 The speaker passed his thin, attenuated hand over his withered 
 brow, to assist his broken recollections, his hearers gazing on him in 
 anxious expectation. 
 
 " Where is it ? " demanded Herbert de Lozenga, no longer able to 
 keep silence. 
 
 The seneschal started at the sound of the prelate's voice ; 'twas 
 not the one he recognised. And, with the suspicion natural to the 
 aged, he doggedly refused to answer him. It was some time before 
 even Edith's voice could lead him to the subject. 
 
 " No, lady," he repeated, " there is no passage. I am old, but 
 faithful, A stranger must not learn the secrets of your house — I 
 have sworn to keep them — Hubert will guard his oath." 
 
 " Hubert ! " exclaimed the countess, excited to desperation by the 
 disappointment of her hopes, " I tell thee that I am beset with 
 dangers — my life is in peril. Thou knowest the secret passage from 
 this chamber ; make one effort — recall one ray of memory to thine 
 aid — do it, and save thy mistress from despair ! " The speaker's 
 tears fell fast upon his hands, which, in her agony she had taken. 
 
 *' Despair ! " he repeated, almost childishly, " and tears — my 
 lady's tears ! Then I must — I must. Give me a moment — where 
 am I .? " 
 
 " In my grandsire's chamber — the one in which he died." 
 
 " The panelled one .? "
 
 62 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 ** The same," said Edith, making a signal that neither of her 
 companions should speak, as it was evident that every voice but hers 
 disturbed his recollection and excited his suspicion. 
 
 " Tell me, lady," he resumed *' what is the hour of day ? " 
 
 " 'Tis night, Hubert — alas ! 'tis night ! " exclaimed his mistress, 
 deeming from the question that his mind was becoming again a 
 blank, and that the clue was for ever lost — " night, dark as my 
 destiny ! " 
 
 " Night ! ah, true, true ! Does the moon shine upon the oriel 
 window ? " 
 
 *' It does — it does ! " she replied, hope once more dawning at his 
 question. 
 
 " When," resumed the old man " the shadow of the cross within 
 your ancient shield falls on the oak-carved panels, then — then — your 
 father, lady — but we are Normans now," and so again the old man's 
 memory failed him, and he was wandering in a disjointed strain. 
 An expression of childish apathy succeeded to the intelligence he 
 had so lately displayed, and the last ray of recollection quitted him 
 for ever. 
 
 Fortunately Herbert de Lozenga had caught every word he uttered. 
 In the centre of the window to which he had alluded was a coat of 
 arms of stained glass, the red cross in which, when struck by the 
 rays of either the sun or moon, cast a broad shadow upon one of the 
 rudely-carved panels in the wall. On a patient examination the 
 prelate at length succeeded in discovering the spring, which was an 
 iron leaf curiously concealed amidst the oaken foliage ; it quickly 
 yielded to the strong pressure of his eager hand, and the path of safety 
 lay open to their view. 
 
 " The path is open," he exclaimed ; " not a moment must be 
 lost." 
 
 Judith hastily enveloped the agitated countess in a dark mantle, 
 and prepared to follow her, when the heat, which had increased to 
 a fearful extent in the apartment, and which, from the anxiety 
 caused by their position, they had scarcely observed, burst into a 
 flame ; perhaps the current of fresh air which the opening of the 
 secret passage admitted hastened the calamity. 
 
 " Heavens, the holm is in flames ! " said Edith. " We cannot 
 leave the old man to perish here ; that were poor gratitude for 
 faithful service : aid me to save him, father." 
 
 By their united efforts Hubert was led safe into the recesses of 
 the passage, whose existence he had so miraculously disclosed, and 
 there left till aid was sent to remove him. The three fugitives, 
 after traversing the long, damp passage, emerged into a ruined hut, 
 situated in the deepest recesses of the forest. The prelate cast his 
 eyes around and recognised the abode of Haga, the Arch-Druid. 
 Fortunately, he knew the country well, and a few hours' walk 
 brought them to one of the numerous convents which owned his
 
 STA2TFIELD HALL. 63 
 
 spiritual sway. Shelter was instantly obtained, and a strict injunction 
 for secrecy imposed on all its inmates. 
 
 " I can brave the world securely now," thought Herman, as the 
 flames of Stanfield reddened in the night. " Edith, who scorned my 
 love, hath proved at last my hate. The Norman priestling, too, who 
 thought to crush me — I trample on his ashes. World," he added, 
 with a scornful laugh, " we shall soon be quits. My debt is 
 lessening." 
 
 The next day the rumour of the accidental destruction of Stanfield, 
 and the death of Edith and Bishop Herbert, spread far and near. 
 The good mourned their loss, and the evil triumphed in their 
 fall. 
 
 The next morning Ernulf , the worthy squire of such a master as 
 Herman, doffed his hauberk and helmet for the sober, peaceful dress 
 of one of the lower order of franklins, and directed his steps 
 towards the cathedral, where he was sure at all times to find the 
 monks ready to receive their penitents, or to perform the varied 
 ministry of their office. 
 
 Disguising his perfect knowledge of the Norman tongue, he 
 demanded of one of the brotherhood to point out to him a confessional 
 filled by some Saxon priest, and was, as he expected, directed to the 
 one usually occupied by Father Oswald. 
 
 It was situated in one of those quiet, gloomy chapels at the back 
 of the high altar, which the vandalism of the modern clergy has long 
 since consigned to neglect ; the light faintly penetrated through the 
 richly-stained glass, softening, with its mellow tone, the harsh 
 outlines of ^e sculptured saint, to whom its shrine was dedicated. 
 The aged priest was in the act of shriving a penitent when the 
 disguised murderer approached. 
 
 Despite his attire, and the hypocritical meekness of his look, 
 Oswald recognised him, and instantly comprehended his purpose ; 
 but his courage did not fail him, or the danger which he ran cause 
 his heart to beat with increased emotion. Sternly, seated on his 
 chair, he seemed like the impersonation of one of those fabled deities 
 worshipped of old, his conscious power marked by his impassibility. 
 Before he dismissed his kneeling penitent, he took from an ebony 
 and silver box which hung beside him a small phial, which he 
 placed under his sandalled foot, so that he could crush it by the 
 slightest pressure, and placed a morsel of some highly-perfumed drug 
 within his mouth. 
 
 As soon as they were left alone within the chapel — Ernulf and the 
 priest — the former advanced towards the confessional, his eyes bent 
 in seeming humility to the ground, but in reality to hide the ferocious 
 joy which the anticipation of blood gave to their expression. His 
 knee was sacrilegiously bent to the earth even at the moment his 
 hand secretlj' grasped the weapon concealed beneath his flowing 
 cloak.
 
 G4 «TANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " What brings the parricide and sacrilegious robber t© the tribunal 
 of penitence ? " demanded Oswald, his aged eyes flashing with holy 
 indignation on the prostrate man. " Is it to commit some new 
 crime .^ Is not his soul stained with blood enough already ? " 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of the detected Ernulf , he 
 could not have been more surprised. The being whom he came to 
 strike seemed armed with omniscience to confound him. The secret 
 terror of his life, the sin which haunted him, his nightly dream — 
 his daily curse — rose, as it were, in evidence against him. His 
 craven heart beat wildly at the words. 
 
 " Parricide ! " he murmured, faintly. 
 
 "Aye, how else," demanded Oswald, "name ye those who shed 
 a parent's blood "i Have so many years elapsed that thou hast forgot 
 the deed — so many tears of penitence been shed, it has effaced the 
 stain ? Fool ! " he added, 1' should thy life be long and wearisome 
 as mine, and every minute of it be a prayer or tear, it would not 
 cleanse thy hand. A father's blood is on it — his dying malediction 
 on thy soul ! " 
 
 Ernulf, overwhelmed with confusion, could only faintly exclaini — 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! " 
 
 " Mercy ! " iterated the priest ; " where was thy mercy when he 
 clung to thee, with his white hair dyed in gore, and his dying eyes, 
 in mingled love and horror, fixed upon thee 1 Mercy ! Ask it of 
 the fiends," he continued, " who registered thy crime ; ask it of thy 
 father's bones, v/hich, at the archangel's trumpet's sound, shall rise 
 up in judgment against thee — ask it of the innocent blood which 
 thou hast shed, the purity which thou hast violated, the homes which 
 thou hast rendered desolate, but ask it not of me. Minister of 
 justice, as well as mercy, I close the book of life against thee, and 
 pronounce anathema to thy despairing soul." 
 
 The voice of the old man was firm as the denunciating angel's 
 curse when it swept over the Cities of the Plain. The appalled Ernulf, 
 confronted with his crime, knew not which way to flee — terror took 
 possession of his heart — hell seemed yawning beneath him — and the 
 strong ruffian rolled in agony at his accuser's feet. 
 
 "And now," continued Oswald, "thou wouldst add sacrilege to 
 murder — for base, filthy hire profane the holy sacrament of Penance, 
 insult the indignant saints before their altars^ and strike their minister 
 before their shrine ! " 
 
 " Art thou a devil, thus to read men's hearts ? " demanded Ernulf, 
 rage and shame gradually mastering his terror. 
 
 " Enough, I can read thine," said Oswald. " Aye, grasp thy 
 weapon," he continued, as he witnessed the movement of the squire's 
 hand beneath his cloak. " I fear it not. Thou art delivered to me 
 — the worm beneath my foot is not more hurtless than thy toothless 
 malice." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Ernulf, casting a deep glance around, to
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 65
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 07 
 
 pee if he was observed, and springing to his feet, " if thou art mortal, 
 ^his will reach thee." 
 
 He drew the concealed weapon from his cloak, and raised his 
 impious hand to strike ; but ere it could descend, the sandalled foot 
 of the monk had crushed the phial beneath it, and the confessional 
 was instantaneously filled by a thin, subtle vapour, whose effects 
 were electrical. The weapon of the assassin fell, as if struck by 
 lightning, to the ground, while he himself stood nerveless as a new- 
 born infant before his judge and his accuser. 
 
 " This is the completion of thy crimes," said Oswald, after a pause ; 
 " thy dark career is run." 
 
 A party of monks, summoned by his voice, soon filled the chapel ; 
 to them he recounted the attempt upon his life, and pointed to the 
 criminal, whose person was instantly secured, for he made no 
 resistance — his mind, like his body, seemed to have been stricken by 
 palsy, so extraordinary was the effect produced upon him by the 
 means through which the priest had disarmed him — means 
 perfectly comprehended by the scientific of the present day, but 
 whi-ch to Ei'nulf's superstitious mind seemed like the direct 
 interposition of Providence. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In consideration of the nobility of Ulrick's birth, the confession 
 of which was so strangely wrung from his accuser, he was not 
 retained in the common dungeons of the castle — a series of 
 subterranean cells which extended far below the level of the moat 
 — but in the loftiest apartment of Bigod's tower, the extreme height 
 of which rendered all escape by external means impossible. The 
 interior was equally well guarded ; for the only staircase which 
 conducted to it was situated in the guard chamber, through which 
 all who either ascended or descended were obliged to pass, and 
 where a faithful troop of men-at-arms, who had grown grey in the 
 service of the murdered earl, kept constant watch. 
 
 The high courage and sense of innocence which had sustained our 
 Iiero in the presence of Herman and the assembled nobles gave way 
 ?^s the last ponderous bolt was drawn upon him by his retiring 
 gaolers. The sound fell upon his ear like earth cast upon a cofiBn, 
 v-nA mentally he saw written over his prison door the tremendous 
 inscription which Dante read upon the gates of Hell : 
 
 " Lasciate Esperanza." 
 
 "Where," he exclaimed, "are now the joyous visions of my 
 youth, my thirst of honour — of a life of usefulness, of trustful 
 
 F 2
 
 68 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 confidence, and hopeful love ? Fled for ever. I have dreamt the 
 dream Avhich idiots dream, but, waking, found my reason. Fool ! " 
 he added bitterly, " even for one moment to suppose this world 
 contained aught of love or happiness for thee ! " 
 
 In this gloomy mood he continued to pace the floor of h,is prison, 
 his heart at times cheered by the knowledge of his innocence, and 
 the assurance that his birth was noble. Father Oswald, it was plain, 
 possessed some key to the mystery of his fate ; and like a chained lion, 
 Ulrick fretted his soul against the bars of his dungeon. How often did 
 he pray but for one hour of freedom to rend the veil which obscured 
 his destiny, and which he never felt so palpably before ! At times 
 fancy would represent him as the victor in the coming fight, his 
 honour cleared, his innocence established ; or seated in some old 
 ancestral hall, Matilda by his side, and offspring vv^ho resembled her 
 around him ; — then for a moment he forgot his fate, the fearful 
 accusation which hung over him, and felt a taste of joy. 
 
 The walls of Ulrick's prison were formed of huge blocks of stone, 
 which rose to the height of about twelve feet, where they joined the 
 rude groining of the arch, the key-stone of which was the quaintly 
 sculptured head of some Saxon king, whose staring eyes, like those 
 of the evil genius of the place, seemed to mock the prisoner ; the 
 window, narrow and strongly barred, was situated in a deep recess 
 cut in the wall, the massive thickness of which might have withstood 
 even the artillery of the present day. In a corresponding recess in 
 the opposite side of the room was a singular piece of sculpture 
 representing a crucifixion, in which the victim was a boy about 
 twelve years of age. According to a tradition well known in Norwich, 
 a Christian youth had been crucified by the Jews on Good Friday, 
 in mockery of the Saviour. On the miraculous discovery of his 
 body, he was canonised, and his name still appears in the Roman 
 calendar under the name of St. William in the Wood. Similar 
 memorials of the legend were once extremely common in the 
 neighbourhood, and may still be found in some of the old churches 
 and conventual remains, not only in Norfolk, but its adjoining 
 counties. 
 
 The prisoner's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of 
 Odo's squire, who, followed by the ordinary keepers of the tower, 
 brought Ulrick his repast, the first he had tasted for f oiir-and-twenty 
 hours. To all his eager questions and entreaties they maintained a 
 dogged silence ; each one felt that he was a spy on the other ; and 
 prudence, if not fidelity, fettered their tongue. 
 
 Exhausted as the captive was, he merely broke a morsel of bread, 
 and took a draught of the flask of wine which they had left him, 
 and then resumed his Avalk, again to indulge in the reveries of his 
 excited imagination ; in dreams of hope, perhaps never to be 
 realised ; or in visions of despair, yet more gloomy than his destiny. 
 For more than an hour he had continued to pace his prison floor ;
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 60 
 
 his brow gradually becoming more and more flushed, and the fire of 
 fever burning in his cheek and haggard eye. He could no longer 
 conceal from himself that he was ill, perhaps dying ; the recollection 
 of the wine which he had drunk flashed upon him, and fearfully 
 explained the mystery. 
 
 " I am poisoned ! " he exclaimed. "Oh, cruel treachery ! My 
 name will descend polluted to the grave ! Matilda's curse, perchance, 
 will rest upon it. I'll not die, like the wolf, inglorious in his lair 
 without one effort. Help ! " he shrieked, at the same time beating 
 with his hands and feet frantically against the door ; " treachery ! 
 murder ! " 
 
 Long did the wretched Ulrick continue to awake the echoes of his 
 prison-tower. It was evident that he was doomed to die alone, 
 poisoned — treacherously and cowardly poisoned, by the man who 
 feared to meet his victim in honourable fight. 
 
 " I'll strive no more," sighed the exhausted youth, " with a destiny 
 so wretched — lost, as mine ; but, since my hour is come, will meet 
 it like a Christian and a man ; and with a sigh to my love, but 
 without one regret for earth, resign my soul to the keeping of the 
 saints." 
 
 Unable longer to retain his feet, Ulrick threw himself upon his 
 rude couch ; and although his mind would wander in his prayer, yet 
 still he prayed, until his senses were absorbed in sleep — a sleep his 
 enemy had doomed to be eternal. 
 
 The prisoner had not long been lost to consciousness, when the 
 rude stone, representing the martyrdom of St. William, slowly 
 rolled aside, discovering a niche, through which Father Oswald 
 entered the dungeon. Cautiously he approached the couch, and 
 placed his hand upon the bosom of the expiring youth. 
 
 " As I suspected," he murmured. " Poisoned ! poisoned ! Fiend, 
 I will defeat thee yet ! He took from his bosom a flask, which 
 contained some highly balsamic liquid, the exquisite perfumie of 
 which filled the prison, and applied it to the sleeper's lips, and as 
 the contents slowly disappeared, breathed many a prayer, made 
 many a holy sign, for Ulrick's safety. Its effects Avere gradual, but 
 most satisfactory. The burning fever of the prisoner gradually 
 yielded to a soft genial perspiration ; his close-set teeth unclenched 
 themselves, and he breathed freely. 
 
 " Saved ! " exclaimed the priest, who had stood watching him 
 with breathless anxiety ; " two trials more, and thou art safe. In 
 thine hour of need, boy, I will not fail thee." 
 
 Before he left the prison, the venerable priest emptied the rest of 
 the poisoned wine, and refilled it from a basket which he had brought ; 
 and kneeling by the rude couch, offered up to Him who guards the 
 
 fatherless a heartfelt prayer for Ulrick's safety. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The great bell of the cathedral tolled the midnight hour as the
 
 70 STAXFIELD KALL. 
 
 body of the murdered earl, the second evening after his death, was 
 borne by the officers of his household towards its final resting place, 
 within the hallowed precincts. A party of men-at-arms, every fourth 
 bearing a lighted torch, lined the centre aisle from the west entrance 
 to the high altar, where the black-robed priests were ready to 
 commence the Mass of the Dead. The choir of the magnificent 
 church was hung with solemn draperies, and the highly emblazoned 
 escutcheons of the deceased noble, whose military achievements had 
 endeared him to his soldiers as much as his statesmanlike qualities, 
 princely hospitality, and unblemished honour, had rendered him 
 popular with his brother nobles. The richly carved stalls were filled 
 by the monks ; every dignitary of the order was in his place except 
 the illustrious bishop, over whose episcopal throne a purple veil was 
 thrown — typical of the widowhood of the church, from which many 
 believed him violently removed. 
 
 As soon as the coffin was placed upon the dais in the centre of the 
 choir, the low, solemn chanting of the priests began ; and many a 
 prayer was breathed by his brother knights, Avho, clad in steel, were 
 standing round, for the repose of Hugh de Bigod's soul. Mirvan, 
 as the representative of his house, was seated at the head of the bier 
 — his brain almost stunned at the double blow it had received by 
 the murder of his father and the supposed treachery of his friend. 
 Matilda and Isabel watched and prayed in one of the dimly-lighted 
 galleries above. 
 
 Herman, the murderer and the accuser, was there, as calm as 
 though his life had been one of innocence, his hand free from blood. 
 Once or twice he looked anxiously amongst the monks, to see if he 
 could recognise the cowled visage of Father Oswald. It was a 
 relief to his heart that he beheld it not. Doubtless he thought that 
 Ernulf had succeeded in his sacrilegious attempt, and smiled at the 
 triumph of his villainy. 
 
 Herbert de Lozenga and the old priest removed, the accusation of 
 sorcery, the only danger which had given him any real uneasiness, 
 fell to the ground, and he stood, as he thought, impenetrable in his 
 crime. His approaching battle with Ulrick he looked forward to 
 with pleasure rather than distrust as the consummation of his 
 triumph ; indeed, he could not doubt the result, for he had secretly 
 contrived that a poison should be administered in his victim's food 
 — poison of so subtle a nature, that while it spared the life of the 
 receiver, it deprived him of all strength and energy, by the slow, 
 undermining fever which it engendered, and Avhich must have 
 insm-ed his success in the contest, but for the watchful energy of 
 Father Oswald. 
 
 The conspiracy of the Saxon nobles, of which he was the life and 
 energy, was undertaken iinder circumstances so peculiarly favourable, 
 that its failure seemed impossible. William the Conqueror had 
 withdrawn the flower of his army to France, to continue the war
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 71 
 
 which he had undertaken against its monarch, and during which he 
 eventually terminated his career. The Normans Avho remained in 
 England were in many instances divided amongst themselves. The 
 death of Hiagh de Bigod, the most energetic of their leaders, and 
 William's marshal in England dm*ing his absence, still further 
 augmented the Saxons' chances of success. The day of battle was 
 the one fixed for the explosion ; and Herman, in the anticipated 
 triumph of his views, tasted as much of happiness as guilt like his 
 could know. 
 
 The solemn chant of the monks had ceased, and the priests at the 
 altar were about to commence the Mass, when the prior, who 
 presided in the absence of the bishop, arose in his stall, and, in a 
 cold, stern voice, commanded Herman of the Burg to quit the 
 church, adding, that the sacred mysteries could not be celebrated in 
 the presence of a man accused of sorcery. 
 
 " Sorcery ! " exclaimed Herman, red with passion, — " and where 
 are my accusers ? — where the guilty prelate who, to shield his 
 unworthy favourite, contrived the accusation ? — where the mad 
 monk who witnessed to it ? A fearful death," he added, " has 
 removed the former — the judgment of Heaven has fallen on the 
 false judge and the accuser." 
 
 The prior was a man cold and passionless as the altar which he 
 served ; yet even his quiet nature was indignant at the aspersion 
 cast upon the memory of Herbert de Lozenga, whose supposed death 
 he had many reasons for knowing had been contrived by his 
 unblushing accuser. The impious blasphemy of attribviting his 
 own crimes to the judgment of Heaven shocked him, and increased 
 the ill opinion he already entertained against the Saxon. 
 
 " Norman nobles ! " replied the prior, " through you alone I 
 answer the slanders of that bold, bad man. Whether the venerable 
 bishop be living or dead, Herman is accused of sorcery. The accuser 
 and the accused may die — the accusation, never. Either Herman 
 of the Burg must quit the church, or I suspend the rites ; decide 
 between ye." 
 
 At the close of the speaker's voice, the officiating priests descended 
 the steps of the altar, and began to remove the vestments peculiar to 
 the service, and the monks stood up in their stalls, ready at the first 
 signal to depart. 
 
 The frowns which he saAv gathering on the brows of the Norman 
 nobles told Herman that it would be dangerous to remain : he made 
 a virtue, therefore, of necessity ; and, after bending his knee to the 
 high altar, left the church with an air as much like that of indignant 
 virtue as he could assume. Seeing that their enemy had lied, the 
 priests recommenced the interrupted rites. 
 
 For a long time Herman paced the cloister, indiilging in dreams 
 of promised vengeance. Let but the insurrection triumph, and he 
 would waste their church and convent both with fire and sword—
 
 72 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 drive every Norman priest from out the realm. "Better," he 
 exclaimed, "our father's ancient faith, than this enslaving, this 
 aspiring priesthood ! " The Norman nobles, whose haughty coldness 
 stung his pride — they, too, must feel his wrath ; in his mad thirst 
 for vengeance, he contemplated taking even the lives of those with 
 whom he lived on terms of intimacy and friendship — whose cup he 
 often drained — whose pleasures he shared ; contemplated it not with 
 the regret of a man who offers a necessary sacrifice on the altar of 
 freedom, but with the delight of a being whose instinct was of 
 blood. 
 
 During his walk, his attention was attracted by the rays of a 
 strong light which pierced through the crevices of the chapter-house 
 doors. Finding them not to be locked, he entered, and saw 
 preparations for a scene which gave him food for reflection. The 
 richly ornamented building was evidently arranged, not merely for 
 an assembly of the chapter, but the trial of a prisoner. The bishop's 
 throne was hung with black, as if he were in person about to preside. 
 Upon the table, in the centre of the room, upon a cushion, lay an 
 enormous crucifix, and writing materials were placed at either side 
 for the examiners. But what most attracted his attention were the 
 various instruments of torture scattered on the floor — instruments, 
 in that barbarous age, too often used to extort confession from 
 innocence as well as guilt. 
 
 " Whose trial," he murmured, " can the monks be about to 
 proceed with ? Can Ernulf have failed in his design ? Hath the fool 
 been caught in his own snare ? The confident tone of yon shaveling 
 in the church has staggered me. The accuser and the accused," he 
 added, slowly repeating the words of the prior to himself, " may die 
 — the accusation, never." 
 
 " Never ! " repeated a deep, solemn voice, so near to him that the 
 word seemed to have been whispered in his very ear. He started 
 and looked around, but saw no one — it was evident that he was 
 alone. Although he attributed the sound to natural causes, it made 
 an impression on him. 
 
 " This is childish ! " he exclaimed ; " I grow, indeed, infirm of 
 heart, if a mere echo can unman it. No matter," he added, drawing 
 a long breath to relieve himself as he spoke, " let but the next tv/o 
 days securely pass, and. Fortune, I defy thee ! " 
 
 Still, however, the preparation for the midnight trial alarmed 
 him, and as Herman was one who left nothing to chance, he 
 advanced to the door by which he entered, intending to quit the 
 chapter-house, and siimmon an esquire in whom he could confide, 
 to conceal himself behind one of the colossal statues of the Four 
 Evangelists placed in the arched recesses of the walla. To his confusion, 
 hovv^ever, the door was locked, whether by accident or design he 
 could not tell, but conscience made him fear the former, and he was 
 a prisoner. In vain he thundered at the massive doors ; the sound 
 
 n
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 73 
 
 of liis blows echoed througli the cloisters, and gradually faded away, 
 leaving him in fearful silence to commune with himself. 
 
 " It must be accident," he thought ; " they would not dare to 
 plot an outrage upon my person." This opinion w^as the more 
 confirmed as he had not heard the slightest sound of a footstep near 
 the door ; indeed, it was not impossible that the wind had done it, 
 for the portal fastened with a spring ; and he resolved, since accident 
 had made him a prisoner, to avail himself of his position to ascertain 
 trhe tactics of his enemies. "With this view he concealed himself 
 behind the statue of St. John, patiently to await the commencement 
 of the trial. 
 
 Meanwhile, a far different scene was passing in the church. As 
 soon as the Mass was ended, Mirvan advanced to the bier and, after 
 kneeling reverently to the dead, respectfully removed from it his 
 father's sword, and pressed it to his lips. Every eye in the vast 
 choir was upon him. 
 
 " Bear witness for me, my noble countrymen," he cried, " that I 
 receive it unstained by injustice or by treason ; and that he, v,iio so 
 late was of the first among you, has descended to the grave with 
 honoiir as bright as his OT\'n shield." 
 
 " He has ! " replied the Normans with one voice ; so universal was 
 their respect for the late earl's memory, 
 
 " Amen ! " ejaculated the prior from his distant stall ; " peace to 
 Hugh de Bigod's soul." 
 
 " As the heir of his name," continued Mirvan, " I am the natural 
 avenger of his blood ; I am told the assassin claims the right of 
 battle — is it so ? " 
 
 " It is ! " again answered the nobles. 
 
 " Then," resumed the speaker, " I claim the right to meet him. 
 I might resign to another the judgment-seat, but not the danger of 
 the listed field. I demand it," he added, laying his hand upon the 
 coffin, " in the name of the dead, by my right of birth, by our 
 brotherhood in knighthood, and the justice of my cause. Speak — is 
 my claim allowed ? " 
 
 A low murmur of satisfaction rose amongst the nobles, who had 
 beheld, with secret dissatisfaction, Herman of the Burg, a man 
 whom they despised, elevated to the position of Hugh de Bigod's 
 avenger. It shocked then* prejiidice and pride that a Saxon lance 
 should vindicate a Norman cause. The young earl's demand, 
 therefore, was most favourably received ; still they decided with 
 that gravity of deliberation with which the nobles of the epoch 
 treated all questions of chivalry, and after a lengthened consultation 
 between themselves, Odo of Caen announced the decision of his 
 brother peers. 
 
 " Your claim, brave earl, is allowed : here, in the presence of the 
 noble dead, whom all so truly mourn — here, on om' faith as true 
 knights, we declare that Herman of the Biu'g may, without dishonour,
 
 74 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 forego the fight on your claiming to be the champion in your house's 
 cause. The seneschal," he added, " shall make known to the prisoner 
 our decree, and God defend the right ! " 
 
 " Amen," again responded the prior, in which this time all the 
 ecclesiastics joined. 
 
 A faint scream was heard in the gallery above, and Matilda was 
 seen borne insensible in the arms of her attendants from the church, 
 followed by the grieving and compassionate Isabel. Mirvan beheld 
 their departure with a deep-drawn sigh ; for already he read the 
 secret of his sister's heart, and loved her too well not to compassionate 
 its weakness and its sorrows. 
 
 The holy water was sprinkled on the descending coffin, the priestly 
 blessing given, and the herald's pompous duty done. As the remains 
 of the once powerful earl, Hugh de Bigod, descended to their final 
 resting place, one by one the priests and nobles slowly retired, 
 leaving Mirvan alone within the church, praying by the side of the 
 dead. 
 
 As the vassals of the different chiefs drew up under their respective 
 leaders, and were preparing to return in procession to the castle, 
 their departure was delayed by the arrival of George of Erpingham, 
 the bishop's seneschal, who, at the head of a body of troops, entered 
 the inclosed precincts of the cathedral, and placed a guard at the 
 only gate by which egress was possible. Whatever were the good 
 knight's intentions, resistance was in vain, the force he commanded 
 being sufficient to crush the slightest attempts at opposition. 
 
 " What means this, George of Erpingham ? " demanded Odo, who 
 from his rank and influence was generally the interpreter of the 
 sentiments of his peers. " Do we meet as enemies ? " 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " replied the jovial knight. " I am here to do 
 the Church's errand, not to break lance with such worthy sons as 
 you. If the Avolf hides itself amidst the flock, the flock must not 
 murmur at being detained until the wolf be found." 
 
 As he spoke, an officer of the church approached and whispered 
 something into his ear. 
 
 " Pardon me, gentle knights," he resumed ; " but the wolf is 
 found, and further precautions are unnecessary." 
 
 With a wave of his hand he motioned to the guard at the gate to 
 fall back, and give egress to the nobles and their followers, who 
 resumed their march, wondering what circumstance could have 
 caused so unusual a proceeding. 
 
 As the elder nobles passed the gate, the same officer who had 
 whispered to George of Erpingham placed in their hands a paper, 
 on reading which they resigned the conduct of their men to their 
 esquires, and retired, with thoughtful steps, into the cathedral. It 
 was evident that some strange event either had occurred, or was 
 about to take place, and the curiosity of those who were unsummoned 
 was unbounded. But their patience was doomed to be exercised, as
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 75 
 
 well as that of our readers, while we return to the fair cousins who 
 so lately quitted the church. 
 
 " Speak not of consolation," replied Matilda to the tender soothings 
 of Isabel, as soon as they reached the castle, and were retired to the 
 privacy of their own apartment ; " grief succeeds to grief, and each 
 fresh hour brings but fresh sorrow with it. I feel so assured of 
 Ulrick's innocence, that I could pin my life upon his faith. But 
 how to prove it ? To-morrow he meets my brother in the listed 
 field ; and either I must mourn that brother lost, or weep the truest 
 heai't that crime and calumny e'er sacrificed at the base shrine of 
 jealous, mean revenge." 
 
 " Don't weep, don't weep," sobbed the affectionate hearer, the 
 tears at the same time coursing down her own pale cheeks ; 
 " Heaven and our Lady to our aid ! We are not hopeless ; the fight 
 may be prevented yet. Had Herman been the champion, I would 
 not have given one little sigh to have prevented the meeting in the 
 lists. You are convinced, you say, of Ulrick's innocence ? " 
 
 A reproachful glance at the doubt which the question seemed to 
 imply was Matilda's only response. 
 
 " Be not angry, pretty coz," continued the fair girl ; " remember 
 I am not in love with him ; and I know that when the heart pleads, 
 the judgment is sometimes silent. Besides, this is not the moment 
 for a shadow of coldness or unkindness to pass between us. Could 
 we but see Ulrick, perhaps we might obtain some clue to this most 
 fearful mystery ; for, like you, I would fain believe him guiltless ; 
 though, unlike you, I sometimes mistrust my heart — it leads my 
 head astraj'." 
 
 " Obtain but that, and fear not that he is saved ! " exclaimed 
 Matilda. " Trust me, Isabel," she added, blushing at the warmth 
 she had betrayed, " 'tis not the raving of a senseless love that speaks, 
 but the conviction of my better reason. Men do not fall as the 
 archangel fell ; from purity to the extreme of sin a gradual change 
 succeeds. Ulrick's mind was honour's self ; a mirror so highly 
 polished, that Truth might view her image, I have watched its 
 every phase, and found each thought was pure. And he, the good, 
 the gentle, murder an aged — a defenceless man ! murder my father ! 
 Impossible ! If an angel, trumpet-tongued, pronounced him guilty, 
 Matilda never could believe it." 
 
 Could Ulrick, from the depth of his prison, have heard the 
 maiden's eloquent defence, he Avould have deemed his sorrows 
 overpaid. Firmly she met the searching look of Isabel, as every 
 page of feeling was displayed to invite the reader's gaze. The warm- 
 hearted girl threw her arms around her cousin, and exclaimed : 
 
 " I do believe thee ! I read it in thy dark eyes' deep intelligence 
 — those portals of thy soul — when thy pure spirit looks upon the 
 world, and scorns its worthlessness. You love him, coz ?•" she 
 added.
 
 76 STAI^FIELD HALL. 
 
 " Truth needs no subterfuge : I do," simply answered Matilda. 
 
 " Then he must be saved. Rouse thee, coz — we have a game to 
 play will need our woman's wits. Odo of Caen, you know, is 
 plighted to my sister Jane ; I have some interest with him ; we 
 l3oth must try him — use all the artillery of sighs and tears — the 
 weapons with which mother Nature arms our sex when we contend 
 'gainst proud, imperious man. Doubt not but we will bend 
 him to our will. Kneel," added Isabel, "and ask His blessing 
 on our enterprise who reads our purpose, and who knows 'tis good." 
 
 The two fair and innocent creatures, like twin seraphs, bent the 
 knee, and offered up a jDrayer as pure as ever fell from angel lips 
 for suffering innocence. The act poured the balm of both courage 
 and consolation into their souls. Silently enveloping themselves in 
 their dark mourning mantles and veils, they left their chamber to 
 seek the knight whoseword alone could gain them admittance to 
 
 Ulrick's presence. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Long and anxiously did Herman remain concealed behind the 
 statue of the saint in the chapter-house of the cathedral ; at times, 
 he thought of renewing his frantic efforts for freedom, but prudence, 
 and the desire of witnessing proceedings in which in all probability 
 he would find himself deeply interested, restrained him. At last, 
 the distant steps of the approaching brethren fell upon his ear, and 
 despite his long habitude in crime, and the confidence! which success 
 bestows, his heart beat wildly as they drew near. 
 
 •' They come," he whispered to himself ; " courage, patience, and 
 I triumph ! " 
 
 From the position in which he was placed he could see all that 
 passed, but ran little risk himself of being seen, as nothing could be 
 more unlikely than that any one would take the trouble to mount 
 the niche in which he was concealed. 
 
 First in the processi(S.i were two priests, bearing the abbatial and 
 episcopal cross ; then the members of the chapter, two and two — ^the 
 latter, as they entered, bowed to the crucifix, and took their seats in 
 their respective stalls ; the prior followed, bearing his staff of office, 
 and assumed his seat at the head of the table. 
 
 " I see no pi-isoner yet," thought Herman ; " perhaps, after all, it 
 is but some brother of their order whom they have met to judge for 
 breach of discipline. No matter ; I will see this mummery out." 
 
 His doubts, however, were soon ended by the entrance of several 
 of the Norman nobles in deep conference with Herbert de Lozenga, 
 who, in his episcopal robes, the mitre blazing on his brow, and the 
 crosier in his hand, appeared living before him ; from that moment 
 Herman felt that he was lost. 
 
 " Living ! " he exclaimed, almost loud enough to be heard. 
 " Have, then, the mouldering ashes of Stanfield given up their dead, 
 or have the fiends, who so long have served, at last deserted me .? " 

 
 STANFIELD HALL 77 
 
 " Brothers and nobles," said the bishop, as soon as he was seated 
 upon his chair of state, " believe me that no matter of slight interest 
 has induced me to summon you to this our sacred chapter. Danger 
 threatens not only to your lives, but to the Norman rule throughout 
 the realm. A vast conspiracy is organised to root us from the land. 
 Scarce two days and the Saxons rise upon us. The day of battle is 
 the day appointed for the massacre of all our race. Prudence and 
 firmness may avert the blow which want of unity must render fatal. 
 This is no childish menace, no partial outbreak," he added ; " but 
 the organised offort of a people's strength." 
 
 There was a pause as the prelate ceased speaking ; men looked 
 upon each other as men look who have received strange news ; and 
 Herman, in the gall and bitterness of his heart, cursed the lips which 
 uttered it. Odo of Caen was the first to speak among his fellow- 
 nobles. 
 
 " Fatheir, this is intelligence to stir the blood within us, and worth 
 even the risk your sacred person ran. Deign to explain the proofs 
 on which it rests ; that, knowing whence the danger comes, we may 
 prepare to meet it. Who is the leader of this enterprise ? " 
 
 " Herman of the Burg," solemnly answered the bishop, at the 
 same time striking the ground with his crosier. 
 
 " Curse him," muttered the concealed listener ; " Ernulf has 
 betrayed me." 
 
 At the signal which the bishop gave, the doors of the chapter-honse 
 again opened, and the guilty squire Ernulf was led into the as-sembly 
 by a party of the bishop's guard. Father Oswald followed him. 
 The prisoner's face was flushed, although his limbs seemed feeble ; 
 even the presence of the Norman nobles was a relief to him ; he 
 knew that they were the inmates of the castle — friends of his 
 master's kinsman — and trusted they might befriend him. The hope, 
 however, was but a brief one ; his eye glanced from their stern 
 visages, and fell upon the instruments of torture lying on the 
 ground ; a cold perspiration bedewed his frame, and the strong man 
 trembled. 
 
 " Ernulf," began the bishop. Struck by the voice, the wretched 
 man looked up, and recognised in his judge the being whom, 
 f our-and-twenty hours before, he had, as he imagined, consigned to 
 inevitable death. Father Oswald's mysterious knowledge of his 
 crimes, and, to him, miraculous means of subduing him, had excited 
 the latent superstition in his nature ; he looked upon Herbert as 
 one arisen from the dead, and armed with supernatural terrors to 
 confound him. " "Well may'st thou tremble, guilty man, to find me 
 living," resumed the prelate, who marked the efi:ect his appearance 
 had produced, and trusted that it would enable him to bend the 
 stubborn nature of the criminal to confession, without having 
 recourse to those means which the rude justice of the age not only 
 tolerated, but approved : " hast thou not heard that it is written,
 
 78 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 ' the triumph of the wicked shall be short ' ? Confess thy vile 
 conspiracy, thy master's treason, and enable me and these noble 
 knights to unravel the dark clue of guilt, and mercy, perchance, 
 may be extended to thy forfeited life." 
 
 A dead silence followed the speaker's words — all waited to see 
 their effect upon the hardy criminal, who, on discovering that the 
 bishop was really in flesh and life before him, recovered the usual 
 audacity of his nature, and determined in the recesses of his iron 
 mind to endure the extreme of torture rather than betray the scheme 
 on which not only his hopes of aggrandisement, but ultimate safety, 
 depended. He remained therefore sullenly silent. 
 
 " Saxon dog," exclaimed Odo, " dost thou not answer to thy 
 judges ? " 
 
 " What should I answer, noble Odo ? " replied Ernulf. " "Will 
 the word of a simple esquire weigh against the assertion of a mitred 
 prelate ? What should I know of conspiracies, which I believe 
 exist but in the imagination of my accuser, to save his favourite's 
 life ? He hath already charged my noble master with the crime of 
 sorcery ; finding that insufficient, he now adds the charge of treason 
 to complete his ruin." 
 
 The firm tone of the speaker shook the faith of several of his 
 listeners, who were not disinclined to believe that Herbert would 
 have recourse to any measures to assure Ulrick's safety. Herman 
 silently congratulated himself upon the dogged fidelity of his 
 accomplice. 
 
 " Have you no other proof than mere assertion, my lord ? " 
 demanded Robert of Artois, whose influence Herbert de Lozenga 
 had frequently opposed in the council, and consequently excited 
 his hate. " If not, I, for one, would not hang a dog on such a 
 charge." 
 
 " Nor I," exclaimed another, " provided it were Norman. But 
 this is a Saxon cur, and we cannot refuse to put the question, should 
 my lord bishop in his Christian charity demand it." 
 
 The sneer with which this was uttered did not deter the prelate 
 from his purpose. 'Tis true he had obtained other and ample 
 information, but from a source he wished at present to conceal. 
 Though mild and gentle in his character, he could assume the tone 
 of stern reproof, and meet the boldest with a front as lofty, a speech 
 as cutting, as their own. 
 
 " 'Tis well, sir knight," he answered, " you have a churchman to 
 contend with ; but remember, if I draw no sword, that thousands 
 are ready to achieve my bidding. That if as a priest I pronounce 
 no se atence by which man's blood is shed, that many a belted earl 
 and landed knight are bound by feudal tenure to pronounce it for 
 me. Robert of Artois," he added, " and you, noble peers, no more 
 I sue for your support — I now command it. Apply the question 
 to yon wretched man, unless by confession he avoids the ordeal."
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 79 
 
 Slowly the nobles present proceeded to give tlie necessary directions, 
 the Catholic church not permitting any member of its orders in any 
 case to pronounce sentence of death, or to shed human blood. Even 
 in the Inquisition this rule to the last Avas invariably observed. Its 
 familiars were all laymen, and those who Avere condemned were 
 given over to the secular power, by whom alone they could be 
 sentenced. 
 
 As the executioners now approached the unhappy criminal. Father 
 Oswald drew his cowl still further over his features. Devoutly did 
 Herman, who, from his place of concealment, watched the proceedings, 
 pray that his esquire might expire under the tortures to which he 
 was about to be submitted. Dead men he knew could tell no tales, 
 and willingly would he have cut the thread of life of a being, one 
 of whose greatest crimes was perhaps fidelity to himself ; as it was, 
 he awaited the result with nervous impatience. 
 
 Ernulf, having been stripped of his jerkin, was first placed by his 
 tormentors upon a frame of iron, and bound by leather thongs ; by 
 a peculiar mechanism, the machine was gradually distended till 
 every joint cracked in its socket, and the strained sinews throbbed 
 with agony ; still the culprit spoke not, but with scowling brow and 
 firm-clenched teeth gazed, like a maimed wolf, on the circle round 
 him. Suddenly, the bands were let go, the frame returned to its 
 natural size, and the distended joints shot in their sockets ; then the 
 first groan issued from Ernulf's breast. Father Oswald trembled, 
 and slowly pronounced the word " Confess ! " 
 
 " What should I confess ? " replied the hardened man ; " I know 
 nothing, and can reveal nothing." 
 
 Again the tormentors approached their victim. Placing him upon 
 his knees, they gathered up his long hair, and plaited into it the end 
 of a cord which hung suspended from one of the beams. As soon 
 as all was prepared, on a signal from Odo they elevated him so that 
 he hung suspended by the hair of his head. For two minutes did 
 he endure the fearful torture, his temples throbbing in agony, his 
 eye-balls bursting from his head. Still he made no sign — uttered 
 no word of confession. The prelate, unable longer to witness his 
 sufferings, made sign they should release him. 
 
 By the laws of the question, three distinct species of torture were 
 to be employed. If at the end of the third the prisoner's courage 
 held out, he was deemed innocent, and consequently aquitted. As 
 may be supposed, the last ordeal Avas the most fearful, and Herbert 
 Avould Avillingly have spared it ; but Odo, Avho trusted that the squire's 
 courage Avould hold out, or Avho believed that he had nothing to 
 confess, opposed himself strongly to it. 
 
 "We are not children, my good lord," he said; "our justice 
 cannot be trifled with. If the prisoner pass the third question, I 
 shall believe he hath been most foully Avronged, and disbelie\'e 
 this strange conspiracy ; so please you, let the executioners proceed."
 
 80 STANPIBLD HALL. 
 
 " Be it so," replied Herbert, " since there is no other way ; and 
 he the crirae on him whose obstinacy has left no other course." 
 
 Silently did Herman pray that Ernnlf 's courage might hold out, 
 or nature yield beneath the effort. Again the fearful ministers of 
 justice secured the wretched man, and inclosed his legs in a s-pecies 
 of iron case compressible by screws. Ernulf groaned with agony. 
 Still no Y/ord of confession passed his lips. The screws were about 
 to be turned to their last extent, when Father Oswald, who stood 
 before the prisoner, suddenly dashed back his cowl, fixed his eyes 
 upon him, and at the same time drew back his long white hair, which 
 hid a crimson scar upon his forehead. 
 
 " Parricide ! " he exclaimed, " can nothing move thee ? Confess, 
 or perish in thy impious pride." 
 
 The sudden change which took place in Erniilf's features was 
 terrific. The blood which forsook his cheeks rushed into his eyes, 
 his jaw dropped, and he seemed stricken with a paralysis of horror. 
 
 " Spare me ! " he exclaimed ; *' spare me, avenging spirit, and I 
 will confess — all — all ! Search in the lining of my breast-piece. 
 The letters — pardon ! Mercy ! mercy I " exhausted with his 
 siifferings, both of mind and body, he found temporary relief in 
 insensibility. 
 
 " Bear him to prison," exclaimed the bishop, " and let his breast- 
 piece be placed upon the table here before us." 
 
 The mangled wi-etch was instantly conveyed from the chapter- 
 house, and the assembly relieved of the presence of the executioners. 
 
 As Herbert de Lozenga demanded, the breast-piece was placed 
 upon the table and examined by the nobles present. Between the 
 lining and the fold they found two papers ; the first contained a 
 detailed account of the plot, the names of the franklins and Saxon 
 leaders most compromised, their places of meeting, and number of 
 men-at-arms. As the bishop asserted, the day of battle was fixed 
 for the outbreak, when, under pretence of witnessing the combat, 
 they could assemble unsuspected. In the list of the Norman nobles 
 whose lives were to be sacrificed, were the names of most present : 
 the paper was in the hand-writing of Herman of the Burg, and 
 attested by his seal. 
 
 " Traitor ! " exclaimed Odo ; " much as I despised him, I little 
 expected this." 
 
 " Nor I," added Robert of Artois, wdiom a sense of their common 
 danger for once rendered just. 
 
 " But what are v/e to do ? " demanded the nobles with one voice, 
 
 " Leave that to me," replied the bishop. " Do you, as peers and 
 knights, pronounce the traitor's doom ; I'll find the means to see it 
 executed. Think you," he added, with something like an expression 
 of contempt, " that if, like yours, my hand might grasp the sword, 
 that long ere this I had not reached him ? " 
 
 Herman, secure, as he thought, in his concealment, smiled at the
 
 STANFIELB HALL.
 
 STANFIELD HALL 83 
 
 churchman's threats. " Fool," he murmured, " long ere the signal 
 you expect shall strike, England shall be in flames. As we rush, on 
 in triumph through your halls, we will remember well each mocking 
 gibe, and strike the oppressor dead ! " and the concealed culprit 
 smiled in anticipation of his triumph. 
 
 While the nobles and knights were deliberating upon their 
 sentence, Herbert de Lozenga perused the other paper found in the 
 breast-piece of the squire. With a smile of benevolent satisfaction, 
 he whispered something to one of the attendants, who immediately 
 left the chapter-house. 
 
 " 'Tis well, my lords," he exclaimed, as Odo of Caen announced 
 that the nobles present found Herman guilty of high treason, and 
 sentenced him to death ; " our reverend prior will draw out the 
 sentence ready for your signing ; but while he does so, pleasure me 
 in one thing. Here is a paper, found, as you saw, in the breast-piece 
 of yon wretched man." 
 
 " We did," they responded, one and all. 
 
 " The time for declaring its contents hath not yet arrived," 
 continued the bishop ; " please to affix your seal upon the back, that, 
 when produced, none may question its authenticity." 
 
 Odo, and even Robert of Artois, hastened to comply with his request, 
 so great was the ascendency the prelate had obtained by the discovery 
 of their common danger. 
 
 " And now, my lord," said Odo, when the last signature was 
 affixed to the deed which proclaimed Herman a traitor, and condemned 
 him to the block, " what steps must be taken for the arrest of this 
 most dangerous man." 
 
 " They are already taken," solemnly answered the bishop. 
 
 " And when the trial ? " 
 
 " It is past," continued the prelate, in the same cold,unimpa8sioned 
 tone. 
 
 " And the execution ? " 
 
 " Behold ! " exclaimed Herbert de Lozenga, striking with his 
 crosier, as he spoke. The doors of the chapter-house flew open, and 
 a guard, commanded by George of Erpingham, formed a semicircle 
 in the space before them. In the centre was a kneeling man ; 
 Father Oswald, holding a crucifix ; and the executioner with an 
 uplifted axe. Ere a word, even of astonishment, could escape their 
 lips, it fell ; and the head of Herman of the Burg rolled on the 
 blood-stained pavement. 
 
 Ct 2
 
 84 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 The recognition between Father Oswald and his wretched son 
 was complete : the living and the long-thought dead met in the 
 fearful judgment hall, where the monk, despite the sternness of his 
 heart, his high resolve, and strong sense of justice, yielded to the 
 throes of nature, and declared himself as the only means of inducing 
 the wretched culprit to confess, and thereby save himself from the 
 last fearful ordeal of the question. It was not without a severe 
 struggle that he brought himself to make the revelation ; for, 
 although now a Christian priest, he still retained much of the pride 
 which had distinguished Haga the Arch-Druid. His very errors 
 had been those of honour, love to his nation, and devotion to the 
 proscribed order of which he was the chief. The mere thought that 
 a son of his should have descended to aught like servitude was a 
 bitter humiliation to his haughty soul ; but that he should have 
 proved mean, base, and stained with crime, stung it into madness. 
 
 Immediately after the execution of Herman the priest retired to 
 the solitude of his cell, and fortified his soul with prayer ; invoking 
 many a saint and many a holy name, to touch with penitence the 
 hard, bad heart of him he blushed to call his son. Gradually the 
 suppliant's cheek resumed its paleness, and the unnatural excitement 
 of his eye became subdued and calm ; Religion poured her soothing 
 waters in his heart ; and the fierce volcano, if not extinct, at least 
 for awhile slumbered in repose. 
 
 Rising from his knees, the aged man slowly crossed the cloisters, 
 and directed his steps towards the prison of Ernulf — a low stone 
 building which formerly existed on the site of the modern 
 deanery. 
 
 The prison in which the captive was confined vvas a large square 
 chamber, the only entrance to which was by a narrow door, thickly 
 studded with nails and plates of iron, situated under a quaintly 
 ornamented Saxon archv/ay ; his couch was nothing more than a 
 stone bench, projecting from the wall ; over it hung a crucifix, 
 rudely sculptured by some former inmate, to beguile the weary 
 hours of his captivity. So strong was the dungeon, that air and 
 light were admitted only by a massive grating, cemented in the 
 ceiling, too high for the prisoner to reach, too deeply imbedded in 
 the solid masonry for any external force to remove. The bruised 
 and maimed criminal still lay groaning on his pallet, where he had 
 been cast by his executioners, after the torture, when Father Oswald 
 entered the cell. Despite his resolution, he felt the kindlier 
 sentiments of his nature struggling with his justice, as he gazed 
 upon the being who, half-stripped of his armour, the dew of agony 
 upon his brow, his eyes blood-shot and wandering, lay stretched on
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 85 
 
 the hard couch before him. Nature whispered to him that it was 
 his son — the being whose existence had been moulded from his own, 
 and towards whom, despite his crimes and degenerate baseness, a 
 secret yearning inclined his soul to pity. Perhaps conscience whis- 
 pered him with some neglect of duty to his offspring, or demanded 
 whether, by precept or example, he had inculcated that high sense 
 of honour and love of virtue whose absence he so harshly blamed. 
 It was no longer, therefore, in the tone of an accusing spirit that he 
 addressed him, but almost in the accents of forgiveness. 
 
 " Ernulf," he demanded, " dost thou recognise me ? " 
 
 The wounded man slowly turned upon his couch of pain, and 
 gazed upon the speaker ; all excitement had passed from his pale 
 featm'es. In recognising in Father Oswald his living parent, the 
 spell of his authority over him was broken ; he knew that he was no 
 parricide ; and even his obdurate heart felt lighter from the load 
 removed. 
 
 " I do," he coldly answered. 
 
 His interrogator started at the cool determination, the almost 
 indifference, evinced by the reply, and for a few moments they 
 regarded each other in silence, severally preparing for the mental 
 combat about to ensue ; a silence as sullen as the pause which 
 precedes the burst of the tempest, or intervenes between the thunder 
 and the lightning's flash. The monk was the first to break it — the 
 pity excited by the sufferings of the prisoner gradually yielding to 
 indignation at his obduracy. 
 
 " Hast thou no word," he demanded, " for repentance ? — to implore 
 forgiveness for the crime at which the angels shudder and e'en 
 demons tremble ? — no prayer to appease offended Heaven and thy 
 father's wrath ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " None ! " iterated the priest ; " none ! Is then thy heart so seared 
 by crime that nothing less than the avenging bolt can penetrate it ? 
 Knowest thou the punishment announced for parricides— the eternal 
 fires, the endless gnawing of the serpent tooth of an undying con- 
 science, the sting of memory, and the hell of fear ? " 
 
 " I am no parricide ! " doggedly retorted Ernulf, his voice 
 slightly showing that the denunciation of the priest had moved 
 him. 
 
 " In thought and purpose," continued the speaker, " if not in 
 act. Thinkest thou thy crime is less because the blow inflicted on 
 thy father as he slept reached short of life ? But it is just," he added, 
 mournfully ; " thy childhood v/as impetuous, wayward, cruel ; thy 
 manhood stained by violence and crime ; 'tis just thy age should 
 proved a fitting sequal to thy youth." 
 
 " And whose the fault ? " demanded Ernulf, starting from the 
 couch, regardless in his excitement of his bruised limbs and aching 
 brow ; " demand it of the man who called himself my father, whose
 
 86 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 pride revolted at a child's caress, whose want of confidence repressed 
 each rising impulse of my heart towards him ; whose harsh, cold, 
 stony, selfish nature withered my childhood, turned it on itself, to 
 feed on its own diseased, corrupted heart. Wonder at my crimes ? 
 — wonder they are not a thousand times more strange than those 
 which madness, in her fever, paints ! Taught by no faith, accustomed 
 from thy lips to hear blasphemed the truths which now it seems the 
 Christian priest believes, but which the Druid Haga once abhorred, 
 where was my stay, when passion's breath assailed me ? — where the 
 arms to fight temptation in her Protean forms, resist her luring 
 spells ? No ! " he added. " If I have fallen, thou art not my 
 reprover ; if I have sinned, thou canst not be my judge. Man reads 
 the crime, but Heaven the temptation." 
 
 Each word of Ernulf fell like a drop of molten lead upon the 
 heart of Father Oswald. As he spoke, scale after scale fell from his 
 eyes ; he saw and felt that the monster before him was of his own 
 creation ; that the plastic clay of humanity had been trusted to his 
 hand, and that, in his presumption, ignorance, or selfishness, he had 
 moulded it into a demon's form. He found himself weak where 
 he had thought himself most strong ; and the conviction brought 
 bitterness and sorrow to his soul, silenced the fiery eloquence of his 
 tongue, and humiliated his vaunted reason. 
 
 " 'Tis true," resumed the prisoner, " my hand has been raised 
 against thy life ; but thou hadst first destroyed my soul. Pure it 
 was committed to thy hands. Ask of thy conscience how thou 
 didst execute the sacred trust. Unnatural father, I do reject thee 
 for my judge. Priest of a faith thou never taughtest thy child, 
 thus I breathe back the curse." The gaunt form of the speaker was 
 raised to its full height ; and despite his haggard appearance, there 
 was something even majestic in his look, as, with his arm raised, he 
 was about to hurl back the paternal malediction with tenfold force 
 upon the head that uttered it. 
 
 " Hold, wi'etched man ! " exclaimed Oswald, throwing himself at 
 his feet, his heart crushed by the convictions his words awoke 
 within it ; "I have sinned, and my sin hath become my punishment. 
 I here retract my curse. Spare my grey hairs ; let me not hear the 
 voice of my own son condemn me." 
 
 It was a strange sight to see the gifted Oswald prostrate at the feet 
 of his rude ofiispring. Humiliated by the voice of conscience, 
 subjected by the power of truth, he was no longer the same being. 
 His spiritual pride, the defect of his character, was completely 
 subdued ; for his heart had been exposed to his own view, and he 
 felt sick within him. Even Ernulf was affected at the sight, for he 
 knew well the nature he had humbled ; had trembled at it in its 
 strength, and he respected it in its weakness. 
 
 " Not to me, father, not to me should the knee be bent," he 
 answered, raising the old man as he spoke ; " at least let us part
 
 STANPIELD HALL 87 
 
 friends, exchanging mutual forgiveness. I suppose," he added, " I 
 have not long to live, for Holy Church seldom relinquishes her grasp 
 except with life, and mine is a deed admits no chance of mercy. 
 What is the usual punishment of sacrilege ? — But I know — death — 
 death, at the least." 
 
 " The stake," faintly uttered the old man, scarcely conscious that 
 the words had passed his lips. 
 
 " The stake ! " almost shrieked the prisoner ; " and you tell me 
 so ? The stake ! Is there no sentiment of nature, no tie of blood, to 
 freeze the fearful word upon your lips ? The cord, the axe — any 
 fate, rather than to perish at the burning stake ! " 
 
 " Think rather of thy soul," interrupted his father ; " respect the 
 Church's judgments, as thou art a Christian." 
 
 " Well thou knowest I am no Christian," replied Ernulf ; " the 
 waters of baptism have never been poured on my obdurate head. 
 'Tis true that since I left my home and mingled in the world I 
 passed as such — perhaps, in creed, am one — but never yet hath 
 priestly hand sprinkled the regenerating drops upon my brow." 
 
 " Now Heaven be praised ! " exclaimed his father, a beam of 
 satisfaction illuminating his aged countenance ; " and thanks to every 
 saint ! — the sin of my neglect may be atoned — the soul I trifled with 
 may be redeemed." 
 
 " What meanest thou .? " 
 
 " That were thy sins as scarlet as the crimes of all the earth, that 
 baptism would wash their stain away. Let us kneel," continued 
 the priest, " and let us both return thanks to Heaven for mercy — 
 thou for a soul redeemed, e'en at destruction's brink, and I for 
 undying anguish and remorse removed. Prepare thy soul by 
 penitence and prayer," he added, " to receive the wondrous boon 
 which Heaven in its wisdom hath reserved. Mine shall be the hand 
 to perform the sacred rite which numbers thee with the redeemed 
 on earth. May thy after-life inscribe thy name with the redeemed 
 in heaven." 
 
 " But the stake ? " interrupted Ernulf, listening only to his fears. 
 " Will it secure my body from the flames — must I quit the world 
 amid the execration of the yelling crowd — feel the fierce fire 
 melting the very marrow of my bones — my brain to boil amid the 
 raging heat ? Is there no hope — no mercy ? Speak, father, speak." 
 
 " None ! " said the old man, visibly affected by his son's despair, 
 whose countenance, distorted by the fearful terrors his imagination 
 conjured up, was but a feeble index of his mind. " Thou hast no 
 hope on earth." 
 
 " Perchance nor Heaven ! " added Ernulf, rolling again upon his 
 couch in an agony of fear and horror. " 'Tis but a dream, perhaps 
 — 'tis but a dream — there is no Heaven, no mercy, or I should find 
 it. Fool ! to think that priests should e'er know mercy ! " 
 
 The priest began to pace the cell as if meditating some important
 
 88 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 purpose, while Ernulf continued to exhaust himself by his ravings. 
 At times Oswald's eye would fall upon his son with a mingled 
 expression of scorn and interest — scorn at his unmanly terrors, pity 
 for the danger which excited them. At last, it seemed as if his 
 mind was resolved upon some important step, for he approached the 
 couch, and arrested the prisoner's wanderings with a look such as 
 that at which 'tis said the maniac trembles. 
 
 " And could thy life be spared, how wouldst thou use it, boy ? " 
 solemnly demanded his father ; " speak, and let thy words be truthful 
 as thy danger's pressing ; for let me trace even the shade of falsehood 
 in thy mind, the hope but to equivocate with truth, and the chance, 
 the little chance that's left thee, is destroyed." 
 
 " Chance ! " eagerly repeated Ernulf, catching like a drowning 
 wretch at the word — " there is, then, a chance ? " 
 
 " Answer my question," coldly replied his father, who had little 
 sympathy with earthly fears, and who could, in his own person, have 
 regarded the stake with indifference, and even with triumph, had he 
 been condemned to suffer in a cause his conscience told him to be 
 holy — " how wouldst thou pass thy life ? " 
 
 " In prayer — in fasting in some hermit's cell," he answered ; " or, 
 pilgrim, staff in hand, I'd seek the burning plains of Palestine, and 
 wet with my tears the blessed Redeemer's tomb. Let me but live," 
 he added, " and the mortal terrors of the present hour will keep my 
 soul from every future sin. Or do you prescribe a life of penance, 
 well will I keep it, father." 
 
 The priest gazed upon him as if he would read his inmost soul — 
 sift every working of his subtle mind. Perhaps the impression was 
 satisfactory ; for there was again something almost of kindliness in 
 his parting tones. 
 
 " 'Tis well, my son ; dispose thyself for that which Heaven thinks 
 best ; for the rest, we are but potsherds in its hands. If, in the 
 solitude of thy dark cell, thy many crimes should preach unto thy 
 soul despair, let the remembrance of Heaven's unnumbered mercies 
 whisper hope." 
 
 The speaker quitted the cell as the last words fell from his lips, 
 and Ernulf sank once more upon his couch of pain, a saddened if 
 not a better man. 
 
 " My sin at last has found me," exclaimed the monk, as he paced 
 the cloister on his way to the chapter-room, where he expected to 
 learn the sentence pronounced upon his son. " Yon wretched being 
 answered truly. 'Tis I, unnatural father, who have destroyed 
 him — ^reared him in scorn of Christian faith — sought to impress 
 him with my own dark creed, or Avorse — left him in ignorance to 
 choose one. Shall Heaven, in its mercy, have left wide the path to 
 save his soul, and I do nothing for his mortal state .? No, Ernulf ! " 
 he added, sternly, "fallen as thou art, thou art still my sen ; stained 
 though thou art, thy father is not pure ; degraded as thy nature
 
 OTANFIELD HALL. 89 
 
 hath become, one trace of Eden lingers round it yet. Thou shalt 
 not perish, if my life can save thee." 
 
 Full of this high resolve, he entered the chapter-house, where 
 many of the brotherhood were assembled. By all present, even by 
 those who loved him not, for his cold, unsocial nature, he was 
 received v^ith respect and sympathy, for all knew his connection 
 with the prisoner, and marvelled at his firmness under a trial 
 beneath which even manly fortitude might well succumb, and the 
 calm endurance of which was almost miraculous in one of his 
 advanced age and weakness. The sentence which declared Ernulf 
 guilty of sacrilege lay signed upon the table, together with the re- 
 script which gave him over to the secular arm, to be dealt with as 
 mercifully as the nature of his offence permitted, — a recommendation 
 of idle form, which was never permitted to interfere with the strict 
 execution of the law ; a law which pertained more to the spirit of 
 the dark age in which it was framed, than to the character of either 
 the Church or priesthood. With a firm hand Father Oswald read 
 the parchment, amid the silence of the brotherhood. To his ardent 
 piety it seemed both natural and just that the crime of sacrilege 
 should be expiated by blood : and he affixed his signature to the 
 document without the least apparent emotion, thereby rendering 
 the decision of the chapter both unanimous and valid. How he 
 reconciled the conviction that the life of the guilty party was 
 necessary to atone for his offence, with the desire to save that life, 
 time will show. 
 
 " When is the execution appointed to take place ?" he demanded of 
 the assembled monks, who stood gazing on him with admiration at 
 his firmness and his self-control — a species of virtue as highly 
 appreciated in the cloister as in the world. 
 
 "This very day," was the reply, given with an expression of 
 surprise. " Surely," they thought, " he never will be there ! " 
 " And the hour ? " 
 " Sunset." 
 
 " So soon," thought their interrogator. " Then I must be brief ; 
 for I have still much to perform." 
 
 In his own sorrow, he resolved not to be unmindful of Ulrick's 
 safety. He had heard of the intention expressed by Mirvan in the 
 church to be himself the champion in the lists ; and well he knew 
 that the generous nature of the accused would submit to any 
 alternative — even to death itself — rather than draw his sword against 
 Matilda's brother and his bosom friend. He proposed, therefore, to 
 withdraw him from his prison through the same passage by which 
 he himself gained entrance to it. 
 
 # * * * i» 
 
 On the same night on which the execution of Herman of the Burg 
 took place, a female figure, closely veiled, attended by four men-at- 
 arms, left the episcopal palace on foot, and directed her steps towards
 
 90 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the ferry. Her disguised person and hurried step gave her more 
 the air of a fugitive escaped from justice, than the widow of the 
 powerful earl whose last obsequies were then being celebrated in 
 the cathedral. Edith, for it was no other, was bound upon an 
 expedition of no little moment, as well as danger, and her courage 
 rose with the occasion ; the long-suppressed emotions of maternal 
 love, now throbbing at her heart with hopeful energy, gave to her 
 mind a strength and elasticity to which it had been long a stranger, 
 and her decision had been prompt and clear. The men-at-arms who 
 attended her were four of the Norman followers of Herbert de 
 Lozenga, men who had not long arrived from his ancestral land, 
 men who spoke not a single word of Saxon tongue, and who had 
 never seen the countess. Their orders were to obey her will in 
 everything, and to protect her person with their lives. Fearful of 
 detection — for it was necessary that the world should still believe 
 her dead — she hurried her steps towards the tower, where resided 
 the ferryman, and where the faithful Judith was expecting her. 
 As she hastened on, the broken chant of the monks fell occasionally 
 on her ear ; still she paused not — her energies were but to save the 
 living ; she had no time to mourn the dead. The ferryman, to 
 whom on her arrival she presented a ring, bowed reverentially, for 
 he recognised the signet of the bishop, and handed her into the boat, 
 which already was in waiting, and took his place at the helm. The 
 four Normans seized the oars — which, to their surprise, they found 
 muffled — and directed their course towards Whitlingham. 
 
 " And whither go you, my dear lady ? " demanded Judith, in a 
 whisper, as soon as her mistress was seated by her side. 
 
 " To Whitlingham — to the Druid caves," calmly answered Edith. 
 The reply struck terror to the faithful heart of her attendant. The 
 caves of Whitlingham bore an evil name ; for superstition had 
 clothed them in her shadowy terrors. Even in the day they were 
 avoided ; but after nightfall few men would venture to approach 
 them. Strange lights had oft been seen streaming through their 
 rugged openings ; unholy songs and yells of triumph heard. And 
 the idea of approaching, much more of entering, them seemed to 
 Judith little short of madness and presumption. Nothing but this 
 conviction could have induced her to offer even the approach to a 
 remonstrance. 
 
 " To Whitlingham ! Gracious lady, did I hear you aright ? Unholy 
 sounds have oft been heard there, and strange visions seen ; 'tis said 
 the spirits of our pagan fathers nightly assemble there, to celebrate 
 the accursed rites of Odin and of Thor. No Christian should 
 approach them ; the Church rejects them ; let us not tempt their 
 Avrath." 
 
 " I fear them not," replied the countess. " Good spirits cannot 
 harm us ; and Heaven will protect us against bad. But if thy 
 courage fails thee, Judith, tell the men to pull to land ; thou canst
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 01 
 
 regain the palace, I have no right to tax thee, girl, beyond thy 
 strength ; it has been tried enough already." 
 
 The idea of leaving her mistress in danger was, to the faithful 
 creature, more terrible than even her fears of Whitlingham. 
 
 " No, no," she said ; ' I have not lived so long to eat your bread, 
 that I should desert you now. Be they pagans or fiends, where you 
 go, mistress, my steps shall follow. The unholy sight may, perchance, 
 appal, but it shall not drive me from you." 
 
 " The sight of human passions is indeed unholy ; but beyond 
 that," said Edith, " thou hast naught to fear. The beings who 
 assemble in the caves are men — some of them noble, though 
 misguided ones. There may be danger to the body, but none unto 
 the soul." 
 
 This explanation, imperfect as it was, afforded great consolation 
 te Judith, who, however fearful where spiritual terrors were 
 concerned, possessed more perhaps than a man's contempt for earthly 
 danger. Born a vassal on the lands of Stanfield, in early life she 
 had been accustomed to traverse the woods, and more than once had 
 battled with the wolf. Drawing the long Saxon knife, which since 
 the escape from the holm, she carried concealed upon her person, 
 she whispered : 
 
 " They must be many that would harm you, lady, while I am by. 
 If danger press I am prepared to strike." 
 
 " Thanks ; but be cautious," replied her mistress ; " if discovered, 
 resistance would be worse than useless ; but I will hope the best," she 
 added, " for Providence favours my design. The moon is now 
 completely veiled, and not one single star, the gems upon night's 
 mantle, is twinkling in the heavens. If once, aided by Father 
 Oswald's instructions, we reach the cave, we are safe ; but whatever 
 you may see, speak not, breathe not, even though it be a prayer for 
 safety." 
 
 There was a solemn earnestness in Edith's manner which 
 precluded further conversation, and Judith sat for the rest of the 
 jovirney brooding over the mystery. A thousand times she was 
 tempted to demand an explanation, but as often repressed her curiosity 
 through affection and respect. 
 
 An hour's rowing brought them to Thorp, not as now, a lovely 
 village, adorned by all that wealth and culture can bestow, but a 
 low marshy swamp, dotted here and there with the rude wattle 
 cabins of the Saxon herds, Avho tended the cattle of their Norman 
 masters. From this point of their journey increased caution seemed 
 necessary, and they crept slowly along the left side of the river, 
 their noiseless course shadowed by the thick foliage of the trees and 
 shrubs which overhung its banks. Twice in their progress they 
 were alarmed by the sound of a distant oar, and compelled to lie 
 fiat within their boat, until the danger passed them. At last they 
 vontrived, unobserved,to reach the low shelving bank which conducted
 
 02 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 to the hills. Silently the rowers, who had evidently received their 
 instructions, drew their boat from out the stream, and concealed it 
 in the sedges, which grew in rank abundance on the banks. As soon 
 as this was done the old ferryman struck into a narrov/ pathway, 
 half hid by underwood and long dank grass. The countess and 
 Judith followed him, the rear being protected by the men-at-arms ; 
 and thus, without a word being spoken, the little party, in silence 
 and in darkness, pursued their way till they came to a rude pile of 
 unhewn stones, evidently the remains of some Druid temple. Here 
 a light was struck, the men-at-arms searching the bushes round, to 
 see if any cm-ious eye had dogged their steps, their hands upon their 
 long straight swords ready for immediate action. 
 
 The countess took an illuminated parchment from her bosom — it 
 was a plan with which Father Oswald had supplied her for her 
 enterj)rise — and compared the characters traced upon it with those 
 graven ujjon a large upright stone, which, from its enormous weight, 
 had resisted the zeal of the converted Saxons to overturn it. 
 Apparently they were the same ; a sigh escaped her breast, as if the 
 discovery had relieved it from some oppressive weight ; and for 
 the first time she spoke, but in a voice so low it scarcely scared the 
 genius of silence from the place : 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! they are the same. Quick — apply the instru- 
 ment ! " 
 
 Judith, whom the transactions of the last two hours had com- 
 pletely bewildered, beheld with increased astonishment the old 
 ferryman draw from his breast a kind of key, of curious form and 
 antique workmanship, and apply it to one of the interstices of the 
 stone, which, slowly turning on a concealed axle, disclosed a narrow 
 passage descending into the very bowels of the earth. Two of the 
 men-at-arms advanced, lit their torches, and disappeared through 
 the aperture. The countess, without the least hesitation, was 
 about to follow, when, unable longer to contain her apprehensions, 
 Judith caught her by the robe. 
 
 " What wouMst thou .? " demanded the courageous Edith. 
 
 "Kill me, dear lady," replied her attendant; "but do not ask 
 me to descend with you through yon dark fearful passage — it leads 
 to death, or to some charnel-house." 
 
 " To neither," interrupted her mistress ; " it leads to a recess 
 within the Druid's cave, where unseen we may observe what passes. 
 Patience, girl ; do not lose courage now ! That stone once closed, and 
 vfe are safe." 
 
 " But should our enemies pursue us thither ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " continued the countess ; " one being only knows 
 of its existence, Haga the Arch-Druid, who revealed it to me. 
 Come," she added, " one moment's hesitation may defeat my plans, 
 peril my Ulrick's safety, and destroy my hopes. What ! " she 
 exclaimed, with increased vehemence, seeing that Judith still
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 93 
 
 hesitated, " wouldst thou belie a life of proved fidelity, and desert 
 thy mistress in an hour like this ? " 
 
 The implied reproach, the mere suspicion of treason to Edith, 
 stung the breast of her hearer with- a far keener pang than her not 
 unnatural terrors, or even her fear of death, and restored both her 
 courage and self-possession — qualities which, under ordinary 
 circumstances, she eminently possessed. 
 
 " Lead on, gracious lady," she replied ; " you are right, quite 
 right ; why should I hesitate to follow where you lead ! — e'en to the 
 graA^e ? Should I expire at your feet, I should but end my days 
 where I have passed the service of my life." 
 
 A quiet grasp of the hand was Edith's sole reply. She 
 immediately descended the steps, Judith resolutely following. The 
 concealed mechanism was again set in motion, and the Druid's 
 stone resumed its accustomed place. For a long time they followed 
 their guide in darkness through the many windings of the secret 
 passage, for unfortunately the air was confined and too impure to 
 admit of their burning torches. Their progress was rendered still 
 more disagreeable by the unevenness of the road, and the flight of 
 numerous owls and bats, whom their visit had disturbed. Their 
 rugged pathway at last terminated in a species of hall or cave, 
 where they could breath more freely. The chalky and flinty walls 
 and roof had been shaped into something like form ; nay, even 
 architectural ornament, such as it was, had been added. Here they 
 again were enabled to light their torches ; for the air, from either 
 natural or artificial fissures, entered with reviving freshness. A 
 flight of rTide steps, at the extreme end of the hall — if we may so 
 call the cave in which the party were assembled — seemed the only 
 means of further progress. Edith and her noAv courageous 
 attendant mounted them, and discovered that they led to a sort of 
 parapet, too high for them to pass, but which they were sufficiently 
 tall to look over ; in fact, it was a species of wall separating the secret 
 passage from Whitlingham cave, and contrived by the Druids for 
 some now long-forgotten purpose. 
 
 The scene which presented itself to their astonished sight was 
 one which Salvator Eosa's magic pencil might have well described. 
 A huge fire blazed in the centre of the cave, which was far more 
 lofty than at the present day, the gradual accumulation of sand and 
 earth having considerably lessened its elevation. Torches of blazing 
 pine were fixed at regular intervals in iron niches in the wall, their 
 red glare falling on piles of arms, so arranged as to be ready for 
 immediate use. Polished shields and shining helms reflected back 
 the blaze, and rendered all that passed distinctly visible. A 
 considerable body of men were assembled within the cave ; some 
 were dozing off to sleep, others preparing food, or listening with 
 excited attention to the tales of old which one or two bards, in 
 under-tones. recited. But the chief personages of the scene were
 
 M STA^"FIELD HALL. 
 
 Standing together near the spot were Edith and her companion were 
 concealed. The princi^ml personage was a tall old man, whose 
 muscular form and stately limbs, well squared shoulders, and firm 
 step, told he was still possessed of giant strength. A chain of 
 massiTe gold was twisted round his neck, and bracelets of the same 
 precious metal adorned his arms and wrists : his tunic of green 
 cloth fell to the middle of his legs, and was richly trimmed with 
 sables : his countenance was strongly marked, but more perhaps by 
 grief than age ; a lofty brow which so overhung the eye, tliat it 
 would have given a heaviness of expression to the face, had not 
 the eyes redeemed it ; they were of that piercing blue so peculiar to 
 the Saxon race, and so expressive of love or hatred, scorn, passion, 
 or revenge. 
 
 The heart of the concealed countess beat wildly, as she gazed upon 
 him ; for Edda, the friend of her father, the father of her murdered 
 Edward, stood before her, — not, indeed, as when last she saw him 
 in the brown pride of autumn's age, but changed by winter's snows ; 
 still they sat gracefully upon him. His voice was round and rich of 
 tone as ever. Involuntarily the tears coursed each other down her 
 cheek as its first accents fell upon her ear ; for the sweet memory of 
 olden times came over her. 
 
 " 'Tis well we are resolved at last," said Edda, addressing his 
 brother franklins, who were standing round him. "The Saxon 
 sword hath remained so long inactive, I thought 'twas glued for ever 
 in its scabbard. Thank Heaven ! 'tis drawn again. We have too 
 long been dreamers ; my blood has grown thick, dull, and heavy ; 
 a stiiTing bout," he added, " will once more send it, with youthful 
 vigour, dancing through my veins, or end my dreams at once." 
 
 Long and patiently did Edith listen to their various arrangements ; 
 each Saxon leader was assigned his post ; whilst Edda, the head of 
 the far most numerous sept, taking advantage of the weakness of the 
 garrison, who were nearly all expected to assist at the trial by battle, 
 was to storm the castle. Coolly she heard discussed before her 
 whether the signal should be given for the attack before or after the 
 death of Ulrick, the end of whose contest with so renowned a knight 
 as Herman seemed anything but doubtful. The last points in their 
 proceedings being settled, one by one the numerous franklins took 
 their leave, and Edda, with his followers, remained alone within the 
 cave. For a while he occupied himself in giving orders to his men, 
 who received them with that respectful alacrity which showed their 
 veneration for their chief, whose countenance, since the departure 
 of his brother nobles, had gradually lost its energetic expression, and 
 resumed its habitual melancholy. Drawing his ample cloak around 
 him, he began soliloquising, as he paced to and fro by the watch-fire's 
 light within the cave. 
 
 " So," he murmured, " the Saxon wolf-dog is again unslipt to hunt 
 its Norman master. 'Tis a desperate chance to rouse the slumbering
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 95 
 
 courage of a vanquished people — raise them from slavery to freedom. 
 Should we fail, how many widowed dames and sireless sons will 
 curse the day we drew the powerless sword ! " 
 
 " Many," exclaimed Edith, who had left the place of her eoaeeal- 
 ment, and stood before him. 
 
 He started, and gazed on her with an expression of awe and fear. 
 He was ignorant of the secret means by which she entered. He 
 knew that the approaches to the cave were guarded by those upon 
 whose fidelity he could depend. It seemed as if a warning 82>irit 
 had risen from the earth to turn him from his purpose. 
 
 " Who and what art thou ? " he demanded, 
 
 Edith slowly raised her veil, and exposed her pale but still lovely 
 features to his view. Though many a year had passed since they 
 had met, he knew her at a glance, 
 
 "And what," he courteously asked, "brings Hugh de Bigod's 
 widowed countess to this lonely cave the very night of her lord's 
 obsequies ? Has the Norman heir driven his Saxon widow from, 
 her home ? If so, lady, thou art welcome — welcome for the meniory 
 of one most dear — of one whose love was the first spring-flower of 
 thy virgin heart, though forgotten now." 
 
 " Never forgotten, father," answered Edith, "for there are lines 
 BO deeply traced upon the heart, death's icy fingers only can efEace 
 them. 'Tis true, to save my wretched race from death, my father's 
 honoured age from beggary and shame, I gave my hand to Hugh de 
 Bigod, whose generous nature ne'er wronged the sacrifice ; but my 
 love was buried deep in Edward's lonely grave." 
 
 The name of his son, pronounced by the lips of the woman he 
 had so fondly loved, agitated the old man ; the tone of her voice 
 awakened many a long-forgotten thought, jarred many a broken 
 chord ; a tear dimmed his deep blue eye, but with a hasty movement 
 of his hand he dashed it aside, 
 
 " Speak not of Edward ! " he exclaimed ; " I am old, and age is 
 weak. Make not a woman of me," 
 
 " I must speak of him, and you must listen to me," 
 
 " How .? " 
 
 " His widow asks," said Edith, throwing herself upon her kne^, 
 and clasping the old man's hand, " the mother of his son." 
 
 " Woman ! " cried, or rather shrieked, the aged franklin, " what 
 have 1 heard ? My Edward's widow — the mother of his son ! I am 
 a lonelj' man, crushed by my sorrows. Do not trifle with me. The 
 storm," he added, " which once raged here, is now at peace ; but 
 words like these break the icy barriers of my heart, to spread, like 
 Etna's lava, desolation round," 
 
 The fearful energy of the old man's words alarmed the countess, 
 but failed to check her resolution. In his passion he had grasped 
 her wrist so intently, that the flesh quivered beneath his pressure ; 
 still she felt it not. With her disengaged hand she took a psper
 
 96 STAIS'FIELD HALL. 
 
 from her bosom, stained by time, but still more by her tears ; it was 
 the proof of her secret marriage with his son. Eagerly the old man 
 jDerused its contents. Twice he tried to speak, but his emotions 
 choked him. " True, true," he sobbed ; " none but a heart so seared 
 by treachery could doubt a voice like thine. Child of my friend, 
 bride of my murdered boy, come to his father's heart, which throbs 
 to pillow thee amid life's storms." In an instant Edith's arms were 
 twined round the old man's neck, her head reposing on his manly 
 breast ; the warm tears trickling down his venerable cheeks mingled 
 with hers. " But your son," he added — Edward's boy — my boy — is 
 he living yet ? A look — a sign — and I am happy." The anxious 
 tone of the speaker showed how deeply every feeling was interested 
 in the repl3\ He watched his helpless burthen ; fate seemed to hang 
 upon her lips. 
 
 " He lives," murmured Edith. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! Oh, many a goodly rood of land, for this, shall 
 grace our Lady's shrine. Where is my boy ? " 
 
 " A prisoner in the castle." 
 
 " A prisoner ! " echoed Edda ; " 111 tear him thence, though a 
 Norman's blood cemented every stone. A prisoner ! Tyrants ! are 
 they not drunk with blood enough already ? A prisoner ! But enough 
 — he lives, and Edward's bo;/ shall not long linger in the Norman's 
 hold. Life's purple tide rekindles at my heart ; my nerves thrill 
 with the energies of former years ; revenge and rage are struggling 
 in my breast for dreadful mastery. Spirits of my fathers," he 
 continued, casting himself upon his knees, " in whose veins the 
 mingled blood of kings and heroes ran — Odin and Hengist, from 
 your thrones look down, and let your power protect your wretched 
 race — rally, immortal spirits, round my sword, and guide it to each 
 Norman tyrant's heart ! " 
 
 " Not to the Norman's, but the Saxon's, father. From our own 
 race the serpent sprang whose venom hath undone us — Saxon the 
 sword which made thee childless and me a widow — Saxon the tongue 
 which would complete our ruin, and dares accuse our murdered 
 Edward's boy ! " 
 
 At the words of the countess a ray of light penetrated the mind of 
 Edda ; and he exclaimed, as the truth flashed upon him : 
 
 " Ulrick is thy son ! " 
 
 " He is ! " continued Edith — " the noble, genei'ous, the heroic boy ! 
 Father, thou needst not blvTsh to own him ; not in the history of thy 
 honoured line, princes, or fabled heroes of thy race, will a nobler 
 heai-t or mind be found than Ulrick's." 
 
 Rapidly did the excited mother relate to the powerful franklin 
 the history of her early marriage — Ulrick's birth, supposed death, 
 and miraculous preservation by Herbert de Lozenga, by whose 
 direction she had been sent to warn him that the plans of the Saxon 
 insurrection were betrayed, and measures taken to defeat them. As
 
 STANFIELD HALL.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 99 
 
 she proceeded in her tale to support the truth of her assertions, she 
 showed the signet ring, upon the production of which by Father 
 Oswald, Herman had so unexpectedly declared the nobility of Ulrick's 
 birth ; and in conclusion she placed in his hands a packet, bearing 
 the seal of the prelate, the contents of which she was herself 
 unacquainted with. Hastily Edda broke the seal, and found it to 
 contain an agreement, signed by most of the Saxon chiefs engaged 
 in the conspiracy, in the event of their success, to deprive him of 
 the government of his vast possessions, and allow him during his 
 life the enjoyment merely of a portion of his revenues, unless, to 
 avoid the humiliation, he chose to adopt Herman as his heir. The 
 parchment had fallen into the hands of the bishop, through the agency 
 of Father Oswald. 
 
 "What," exclaimed Edda, as he recognised each well known 
 signature and seal, " would they divide the lion's spoil ere he had 
 fallen into the snare ? Fools, they have sealed their own most 
 righteous doom ! The pitfall they have dug shall prove their 
 ruin ! " 
 
 Long and anxiously did the countess remain in consultation with 
 the chief, and morning had already dawned ere the lonely bark, 
 wdth its silent rowers, was again launched upon the stream. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was late on the morning after the obsequies of Hugh de Bigod, 
 when the seneschal entered the prison of Ulrick, to announce to 
 him the decision of the Normans : that Mirvan should be permitted 
 to appear in the lists as the champion of the deceased earl — a 
 ceremony Avhich he fulfilled with all the chivalrous courtesy of the 
 age. The impression which the announcement made upon the 
 generous heart of the prisoner may more easily be imagined than 
 described ; love, honour, all opposed it. The haughty Saxon who 
 had taunted him with the mystery of his birth, who had outraged 
 his pride, infamously and falsely accused him of a crime at which 
 his soul revolted, he could have met in the deadly strife of arms ; 
 nay, thirsted for the encounter, which, in the opinions of the age, 
 would have decided the question of innocence or guilt between 
 them ; but Mirvan was a different enemy — he was the first friend 
 of his youth — the brother of Matilda — the son called on, as he 
 believed, to avenge his parent's blood. Friendship as well as 
 principle forbade him to draw the sword in such a contest. The 
 struggle was short but bitter ; and he determined, whatever might 
 be the consequence, to refuse the combat, where victory would be 
 worse than defeat— where every blow he struck would wound a 
 
 H 2
 
 100 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 heart clearer than his own. Firmly, therefore, he declared his 
 refusal to meet any bnt Herman in the lists ; nor could the friendly 
 remonstrance to the seneschal induce him even for a moment to 
 reconsider his determination. 
 
 " You are aware," urged his visitor, "that the trial by battle once 
 appealed to, and then declined, leaves you no other judgment ; by 
 the law of arms, you will be deemed guilty, and suffer not only death, 
 but dishonour." 
 
 " Be it so," replied Ulrick ; " better to die v^ith an unmerited 
 stain upon my name than to live to bear within my heart the fires 
 of remorse. I will not lift my arm against my earliest, thoitgh 
 misguided, friend." 
 
 " Not even to prove your innocence ? " demanded the officer. 
 
 " No," answered the youth, after a moment's pause ; " enough 
 that my own heart knows it." 
 
 " Who else will know it when thou art dead, branded with a 
 felon's name ? " 
 
 " Heaven ! " exclaimed Ulrick, with a look of resignation, " and 
 the good angels who watch the grave of peace." 
 
 The seneschal, whom the prisoner's firmness touched, bowed 
 respectfully, and withdrew. 
 
 Although unable to appreciate his motives, he respected them : 
 his rough soldier nature admired the martjT courage which could 
 so calmly contemplate the approach of death, rejecting the last 
 chance of safety. 
 
 " So ends my dream of life," exclaimed Ulrick, as he heard the 
 heavy iron bar drawn on the exterior of his prison-door, " Honour 
 has been its dream of youth — my manhood shall not shame it at its 
 close. Erect in my integrity, I can meet my doom, and march to 
 the scaffold as to the victor's car." 
 
 " Such," said a deep voice behind him, " is the Christian's courage 
 and the martyi-'s faith." 
 
 The prisoner started at the sound, and, turning, beheld Father 
 Oswald, who had entered his dungeon by the secret passage. His 
 astonishment was extreme ; for, from the state of insensibility in 
 which the poisoned wine had plunged him, he was ignorant of the 
 monk's previotts visit. 
 
 " Father Oswald ! How, in the name^ of every saint, gained you 
 admittance here ? " 
 
 *' By natural means," replied the old man, pointing to the secret 
 passage, which he had left open ; " by the same means thou mayest 
 avoid thv fate. Follow me." 
 
 " Whither ? " 
 
 " To liberty." 
 
 An expression of scorn curled the prisoner's lip ; for, in his mind, 
 flight was connected with dishonour. 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, " fly ! and live to bear a branded name 1
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 101 
 
 give truth the lie ! and turn approver to my proper shame ? Oh, 
 never, never ! " 
 
 " Then meet the Norman champion in the fight," replied the 
 monk. 
 
 " Impossible ! " said the yonth, mournfully ; " he is my friend — 
 unkind, I grant you, still he is my friend ! " 
 
 " Friend ! " repeated Oswald, in a tone of pity. " Do such dreams 
 linger in thee yet ? Natures like thine are born to be deceived. 
 Cold as this heart is, it can feel for thee." 
 
 " Hast thou no faith in friendship ? " 
 
 " As much as in the sea's delusive calm before the tempest breaks," 
 bitterly answered the old man ; " as much as in the serpent's 
 innocence because it sleeps. Friendship ! I tell thee, boy, it is the 
 coin with which man cheats his fellows — a wretch plotting against 
 his neighbour's peace and life can find no mask so sure to hide his 
 purpose as friendship's sullied name. The bird whose wings fan 
 its own funeral pyre is not more purely fable than a friend. 
 Wouldst thovi be happy," he added, " dream not of friendship 
 more." 
 
 " Mirvan is my friend," interrupted Ulrick. 
 
 " Yet he, unheard, condemned thee," coolly observed the priest. 
 
 The reply shot a pang to Ulrick's breast ; for in the confidence of 
 his nature, the generosity of his heart, he felt that he could not have 
 judged unheard as Mirvan judged ; still he endeavoured to defend 
 him. 
 
 " His father's death," he faltered, " and the false words of an 
 artful fiend, have blinded his better reason ; so confidence has given 
 place to doubt." 
 
 "And what is friendship, fi a doubt can shake it ? But come," 
 added the priest, "for I have still a solemn ministry to be performed, 
 and I could wish that mercy should precede justice. The path to 
 freedom lies before thee. Fly from the enemies who seek thy blood, 
 to those who long to welcome thee." 
 
 " Never," resolutely answered the young man, "will I consent to 
 stain my name by ignominious flight." 
 
 " Not though it lead thee to thy mother's arms?" demanded the 
 priest, "to her maternal blessing, to a name proud as the proudest 
 of thy Norman foes — a name which renders thee the mate of any line 
 their pirate racq e'er boasted ? " 
 
 " What meanest thou, father, by these words ? " demanded the 
 youth, deeply excited. " Thou art a holy man ; thy words, should 
 be of truth. Are these things so ? " 
 
 The priest silently bowed his head in confirmation of his words 
 — words which the prisoner had drunk into his very soul — words 
 which assured him that his boyhood's hopes were no longer 
 dreams. 
 
 " And yet," said Ulrick, despairingly, after a pause, " I cannot fly."
 
 102 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 " Not," interrupted the monk, " if, the moment thou wert free, 
 the evidence of thine innocence, attested by the hand of tliine accuser, 
 witnessed by those who now would judge thee, were produced, to 
 clear thy fame beyond suspicion's breath ? " 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 " Canst thou doubt me ? " he added, seeing that Ulrick's last 
 objection was shaken. " Men so near the grave as I am seldom lie. 
 Here is a dress in which thou mayst pass unsuspected by the 
 soldiery, should we encounter such when beyond the castle wall. 
 Array thyself, for time is precious with me." 
 
 Ulrick hesitated no longer ; the assurance that the proofs of his 
 innocence should be placed within his hands, when once beyond 
 the castle, decided him, and he hastened to assume the disguise of 
 a lay brother, which his kind protector had brought him. Just as 
 he had drawn the cowl over his face, the door of his prison opened, 
 and the seneschal, who had been directed to conduct the prisoner 
 before the nobles, to explain his extraordinary resolution of not 
 appearing in the lists against Mirvan, entered the cell. His 
 astonishment at the sight of the two monks was extreme. 
 
 " Where is the prisoner ? " he exclaimed, after having cast a 
 hasty glance round the cell. 
 
 " Beyond your reach," coolly replied Father Oswald. 
 
 " Treachery is here ! " exclaimed the seneschal, raising his voice. 
 " What ho ! guard ! the prisoner hath escaped ! Warders, to your 
 posts ! Treason, ho ! " 
 
 The effect of the alarm was to set every man within the walls on 
 the alert. The word was passed from post to post, and the heavy 
 tramp of the armed soldiery was heard upon the stairs ascending to 
 the tower. 
 
 " Too late, too late ! " whispered the prisoner to Father Oswald ; 
 " the guard are here." 
 
 A dozen men-at-arms rushed into the prison as he spoke. Firmly 
 the monk grasped Ulrick's arm as he replied — 
 
 " Were their chains upon thy limbs, boy, they should melt like 
 wax ; were the sword above thy head, I would shiver it ere it fell. 
 Brute force is theirs — science and wisdom mine." 
 
 " Seize them ! " exclaimed the seneschal. " Cut them down if 
 they attempt to pass ! " 
 
 The men were about to obey their chief, when Father Oswald 
 scattered a powder upon the floor, which instantly ignited on coming 
 in contact with the air, and filled the prison with a thick vapour, 
 from which lurid flames occasionally flashed, and peals of thunder 
 rolled. The affrighted Normans fell prostrate through fear and 
 superstition, the belief i'^i magic being universal at the time, though 
 condemned by law, both civil and ecclesiastic. 
 
 " The fiend ! the fiend !" they shouted, and in their terror called 
 upon every saint to save them. Gradually the flames subsided, and
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 103 
 
 the dense vapour became dispersed ; when they recovered sufficient 
 courage to look around them. The two monks had disappeared ; 
 they found themselves within the prison, trembling and alone. A 
 long, winding staircase, concealed in the thickness of the wall, 
 brought the fugitives to the very foundations of the castle, where 
 the air felt cold and damp. Here they paused for breath, and 
 Father Oswald lit a torch which he had brought beneath his vest. 
 Ulrick found himself, on looking round, in a cell something similar 
 totheone he had just quitted ; the same rough-sculptured Crucifixion 
 adorned the wall, representing St. William in the Wood. From 
 another concealed passage opening from its back, they proceeded in 
 the direction of the chapel, to which they mounted by similar 
 winding stairs to those they had descended. 
 
 " Caution ! " exclaimed the priest, as they reached the last step, 
 which brought them to a panel of carved oak, which evidently 
 answered the purpose of a concealed door, the complicated mechanism 
 by which it was opened being on their side of it. His companion 
 arrested his step at the word, for he heard voices in the chapel. By 
 removing a small slide, Ulrick was enabled to peep through a portion 
 of the fretwork and see Avhat was passing in the sacred edifice, without 
 himself being seen by those he watched. 
 
 Isabel and Matilda were standing near the altar in earnest 
 conversation with Odo of Caen, who seemed to defend himself but 
 weakly against some joint request. It was the voice of the former 
 that first met his ear. 
 
 " Impossible ! " she exclaimed, pettishly, as if repeating the words 
 of the knight ; " there is nothing impossible to a willing mind or to 
 a lady's prayer. What harm can possibly arise from my cousin and 
 myself visiting the prisoner in his dungeon ? Think you that we 
 shall smuggle him away beneath our wimples ? or all three escape 
 on a fiery dragon ? " 
 
 " Not that," replied Odo, smiling at her earnestness ; " but he is 
 under ward, and I am pledged in honour to admit neither friend nor 
 enemy to converse with him. Be reasonable, pretty coz, and press 
 me therefore no more upon this theme." 
 
 " Indeed, but I will press thee, and earnestly, too," answered 
 Isabel ; " for thy objections, despite thy protestations, are as slight 
 as thy wish to favour us. By thy vow of knighthood, thou art 
 bound to succour innocence ; and Ulrick, I tell thee, again and again, 
 is innocent. Had Herman been the champion, tongue of mine 
 had never wagged to prevent the fight. Heaven, I doubt not, would 
 have protected the righteous cause, and decided well between them, 
 for I feel assured that Herman is " 
 
 " Herman will never more appear as champion in any cause," 
 gravely interrupted the knight, who shuddered as he remembered 
 his midnight execution in the cloisters of the cathedral, and his own 
 share in it.
 
 104 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " The better for the cause, if it be a good one. But come," she 
 added, " brother Odo — for I suppose I must some day call thee so — 
 pleasure us in this. Why, thou makest more mouths to perform an 
 act of justice than others would to strain a point of honour. 
 Matilda and myself both vouch for Ulrick's innocence ; and sureh^ 
 the woid of two noble Norman maidens may outweigh a Saxon's 
 Blander. Would that my sister Jane were here ! — ^thou wouldst not 
 dare say nay to her." 
 
 Though not convinced, the knight was shaken in his resolution ; 
 the appeal to her sister's name had touched a secret chord in his 
 stern nature ; yet he yielded not at once, but continued to resist, 
 more for honour than the hope of victory. 
 
 " Could I but see the use of such an interview — what chance ! " 
 he muttered. 
 
 " Every hope," interrupted Matilda, speaking for the first time. 
 " There is some fearful mystery concealed in Ulrick's accusation. 
 Woman's wit will often find the key where man's boasted wisdom 
 fails. We judge from sympathies ; cold man from reason. Did he 
 not risk his own to save my brother's life ? Was not the sword 
 with which 'tis said the felon blow was struck my parting gift ? A 
 gift," she added, slightly blushing as the eye of the knight 
 encountered hers, " sanctioned by my brother's presence and my 
 cousin's smile ! Odo, should either Ulrick or my brother fall in this 
 unholj' fight, eternal must be their remorse who might have stayed 
 the contest." 
 
 '•' 'Tis s^yed already," answered Odo. " Know you not the 
 prisoner hath refused to measure swords with Mirvan ? " 
 
 " Noble Ulrick ! " exclaimed Matilda ; "yet not more noble than 
 my judgment painted him ; and what is the result ? " 
 
 "By the law of arms," he reluctantly answered, "he is 
 condemned to die." 
 
 " To die !" exclaimed Matilda, violently excited. " Oh, no ! 
 you cannot be so lost to every precept of humanity — to every voice 
 of justice. Unheard to die ! to quit the gorgeous scenes of this fair 
 earth — exchange life's hopes and gushing sympathies for the vile 
 headsman's steel, with honour's impulses throbbing at the heart — 
 to sink to a dishonoured grave, is e'en too horrible for thought. If 
 it be so," she added, firmlj-, " e'en at the place of execution one 
 voice shall still proclaim his dnnocence, and vindicate his name." 
 
 Our readers may well imagine with what transport the eloquent 
 words of the speaker fell upon the listener's ear. The sinner who 
 heard the angel of mercy pleading for him at the judgment seat 
 could not have felt a deeper transport. In the excitement of the 
 moment he would have quitted his concealment, and, regardless of 
 the danger, have cast himself at Matilda's feet, to pour out his heart 
 in grateful prayer, had not the hand of Father Oswald wisely 
 restrained him.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 105 
 
 " Patience," whispered the old man ; " that which is deferred is 
 far from lost ; thon yet shall thank her like thyself, my son," 
 
 Even Odo was struck by the fair speaker's confidence and despair ; 
 they naturally turned his thoughts to a fresh channel. 
 
 " Lady," he said, " thou lovest this unknown youth ; and love, 
 too often, blinds our better reason." 
 
 " Odo of Caen," replied the maiden, with dignity, " this is 
 ungenerously urged ; but since it hath been so, be this my answer, 
 that never word of love from Ulrick's lips have fallen on my ear ; 
 and I spring not from a race that could, unsought, be won. Ulrick, 
 the unknown youth, can never be to me more than the preserver 
 of my brother's life. De Bigod's daughter weds but with a line as 
 pure and as illustrious as her own." 
 
 The deep blush which had suffused the speaker's countenance 
 gave way to the mortal paleness which, since her father's death, 
 o'ershadowed it. The rough soldier was awed by the dignity of 
 her manner, and the hopeless tone in which her words were 
 uttered. If not convinced, he seemed to be convinced ; though 
 skilled to read the human heart, he generously closed the page, and 
 strove to read no further. For a few moments there was a pause, 
 which Odo was the first to break. 
 
 " Lady," he said, bending the knee with courtly gallantry, " that 
 I believe my thoughts have wronged thee, be this the proof. I yield 
 to thy demand ; I will myself conduct thee and the Lady Isabel to 
 the prison door, and leave you to converse with the accused, of 
 whom I'll think the better that his innocence is vouched by thee. 
 Speak," he added, with a smile, " am I forgiven ? " 
 
 " Forgiven ? " said Isabel, who saw that Matilda was unable to 
 reply ; " ay, and shalt be rewarded, too. I'll plead thy cause with 
 Jane, and on her wedding-day my cousin and myself will braid her 
 hair, and every pearl we have shall go to deck it. But when," she 
 added, " shall we to the prison ? — to-morrow is the day appointed 
 for the fight." 
 
 Odo was about to I'eply, when the alarm-bell of the castle caught 
 his ear, as it sent forth its iron summons. He' started at the sound : 
 his first thought was of the intended Saxon insurrection. The 
 possibility of the prisoner's escape never struck him. Before he 
 had even time to draw his sword, Robert of Artois rushed into the 
 chapel. 
 
 " Speak ! " cried Odo ; " what means the alarm ? — are the Saxon 
 hounds upon us ? " 
 
 " The prisoner hath escaped ! " 
 
 Matilda and Isabel were in an instant upon their knees before the 
 shrine in mute thanksgiving ; a weight seemed to have been removed 
 from both their hearts — Matilda for Ulrick's, and Isabel for Mirvan's 
 safety. 
 
 " Escaped ! " repeated Odo ; " impossible ! the tower was guarded
 
 106 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 by my own and Bigod's followers. I'll stake my life on their 
 fidelity. There must be some witchcraft or devilry in this. But 
 follow me," he added, " Whate'er the mystery may be, we'll see the 
 bottom of it." 
 
 Odo, followed by Robert of Artois, left the building as he spoke. 
 
 " Now, then, follow ! " whispered Father Oswald ; " we must 
 cross the chapel. On the opposite side is the entrance to another 
 passage, which leads us beneath the castle moat, e'en to the cloisters. 
 It were dangerous now to traverse the guarded plain between them ; 
 follow me, then, in silence." 
 
 He opened the concealed spring as he spoke, and in an instant he 
 found himself with his companion in the chapel. So absorbed were 
 both Isabel and Matilda in their prayers, that they heeded not the 
 echo of the priest's sandalled foot, or the yet heavier tread of Ulrick. 
 The latter could not, however, in his love and gratitude, forget the 
 generous defence of his honour made by the lips most dear to him. 
 Led by the passionate impulse of his heart, he cast himself at the 
 maiden's feet, and printed a burning kiss upon her hand. 
 
 Matilda started with surprise at such an action from a monk, and 
 was about to rebuke his insolence, when the voice whose tones had 
 so often awakened an echo in her heart reassured her. 
 
 " Angel of mercy," he exclaimed, "farewell! thy judgment hath 
 not wronged thy goodness ; the spotless virgin in her cloistered cell 
 — the infant smiling at its mother's breast — are not more free from 
 blood than I am. At the hour of battle, fear not but that I shall be 
 there, to prove my innocence or brave my doom." 
 
 Before Matilda or Isabel could reply, l?lrick had again drawn 
 the cov\d over his face, and disappeared after his mysterious 
 conductor. 
 
 Herbert de Lozenga, Edda, and the countess were seated in an 
 apartment of the episcopal palace, when Father Oswald, after 
 conducting Ulrick through the subterranean passages which 
 connected the castle with the cathedral, emerged with him into the 
 cloisters. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed the priest, " we are secure at last, 
 boy ; the danger is over, and I have kept my promise to thee." 
 
 He was about to leave him as he spoke. 
 
 " Stay, father," cried the youth ; " safety, indeed, thou hast 
 secured me ; but, remember, it must not be safety without honour ; 
 either the proofs you promised of my innocence, or I surrender 
 myself once more a prisoner." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Oswald, with a melancholy smile, " doubtful 
 still .'' " He advanced and took his companion by the hand, and 
 continued in a kinder voice : " Ulrick, I have been a man of sin 
 and sorrow ; my pride has been humbled into the dust, my wisdom 
 confounded by a child. Yet not to redeem the past — to avoid the 
 last fearful ordeal which awaits me — would I pollute these lips
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 107 
 
 with falsehood. The proofs I promised you exist ; another hand 
 than mine will yield them to thee. Give thy present hour to 
 nature's claims — another will be found for honour's. Remember 
 that thou hast a mother, whose heart throbs as it would burst 
 its bosom to enfold thee. Follow me — I will conduct thee to 
 her." 
 
 There was a tone in the monk's voice which at once convinced 
 Ulrick, and forbade reply. Its sadness touched him — its truthfulness 
 confirmed him in his confidence. With the obedience, if not the sim- 
 plicity, of a child, he followed his conductor to the room where his 
 earliest benefactor and new-found parent awaited him. Eagerly did 
 the prelate, on his appearance, advance to meet him, for he loved 
 him like a son. Ulrick's heart was the first which in his sorrows 
 taught him his own was human — recalled him to himself — restored 
 him to the world ; and he was now returned to him, like the 
 shipwi-ecked mariner whom all thought lost, through danger and 
 through storm, doubly welcome to his lonely heart. Fervently, 
 therefore, was the good man's benediction given, and grateful tears 
 accompanied it. 
 
 " Ulrick," he said, as the youth rose from his knees, " there is a 
 blessing as sacred even as the priest's — as grateful to the heart as 
 the anointed prelate's holy words. Does not nature whisper thee it 
 is thy mother's ? Go, ask it," he added, " of the heart which yearns 
 to give it thee ; tell her she need not blush to call thee by the 
 endearing name of son," 
 
 " I do believe thee," exclaimed the happy Edith, as she threw her 
 arms around the neckof Ulrick, and imprinted a motherly, holy kiss 
 upon his cheek ; " come to the wudowed heart which through long 
 years hath mourned thee as the dead, yet feels its sorrows overpaid 
 in finding thee at last. Ulrick, m\ boy, my good and brave ! my 
 Edward's image ! my life's only flower ! the thrill which struck me 
 when I first beheld thee was Natitre struggling to proclaim thee 
 mine ; and, dullard as I am, my heart was deaf to her mute eloqtience, 
 or I had known my son." 
 
 A flood of tears relieved the o'erfraught heart, which else had 
 burst with too mtich happiness. The prelate felt that there were 
 scenes too sacred even for his ministry to witness. Silently he 
 withdrew from the apartment, followed by Father Oswald, into the 
 cloisters, which for a while he paced in silence, the aged monk 
 watching his steps. 
 
 " Brother," he at last exclaimed, turning to Oswald, " thy penance 
 upon earth hath indeed been sore, and this last blow surpasses human 
 justice. Fearful as have been the crimes of thy son, I feel both for 
 him and thee." 
 
 " I can bear it," replied the old man, with a firm voice. " His 
 will who ruleth all things be accomplished ! " 
 
 " If Heaven can pardon," resumed the bishop, " should man
 
 108 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 prove relentless ? May not the life of thy unhappy and misguided 
 boy be spared — spared for repentance and for future hope ?" 
 
 " My lord, he is repentant. But the crime of sacrilege must be 
 atoned ; the insulted altar calls for expiation. Our duties both are 
 painful : yours to yield him to the arm which condemns him to the 
 flames ; mine to reconcile the victim for the sacrifice. Shrink not 
 from yours, I am prepared for mine." 
 
 The speaker hesitated for a moment, as if struggling with some 
 internal weakness, and then threw himself upon his knees before 
 the bishop, who instantly endeavoured to raise him, which the old 
 man resisted. 
 
 " No ! " he exclaimed, " this posture suits me best ; it is a 
 suppliant's. Grant me the only favour I ever asked of man." 
 
 " Name it, my son," replied his superior, anxious to please 
 him. 
 
 " Let not my son, the last of a line whose royal priesthood is lost 
 in the mist of ages, be dragged like a peasant to the stake. Clad 
 in his knightly armour, unshamed by degradation, let him die." 
 
 "Willingly, my son." 
 
 " The heart is willing, but the flesh is weak," continued Oswald 
 " I cannot see him die ; but I will so prepare him for his fate, that 
 you shall find an unresisting sacrifice. Till the last hour arrives, 
 leave him with me and Heaven." 
 
 " Be it as you wish. Orders shall be given even in justice to 
 remember mercy. His suflierings shall be brief." 
 
 " Not so," interrupted the monk ; " I would not abridge one 
 mortal pang ; for, oh ! " he added, "they are too little to atone for 
 sacrilege, neglected duty, and a soul perverted. Your blessing, 
 holy father ! " be continued — " your blessing ! Pray for me at the 
 hour of daily sacrifice, when from thy sacred lips the supplication 
 for ofi:ending man rises to Heaven ! — ^remember him whose youth 
 was darkness, and whose age was sorrow ! " 
 
 The clanging of an iron heel upon the pavement caused them 
 both to start. Meekly bowing. Father Osv/ald rose from his knee, 
 after receiving the episcopal benediction, and directed his steps 
 towards the prison, for his last interview with his unhappy son. 
 
 Even the approach of an armed knight — for such the stranger 
 proved to be — would not have diverted the prelate's mind from the 
 chain of thought in which his interview with the monk had thrown 
 it, had he not recognised in the red-haired and coarse-visaged stranger 
 the son of his Sovereign — the same, who, shortly after, under the 
 title of William Ruf us, succeeded to the Crown, and lost both his 
 crown and his life by his vexatious tyranny. On recognising him, 
 Herbert de Lozenga immediately recovered his courtly self-possession, 
 and advanced to meet him. 
 
 " Thanks, my lord bishop, thanks," he exclaimed, with the 
 bluntness which characterised his manners ; " we doubt not of your
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 109 
 
 sincerity, but something to restore the inner man were more welcome 
 now than compliments. We have ridden hard, my lord." 
 
 No expression on the features of his hearer showed the prelate's 
 high-bred scorn of his unpolished guest. By a silver call, which, 
 after the manner of the age, he wore suspended by his side, he 
 summoned a lay brother to his presence, to w^hom he com- 
 municated the necessary orders for an ample refection to be 
 instantly served in his own private apartment. 
 
 " And so the Saxon clods would rise against us ! " continued 
 William, " By the hand of Rollo, but I will break their stubborn 
 necks, or bend them to the yoke ! I will not leave a Saxon 
 franklin in his hall ; fire and sword shall purge the land of 
 all who bear the hated name. I will make England one vast 
 hunting-ground, and chase them at my pleasure. Our father's 
 health, my lord, we are told, breaks fast; let me but once be king ! " 
 
 " Never, with such views," said Herbert, " canst thou maintain 
 thy seat ; thy very nobles, William, would forsake thee. Think by 
 how many ties the Saxon and the Norman bloods are linked, how 
 many holy sympathies unite the conquerors and the conquered. 
 
 By conciliation only canst thou hope to reign, or hold in peace 
 thy crown." 
 
 " I'd rather hold it by my sword ! " impetuously answered the 
 fiery prince, 
 
 " Crowns have often by the sword been won, but seldom held by 
 it. Thou saidst but now thy father's days were numbered. Ask 
 thyself, hast thou no rival near the throne whose claims may clash 
 with thine, despite thy father's favour ? " 
 
 William started, and remembered his elder brother, the 
 unfortunate Robert, whom he eventually supplanted both in 
 England and Normandy, and whose eyes were barbarously put 
 out, to render him incapable of reigning, Avhile he was a prisoner 
 in Cardiff Castle — put out by order of his cruel brother. 
 
 " My father by his sword v/on this fair isle, and may will it as 
 he pleases," proudly answered the prince. " I am not to be 
 checked by fears like these. By Heaven, prelate, did I deem thee 
 false, I'd place thee where thy treason should be hurtless." 
 
 A transient flush for a moment clouded the unusually pale 
 features of the bishop, and his eye was lit by a fire which showed 
 he had once been dangerous. Still, ever master of himself, he 
 paused till the sentiment of anger had passed away, and then 
 answered, in his usual cold and unimpassioned tone — 
 
 " I am not of those whom princes judge. Reserve, young man, 
 your threat for those who fear them. Were it my will, prince as 
 thou art, to send thee bound in chains unto thy elder brother, or 
 place thy head upon the Tower of London, I'd find the means to do 
 it. Treason, to me ! Forget not, prince, I am of a line as noble as , 
 thine own."
 
 110 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 The young prince, who well knew the influence which Herbert 
 de Lozenga possessed amongst his countrymen, felt that he had 
 gone too far. The right of his father to leave him the crown he 
 had acquired, to the prejudice of his elder brother Eobert, might 
 be disputed ; in such a case the bishop's voice would be most 
 important. He smothered, therefore, his secret wrath, and had 
 recourse to that hypocrisy for which he was distinguished. 
 
 " Forgive me, my good lord," he exclaimed, with an expression 
 of frankness too transparent not to be seen through ; " but children 
 will sometimes quarrel with their itutors — you know your pleasure 
 ever is our will." 
 
 At this moment the lay brother returned to inform his superior 
 that the refection waited them. 
 
 " 'Tis well," said the bishop. " Prince, I attend you." 
 
 His guest for a few moments hesitated ; in his own treacherous, 
 cruel nature he doubted the sincerity of all men. He was alone, 
 in the power of a man whom he had indiscreetly threatened, and 
 he judged his conduct from what his own would have been on 
 such an occasion, 
 
 " We are friends, my lord, I trust," he said. " Remember that 
 I came hither on your summons, slightly attended, with full 
 confidence in your w^ell-known loyalty and faith. You will not 
 wrong it ? " 
 
 "The man who came on Herbert de Lozenga's summons," 
 replied his host, " were safe, even though my brother's blood 
 crimsoned his hand. Eat of my bread, drink of my cup, and sleep 
 beneath my roof in peace as well as safety." 
 
 But half -satisfied, the young prince followed the prelate from the 
 
 cloisters. The collation once despatched, they remained for several 
 
 hours in council, where the strong mind of the ecclesiastic 
 
 completely subjugated the weak one of his guest, who determined, 
 
 at least on the present occasion, to be guided by his experience, 
 
 and conform himself to his wishes. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Long after the preceding interview. Father Oswald was still 
 occupied in prayer with his son, whose repentance, at least, 
 appeared sincere ; humbly and devoutly he had received from his 
 parent's hand the baptismal rite, whose regenerating waters Avash 
 all guilt away ; a holy calm had succeeded the frantic ravings of 
 despair, and Ernulf felt almost resigned to die. His armour, which 
 he had taken off for the ceremony, was piled in one corner of the 
 room ; the font and tapers occupied the centre. As the penitent 
 rose from his knees, his father removed the stole from his neck and 
 placed it on the couch ; as he did so the great bell of the church 
 began its solemn peal, — a signal to the citizens and inmates of the 
 abbey that the execution was about to take place. Ernulf started at 
 the sound ; despite his resignation, he turned pale.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. Ill 
 
 " Fear not, boj'," said the old man ; " in reconciling thee to 
 Heaven, I have saved thee from the penalties of earth. It were not 
 just that thou shouldst suffer for thy crimes, while he whose neglect 
 perilled thy soul escaped," 
 
 " What meanest thou, father ? " demanded the prisoner, a faint 
 ray of hope once more returning to his heart, 
 
 " That I have provided for thee the means of safety," answered 
 the old man, " Thinkest thou," he added, " I would see thee perish 
 in the flames, and feel my sins had lit thy funeral pyre ? Take this 
 packet — it contains that which in a far distant land will guard thee 
 against want ; take it, together with my robe, and fly," 
 
 " And leave you here a prisoner in my place ? Never, father — 
 never ; I am not so base as that." 
 
 " Even so," impassibly answered the monk ; " what should I 
 fear ? " 
 
 " The vengeance of the Church," replied his son, 
 
 " Ernulf, dismiss the thought ; I swear to thee no human 
 judgment shall ever reach me for the act. Besides, if my own heart 
 approves, I value not the censure of other men's tongues. My robes 
 will pass thee safe and unquestioned through the city. Once beyond 
 the walls, thou knowest too well the country to be retaken. Hark," 
 he continued as the bell again struck upon his ear, " time grows 
 short. By the obedience which a son should pay his father, I 
 command thee assume my robe and fly ! " 
 
 The love of life is perhaps the last sentiment which abandons us, 
 and Ernulf felt it with renewed force at every sound of the signal 
 bell. The natural horror of death — and of such a death — decided 
 him, and he hastily assumed the robe and cowl which Father Oswald 
 had already laid aside. Calmly, and with an untrembling hand, the 
 old man assisted him to arrange the disguise, and placed the packet 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Farewell, my son," he exclaimed in a firm voice ; " on earth we 
 meet no more. Thy safety for ever banishes thee from England, 
 and my career on earth is short; pray that its end be happy. 
 Forgive the harshness that oppressed thy youth, the cold neglect 
 which closed thy opening heart, as I forgive thy disobedience and 
 thy crime. Farewell ! A priest's and a father's blessing rest upon 
 thee ! " 
 
 The speaker extended his arm over the disguised criminal as he 
 spoke, and remained for a few moments absorbed in mental prayer. 
 Gradually recovering himself, he led him to the door of the dun- 
 geon, opened it, pressed his hand for the last time as he passed 
 through, then closed it between them for ever. 
 
 For some moments he listened to the receding footsteps of his 
 son, and breathed more freely as they fell fainter and fainter upon 
 his ear. 
 
 " He is safe ! " exclaimed Oswald, with a smile of triumph. " I
 
 112 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 thank Thee Father that the soul Thon gavest has not through my 
 most grievous sin been lost. Father and son may meet again with 
 Thee." 
 
 The old man advanced to the corner of the room, where the 
 armour of Ernulf was carefully piled together, and began to pray. 
 Louder and louder the bell of the cathedral tolled, as the crowds of 
 citizens, soldiers, and knights entered the precincts of the cathedral 
 to witness the execution. The fat, greasy burghers of Norwich 
 hustled each other for the best places, with as much brutality as 
 ever attended a public execution in later times, A compact crowd 
 filled the space between the west front and the old tower, since 
 replaced by the old Erpingham gate, leaving little more than suffi- 
 cient space for the procession and the execution of the criminal. A 
 large body of the bishop's retainers kept the ground, headed by 
 their commander ; and the abbatial and episcopal banner floated 
 from the turret of the church. The bishop's throne was erected on 
 the right of the square formed by the soldiers, and the seats for the 
 secular judges faced it. The latter had long been seated before the 
 procession issued from the gates of the cathedral. The chant of the 
 priesthood fell upon the ear, raising the solemn hymn of the Church, 
 the Dies Irce — 
 
 " The day of wrath, the dreadful day, 
 When all that lives must pass away ; 
 When time shall feel that he is old, 
 The sun his glorious race is told ; 
 When every blazing star shall fall, 
 And nature wear one funeral pall ; 
 When death and sin shall cease to reign, 
 Thy justice shall unchanged remain. 
 
 Dies irae, dies ilia, 
 
 Solvet seclum in favilla. 
 
 " The day of wrath — the trumpet's sound, 
 Shall call earth's varied nations round 
 As, to meet eternal doom, 
 They rise in myriads from the tomb. 
 ' To judgment come ! ' the angel cries, 
 The groaning earth, the bursting skies, 
 Piercing creation's utmost bounds, 
 Shall echo back the appalling sounds. 
 
 Dies irae, dies ilia. 
 
 Solvet seclum in favilla." 
 
 " They come at last," exclaimed one of the Saxon franklins, at the 
 end of the hymn ; " and see, the proud prelate heads them. His 
 own turn," he muttered, " may not be long." 
 
 " What's that, friend, you murmured ? " demanded George of 
 Erpingham, who had overheard the words. 
 
 The indiscreet Saxon quailed beneath the glance of the fierce 
 knight, like a whipped hound. Much as he feared the Normans, 
 he feared the Church still more — a sentiment which the scene he 
 had come to witness was not likely to decrease.
 
 113.
 
 S'iANFIELD HALL. 115 
 
 " Nothing, sir knight," he stammered, confusedly ; mere idle 
 thoughts — no more." 
 
 " Such thoughts are dangerous here. Keep them to thyself, Sir 
 Franklin, and it shall go well with thee." 
 
 The arrival of the procession cut short all further reply. 
 
 First came a noble, bareheaded, bearing the banner of the clergy, 
 followed by the monks, two and two, chanting the Litany of the 
 Saints : after them marched the dignitaries of the cathedral, 
 followed by the bishop clothed in the pomp of purple, but in black 
 cope and stole, in sign of penitence. On the appearance of the 
 prelate a suppressed murmur arose among the people — on any other 
 occasion they would have shouted — for they loved him for his 
 charities, had mourned him dead, and rejoiced to find him living. 
 The prisoner followed in complete armour, surrounded by his 
 guards. 
 
 The bishop and the clergy were no sooner seated, than the 
 criminal walked deliberately up to the stake, to Avhich the execu- 
 tioners immediately attached him, while the civil judges pronounced 
 his sentence. " How dost thou die ? " demanded the marshal of 
 the city, whose duty it was to record the answers of the prisoner. 
 
 "A penitent," replied a deep voice, which issued from the helmet 
 of the victim, like an echo from the grave ; " a Catholic and a 
 Christian." 
 
 A shriek of mortal agony w^as heard at a distance in the crowd ; 
 and a monk, whom all took for Father Oswald, was seen trying to 
 force his way through the dense mass of people. 
 
 " Apply the flames," firmly exclaimed the prisoner, upon whose 
 ears the scream had fallen. " At once perform your office — my soul 
 to God, my ashes to the winds." 
 
 The fire was applied, and in an instant the flames blazed with 
 fury ; for Herbert de Lozenga had humanely ordered the wood 
 which composed the pile to be saturated with spirits and resinous 
 gums. Again the monks raised the Requiem which implored mercy 
 for the departing sinner's soul. But a voice was heard, louder than 
 all their music, crying "Forbear ! " and the form of a frantic monk 
 was seen, with superhuman strength, fending the yielding crowd, 
 which gave way like a cleft stream before him. With a last effort 
 he broke through the inner circle, sprang into the blazing pile, and 
 endeavoured to release the victim from the stake ; his cowl fell 
 back, as he did so, and all recognised Ernulf, the squire, at whose 
 execution they imagined themselves assisting. 
 
 " Save them ! " exclaimed the bishop, starting from his seat, as a 
 fearful suspicion crossed his mind — a suspicion, alas, but too true ; 
 for at the same moment, the straps which fastened the helmet of 
 the supposed criminal gave way, and fell into the flames, exposing 
 to the horror-stricken gaze of all the well-known features of Father 
 OsAvald, who, to save his son, had thus contrived to take his place. 
 
 I 2
 
 IIG STANPIBLD HALL. 
 
 The very precautions taken to shorten the sufferings of the 
 criminal rendered it impossible to save him ; but he did not die 
 alone ; for his repentant son shared his death, and mingled his 
 ashes with his. Sadly and silently the crowd dispersed, like men 
 stricken with a mental palsy ; the scene they had witnessed having 
 displayed another page in that mysterious book, the human heart. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In the plain extending from the moat which surrounded the hill 
 upon which Norwich Castle stands the lists were erected. The 
 simplicity of the preparations showed that they were intended for 
 no courtly tournament, but for an encounter where life and death 
 were set upon the issue. Close to the exterior palisades a large lodge 
 was built, adorned with purple hangings ; over it floated the banners 
 of Odo of Caen and his brother nobles, who were to act as judges of 
 the fight. But the rest of the buildings were plain in the extreme. 
 In the midst of the inclosed arena were a block and a post, on the 
 former of which the accused, if defeated, was to suffer death ; while 
 to the latter his name was to be affixed by the hands of the 
 executioner in the event of his non-appearance, a mark of infamy 
 more degrading than even the pillory or modern outlawry. 
 
 The sun shone brightly on the scene ; and, at an early hour, the 
 troops of the confederated franklins marched to the spot, most of 
 them wearing the long white frock peculiar to their nation, and 
 which the carter's smock of the present day nearly resembles. 
 Beneath it they could conveniently hide their arms, and appear to a 
 casual observer a peaceful body of serfs and peasants, drawn together 
 by curiosity to witness the approaching fight. Soon after the parties 
 began to arrange themselves, the leaders of the enterprise observed, 
 with secret dissatisfaction, that immediately a party of Saxons 
 arrived, and took up their position on the ground, an equal number 
 of Normans, all of whom were well armed, placed themselves beside 
 them, and, without seeming to do so intentionally, so intersected 
 them that all possibility of the conspirators acting in concert was 
 destroyed. Several times they manoeuvred to change positions, but 
 were as often outmanoeuvred by tiiQ Normans, who, whether by 
 accident or design, thwarted by their evolutions every attempt 
 which the Saxons made to unite themselves in one or more compact 
 bodies. 
 
 The only party which presented anything at all like an appearance 
 of having unity were the followers of Edda, a numerous body of 
 men, well armed, and commanded by a youthful knight, whose face
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 117 
 
 was hid by his visor, but whose firm step and active movements 
 showed him to be in the full pride of strength and manhood. 
 
 The Norman nobles were the last who made their appearance 
 upon the ground ; most of them, as they did so, resigned the 
 command of their vassals to their esquires, and proceeded to the 
 castle, where a council had been summoned by the bishop, to be 
 held previous to the proceedings in the lists. One by one the Saxon 
 franklins were sent for on different pretexts ; so that, by the time 
 Herbert de Lozenga arrived, escorted by a large body of his 
 followers, under the conduct of George of Erpingham, most of the 
 leaders, whether Norman or Saxon, were assembled in the great 
 hall. 
 
 Edda, the most powerful chief of the conquered race, walked 
 by the side of the prelate, who divided his conversation with him 
 and the red-haired stranger, whose real rank was known only to 
 himself. Many a knight and vavasour followed in his train, bound 
 by the tenure of their lands to do him feudal homage. As a 
 Norman baron, he ranked with the most powerful ; and in his 
 double capacity of Bishop of Norwich and Abbot of Hulm, with 
 the richest ecclesiastics in the kingdom ; added to which, his known 
 favour with the Conqueror, and office of Chancellor, made him one 
 of the most important personages in the realm, and his influence 
 was courted and respected by all. 
 
 A tall, gaunt man appeared amongst the stragglers in the bishop's 
 train, the mere sight of whom seemed to excite the indignation of 
 the crowd ; even the men-at-arms, who escorted him, to protect him 
 from the insults of the mob, kept at a respectful distance from him, 
 and laughed whenever a gibe more bitter, or a curse more fierce, 
 saluted his appearance. It was the city executioner. "Whether 
 indifference or philosophy rendered him insensible to the degradation 
 of his position, it might have been difficult to decide ; but he walked 
 on, amidst the jests, curses, and hootings of the people, with an 
 impassibility of feature which a Stoic might have envied. He was 
 clothed in red — the colour of his office — and wore a large black 
 barret, which rendered the ghastly hue of his features more 
 apparent ; in his hand he carried a leathern bag, sufficiently 
 .capacious to contain either the head of a victim or the implements 
 of his fearful and disgusting office. 
 
 " Is Saint Peter taking tithe of heads to-day ? " whispered Brenner, 
 one of the few Saxon leaders who remained upon the ground, " that 
 he walks with such a collector in his train 1 The headsman is a 
 bird of evil omen ; ill befalls the purpose or the man whose path he 
 crosses. Would I had met his sight on any day than this." 
 
 " Amen ! " replied his companion. " The only consolation is, he 
 is without his axe. Have you observed," he added, looking 
 cautiously around to assure himself that no one could overhear 
 him, " how the Normans flank our men .? I trow there is more of
 
 118 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 purpose than of chance in it. I fear we are betrayed, or, at least, 
 suspected." 
 
 Brenner had previously, in his own mind, made the same 
 observation, but remained silent, not wishing to alarm his companion 
 by acknowledging his suspicions. At this moment they were 
 joined by a third party — Armand of the Wold, one of the petty 
 franklins, compelled by his position to follow blindly in the wake 
 of his more powerful chief ; a shrewd, keen, calculating man, always 
 ready to turn with the tide he was too weak to stem. The gloomy 
 restlessness of his nature showed that he was ill at ease. 
 
 " Who has seen Herman of the Burg .? " he demanded ; " why is he 
 absent at such a moment ? For two days he has not appeared 
 amongst us. I like not this." 
 
 The first two speakers confessed that they had neither seen nor 
 could explain his absence — an avowal followed by immediate silence, 
 each calculating how^ far his neighbour might be a partner in the 
 treason, if any such existed. Brenner was the first to break it. 
 
 " Most of our party, on one pretext or another, have been summoned 
 to the castle," whispered the first speaker. " There are invitations 
 a prudent man always should decline." 
 
 " Especially an enemy's," observed Armand. 
 
 " And above all a Norman's. Ill befall the day when they first 
 set foot on England's happy soil. But look," continued Brenner. 
 " how the bishop lures the noble Edda to the council. I thought his 
 white hairs covered more wisdom." 
 
 " Or less treason," muttered Armand. 
 
 At this moment the seneschal, wearing his chain and carrying his 
 wand of ofiice, approached the speakers, and commanded them to 
 attend the council about to sit in the castle. The summons was 
 given in the name of the bishop chancellor. As the officer was 
 attended by a party of men-at-arms, resistance would have been 
 equally foolish as useless. After a mutual glance, which seemed to 
 say, "We are fairly caught," they bowed in acquiescence, and 
 followed their conductor to the council. 
 
 The great hall of Norwich Castle Avas lined with men-at-arms, and 
 a strong body guarded the different doors. All whose rank entitled 
 them to the entree were freely admitted ; but once there, none biit 
 the Normans were allowed egress. Whenever a Saxon approached 
 the entrance, he was respectfully informed that the council was 
 about to commence, and invited to remain in his place — the tone of 
 the invitation rendering it equivalent to a command. Thus 
 suspicion and mistrust were at their height. The absence of Herman 
 was the subject of many a comment ; nor did the appearance of Odo 
 of Caen and his brother nobles, in complete armour, tend to 
 tranquillise the doubts of the conspirators, which at last became so 
 painful that the clash of arms which announced the arrival of the 
 bishop sounded as a relief to them ; at least, they would learn the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. • 119 
 
 worst, for the doubt of ill is sometimes more difficult to bear than 
 even ill confirmed. 
 
 As if with an instinctive feeling of hostility, or of an approaching 
 contest, the two parties had formed into separate groups, engaged in 
 hurried whispered conversation, when Herbert de Lozenga, with his 
 train, entered the hall. There was an expression of care upon his 
 brow, although both step and air were firm as ever. Mirvan raised 
 his visor as he advanced to meet him. 
 
 " Welcome, my lord and father," he exclaimed ; " we attend your 
 summons. Please you, we have business which the sword must 
 judge, if the accused appears ; if not, the executioner. Let us to the 
 council, and at once." 
 
 The cold, though respectful, tone of the speaker showed that he 
 looked upon the prelate as his enemy. Indeed, he doubted not but 
 that it was by his secret contrivance Ulrick, whom he still continued 
 to regard as his father's murderer, had been so singularly removed 
 from prison. 
 
 " Patience, young man ! " replied Herbert. " Is the thirst of blood 
 so strong within thee, thou canst not wait an hour ? Fear not but 
 the accused will appear ; my word shall be your gage that he will 
 meet you." 
 
 The young earl bowed respectfully, and pointed to the chair at the 
 end of the dais for the bishop to take his seat. 
 
 " Not so," he said, in answer to the mute invitation ; " there is one 
 amongst us to whom all claims must yield. " Prince," he added, 
 turning to the stranger, " assume your seat, and let us to the affairs 
 of moment which detain us." 
 
 The appearance of the Conqueror's favourite son produced a varied 
 feeling in the minds of the assembly. By the Normans he was 
 greeted with a shout of triumph ; by the Saxons he was received in 
 sullen silence. They felt that they were betrayed — that the last 
 hope of shaking off the Conqueror's yoke was lost. 
 
 " Venerable prelate, and you, noble peers," said the prince, as soon 
 as he was seated, " our first duty is to inquire into the cause of the 
 death of our faithful friend, Hugh de Bigod, to avenge his memory, 
 to track the murderer's steps, if living ; if dead, to consign his name 
 to infamy and execration. Who are the accusers ? " 
 
 " I am," exclaimed Mirvan, eagerly advancing. 
 
 " And I," calmly repeated the bishop. 
 
 " But whom do you accuse .? " demanded the prince, first addressing 
 himself to Mirvan. 
 
 " The man whom I once called my dearest friend ; the man I 
 would have trusted with more than my life — with honour ; the man 
 whose soul I once held so pure — I almost blushed at my un worthiness 
 to call him friend — Ulrick, of what race I know not, but proved by 
 the word of a noble knight, now absent, to be of gentle blood — 
 Ulrick, the ward of my lord bishop there," he added, pointing half-
 
 120 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 scornfully to the prelate, " whose word e'en now, I pray you a]l 
 remember, was given for his appearance in the lists to meet the 
 charge against him." 
 
 " Fear not, sir earl," interrupted Edda, proudly, " but he will 
 keep his word." 
 
 " And you, my lord, whom do you accuse ? " demanded William, 
 addressing Herbert de Lozenga, whose countenance had never varied 
 during Mirvan's speech. 
 
 " Herman of the Burg," he calmly replied. 
 
 Several of the Saxons started, for they knew by whose hand the 
 deceased earl had fallen ; indeed, the murderer had avowed it to 
 more than one or two ; but on Mirvan the accusation fell like a 
 thunder-clap. 'Tis true that from his rough, unamiable manner, he 
 had never liked his kinsman, but he had ever looked upon him as a 
 man of unblemished honour, and as such would have defended his 
 reputation with his life. His indignation, therefore, at the accusation 
 was as unbounded as his astonishment, in which latter sentiment 
 the Norman nobles, great as Avas their dislike to Herman, shared. 
 
 " Prince," he exclaimed, " this is a mere mockery of justice ; the 
 accused retorts on his accuser. I dare not further trust myself to 
 speak, lest I forget the reverence due to age, to sacred function, 
 and this royal presence ; but ask him, pray ask him, upon what 
 grounds he dares accuse my absent kinsman." 
 
 " You hear," interrogatively observed the prince ; " on what proofs 
 do you accuse him ? " 
 
 " On his own confession," solemnly answered the bishop, " witnessed 
 by these noble peers." 
 
 " His own confession ! " mechanically repeated the young earl, as 
 if doubting the evidence of his senses. 
 
 " Thyself shalt be the judge," continued the prelate, drawing from 
 his breast the parchment which had been found in the breastplate 
 of the unhappy Ernulf, and which our readers will doubtless 
 remember had been attested by the signatures and seals of Odo of 
 Caen and the Norman nobles on the night of Herman's execution. 
 The document, which detailed every circumstance, had been written 
 by the murderer, and given to his esquire, to convey to the assembled 
 franklins in the caves of Whitlingham, as a still further proof of his 
 devotion to the cause of Saxon independence. Every word was in 
 his own handwriting, which Mirvan was well acquainted with, and 
 witnessed by his arms. 
 
 " Wliat have I read ? " exclaimed the astonished and horror-stricken 
 youth, as he let fall the scroll. " If this be true, as I confess it is, I 
 am indeed doubly unhappy, I have lost my father, and have 
 wronged my friend." 
 
 " That word regains him," exclaimed Ulrick, who, on a signal 
 given by Herbert de Lozenga, entered the hall, and advanced 
 gracefully to his accuser. " Mirvan," he added, " my heart hath
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 121 
 
 never done thee wrong ; e'en in my dungeon I accused not thee ; 
 e'en at the scaffold had not cursed thy name," 
 
 A tear dimmed the eyes of the two friends as they embraced. 
 Let not the worldling sneer at the confession of their weakness. 
 Such weakness is more beautiful than strength. Earth hath many a 
 gem more prized, but none more pure than manly friendship's 
 honest, priceless tear, 
 
 " But where," exclaimed Mirvan, '' is the fiend who hath deceived 
 me, whose hand is stained with my dead father's blood ? Prince 
 and nobles," ho added, turning towards the dais, " I demand on 
 Herman of the Burg the judgment of his peers. The felon hath 
 confessed. The doom, the doom ! I claim the murderer's doom ! " 
 
 "' Herman," solemnly answered the bishop, at the same time 
 taking the speaker by the hand, and leading him to the window, 
 "can fear no human judgment more ; he hath already passed a 
 tribunal more awful far than man's. Behold ! " One of the men-at- 
 arms threw open the window as the prelate spoke, and Mirvan 
 beheld, with surprise, the executioner in the act of affixing the head 
 of the assassin on the post in the centre of the lists. For a moment 
 he gazed upon it with a feeling of fierce satisfaction, which gradually 
 yielded to a nobler sentiment ; he felt that human justice was 
 accomplished, and shudderingly withdrew from the hideous spectacle 
 as the soldier closed the casement. The effect upon the assembled 
 Saxons was to produce consternation and dismay. Ignorant of the 
 real cause of the culprit's death, they felt convinced they were 
 betrayed, and slowly began to disperse, too happy in being permitted 
 to escape. The Normans suffered their departure unopposed — such 
 were the instructions they had received ; but the leaders of the 
 contemplated insurrection were not so fortunate ; they still remained 
 virtually prisoners in the castle. Shortly afterwards, the countess, 
 Matilda, and Isabel entered the hall ; and as the subject of Ulrick's 
 birth was gone into, it is unnecessary to repeat the proofs by which 
 his rank and claim to Stanfield and the vast inheritance of Edda 
 were established ; even the Normans confessed themselves satisfied, 
 and frankly admitted him as their peer amongst them. If the heart 
 of the acknowledged youth beat high, it was when his eyes encountered 
 the blushing cheek of Matilda ; if he felt the sentiment of pride, it 
 was when he grasped the hand of his recovered friend, and felt that 
 he could claim his friendship upon equal terms. 
 
 Herbert de Lozenga approached the seat of the young prince, and 
 whispered to him — 
 
 " Your promise, prince ! your promise ! " 
 
 William turned uneasily upon his chair, like a man who sought 
 to escape from something distasteful to him, but in vain ; the calm, 
 cold eye of the bishop followed his every glance ; he felt that there 
 was no escape from his plighted word. 
 
 " Herald," he said, " perform your duty."
 
 123 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 The ofificer advanced into the midst of the hall, and thrice 
 proclaimed Ulrick Earl of Stanfield, and heir of the Saxon Edda ; 
 calling upon all who felt disposed to dispute his claims to stand 
 forth and speak, or remain for ever dumb ! No voice replied to 
 him. At each pause in the ceremony the prince cast a scrutinising 
 glance on the young earl, v^^hom the decision stripped of a fair 
 portion of his large inheritance ; but the heart of Mirvan was too 
 generous to entertain any selfish feeling. William, therefore, had 
 no choice left but to proceed. 
 
 The prelate and Edda led the newly-acknowledged noble to the 
 prince's chair ; who, taking his hands between his own, received 
 his oath of allegiance ; and solemnly confirmed, as regent of the 
 kingdom, and his father's representative, the act of investiture ; the 
 prelate, as he did so, pronouncing aloud " Amen ! " 
 
 " And now, Saxons and Normans," exclaimed William, " a few 
 words with each. To you," he said, turning to the discouraged 
 franklins, " your plots are known ; your treasons all unveiled ; you 
 are here within our judgment-hall, surrounded by our faithful 
 barons and our loyal troops ; the block within the lists ; the 
 headsman ready at our call. What ransom can ye offer for j^our 
 lives ? " 
 
 There was a silence ; the Normans gazed sternly upon their rivals, 
 who felt that they were powerless within their hands ; and each 
 internally cursed bitterly the memory of him by whom they had 
 been deluded to their ruin. 
 
 The prince enjoyed their confusion, for he was no generous 
 enemy, and again demanded, in a tone of taunting mockery, which 
 displayed the natural cruelty of his disposition, and augured ill for 
 the future — 
 
 " What ransom, Saxons, for jonr lives ? " 
 
 " Thy princely word," exclaimed the bishop, anxious to end the 
 scene. 
 
 " And your intercession, my good lord," continued William, 
 recalled by the grave tone of the speaker's voice to the prudence of 
 conciliating the conquered race, as a means to his own accession 
 to the Throne. " Franklins," he added, " you are pardoned ; your 
 forfeit lands and lives are spared upon the jaayment of such fines as 
 we hereafter shall impose. But remember, 'tis the last time that 
 Mercy speaks ; be wiser for the future, and tempt the lion's wrath 
 no more, lest he should turn and rend ye." 
 
 " And for the future," said Herbert de Lozenga, advancing to the 
 centre of the hall, •' let discord end between the Norman and Saxon 
 race ; let hostile blood unite to heal the wounds which long have 
 drained this war-divided land. Lady," he added, advancing and 
 taking Matilda by the hand, " this is a bond would prove a pledge 
 of unity more strong than Saxon force or Norman steel could break 
 — a bond of peace and love. Read I aright that blush ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 123 
 
 Matilda turned from the impassioned gaze of her lover, who 
 looked as if life and death hung upon her reply, to read her brother's 
 will, whose consent alone could ratify her union. 
 
 The generous Mirvan knew too well his sister's heart not to 
 interpret its unspoken wishes. First embracing Ulrick, he led him 
 to the prelate, saying as he did so — 
 
 " Father, thy wisdom interprets our unspoken wishes ; complete 
 thy holy purpose." 
 
 " Thus, then," resumed the prelate ; " I do betroth ye. May 
 Heaven bless the union of two hearts formed by their virtues for 
 each other." 
 
 Devoutly did the countess and the venerable Edda join in the 
 benediction upon the last descendant of their ancient race ; and 
 every voice within the hall, save one, joined in the shout, " Hail to 
 
 the Lord of Stanfield ! Hail to his promised bride ! " 
 
 « » * # * 
 
 On the evening of the important day on which the scenes we have 
 endeavoured to describe took place, William had retired to his 
 chamber in the castle, for he had become the guest of the 
 unsuspicious earl, and was arraying himself for the approaching 
 banquet. 
 
 Robert of Artois, who had long been in his confidence, was 
 standing near a table, covered with open caskets full of jewel- 
 work, and which supported the rude mirror in which the prince was 
 complacently contemplating his person — for, like most plain men, 
 he was excessively vain. His hasty, snatchy manner showed that 
 he was either discontented or ill at ease — his companion could not 
 tell which, but waited patiently for the enigma he had undoubtedly 
 been summoned to hear. 
 
 " Normans ! " muttered the prince, " Normans ! "We are no longer 
 worthy of the name. The hound hath changed places with the 
 deer ! We raise the head we ought to tread on ! Ah, Robert," he 
 added, pretending to see his companion for the first time, " what 
 thinkest thou of this goodly marriage, this coupling of the carrion 
 raven with the generous falcon's blood ? We had better all turn 
 Capuchin, and preach on Christian charity. Our swords are useless 
 now, unless we turn them into hooks to reap with. We shall soon, 
 good Robert, be no longer masters in the land we won." 
 
 " Not if your highness wishes to prevent the knot the holy bishop 
 fancies he has tied, Norman hearts and hands may still be found 
 asking no better warrant for the deed than the expression of your 
 royal will. Speak but the word, and it is done." 
 
 " Sayest thou ? " said William, turning suddenly round, and fixing 
 a scrutinising glance upon him, as if to read his very soul ; for long 
 habit of dissimulation in himself had taught him to suspect the 
 sincerity of others. The ambitious noble met his gaze, and in an 
 instant they understood each other, so prompt is the intelligence of
 
 124 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 guilt. " But how to be accomplislied ? " demanded the prince? 
 leading him to propose the crime he feared to ask him. 
 
 " Eemove the bridegroom," coolly answered his companion ; 
 *' that were the easiest way to solve the riddle." 
 
 " No ; that were dangerous. Let the clown mate him Avith some 
 Saxon wench, and hold his lands in peace — at least," he added, " for 
 the present. Lozenga loves him like a son, and I have no wish to 
 play my future sceptre against his pastoral staff. His is a temper 
 not to be trifled with. Wouldst thou believe it, Robert ? The proud 
 priest threatened that he would send me to my half-witted brother 
 if I presumed to cross his path again ; nay, dared to vaunt his vassal 
 line as equal to my own." 
 
 " The ambitious traitor ! " exclaimed Robert of Artois ; " he must 
 be silenced. Such men are dangerous." 
 
 " Let him rest ; he is as much beyond our reach as Ulrick is 
 beneath it. The prelate and myself, we understand each other. 
 Whilst I act with what he is pleased to call justice and conciliation, 
 he will not oppose om- father's disposition in our favour. Let me 
 but once securely feel the crown upon my brow, fear not but I will 
 reckon with him fully for this day. The dotard dreamt not that, 
 with every threat, he aimed an arrow at my brother's life — curse on 
 the chance which made him born before me ! " 
 
 " Why not, then, secure the bride ? " demanded the ready 
 panderer, who more than suspected the cause of the speaker's 
 humour, well knowing how susceptible he was to the thrall of 
 beauty, and how reckless by what means he gratified his licentious 
 passions. 
 
 " Thou hast hit my very thought," said the prince, with a smile of 
 approbation ; " but how may this be done ? " 
 
 " Nothing more easy." 
 
 " Explain thyself." 
 
 " This very night the noble maidens propose to attend our Lady's 
 shrine, where prayers are nightly offered up for the repose of Earl 
 de Bigod's soul. They are too coy to grace your highness's banquet 
 with their presence. What if some able fowler spread the net, and 
 cage the birds on their return ? " 
 
 " Where to find such a friend ? " 
 
 " I'll be that friend," replied Robert. " Your highness knows 
 that I would peril body as well as soul to serve your pleasures. My 
 castle at Filby is but three hours' ride ; it hath ere now contained 
 as fair a prize as these sweet piping dames. Besides," he added, 
 " the distance is so short you might yourself visit my strong- 
 hold, whenever charity inclined your heart to solace the lone 
 captive." 
 
 A smile of mutual understanding followed, and the prince and 
 his unworthy favourite separated ; the formor to iavish hollo-w 
 courtesies where he m.editateQ the foulest wTong ; the latter to
 
 STANFIELD HALL 125 
 
 arrange the treacherous snare in which he hoped to entangle the 
 unguarded steps of trusting innocence. 
 
 The banquet, after the fashion of the times, waxed rough and 
 boisterous in the hall of the old castle. Never had the fickle 
 "William seemed in a more gracious mood ; twice had he pledged to 
 the union of Ulrick and Matilda in the circling cup, calling on 
 Saxon and Norman hearts to join him in the toast. All were 
 fascinated with his open manner and seeming sincerity ; and all, 
 save one, deceived,,by them. Herbert de Lozenga had watched his 
 impassioned glances when he beheld Matilda in the hall — the look 
 which followed her retiring footsteps ; and, although he anticipated 
 no attempt at outrage, he determined to have an eye upon him. As 
 the banquet proceeded, his suspicions were still further strengthened 
 by the look of triumph which flashed from his fierce eye whenever 
 the maiden's name became the theme of conversation. 
 
 Amongst the minstrels who occupied the gallery opposite the dais, 
 was Hella, the Saxon — admitted by all who loved the joyous science 
 to be the chief of the all but extinct bardic tribe. Many doubted, 
 indeed, if he were even Christian, so devoted did he appear to the 
 old superstitions and traditions of his race, so intense was his hatred 
 of the conquerors. It had needed all the eloquence of Edda, whom 
 he venerated as one of the last who shared in the blood of Hengist, 
 to induce him to be present at the banquet ; nor was it till after he 
 had been repeatedly called for that he descended into the hall with 
 his magic harp to sing before the assembly. So great was his renown, 
 so intense the expectation of the Normans, few of whom had ever 
 heard his song, that even the voices of the noisiest were hushed ere 
 the gifted strain broke forth — 
 
 " 'WTiat spell can consecrate the sword 1 
 Not priestly prayer, or kingly word ; 
 Nor e'en the deeper spell which lies 
 In woman's wondrous, sunlit eyes ; 
 No ! nor the minstrel's verse of flame, 
 A nation's shout, the breath of fame, 
 Can yet the holy spell afford 
 To consecrate the warrior's sword. 
 
 " But when drawn for broken laws, 
 In nature's right he sternly draws, 
 
 When liberty expiring cries, * 
 
 And wrongs from hill and valley rise, 
 The blood by tyrants rudely shed, 
 A nation's tears for freedom fied, 
 These, these the holy spell afford 
 To consecrate the warrior's sword." 
 
 The few Saxons who were present hung their heads in shame ; 
 to them it was like the song of their captivity. The Normans heard 
 the strain in gloomy silence ; it sounded like a reproach upon their 
 tyranny and misrule.
 
 126 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 " Thou hast chosen a strange theme for our banquet, friend ! " 
 exclaimed the prince ; " but though our ears are nice, thy sliill must 
 not go unrewarded." 
 
 He took from his neck a chain of gold, of no great value, and 
 sent it by his page to the aged bard, who received it with a courtly 
 reverence, although he answered with a mocking tongue — 
 
 " The praise of princes is our noblest guerdon. Gentle page, it 
 must not be said that Hella was ungrateful to the bearer of so precious 
 a gift ; wear this," he added, taking from his own neck a chain 
 whose value more than doubled the Norman's, and which he hung 
 carelessly round the neck of the youth ; " and sometimes think 
 upon the poor bard's gift." So saying, he directed his harp-bearer 
 to take up the instrument, and with a stately step left the hall. 
 
 At a signal from the bishop, the Norman minstrels sang the praise 
 of Rolla, and the glories of his race ; the nobles listening to the 
 exciting strain, and in their enthusiasm forgot the aged Saxon and 
 his song. 
 
 For the third time, with a flushed brow, William arose from his 
 seat to give forth the hollow pledge of amity and peace ; when an 
 alarm was heard without, andithe seneschal, bleeding and unhelmed, 
 rushed into the midst of the assembly. All started at the sight, and 
 the hand of many a knight was laid upon his sword. 
 
 " Speak," demanded the bishop ; " what has befallen ? " 
 
 " To arms, nobles and knights ! " exclaimed the faithful officer. 
 " Returning from the cathedral, the noble ladies, Isabel and Matilda, 
 have been carried off ; their escort was too feeble to protect them," 
 
 The eyes of Mirvan and Ulrick remained riveted upon the speaker, 
 as if they scarcely comprehended the intelligence, so completely 
 were they stunned by the blow. The prelate's searching glance was 
 fixed upon the prince, who quailed beneath it. 
 
 " Doubtless by Saxons," he stammered. 
 
 " By Normans, noble prince — by Normans ! I knew too well the 
 taste of Norman steel to be deceived, despite their Saxon dress. I'll 
 swear their brands were Norman." 
 
 William scowled upon the officer with a look of hate. The sturdy 
 soldier, conscious of his integrity, met his gaze unmoved. While 
 the nobles were busy in consultation, Herbert de Lozenga drew the 
 commander of his troops, George of Erpingham, aside, and whispered 
 something in his ear. Whatever was the nature of the communication, 
 it evidently surprised the stalwart knight, for, for the first time in 
 his life, he hesitated to obey. The rapid conversation which followed 
 removed, however, his objections ; for, touching his sword, in sign 
 of fidelity, he withdrew. The bishop, instead of following his 
 example, concealed himself behind the floating arras, with which 
 the walls of the banquet-hall were hung. At the same moment 
 Hella, the bard, entered the assembly, and approaching Ulrick with 
 a stately step, exclaimed —
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 127 
 
 " Thy sword ! thy sword ! The wolf is in thy fold ! The vulture 
 bears the trembling dove to its dark nest ! Last of a race I love ! 
 why standest thou idly here ? — to horse ! Let manly deeds answer 
 unmanly outrage ! Strike for thy country's WTongs, thy outraged 
 love, or see thy bride become the Norman's scorn ! " 
 
 All the nobles present, Saxons as well as Normans, deeply felt 
 the outrage, and rushed into the chamber, calling to arms as they 
 did so ; the alarm bell sent forth its deep, loud note, and added to 
 the horror of the scene. The treacherous prince, the contriver of 
 the cruel scheme, paced the rush-strewn floor, triumphant in his 
 villainy, and, as he thought, alone. His meditations were soon 
 interrupted by Robert of Artois, who, having succeeded in his 
 expedition, had thrown off his disguise, and returned to the castle, 
 lest his absence should be remarked ; leaving his followers, long 
 accustomed to such deeds of violence, to conduct the prisoners to 
 his stronghold of Filby. 
 
 " Thou art a bold falconer," whispered the prince ; " thou hast 
 struck quarry fairly. Hadst thou silenced yon prating seneschal, all 
 had been unsuspected. Despite your followers' disguise, he swears 
 they are Normans." 
 
 *' Let him swear ; oaths cannot harm us, prince. I must away to 
 join in the pursuit, lest I should be suspected. In the morning 
 take your departure as if for London. Once beyond the city, 
 dismiss your train, and turn your horse's head to Filby, where thou 
 wilt find the sweetest bird that ever pined within its iron cage. 
 Thou knowest the way to tame her."' 
 
 "With these words the ready panderer bowed and withdrew. 
 "William was about to follow his example when the prelate, quitting 
 his concealment, boldly confronted him. The tyrant saw in an 
 instant that he was discovered. For a few moments they stood 
 gazing on each other — the countenance of the prince pale with fear 
 and confusion, that of the bishop full of contempt. 
 
 " So," exclaimed the latter, " this is the way thy royal word is 
 kept ! Thou hast broken thine oath, outraged the roof which 
 shelters thee, risked plunging the land in civil war, to gratify thy 
 passions. "What prevents that I proclaim thy treason, and yield 
 thee to the Saxons ? " 
 
 " Thine own ambition, priest," doggedly answered "William, 
 
 " My ambition ! " 
 
 *' Once a king, thou knowest this hand can iraise thee to a height 
 but second to my own — the primate's envied throne." 
 
 " Vain man ! " replied Herbert, " the hermit's cell would please 
 me better than the mitred stall. Power is worthless when the heart 
 is ashes. I came not to implore, but to command thee. Resign 
 thy victims, and I may consent once more to spare thee the brand 
 of public scorn — to shield thee from the avenging swords of those 
 whose honour thou wouldst' stain. Decide !"
 
 128 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Never ! " exclaimed tlie prince, foaming with rage. " I love the 
 fair Matilda, and rather vrould forego the Crown itself than yield 
 her beauties to thy favoured minion. Thou hast heard my answer." 
 
 " But mine is yet unspoken," as proudly replied the bishop. 
 " For thy brave father's sake I would have spared thee ; but now 
 the will of Heaven and justice must be done." 
 
 He advanced towards the doors which opened from the banquet 
 hall, as if to quit the apartment or to summon aid. 
 
 The baffled tyrant, perceiving his design, threw himself between, 
 and drawing his sword, held it levelled at the prelate's breast, to 
 impede his departure. For a momeet they stood like the stag and 
 hound at bay, gazing on each other in silence — the churchman 
 calm and stern, the prince trembling with passion and excitement, 
 " You pass not on your life ! " he cried. 
 
 " Advance one step," said Herbert, drawing up his person to its 
 stately height, " lay but a finger on my sacred robe, and I will bind 
 thee in a spell shall paralyse thy soul ! Not to thy honour or thy 
 sense of justice do I now appeal. Thou lost to every tie of honour 
 and humanity, thy terrors are my safety. The brand of Europe 
 and the Church's curse thou darest not meet. Fool ! — coward — 
 villain ! " he added, as the sword of William gradually inclined 
 towards the ground, " I scorn, deride thy vain attempt. Back, 
 ruffian, back — I pass thee or I perish ! " 
 
 With his eye sternly fixed upon the prince, the prelate moved 
 tovv^ards the door. Thrice the weapon was raised, but its point 
 was as often turned aside when the glance of Herbert de Lozenga 
 encountered his. With frantic rage, he dashed it to the ground, 
 muttering as he did so — 
 
 •' 'Tis true ; I dare not take thy life." 
 
 William 'had already determined in his own mind the line of 
 conduct to pursue. Once freed from his accuser's presence, he 
 would mount his horse and ride to Filby. There he doubted not 
 but he might defy the outraged lovers and their friends ; for what 
 Norman chief would march against him when once the royal 
 banner was displayed ? Herbert knew too well the risk to Matilda's 
 honour to leave him even for a moment alone. Advancing to the 
 door, he merely waved his hand, when George of Erpingham and 
 a body of about sixty men, all completely armed, and wearing their 
 visors down, entered the banquet hall. V/illiam trembled at the 
 sight, and involuntarily looked around to find his sword. 
 
 •' Wouldst mtirder me ? " he cried, glaring on the prelate. 
 
 The bishop deigned not to reply, but addressing himself to George 
 of Erpingham, who awaited his orders, said — 
 
 " Danger and treason are abroad. His highness goes to my poor 
 palace ; escort him thither with all due honour ; let none approach 
 him, or exchange a single word, I rely on thy fidelity and knightly 
 faith in this."
 
 STANFIELD HALL
 
 STANFIELD HALL. l^i 
 
 *' Traitors ! " exclaimed William, " know ye not who I am ? 
 Dearly shall ye rue this outrage on your prince ! Rather arrest yon 
 plotting priest ! Obey my orders, and I swear, e'en by my honour, 
 that riches, favours beyond ambition's dreams, shall recompense the 
 deed ! " 
 
 " Honour ! " interrupted Herbert, contemptuously ; " does not the 
 word blister thy tongue, palsy thy craven heart ? The violator of 
 innocence, the perjurer, and the robber dares talk of honour ! Prince, 
 spare thy eloquence ; thou canst not corrupt thy guard ; they speak 
 no Norman tongue. Away with him ! " 
 
 *' Should he resist ? " demanded Erpingham, through his visor. 
 
 " Force must be employed." 
 
 " Should he escape ? " 
 
 The bishop fixed his glance upon the prisoner, and paused ere 
 he replied, wishing the import of his speech to be truly under- 
 stood. 
 
 " Level thine arc[uebus, and strike him dead." 
 
 With these last words he quitted the apartment ; and William, 
 seeing that resistance was in vain, resigned himself to his fate. His 
 guards closed around him, and conducted him to the bottom of the 
 staircase, where a close litter was in waiting. For an instant he 
 hesitated, and looked around, as if to summon asdstance. None 
 appeared ; and the few torches held by the soldiers showed him the 
 arquebus in the hands of the mysterious knight. 
 
 Inwardly cursing his fate, and the being who had crossed it, he 
 entered the litter, and in less than an hour found himself a close 
 prisoner in the loftiest tower of the bishop's palace. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 On their arrival at Filby the fair captives were conducted to a 
 strongly-barred chamber, in the centre of the keep, and left by their 
 ruffian captors to themselves. For a while they sat on the rude 
 couch — the only attempt at comfort in their prison — in speechless 
 dismay. So sudden was the transition from happiness to despair, 
 that both were equally stunned by the blow. To all their entreaties 
 for an explanation, and tempting offers for freedom, their conductors 
 had maintained a sullen silence, and imagination conjured up a 
 thousand terrors more fearful than even the dark reality of their 
 fate. 
 
 Isabel, from the natural buoyancy of her disposition, was the first 
 to recover something like composure, " Do not weep, coz — do not 
 weep," she exclaimed, endeavouring to soothe the wretched Matilda, 
 
 K 2
 
 132 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 who sat beside her, clasping her hand in hers. " Perhaps we are 
 only captured for the sake of extorting ransom ; we are no village 
 maidens, to be spirited from our homes without an effort being 
 made to succour us. Many a lance ere this is laid in rest, and many 
 a pennon given to the winds. Ulrick and Mirvan will search the 
 world biit they will find us ; nor will Odo of Caen tenderly bear 
 this insult to the sister of his affianced bride. Trust me, that many 
 an hour of future joy will well repay us for the present hour. Dearly 
 the Saxon ruffians shall repent this insult ! " 
 
 " These are no Saxon outlaws," replied Matilda, struggling for 
 firmness as she spoke ; " but Normans, girl. This blow is struck by 
 those of our own race. Didst thou not mark the armour of the 
 knight who headed the foul enterprise ? " 
 
 " Normans ! sayst thou, coz ? Impossible ! they must be Saxons ; 
 who else would dare assail De Bigod's daughter ? " 
 
 Matilda mournfully shook her head in token of denial. Accustomed 
 from infancy to the military peculiarities which distinguished the 
 two races, her practised eye was not to be deceived ; she had 
 recognised the Norman chief in Robert of Artois, despite his simple 
 visor and disguise, and could notroot the strong conviction from her 
 soul. 
 
 " Normans ! " again iterated Isabel ; " what can be their motive — 
 plunder or revenge ? " 
 
 " Whom have we ever wronged, to provoke the latter ? " said 
 Matilda. "And who would dare avow the las mess of an act like 
 this, by demanding of Ulrick or my brother ransom for their brides ? 
 No," she added bitterly ; " I fear worse outraga yet." 
 
 Isabel bounded from her seat like the fawn startled by the hunter's 
 step. Her cousin's words revealed a danger more fearful than her 
 terrors had yet painted ; but her courage rose with the peril : 
 indignation filled her heart ; and although her cheek was pale, 
 insulted virtue flashed from her speaking eyes. 
 
 " Let not the ruffian leader of this enterprise hope to find in a 
 daughter of my race," she cried, " a reed, whom the storm of 
 violence can bend, or captivity appal ; there is a refuge which even 
 insult must respect, and vice cannot approach." 
 
 " True," replied Matilda ; "■ death — honour's last shield, and 
 virtue's sure defence." 
 
 The word sounded dismally in the vast and dimly lighted 
 chamber where they sat. It was evident, from the preparations 
 made to receive them, that they were expected, for a coarse repast 
 had been prepared, mingled, however, with some degree of luxury ; 
 for although the viands were of the plainest description, the flagons 
 and drinking cups were of silver, then only used in the monasteries 
 and castles of the nobles. 
 
 " Stay," said Isabel, whose eye had been mechanically resting on 
 the ill-assorted banquet, and who, struck by a sudden idea, advanced
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 133 
 
 towards the table, " this may, perchance, afford some clue to our vile 
 gaoler's name." She caught up the massive flagon as she spoke, and 
 advanced with it to one of the torches stuck in an iron sconce upon 
 the wall. The light fell upon a shield rudely graved upon the 
 precious metal ; its blazon was a bend ingrailed, surmounted by a 
 lion's head. Both started as they gazed upon it, for they recognised 
 at once the well-known arms of Robert of Artois. To Isabel of 
 Bayeux this was an additional caiise of fear, for she well knew the 
 desperate character of the bad man who bore it. Twice had she 
 rejected his unwelcome suit ; the last time with a contempt she 
 well knew had deeply stung his pride. Rather would she have 
 found herself the captive of the vilest chief who lived by petty 
 plunder than in the power of that bold, revengeful man. 
 
 " Matilda," she cried, clinging to her cousin, and giving way to 
 her not unnatural terrors ; " thou hast read the fearful mystery 
 aright ; these are no Saxon plunderers ; ransom is not their object, 
 for twice hath Robert of Artois dared to pollute my ear with his false 
 tale of love. But I am rightly served," she added bitterly. " Why 
 did I not unfold his insolence to those who would have crushed 
 the hateful serpent ere it had twined its venomed folds around 
 me .? " 
 
 It was now Matilda's turn to soothe her affrighted cousin, whom 
 the discovery of her captor's name had quite unnerved ; like most 
 persons of a quiet and retiring nature, she possessed that latent 
 courage which rises with the danger of occasion, and in the deep 
 recesses of her innocent heart she found a strength where late was 
 nought but timidity and weakness. 
 
 " Courage, courage," she cried, repressing her own tears, to assuage 
 her companion's, " all hope hath not yet abandoned us ; though, 
 human eyes may fail to penetrate our prison, the eye of Heaven is 
 on us, and doubt not, coz, but our guardian angels watch us even 
 here. Soon may my brother's banner circle round these walls, and 
 lay their towers in the dust. Mirvan will come and find thee." 
 
 " Dead ! " said Isabel, interrupting her ; " for if he come not soon, 
 terror too sure will kill me. Matilda," she added, throwing her 
 arms suddenly round her cousin's neck, " by our girlish friendship, 
 our sister love, the tie of blood between us, promise me one thing, 
 or my brain will turn, and reason totter on her seated throne." 
 
 " Name it, dearest girl." 
 
 " Let not the ruffian tear us from each other ; while with thee, 
 I can endure his threats ; alone, I should go mad. Thou," she 
 added, passionately, " canst have nought to fear ; I am alone the 
 victim. Had not thy ill-starred fortune held thee to my side, 
 thou hadst escaped this last extreme of fate. ' Tis I who have 
 undone thee. "Wilt thou not promise me .? " 
 
 " I will," replied Matilda, willing to soothe her ; " nothing but 
 violence shall tear thee from me. Should force be used ? "
 
 134 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Kill me," exclaimed Isabel ; " arm thine hand with Roman 
 courage, and strike me dead before thee. By thy brother's love, 
 thine own unsullied purity of soul, thy house's honour, and thy 
 virgin truth, pledge me to this." 
 
 There was a mutual pause ; Matilda eyed the no longer trembling 
 girl, who stood erect before her, and read the sincerity of her request 
 in her firm glance and look of almost prayer. The request was 
 terrible to one of her gentle nature — terrible from the love she bore 
 the tender victim — terrible from the danger which surrounded 
 them. 
 
 Calmly she advanced from the couch on which they both had 
 been seated towards the table, and taking up a small, sharp knife, 
 concealed it in her bosom. Isabel saw the action and understood it. 
 A slight flush suffused her pallid cheek, but passed as quickly as it 
 came ; her only comment was a kiss upon the brow of the heroic 
 girl. Matilda understood it. 
 
 " It is, indeed, a terrible and last resort," she said ; " but should 
 all else fail, I will be near thee ; fear not, Isabel, by our mutual love, 
 living, the villain's arms shall never clasp thee." 
 
 The exhausted girl, overpowered by the violence of her emotions, 
 
 sank into the arms of her courageous cousin, in whose promise she 
 
 beheld her last resource against dishonour or a life of misery. 
 * « * * * 
 
 The same night Herbert de Lozenga was seated in his oratory. 
 He had much to reflect upon, for his own position was not without 
 considerable danger. In arresting the person of his monarch's 
 favourite son, and probably future sovereign, he had irretrievably 
 committed himself with that bold, bad man, whose cruel nature 
 never forgave an injury or a slight. But still he quailed not ; 
 personal consideration had never yet influenced him in the path of 
 duty, and he was determined to pursue it, regardless of all 
 consequence to himself. Ulrick's happiness was dearer to him than 
 his life, and he resolved at all hazards to secure it. 
 
 It was necessary, therefore, that his dangerous prisoner should be 
 securely watched ; and he determined to trust his guardianship to 
 Walter Tyrrel, a young knight who had long been attached to his 
 service, and over whose birlh, like Ulrick's, a cloud of mystery 
 hung. 
 
 In the age at which we write, it was by no means uncommon for 
 the great nobles and prelates to attach to their households esquires 
 and knights of gentle birth, who were trained to arms or letters, as 
 their respective tastes or inclinations might incline them. Raising 
 his silver call, he summoned a lay brother to his presence, and 
 directed him to find the youthful knight in question. 
 
 " Yes ! " he exclaimed, " Tyrrel will be his surest guard. The 
 youth whom he would deprive of his inheritance, whose life long 
 ere this he would have tak(»i had he but dreamt of his existence.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 135 
 
 Poor boy ! " he added ; " cruelly he crossed thy sainted mother's 
 path. May he prove less dangerous to her son." 
 
 The young knight entered the oratory as he concluded, flattered 
 by the unusual confidence, for he was not only ambitious in his 
 nature, but reckless in the means by which he advanced his fortunes. 
 From his cold and selfish nature, the prelate had never loved him ; 
 still he was far from suspecting the deep treachery and heartless 
 vices Avhich his calculation hid from even his observance. Perhaps 
 the kind man's heart was too full of love for his first protege to 
 interest him deeply in the second ; for Ulrick was to him even as a 
 son. 
 
 " Tyrrel," said the bishop, " I am about to bestow on thee a mark 
 of confidence — the precursor, chance, of future favour. Thou art 
 not ignorant that I have an inmate here — something between a guest 
 and'a prisoner." 
 
 " I am aware," answered Sir Walter ; " my leader, Sir George of 
 Erpingham, told me as much when he arrived." 
 
 " Know you his rank ? " 
 
 *' I guess it, my good lord." 
 
 " Then you must know how necessary 'tis that xmusual ward be 
 kept. To you I confide the custody of his person ; guard him Avith 
 all honour, but as strictly as you would watch your mother's fame 
 and own inheritance. Perhaps," he added, with a smile, " you may 
 one day thank me for his capture, and the trust I now repose in you. 
 You linow where he is lodged ? " 
 
 " In the eastern tower, beyond the cloisters. He must be skilled 
 indeed who could break prison there." 
 
 " Go," continued the prelate, at the same time giving him a ring. 
 " George of Erpingham, on the sight of this, will resign his post ; 
 send him to me, for I have further employment for his zeal. 
 Remember, 3'oung man, those who would gain my confidence must 
 win it by fidelity and honour. Farew^ell." 
 
 Walter Tyrrel quitted the oratory with a gratified air, which 
 resulted less from pride in the confidence reposed in him, than the 
 conviction that it was something which might be turned to his own 
 advantage and aggrandisement, before which honour and breach of 
 trust were idle names. Besides, he never loved the prelate. He 
 had long been jealous of his partiality for Ulrick, whose elevation 
 galled him, and whose agony, on the abduction of his bride, he had 
 seen with secret pleasure. The opportunity of thwarting them Avas 
 too tempting to be thrown away. 
 
 " My lord bishop plays a daring game," he muttered, as he 
 directed his steps towards the tower where Prince William was 
 confined ; " others, perchance, may play as bold a one. ' Tis not 
 the first time both gaoler and captive have been missing. If the 
 Red Norman bid but high enough, the path to liberty lays straight 
 before him. I will not ba\ilk my fortune."
 
 136 
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 So saying, the newly-appointed guard entered the chamber in 
 the lower basement of the tower, where George of Erpingham and 
 a company of his men were keeping watch. At the sight of the 
 prelate's signet the brave old soldier resigned the command to the 
 treacherous knight, and withdrew to his own quarters, to remove 
 his armour, ere he sought the bishop. Herbert de Lozenga had 
 not been long alone when the lay brother whom he had despatched 
 in search of Tyrrel returned to inform him that a pilgrim from 
 Normandy was at the gate, and demanded to speak with him. 
 
 " Not now," replied the superior ; " not now. My mind is 
 occupied by thoughts of too much moment. Give him hospitality 
 for the night ; in the morning I will see him. Tell him this, and 
 speak him welcome in my name." 
 
 " I told him so," replied the old monk, " I told him so ; but he 
 was obstinate, called me a prating dotard, and swore by Rollo that 
 he would see you, holy father, ere he slept ; then called for wine, 
 and ordered Father Felix to bring him a manchet, as if he were in 
 an hotel, instead of a community of Christian priests." 
 
 " Quick," exclaimed Herbert, starting fi-om his seat, " conduct him 
 to our presence instantly. If it be as I suspect," he murmured, after 
 the old man quitted the oratory, astonished at the vehemence of his 
 superior's manner, " the game is in my hands, and Ulrick, AVTonged 
 boy, the tyrant shall himself restore to thee thy bride, or pay his 
 crimes with forfeit of his crown." 
 
 The moment the lay brother ushered in the stranger, Herbert de 
 Lozenga recognised, despite his disguise, the eldest son of the 
 Conqueror, whose fate has been the theme of many a minstrel's 
 song ; who, born to inherit a crown, passed the greater portion of his 
 life within a prison ; whose courage was always rendered useless 
 by his recklessness, and who consoled himself for the loss of liberty 
 and power by the wine-cup and the song. 
 
 " Prince, in the name of every saint, what brings you to this land," 
 said the ecclesiastic, " where your path is beset with perils ? Know 
 you not that your father hath decided to bestow England on your 
 brother William, leave yoiT, as eldest born, the ancient fief of 
 Normandy, and that many of the nobles approve this disposition of 
 the crown ? " 
 
 " Hang the cro^Ti," replied the impetuous Robert ; " if England 
 boasts no better wine than the lean draught your cellarer set before 
 me, William may govern it for me ; but, perhaps," he added, bursting 
 into a jocose laugh, "where the charity is large the wine is weak. 
 I'll Avager a hundred pieces, my good lord, none of the same vintage 
 ever graced your table : were the fat and pious brother who served 
 me to drink no other until Easter, he would require a few yards 
 less of broad-cloth in his frock." 
 
 " The draught shall be amended, prince," said Herbert ; " but 
 answer me my question : what brings you here ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL 137 
 
 " Caprice ! Caprice ! the whim of an heir who rides over his 
 estate incog., while its possessor recites his last Confiteor. Our father 
 keeps his Court at Rouen ; but we know, from a sure hand, his health 
 breaks fast. Like the dying bear, 'tis dangerous to approach him ; 
 he hath already hanged two physicians, and engaged a third, an 
 unbelieving Jew." 
 
 " What is his malady ? " demanded Herbert de Lozenga, anxiously, 
 for he foresaw the conflict which would probably follow the 
 Conqueror's death. 
 
 " The same which ails your wine," replied the prince, with a 
 heartless laugh ; " he hath too much water in his barrel. The French 
 king asked when his vassal brother would be brought to bed : 'twas 
 a good jest, but must be dearly paid." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Our choleric father swore to be churched in Notre Dame, with 
 twenty thousand lances in his train. He is the man at least to keep 
 his word ; he hath already wasted the Seine with fire and sword, as 
 first-fruits of his oath." 
 
 " And for a jest," exclaimed the bishop, " an idle jest, spoken in 
 an hour of mirth, when wine had tempted reason, and the 
 unguarded lips utter the wayward fancies of the brain, blood must 
 be shed, houses desolated, cities destroyed, and kind hearts broken ! 
 Earth ! earth ! " he added mournfully, " such are thy rulers ! " 
 
 " Earth soon will count one more and less," interrupted Robert, 
 who contemplated his father's approaching death with anything 
 but dissatisfaction ; indeed, the conduct of the former had been 
 sufficiently harsh towards him to break all tie of blood between 
 them. He had thwarted him in his dearest wish ; and, urged by 
 his partiality for the unworthy "William, would have stripped his 
 elder son even of his inheritance of Normandy, had not the consent 
 of the King of France, as suzerain, been necessary — a consent, he 
 well knew, it would be hopeless to solicit, the policy of the French 
 Court being to disunite the Crowns of England and Normandy : 
 their descending on one head rendered the ducal vassal more 
 powerful than his master. 
 
 " Prince," said Herbert, gravely, " Heaven only knows whether 
 thou art come for good or evil ; but thou art come in an eventful 
 hour — thy brother is an inmate of my palace." 
 
 Robert heard the information with evident surprise, and for a 
 moment eyed the speaker keenly, as if to read his very heart. The 
 examination was apparently satisfactory ; for he almost instantly 
 resumed his former expression of careless confidence, and demanded, 
 as if it were the most important circumstance in the world to him — 
 
 " A guest ? " 
 
 " No," gravely answered his host. . 
 
 " A prisoner ? " 
 " Yes."
 
 138 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 The prince's reply was a loud, careless laugh ; the jest seemed to 
 strike him more than the advantage to be drawn from it, so 
 contradictory was his character : at one moment all energy, at the 
 next indifference to everything ; capable of conceiving a bold 
 design, but wanting the perseverance to insure success. Well had 
 his mother, the Queen Matilda, designated him as the weathercock 
 of impulse and of — folly she might have added, and of fortune 
 also, 
 
 " And so you have caged the wolf," he cried — " or rather the fox, 
 I should say, designating our royal brother from the colour of his 
 hair. Leave a priest alone to bait a snare ! How fell he into it ? " 
 
 " Prince," answered Herbert, with offended dignity, " I am not 
 one of those who traffic in pitfalls or in snares. Your brother is my 
 prisoner, to answer for a cruel outrage on a maiden's liberty ; openly 
 I arrested him, openly I'll guard him, till the outrage is atoned and 
 the lady free. But come," he added, " the time is dark with import, 
 and I have matter which concerns you deeply. Lay for a while that 
 reckless levity of heart aside, and let us speak like men who watch 
 the game of life." 
 
 " Willingly, my lord," replied the prince, brought to something 
 like seriousness by the prelate's tone ; " but answer me first one 
 question — the boy whom I confided to your care — speak — lives he 
 yet ? — and may I not behold him ? " 
 
 " He does. His training hath not shamed his birth. Fifteen 
 months are passed since the sword of my good lord of Kent hath 
 dubbed him knight ; he hath remained ever since attached to our 
 Court ; e'en now he guards my prisoner in his tower," 
 
 A singular smile, half of mischief and half fun, passed over the 
 
 still handsome features of the Norman prince at the intelligence, but 
 
 it soon passed away ; and motioning to the prelate to precede him, 
 
 he followed to a small recess at the back of the oratory, where we 
 
 will leave them to converse on business of deep import, the result of 
 
 which may soon become apparent to our readers. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The first beams of the rising sun had already tinged the east with 
 gold, and gilded the graceful spire and turrets of the cathedral, as 
 Ulrick and Mirvan, attended by most of the nobles who had been 
 present at the banquet, returned from their unsuccessful pursuit. 
 The men looked jaded, and their horses worn ; still not a single 
 complaint was heard ; for rough and careless as the soldiers were, 
 they sympathised with the despair of their two leaders, who, pale as 
 marble, and with bloodshot eyes, gazed hopelessly upon each other. 
 Robert of Artois, the unsuspected author of the deed, had been one 
 of the foremost in the pursuit, carefully directing the pursuers, by 
 his well-feigned zeal, far from the path they should have taken. As 
 the various stragglers came slowly up before the castle, he reined 
 his tired steed, and said, " Farewell, my friends. Should chance
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 139 
 
 discover the author of this outrage, which fills each heart with rage 
 and every honest tongue with scorn, send biit a glove to Filby in 
 token of your need, and in an hour my banner shall be spread to 
 meet you. This present hour business of import calls me home. 
 That once despatched, I am again your servant." 
 
 " Thanks ! " exclaimed the broken-hearted Ulrick ; "he is a friend 
 indeed who shares a sorrow as if it were his own. On your return 
 send out your men to scour the country round. Ill fill his gauntlet 
 with gold who brings intelligence of my lost bride, or names the 
 villain who has wrought this mischief ; dearly the heartless ruffian 
 should abide it." 
 
 Courageous as Robert of Artois naturally w^as, he quailed beneath 
 the expression of Ulrick's eye as he pronounced the threat. A desire 
 to find himself within his stronghold of Filby seized upon him. 
 Raising his helmet, therefore, in sign of adieu, he cried — 
 
 " Doubt not, noble youths, all that friendship can achieve shall be 
 attempted ; my men shall spare nor spur nor rein till your lost 
 treasure's found." 
 
 Hella, the bard, who had, despite his vast age, been one of the first 
 to mingle in the pursuit, cast a suspicious glance on Robert of Artois 
 as he rode off. Odo of Caen observed it ; he had not forgiven the 
 bard his song, which seemed indirectly to call upon the Saxons to 
 throw off the Conqueror's yoke, and to censure the misrule of the 
 Norman race. He gladly seized, therefore, the opportiinity of venting 
 his spleen, which the unsuccessful result of the pursuit had still 
 further tended to increase. 
 
 " Sir Saxon," he cried, "■ thou lovest not our brother of Artois. 
 Heaven defend me from as dark a greeting as thy look conveys. In 
 what hath he displeased thee 1 " 
 
 " His deeds," coolly answered the aged Saxon. 
 "Humph!" replied the questioner; "'tis difficult for Norman 
 deeds to please a Saxon's judgment ; but what particular deed of 
 Robert of Artois hath merited the harshness of such judgment ? Sir 
 bard, explain me that." 
 
 " His share in this night's outrage." 
 
 All started, and even Odo of Caen was staggered by the coolness 
 and firmness of the reply. Ulrick and Mirvan gathered with the 
 rest of the nobles round the old man, and eagerly demanded upon 
 what proofs he grounded his assertion. Some, who saw in it only a 
 splenetic attempt to sow dissension between the Saxon and Norman 
 chiefs, cried shame ; and had not the bereaved lovers and several of 
 their friends drawn their swords, the old bard would have rued his 
 temerity in daring to accuse one of the most powerfiil of the Norman 
 chiefs. After much quarrelling and confusion, Mirvan, whose office 
 of Marshal of the Angles gave him most authority amongst them, at 
 last obtained something like silence. 
 
 " The wisdom of age," he cried, " is not slightly to be contemned ;
 
 140 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 let Hella be heard ! First I demand upon what proof he founds 
 his accusation — an accusation monstx'ous if false, and terrible if 
 true." 
 
 " Upon no proof," replied Hella ; " but upon " 
 
 The rest of his speech "was lost in the clamour which the friends 
 of Robert of Artois contrived to raise. Crowding, they thronged 
 around the old man, who gazed unmoved upon them ; their looks 
 and words were menacing, when Ulrick thrust himself between ; 
 like the young lion who first sees his prey, his blood was roused — 
 despair had made him reckless. 
 
 " Back ! " he exclaimed, tracing a circle with his sword ; " let 
 him who is most tired of life first cross it. Were ye the friends of 
 the Norman devil whose name Robert of Artois bears, I'd brave ye 
 all in such a cause as this. Is this the amity ye lately swore ? — is 
 this the justice Saxons must expect at Norman hands .'' — against an 
 old man, too ! Shame on your courage, sirs." 
 
 The vast body of Edda's troops, hearing the voice of their lord, 
 thronged instantly around him. Odo and the more reasonable of 
 the Normans felt that he was right ; and the assailants, seeing that 
 they were outnumbered, sheathed their weapons. 
 
 " Let him explain his words, and justify them, if he can," they 
 cried. " Public has been the accusation ; as public be the proofs." 
 
 " Who saw Robert of Artois at the banquet ? " demanded the old 
 bard. There was a pause — none remembered to have seen him. 
 "Who can tell when and where he first joined in the pursuit .? " he 
 added. 
 
 " I — I," exclaimed several of the younger nobles ; " he joined us 
 in the market-place, and all have seen how eagerly he conducted the 
 pursuit." 
 
 " Ay," exclaimed a third, " and well he hath been recompensed." 
 
 " Conducted the pursuit ! " echoed Hella. " True, he did conduct 
 it everywhere but to the road which led to his own felon den. Who 
 twice misled us by false intelligence ? — Robert of Artois. Who of 
 all the nobles was absent at the banquet when the outrage was 
 committed 1 — Robert of Artois. Who alone, of all those who swore 
 to avenge the crime, hath withdrawn from the pursuit 1 — Robert of 
 Artois. And who," he added, with increased energy, " is the vile 
 ravisher of innocence ? — Robert of Artois." 
 
 Conviction flashed in an instant upon both Mirvan and his friend, 
 the former of whom had frequently remarked his passionate glances 
 directed towards Isabel. So profound was the impression Hella's 
 words produced, that even the culprit's nearest friends were dumb. 
 Odo of Caen was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " It must be seen to," he exclaimed. " Let the esquires give orders 
 to refresh our men ; and then towards Filby." 
 
 The words had scarcely passed the speaker's lips, when a servitor, 
 bearing the badge of Herbert de Lozenga on his vest, galloped to
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 141 
 
 the ground, and, without waiting to dismount, placed in the hands 
 of Ulrick, who hastily tore the seal, a missive from the prelate, which 
 detailed the treachery of Robert of Artois, but without alluding to 
 his prisoner's share in it — a circumstance which, for many prudential 
 reasons, he wished for awhile to remain concealed. 
 
 " It is confirmed," he cried, glancing over the letter. " Robert of 
 Artois is the vile ravisher — the traitor who hath broken the bond of 
 peace — stolen like some midnight thief upon my path, and robbed 
 me of my happiness. Who will dispute his guilt when it is known 
 that the venerable bishop is his accuser ? But I will have revenge ! " 
 he added, drawing his sword — an example which was followed by 
 the aged Edda and his Saxon followers. 
 
 '* By Him whose name yon stars pronounce," continued Ulrick, 
 "whose might the roaring sea and tempest's breath alike make 
 manifest, I here devote my soul to its fulfilment — a wild, exter- 
 minating, deep revenge ! " 
 
 A shout of execration from the Normans and Saxons followed the 
 words of Ulrick, for the insult to both was equal in the outrage 
 offered to the brides of their leaders ; eagerly they demanded to be 
 led against the stronghold of the knightly robber, vowing not to 
 leave one stone upon another till they had rescued his prisoners. 
 The preparations were quickly made, and ere the sun was an hour 
 higher in the heavens, the united hosts, under the conduct of Mirvan 
 
 and Ulrick, were on their way to Filby. 
 
 « * * ' * » 
 
 Matilda had beheld with joy the excitement of her cousin at last 
 relieved by tears, as she sank exhausted with her griefs upon the 
 couch beside her. By a benevolent provision of nature, sorrow or 
 pain, beyond a certain limit, stupefy the brain, or life would succumb 
 beneath them. Isabel had gradually sobbed herself into a feverish 
 slumber, disturbed by fearful dreams and visionary terrors, from 
 which she would occasionally start, but recompose herself on hearing 
 the low, sweet voice of Matilda, or feeling the affectionate pressure 
 of her hand. The latter slept not, but had passed the night in prayer, 
 tempering her soul with courage. On considering her position, she 
 felt convinced that her imprisonment was but the consequence of 
 her companionship with Isabel. The purity of her nature did not 
 allow her to suppose that her beauty had excited the lawless desire 
 of anyone ; for, like the flowers of the field, she was unconscious 
 of her loveliness. Partially reassured, therefore, on her own account, 
 she resolved to devote herself to the protection of her cousin, whom 
 she loved as a sister, and the affianced bride of her brother. The 
 rays of morning began to penetrate through the strongly-barred 
 windows, when the watcher, seeing that her charge still slept, 
 advanced to the casement, to see if she could recognise from the 
 surrounding country the place of their imprisonment. The view 
 fully confirmed her suspicions that they were the captives of Robert
 
 142 
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 of Artois ; for Filby Broad, with its sedgy islands and woody banks, 
 lay stretched like a clouded mirror in the morning mists before her. 
 As the snn advanced in power, the lake became more and more 
 distinct, till she could trace the wild duck leading her brood in 
 matronly pride on its placid bosom, or the stately heron, patiently 
 watching for its finny prey from some projecting stone close by the 
 shore, where the waters were not too deep for its long legs to wade, 
 or neck to plunge. Sometimes she would watch the solitary drake, 
 as, with its sharp cry, it rose from the water, and directed its arrowy 
 flight over the distant woods of Ormsby, or the low, marshy grounds 
 which lie between them — envy its rapid flight, and sigh for 
 freedom. 
 
 Her reveries were broken by the gentle closing of a door. In an 
 instant tke terrible reality of her position pressed upon her ; and, 
 turningTo confront the intruder, she beheld, to her great relief, that 
 it was a woman. So completely was she shielded from observation 
 by the recess in which she stood, and so qiiiet had been the movement, 
 that the stranger failed to perceive her ; and there was something so 
 peculiar in her manner, that Matilda determined to observe her. 
 Her apparel, which was extremely rich, partook more of the Eastern 
 than European character ; a safi^ron-coloured short vest fell over a 
 white cymar, which descended to the wearer's ankles ; both were 
 embroidered at the hems with gold. Her figure was tall and 
 commanding, and her features, which Avere still beautiful, although 
 marked by the strife of passions, bore the peculiar characteristics of 
 the Jewish race. It was evident, from her costume, that she could 
 not be a menial ; for, independent of the richness of her dress, gems 
 of considerable value glittered upon her arms and neck, or were 
 braided in her long, dark hair. Cautiously she approached the couch, 
 and gazed upon the sleeper ; her features became dreadfully agitated 
 as she did so. 
 
 " She is beautiful," she murmured, or rather hissed through her 
 clenched teeth ; " young, too ; perhaps nobly born — innocent and 
 fair ; — what chance have I, withered as I am in form and 
 mind, to retain his heart against such a rival ? He will 
 soon arrive to clasp her in his eager arms, to breathe his serpent 
 vows into her ear, to press his poisonous kisses on her lips, and 
 laugh to scorn the lost, degraded Rachel. Let him come," she 
 added, firmly ; " he shall find the kiss of death upon her lips before 
 him ; the worm shall first supplant him in her love ! " As the last 
 words fell upon the astonished listener's ear, the Jewess drew a sharp, 
 glittering blade from beneath her vest, and advanced yet nearer, with 
 the stealthy pace of a tigx'ess, towards the couch, Matilda had 
 gradual!}' become spell-bound with terror at the evident purpose of 
 the stranger. Her limbs were rooted to the spot, and the powers of 
 speech and motion seemed alike denied her ; her agony became 
 intense ; vainly she struggled with the torpor which oppressed her.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 143 
 
 Nor was it till the arm of the woman was actually raised over the 
 unconscious Isabel, that, with a piercing shriek, she burst the 
 horrible species of fascination which bound her, exclaiming as she 
 did so — 
 
 •' Think on thy soul ! Shed not the blood of innocence." 
 
 So thrilling was the cry, that the affrighted Isabel started from 
 her slumbers, waking from fearful visions to a more fearful reality 
 before her. The murderess was equally startled ; it seemed as if 
 the appealing voice of conscience had thundered in her ear, " Thou 
 shalt do no murder ! " She gazed in surprise upon the fair girl who 
 had so suddenly interposed between her and her intended victim, 
 and who, with arm encircling the agitated Isabel, boldly confronted 
 her. 
 
 " Who art thou ? " she falteringly demanded. 
 
 " Victims, like yourself, to the foulest treachery," replied ISIatilda ; 
 " though, perhaps, unlike you, unwilling ones. How can this poor 
 girl excite your hatred, that you should seek to stain your hands in 
 blood ? Rather assist us to escape our tyrant's power., for the honour 
 of your sex and the memory of your mother's love." 
 
 The word mother seemed to touch a chor4 whose every tone 
 vibrated in agony. Dropping the still upraised weapon, she clasped 
 her hands upon her brow, as if stricken by a sudden pain. The 
 flush of passion on her features was replaced by the purer blush of 
 shame, and in an instant the tears gushed from her burning eyes, 
 and relieved her overfraught heart ; for> fallen as Rachel was, one 
 trace of Eden lingered in her yet. In a voice broken by sighs, she 
 murmured — 
 
 " Speak not of my mother, lest from the grave she rise to curse 
 her child." 
 
 " She is mad," whispered Isabel — " mad. If friends come not 
 soon to rescue us, reason will leave me too." 
 
 " No ! " said Rachel, dashing the tears from her dark eyes, as if 
 ashamed of her momentary weakness, " I am not mad ! Would to 
 our Father Abraham I were ! For madness cannot equal the pangs of 
 a despised and unrequited love." 
 
 " You love our captor, Robert of Artois, then ? " exclaimed Matilda, 
 a ray of hope dawning on her soul. 
 
 " Ay, maiden, love him as the lost daughters of our race alone can 
 love — beyond home, parents, honour, life — more," she added, with 
 still increasing excitement — " more e'en than Heaven itself : all but 
 life I have already sacrificed for him, and would again, though but 
 for one kind smile ; alas ! 'tis long since I received one." 
 
 " And he requites your sacrifice ? " 
 
 " With scorn ! " interrupted Rachel ; " with scorn ! whose serpent 
 tooth gnaws deeper into a woman's heart than aught on earth beside. 
 I once was good," she added, " gentle as yourselves, not meanly 
 nurtured or ignobly bred. What hath it made me ? A raging tigress ;
 
 144 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 changed my woman's heart into a fiend's ; destroyed the kindlier 
 impulse of my nature ; made me in heart, if not in deed, a 
 murderess ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Isabel ; " what have I done to cause such fearful 
 hate ? " 
 
 " LoYed him I love," replied Rachel, whose jealousy returned as 
 she gazed on the lovely girl before her, and mentally compared her 
 opening loveliness with her own fading beauty ; " is it not enough 
 to give me cause to hate thee ? " 
 
 " "Woman," exclaimed Isabel, with dignity, " be the words thy 
 happiness or bane, be they for good or ill, know that, if Robert of 
 Artois were king, Isabel of Bayeux would never share his throne ; 
 but would prefer the convent's gloom, the meanest hut, the shelter 
 of the grave itself, to his polluted couch, I loathe and scorn him." 
 
 There was a tone of sincerity in the speaker's words which carried 
 conviction to the heart. The Jewess gazed attentively upon her for 
 a few moments — at first suspiciously, but at last with confidence, 
 for the candid brow of the fair girl was not one where falsehood had 
 ever traced its crooked characters. Despite herself, she could not 
 but believe her. 
 
 " Deceived ! " she muttered to herself, " again deceived ! Thank 
 Heaven, this crime, at least, is spared me ! Forgive me, maiden," 
 she added, " my evil purpose ; but I was stung — deceived — wrought 
 on by jealous pangs ; they told me thou wert come to be his bride 
 — his willing bride — and I, who loved, too easily believed them. 
 But if thou lovest him not," she added, " why art thou here ? " 
 
 " Ask of the vulture," said Matilda, " why the wounded dove was 
 found within his nest ; ask of the tiger why the bleeding fawn is 
 trembling in his den. Art thou answered ? " 
 
 " I see — I see," exclaimed the Jewess, struggling with her evil 
 passions, v/hich were again excited by the idea of Robert's love for 
 another ; " but. I will save thee. The fool who poured this tale of 
 poison in my ear did it to gain my love — fool ! not to know that 
 hearts like mine can feel but once its spell, and break when it is 
 broken. Wouldst thou be free ? " 
 
 " Gladly," exclaimed both Matilda and Isabel. 
 
 " But you must swear," she added, " that if by my means the path 
 lies open to you, no injury shall fall upon your captor. False as he 
 is, I would not, e'en to save my perilled soul, harm one hair of his 
 ungrateful head. Promise me this." 
 
 " Easily answered : Matilda, my cousin, and myself solemnly 
 swear never to breathe, save in confession, our captor's fearful 
 name," 
 
 *' Away, then," said Rachel, hurriedly ; " morning advances, and 
 he may soon be here — here to mar our plans, and to prevent your 
 flight." 
 
 " It is prevented," exclaimed a stern voice behind them. They
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 145 
 
 ,|irpi-|il|!fl|p. j?il![!,;'lilrp,.n|irir''li'iiii;iiii,,,,„^ ,mr.,.0i^ 
 I||L
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 147 
 
 started, and Isabel beheld the object of her hate and terror, Robert 
 of Artois, who, after leading Ulrlck and Mirvan, had returned to 
 Filby, to await the arrival of his royal accomplice in the act of 
 villainy. The effect of the appearance upon the Jewess Avas even 
 greater than upon his trembling victim ; in an instant her fit of 
 jealousy returned, and springing towards Isabel, she would have 
 completed her original purpose, had not the swift arm of her seducer 
 arrested her. 
 
 " Release my hand !" she cried, or rather shrieked. " I'll not be 
 held ! Her life or thine, Norman ; ravisher ! villain ! coward ! 
 Christian, I spit upon and curse thee ! " 
 
 It is dif&cult to say how the contest with the frantic woman 
 might have terminated, had not several men-at-arms rushed into 
 the room, on hearing the voice of their master. They were accom- 
 panied by a young esquire, whose agitated countenance, when he 
 beheld Rachel struggling with his lord, told a deeper interest than 
 mere pity ; his hand involuntarily grasped the hilt of his poniard, 
 but reflection held it. 
 
 " Convey this wanton to a secure cell within the keep," cried 
 Robert, spurning the unhappy woman brutally from him. " Guard 
 her well, Aymer, and see that I am pestered with these frantic 
 scenes no more." 
 
 " Dog," said the Jewess, still resisting the men-at-arms, who were 
 dragging her from the apartment, " thou hast spurned me like a 
 hound ; beware my fangs ! Thou hast broken the last tie between 
 us ; beware when next we meet ! " 
 
 " Believe me, I regret, fair ladies, you should have been exposed 
 to a scene like this," said Robert of Artois, as soon as the unhappy 
 woman was removed ; " but jealousy of your superior charms has 
 driven her mad. I will give orders she shall not mar our happiness 
 again." 
 
 This was said with an affectation of courtesy which rendered its 
 insolent familiarity more bitter. Isabel, on whom his eyes were 
 licentiously fixed, shrank trembling to the side of her cousin, 
 whose hand alone prevented her from falling, so excessive was her 
 terror at his presence. 
 
 " Robert of Artois," said Matilda, with dignity, " I appeal not to 
 thy honour — for this deed of thine proves that my words would 
 wake no echo there — but to thy fears. Canst hope our presence 
 can be long concealed within these walls ? Normans and Saxons 
 will alike unite to punish thy aggression. Release us, then ; and 
 here- 1 solemnly renew the oath never to yield thy name to thoss 
 whose swords would punish thy unmanly crime." 
 
 *' Filby," replied the knight, carelessly, " hath held birds of a 
 nest as lofty, maiden, as thine own ; and I have kept the fledgelings. 
 But a few hours since I left thy brother and his new-found friend ; 
 we parted in honest fellowship. Suspicion's self can never glance 
 
 L 2
 
 148 STANFIELD HaLL. 
 
 at me ; aud if it does," he added, " Isabel will by that time be my 
 bride, and thou be caged by one who knows how to put a gag upon 
 that scornful tongue, and tame thy haughty nature." 
 
 " Thy bride ! " exclaimed Isabel, gazing on him with loathing. 
 "Never ! " 
 
 " These walls have echoed often to that word," sneeringly 
 observed the knight ; " spoken as oft in vain. I know a trick to 
 make thee sue to be the bride of him you so long have scorned. I 
 have humbled hearts, ere now, as proud, and firmer far than thine. 
 But why are you in this chamber 1 My orders were you should be 
 separated. Solit^^de may tend to tame your spirits. Come," he 
 added, approaching Isabel as he spoke, " I have a dove-cot prettier 
 far than this ; let me conduct thee thither. There I will woo thee 
 as thou shouldst be wooed, and teach thee, maid, how Robert of 
 Artois loves." 
 
 The flashing eyes of the speaker declared but too plainly his 
 guilty purpose. So completely did he deem the unprotected girls 
 within his power, that he would not even give himself the trouble 
 to dissemble, but felt a savage joy in humbling, by brutal outrage, 
 the high-spirited being who had scorned his proffered love. Isabel 
 read his purpose, and exclaimed, as she sank fainting in the arms 
 of her cousin — 
 
 *' Thy promise, coz, thy promise ! " 
 
 The appeal was not made in vain. In the purity of her nature 
 Matilda would rather have seen her cousin dead — nay, with her own 
 hand have offered up the spotless victim on the shrine of honour — 
 than polluted by the touch of the base ravisher. Drawing the knife 
 which from the hour of her arrival at Filby she carried concealed 
 in her bosom, she held it over the insensible form of Isabel. 
 
 "Advance one step nearer ! " she cried, "and I consign her soul 
 to God and His good angels. Robert of Artois, doubt not my 
 purpose. Mark if my hand trembles or an eyelid quivers. I have 
 sworn, living, thy arms should never clasp her. Lessen the 
 distance between us but one step — a line's breadth, a hair — and her 
 pure blood shall rise to heaven against thee." 
 
 So firm was the voice of the speaker, so resolute her eye, that 
 even Robert of Artois, accustomed though he was to scenes like 
 this, could not for one moment doubt her purpose. The sharp, 
 glittering blade was within an inch of her fair cousin's breast, her 
 eye unflinchingly fixed upon his. Involuntarily he started back, 
 saying, as he did so — 
 
 " What wouldst do ? " 
 
 " Preserve her honour at the expense of life." 
 
 " Murderess ! " 
 
 "Thou art the murderer," replied Matilda, "I, the priestess. 
 Thine is the victim — mine the sacrifice ; approach, and it is offered. 
 If Heaven will not prevent, its mercy will accept it."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 149 
 
 " Foolish girl ! " exclaimed Robert ; " it can neither prevent nor 
 interfere to save thee." 
 
 Scarcely had the words passed his lips than the blast of a trumpet 
 i-ang loud and deep before the drawbridge. Matilda started, for she 
 knew the challenge of her house. 'Twas Mirvan's trumpet. 
 
 " It has interposed ! " she cried. " Robber, thy ruffian hold is 
 close beset ; our friends are round thy walls ! Well may thy cheek 
 turn pale. In Heaven has been our trust, and Heaven hath answered 
 us. Living, thou canst not guard us ; dead, our friends mil pile 
 these towers in ashes o'er our grave." 
 
 " Confusion ! " muttered Robert, and rushed from the apartment. 
 
 Matilda laid her insensible burthen on the couch, and sank in 
 grateful prayer upon her knees beside her. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Robert of Artois rushed from the chamber of the two captives, 
 and with hasty strides gained the battlements of his stronghold, 
 from whence the sight which met his gaze might have quailed a 
 stronger heart than his, for the united Saxon and Norman hosts 
 were marshalled on the plain before him. So universal was the 
 indignation at the unmanly outrage he had committed, that even 
 amongst those whom he called his friends not a single banner was 
 absent. Men who would have supported him in almost any other 
 cause, who had shared with him in the plunder of the oppressed 
 Saxons, were now in arms against him. Had his victims been of 
 the vanquished race, it would have been long ere a single pennon 
 had been given to the wind ; but the insult to the daughter and niece 
 of so popular a man as the late Hugh de Bigod could not be passed 
 over : it was a crime which might come home to every noble's 
 hearth ; and they determined, however they might violate the rights 
 of others, that none should tamper with their own. 
 
 About twenty paces behind the herald, whose trumpet had called 
 the lord of Filby to the walls, stood the chief leaders of the expedition 
 — Ulrick and Mirvan, to whose anxious hearts it seemed an age until 
 their enemy appeared. Edda and Odo of Caen left the parley to 
 the two lovers, and were busily occupied in directing the franklins 
 and nobles where to place their men. Under the direction of such 
 experienced commanders, every point of vantage was taken possession 
 of, and the castle was completely invested before the inmates knew 
 of their approach. 
 
 "Unless the fox's den be well supplied," said Odo, casting a 
 satisfied glance on the military dispositions, " we shall starve him to
 
 150 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 a surrender ; for I defy horse or man to pass by lake or plain 
 without being exposed to the arrows of oiir soldiers. But see," he 
 added, " the ravisher appears upon the walls. May the caitiflE's 
 shrift be shoi't and speedy, for it will be his last ! " 
 
 " 'Tis a strange greeting you have called me to ! " exclaimed 
 Robert, after casting a hurried survey over the scene. "Is Filby 
 hold a robber's den, nobles and knights, that you appear before it, 
 banner displayed and lance in rest .? 'Tis well our walls are strong 
 enough to bid defiance unto all who come. Come ye in hostile 
 guise, or is't some riddle beyond a plain man's guessing "i " 
 
 " Robert of Artois," said Ulrick, with a strong effort to master his 
 indignation, " though this deed of thine is of so black a treachery, 
 it merits more the hangman's office than knightly chastisement. 
 Descend, and let the sword decide between us. If vanquished, thou 
 shalt release thy captives ; if conqueror. Heaven will raise them up 
 another champion." 
 
 " Captives ! Avhat captives ? " demanded the villain in well- 
 dissembled surpi-ise ; " my castle is not a prison." 
 
 " Lying will not serve thee now," cried Mirvan : " despite thy 
 arts, thy treachery is known. Where is my sister — where my cousin 
 Isabel .? Release them, or I swear not to leave one stone upon 
 another of this den of treachery and blood — one living soul within 
 its ruined walls ; thy knightly spurs shall be hacked off — thy 
 escutcheon reversed, in sign of infamy, upon thy grave." 
 
 " Boys ! " replied Robei't, " I hear and scorn you both. First, for 
 the base-born Ulrick, — for such, despite the bishop's juggling tale, I 
 do believe he is — I cross no sword with men of doubtful birth. As 
 for my captives, if I have such, I have good warrant for detaining 
 them. For the rest, exert your strength on Filby — bend bow and 
 mangonel ; our walls can boast of hearts and hands who know how 
 to defend them," 
 
 " Coward ! " exclaimed Ulrick, maddened by the sneering tone of 
 the speaker ; " cool, calculating, spiritless coward, bold only when 
 women are to be assailed, hath thy cheek no blush of shame ? — ^thy 
 heart no drop of knightly blood ? " 
 
 " If not with Ulrick, measure swords with me ; my birth, at least, 
 is equal to thine own," said Mirvan ; " felon as thou art, I offer thee 
 the chance of equal combat, a noble's sword for the vile headsman's 
 axe. Descend, and Heaven decide between us." 
 
 Mirvan's challenge, and the epithet of a coward which Ulrick had 
 previously applied to him, stung their enemy to the quick ; for, like 
 most cruel and licentious men, he j^^as excessively vain, and 
 consequently susceptible of shame. It was not, therefore, without 
 an effort that he determined to decline the contest ; for he well 
 knew how such an act must lower him in the estimation of his 
 chivalrous countrymen, with whom courage was held the highest 
 virtue. Perhaps he was influenced in his decision by the belief
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 151 
 
 that the arrival of the royal partner of his crime would relieve him 
 from his embarrassing position by causing the Normans to desert 
 their new allies, or turn their swords against them. Perhaps, too, 
 he lacked the moral courage to face the glance and swords of those 
 whom he had so cruelly injured. Whichever was the motive, his 
 face was livid with contending passions, as he replied — 
 
 " If, for the present, I decline the contest, think not it is I fear 
 it ; the bridegroom never longed more for his bride's first kiss, than 
 I to vindicate my honour and chastise thy boyish insolence ; that 
 which I have done I dare defend. Normans and Saxons, I defy ye 
 both. What ho ! " he added, calling to the warder, "fling out our 
 banner ; man the walls ; let your keen arrows count every rivet of 
 their armour. A hide of land and twenty silver marks to him whose 
 arm strikes down a leader of yon vaunting host." 
 
 Scarcely had the words passed his lips, than a body of his men, 
 who had been crouching behind the battlements, suddenly started 
 up, and discharged a flight of arrows at the group of nobles near the 
 herald. Thanks to the goodness of their armour, Ulrick and 
 Mirvan both escaped. Odo of Caen was slightly wounded in the 
 head, but the unfortunate herald was slain. The assailants raised a 
 shout of execration as they beheld him fall ; and even the cheek of 
 Robert of Artois blanched — for his office, like his person, was 
 sacred, and the wounding or' injuring one of them was ever 
 considered a most unknightly deed. 
 
 " Villain ! " exclaimed Odo of Caen, shaking his sword, " the blood 
 thou hast shed must be atoned. I swear never to quit this spot 
 alive, till I have levelled thy castle with the dust, and fixed thy 
 head upon the ruined pile. So help me Heaven, our Lady, and 
 St. George ! " 
 
 The speaker, his face streaming with blood from the treacherous 
 arrow, drew his sword and kissed the golden cross upon its hilt. 
 It was no unusual circumstance at the period of the Conquest, and 
 the ages of chivalry which succeeded it, for one or more nobles to 
 bind themselves, like Odo of Caen, to some particular undertaking ; 
 such oaths were always most scrupulously kept by all who valued 
 their knightly reputation ; to break them was considered such dis- 
 honour that it released the affianced bride from her contract, 
 should her lover be proved guilty of it. 
 
 " A vow ! a vow ! " cried Miiwan, as Odo ceased speaking, " to 
 which I join myself heart and soul." 
 
 " And I ! " exclaimed Ulrick and most of the younger 
 nobles ; at the same time touching the sword of Odo, in token of 
 their companionship in his oath, and pronouncing the formula, " So 
 help us Heaven, our Ladj', and St. George." 
 
 The followers of Robert were preparing to send a second flight of 
 arrows, when Edda, who marked the action, gave the signal to his 
 men, and in an instant a cloud of missiles swept the wall ; several
 
 152 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 of the besieged fell, struck by the heavy stones which the Saxons 
 sent from their slings with remarkable precision. Their leader 
 received one upon his breast, which reminded him that he was 
 without his armour by the pain it occasioned ; he retired, therefore, 
 behind a bastion, calling to his esquires to bring him his coat of 
 mail and casquet as he did so. 
 
 Filby Castle was a regularly fortified hold, built with more 
 regard to strength than • either beauty or convenience. Like 
 most of the fortresses of the age, it consisted of a lofty keep or 
 donjon, surrounded by offices, forming a kind of courtyard, the only 
 entrance to which was by a strong tower ; the latter generally 
 served as storehouses for the corn and provisions of the inmates, as 
 well as the dormitories of the guards, its flat roofs serving, in case of 
 attack, as a battery, from whence the besieged could pour down 
 molten lead and hurl masses of stone upon their enemies. The 
 keep and tower were the only buildings of stone ; the rest were 
 mere constructions of sun-burnt brick and timber, easily destroyed 
 by fire, and whose loss would but slightly affect the carrying of the 
 rest of the stronghold. 
 
 From the determined manner of Robert of Artois, it was evident 
 that all hope of capitulation was in vain ; he was prepared to defend 
 himself to the last, and, after a brief consultation between the 
 Sxon and Norman leaders, it was resolved to continue the seige in 
 due form. 
 
 " Nobles," said Edda, as soon as the resolution was concluded, " if 
 the peace between our races is to be a lasting one, it must be 
 cemented by an act of stern' but necessary justice. The wrong 
 which brings us here hath been offered by Robert of Artois alike to 
 both, and both are joined to punish him. Let the gallows be 
 erected in sight of his vile den, his name attached to it, like that of 
 the meanest criminal, together with a parchment, signed by us all, 
 declaring him degraded from the dignity of knighthood, and 
 doomed, for the murder of our unoffending herald, to die a felon's 
 death. Are we agreed ? " 
 
 " We are ! " exclaimed Ulrick and Mirvan in the same breath. 
 
 Odo of Caen and his brother nobles approved the proposition ; 
 the gibbet was accordingly erected, and the act of degradation 
 solemnly affixed by sound of trumpet. Robert, pale with rage, 
 witnessed the ceremony from the Avails of his stronghold, and his 
 cheek changed with rage and fear, as he marked the effect it 
 produced upon his followers, men who, under ordinary circumstances, 
 would have abetted him in any act of villainy. Quickly, however, 
 recovering himself from his confusion, he observed, with a loud, 
 forced laugh — 
 
 " A slip of parchment will not win Filby hold. Courage, friends ! 
 we shall soon behold a royal banner in the boaster's rear. William 
 of Normandy, our future monarch, by whose orders I am acting,
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 153 
 
 will soon be here to punish these presuming traitors, who would 
 usurp the prerogative of justice, and dispute his will," 
 
 The words had scarcely passed his lips when the sentinel who was 
 placed upon the highest tower called out that he beheld an approaching 
 force, headed b j several knights in armour, who were directing their 
 march towards Filby ; and that, from the movement amongst the 
 besiegers, he doubted not but that they perceived it too. The 
 intelligence gave fresh courage to their audacious leader, who 
 doubted not but that it was his patron marching to his succour. 
 
 " See you no banner ? " he demanded. 
 
 The soldier paused a moment ere he replied, for the new actors 
 were still at a considerable distance from the scene. 
 
 " I do," at last he answered. " There are three ; one borne in 
 advance of the others — a herald precedes it." 
 
 " By whom is it borne ? " 
 
 " A knight in full armour," shouted the man. " Three leaders 
 follow it — one is a priest." 
 
 " Can you discern the blazon ? " replied Robert of Artois, at the 
 same time straining his sight to catch it, his fears reverting to 
 Herbert de Lozenga at the intelligence that one of the leaders was a 
 priest. 
 
 " A lion rampant in an azure field, surmounted by a ducal crown. 
 It is a royal banner," added the man. 
 
 *' Thanks to our Lady," shouted the degraded man ; " it is the 
 prince. Now then we shall see yon scum dispersed like chaflE 
 before the wind. Shout, men, and wave our banners from the 
 walls to welcome them ! Shout, in sign of recognition for their aid ! 
 See, the enemy marshal their ranks to meet them. Would they 
 resist their prince ? Aymer," he added, turning to the young 
 esquire who attended him, " lead a party of our men into the 
 courtyard below. Be ready for a sally. This is the day to win thy 
 spurs ; and tell the warder at the first signal to be ready at the 
 drawbridge ; we must attack them in the rear." 
 
 Robert of Artois watched with eager eyes the expected encounter 
 of the two hosts. What was his consternation when he beheld 
 their leaders mutually advance in sign of amity, and their troops 
 mingle together till they formed but one body, which, after a few 
 moments' evolution, directed its imarch towards Filby ! From that 
 instant he felt the first misgiving for the success of his villainous 
 scheme, and half -repented that he had undertaken it. 
 
 " Can the fickle-minded tyrant," he muttered " have betrayed 
 me ? — or have both Normans and Saxons yielded to the prestige of 
 his birth ? No, no," he added, ibitterly, as the banner of the leader 
 distinctly met his view — '*by my evil star, it is the blazon of my 
 namesake, Robert Curthose, the Conqueror's eldest son. What 
 devil brings him to this country to mar our plans ! Where can his 
 brother be .' The wily bishop, too ! " he added, as George of
 
 154 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Erpingham advanced with the pennon of his master ; " the game 
 hath fearfiil odds against me. No matter, I will fight it to the last. 
 Victory or revenge shall at least be mine. I will not fall alone." 
 
 Lowering their visors, to guard against any fresh act of treachery 
 on the part of the besieged, the leaders of the now united army, 
 preceded by a herald in the royal tabard, and a knight bearing the 
 prince's banner, advanced close to the walls of the castle ; its 
 commander was waiting to receive them. Thrice did the herald 
 summon him to open the gate to his highness Robert of Normandy, 
 on pain of treason and forfeiture in case of a refusal. There was a 
 pause, during which the traitor whispered something to one of his 
 arquebussiers, a man equally noted for skill and determination ; a 
 nod of intelligence was the fellow's only reply, and immediately he 
 concealed himself behind one of the projecting bastions, taking his 
 weapon with him. 
 
 " And how am I to know," answered Robert of Artois, " that the 
 prince is really with you ? Report speaks him in Normandy. Men 
 ere now have fallen into a snare as plain as this ; the royal banner 
 may be assumed " 
 
 " But not the royal person," interrupted the unsuspicious prince, 
 spurring his horse, and advancing from the group of nobles by whom 
 he was surrounded still nearer to the walls. " Behold ! " 
 
 He raised his visor as he spoke, exposing to the full gaze of the 
 besieged his frank, manly countenance. Scarcely had he done so, 
 than the concealed ruffian, obedient to the orders he had received, 
 discharged his arquebus ; but, fortunately, from the crouching 
 position he had been compelled to assume, in order to conceal 
 himself, he had not taken aim with his usual precision. The arrow 
 missed the prince's face, but struck the golden crown upon his 
 helmet — an emblem of the prince's future destiny — and the royal 
 insignia fell to the ground, shivered by the shock. Its incautious 
 wearer instantly closed his visor, and, raising his hand in defiance, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Robert of Artois, thou art a doomed man ! By the oath of my 
 race, I swear to show no mercy to thee or any of thy fellows. The 
 axe and cord shall be the doom of all. No further parley now. The 
 lion's on thy track. His thirst of blood is roused ; fear not but he 
 will quench it to the full." 
 
 At the end of this imprudent speech, the prince returned to his 
 followers and friends, who, however they regretted his incaution, 
 were silent through respect ; for the resolution he had sworn to left 
 no room for hope of an accommodation with the besieged ; many of 
 whom would perhaps have hesitated to defend their master against 
 their monarch's son, but that he had sworn their death by an oath 
 which none of his family were ever known to break. No other 
 resource, therefore, was left to them but a desperate resistance ; they 
 knew that the attack would be fearful, and they prepared with
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 155 
 
 alacrity for their defence, their wily leader rejoicing in the 
 indiscretion of his reckless enemy. 
 
 " We have had words enough," exclaimed Ulrick ; " and nothing 
 now remains but to draw the sword and throw away the scabbard. 
 Beloved Matilda ! " he added, *' if too late to save, at least I'll 
 honour thy loss with Filby for thy funeral pile." 
 
 Under the direction of their leaders some of the men commenced 
 
 cutting down the reeds and sedges which grev/ upon the banks of 
 
 the lake ; others were sent into the wood to fell trees and brushwood ; 
 
 the whole of which, despite the efforts of the beseiged, they 
 
 succeeded in piling against the offices which, as before stated, 
 
 formed the courtyard of the castle, by connecting the keep with the 
 
 tower. During this operation the Saxons, under Edda, rendered 
 
 good service ; for no sooner did the Normans appear upon the walls 
 
 than they were swept down by their arrows and the heavy stones 
 
 flung with astonishing dexterity from their slings. Many a cauldron 
 
 of seething pitch fell from the hand prepared to turn it on the 
 
 besiegers' heads ; on more than one occasion, however, it fell on the 
 
 unprotected limbs of the Saxons, burning them to the very bone. 
 
 The Normans saw this, and knowing they were better protected by 
 
 their armour, called upon them to retire whilst they took their 
 
 place — an offer which the former accepted in the same generous 
 
 spirit in which it was meant. Nothing, however, could induce 
 
 either Ulrick or Mirvan to withdraw ; reckless of the danger they 
 
 ran of the missiles which were showei-ed upon them, they continued 
 
 to share in the labours of their men. In the course of a few hours 
 
 the pile had reached a formidable height ; the boiling matter which 
 
 the enemy had poured from the walls only rendered it the more 
 
 inflammable ; and as soon as the torches were applied, the flames 
 
 rose quickly and strong. Robert of Artois, seeing that all attempts 
 
 to stop the conflagration would be vain, retired with his men to the 
 
 shelter of the keep, which, from its strength, seemed to bid defiance 
 
 to the besiegers' efforts, 
 
 ***** 
 
 Whilst these proceedings are being carried on, it is a fit opportunity 
 for us to return to the Jewess, and the young squire to whose charge 
 her seducer had consigned her. On entering her dungeon, Rachel 
 paced its cold, damp floor with the angry mien of an excited lioness ; 
 her feelings had been hurt where they were most susceptible — in 
 her love. Pride, womanhood, and affection had alike been outraged ; 
 the man for whom she had sacrificed her own esteem, the respect of 
 her people, the prejudice of her faith, and her mother's love, had 
 spurned her from him like the vilest thing. The blow had so 
 crushed her heart that even its passion for the idol once enshrined 
 there became extinct; it throbbed with but one sentiment — revenge. 
 
 " 'Tis just ! " she cried, " 'tis just I should be used so ; gathered 
 like a toy in a moment of caprice — cast aside like a faded flower the
 
 156 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 moment satiety had palled. What Vvill be my fate ? I have now no 
 refuge but the grave." 
 
 " Yes, one other ! " exclaimed Aymer, throwing himself at her 
 feet. " I have long loved you — lived but in your presence — have 
 borne the burning pang of seeing you another's but in the hope 
 that you would one day smile upon my persevering suit. Speak but 
 the word — I will contrive the means to bear you from these hated 
 walls to a home of happiness and peace." 
 
 " Happiness ! " iterated the Jewess, scornfully — " happiness with 
 one of thy cruel race ? No — I have had enough of Christian faith, 
 of Christian love — I"ll trust to them no more." 
 
 " Hear me swear — by every saint, hj every knightly oath," said 
 the esquire, casting an impassioned glance upon her. 
 
 " He, too, hath sw^orn," interrupted the captive, "■ and every vow 
 is broken. It needs but a Christian oath to make me doubt thee 
 more than I do already. False as he is, this withered heart will 
 never know another love, or dream again the dream its girlhood 
 dreamt. Stir not its slumbering ashes, Aymer, lest thou wake a flame 
 which may consume, but never burn for thee." 
 
 " Be calm, this storm of passion else must soon destroy thee." 
 
 " Yes, I will be calm," said Rachel, sternly, '' as seas opposing 
 winds, as the torn earth convulsed by fires. God of my fathers ! " 
 she added, with an increased burst of passion, " was it for this I left 
 my peaceful home — lived the companion of his guilt and shame ? 
 Yet let the desperate libertine beware ! Not the fierce tigress 
 raging for her young — not the red lightning from Jehovah's hand, 
 strike with more fury than a woman scorned." 
 
 The still beautiful creature stood, as she uttered her fearful 
 denunciation, more with the aspect of an enraged pythoness than a 
 human being ; her dark black eyes flashed with intensity of hate. 
 Aymer regarded her with pity as well as love, for he guessed but 
 too well the fate to which Robert of Artois, to secure his own safety, 
 would find it necessary to doom her, and from that he resolved at 
 any rate to save her, wished her to live, thol^gh not for him. 
 
 " Rachel," he cried, at the same time taking her by the hand, 
 " listen to me. It is not now the voice of passion, but of pity, 
 speaks ; thou hast said truly that all ties between thee and thy 
 seducer are for ever broken ; thou canst no longer hope to retain his 
 heart ; hast thou no danger to encounter from his hate ? " 
 
 " His hate ! " answered the wTetched woman, scornfully ; " can it 
 do moi-e than his destroying love ? " 
 
 " It can," replied the young man, "it can kill." 
 
 " And callest thou mercy hate ? — the best boon Robert of Artois 
 can bestow is death ; for in the grave is peace." 
 
 The deep tone of sadness in the wretched woman's voice, as she 
 answered the esquire, told him how vain were all his hopes of love ; 
 still he resolved, if possible, to save her, for, like most ardent
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 157 
 
 natures, there was a sentiment of generosity mingled with his 
 wildest passions ; every manly feeling was interested in a creature 
 so outraged and so helpless ; his emotion increased, therefore, as ho 
 resumed — 
 
 " There are outrages worse to a noble mind than death. Should 
 he first resign thee to his brutal followers, to be their prey — their 
 scoff — their victim " 
 
 " Hold ! " shrieked the Jewess ; " naught which wears a human 
 form could consign the being it had loved to such a fate ! Fiend, 
 devil as he is, Robert of Artois would never contemplate so foul a 
 deed ; thou sayest this but to terrify me — to win me to thy purpose." 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Aymer ; " deeply as I prize thy love, wondrous 
 as is the enchantment of thy beauty, on my soul I would not win 
 thee by an act of baseness. Hear me : I will provide thee with the 
 means of flight. The lower postern by the water's edge is under my 
 especial care, the key in my possession ; soon as night draws on, I 
 will unbar thy prison door, and thou mayst fly far from this den of 
 infamy for ever." 
 
 " Alone ? " demanded the Jewess, fixing a searching glance upon 
 him. 
 
 " Alone," firmly replied Aymer. " If I live not for thy love, I 
 may as well die here. Men may call me traitor ; but none shall 
 ever live to brand me with a coward's name. I could have borne 
 that men should say, ' He fled his post in danger's hour for love ' ; 
 but none shall have the right to think I quitted it through fear." 
 
 " The God of Abraham bless thee, Aymer, for thy generous heart ! " 
 exclaimed the Jewess, kissing his hand with deep emotion ; " and 
 He will bless thee, boy, with a far purer, better love than mine — a 
 love whose innocence shall cast its flowers around thy path, reminding 
 thee of Eden's lost inheritance. I do accept thy offier ; and for the 
 remnant of my wretched days, deeply as I have suffered from 
 Christian treachery, I will think better of its faith for thee. But 
 why remain behind ? " 
 
 " I have told thee," said the young man, calmly ; '• love only 
 could, even to myself, excuse my flight in danger's hour." 
 
 Rachel gazed upon him long and sadly, and seemed, while doing 
 so, to commune with herself. Once or twice she murmured, " So 
 young ! — so brave ! " Her resolution, whatever it was, at last was 
 taken. Her voice was calm as an infant's while she uttered it — •■ 
 
 " Aymer," she said, " thou hast prevailed. To save thy life, I 
 give thee the little that remains of heart within this blighted bosom. 
 If the TVTeck be worth thy acceptance, take it ; for it is thine. Would 
 it were better worth thy noble nature." 
 
 " I understand thee, Rachel," answered the esquire ; " I read thy 
 generous purpose. Thou wouldst save me, despite myself, from the 
 dangers which now threaten Filby, and then leave nie to my fate, 
 alone."
 
 158 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Not SO," she answered. " Thou hast no right to doubt my 
 Avords, for they have ever been to thee a voice of truth, I do repeat 
 it," she added, with a slight blush — "' once beyond these walls, all 
 thou canst ask is thine." 
 
 Aymer could no longer doubt ; he was like a man who, in the 
 moment of despair found the path of happiness suddenly opened to 
 his view. Taking her hand, he covered it with passionate kisses, 
 thanking her a thousand times, as he did so, for the generous 
 sacrifice, and vowing that his life should be devoted to the task of 
 effacing from her mind the recollection of past sorrows, and 
 guarding her future happiness. There was a smile of incredulity 
 upon the face of the Jewess as she listened to him with something 
 like pity at the extravagant joy he manifested — a joy which she well 
 knew was doomed to be changed to bitter disappointment. 
 
 " Leave me," she cried, gently releasing her hand. " I require to 
 be alone. I must commune with my heart, and draw courage and 
 resignation from myself. At the hour of escape you will find me 
 ready. Hark ! " she added, as the trumpet of the besiegers a second 
 time echoed through the castle, "the enemy are already at the 
 gates ; hasten to thy post to avoid suspicion ; but first leave me thy 
 cloak, for my blood runs coldly, and my heart is chilled in these 
 damp walls." 
 
 Aymer carefully enveloped the speaker's form in his ample 
 mantle, whispered the word " Adieu," and would have pressed a 
 kiss upon her lips had not the sudden paleness which came over 
 her warned him to desist. 
 
 " Not now — not now," she murmured ; " wait but a little, and I 
 am wholly thine. At the appointed hour of flight thou wilt find 
 me in my dungeon, and miTst lead me from these cursed walls in 
 silence. Mark me, in silence ; for my heart wi41 be too full of the 
 bitter memories of the past to bear the sound of human voice, even 
 in sympathy." 
 
 " All, dearest Rachel," whispered Aymer, soothingly, " shalt be 
 as thou hast willed it. Till the hour arrives, farewell." 
 
 The yoving squire contented himself with once more pressing his 
 lips upon her hand, and hurried from the cell. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " sighed the Jewess, as the echo of his footsteps fell 
 fainter upon her ear, " had I met a heart like thine, how different 
 might have been my fate ! Mayst thou live to find a destiny more 
 pure and happy than I could make thee. 'Tis past," she added, 
 brushing the tears from her dark lashes ; " one sigh to recollection 
 of my abandoned home, my blighted youth, my broken heart ; and 
 then, like the daughter of my race of old, who smote Holofernes on 
 his silken couch, to right my injuries in the vile Norman's blood." 
 
 For awhile Rachel continued to brood over her resolve, and 
 arrange the means of its success. A proud smile lit her beautiful 
 features as she contemplated, in the mirror of her mind, its
 
 STA2JFIELD HALL 159 
 
 concluding triumph. There was nothing of fear or doubt in its 
 expression. For herself, she was equally insensible to danger as 
 her heart was dead to hope. Drawing her tablets from beneath her 
 vest, she seated herself upon a stone, and hastily traced a few lines, 
 read them twice over, seemed satisfied with their contents, and 
 drawing Aymer's cloak around her, left the dungeon, which he had 
 unfastened. It was evident, from the ease with which the Jewess 
 threaded her way through the winding passages, that she was well 
 acquainted with the locality of her prison. As she approached the 
 battlements, however, her step became more cautious, and she drew 
 the capuchin of the esquire's mantle over her head, so as completely 
 to disguise her features. Of those whom she encountered, some 
 took her for a young knight who was but just recovering from his 
 wounds, and who for some time had inhabited the castle ; others 
 passed her without troubling themselves with a conjecture, so 
 occupied were they with their individual danger, and calculating on 
 their respective chances of safety in the coming contest. 
 
 Like a spectre, the unhappy woman glided along the ramparts, 
 still carefully veiling her face, and reached a solitary toAver, where 
 an old soldier kept watch ; he was leaning on his bow as she 
 approached, and seemed to contemplate the approach of the 
 enemy with an air of sullen indifference. So absorbed was he in 
 his thoughts, that the light step of. the intruder failed to disturb 
 him ; nor was it till he felt the pressure of her hand upon his 
 shoulder that he started from his reverie. 
 
 " Harro," she whispered, "hast thou forgotten me ? " She threw 
 back the hood which concealed her features as she spoke. 
 
 " No, lady," replied the old man, bowing reverentially ; " this 
 heart must indeed be cold when I forget the ministering angel who 
 Avatched over the sick couch of my dear child ; my heart may 
 be a hard and rough one, but it retains the characters graved by the 
 hand of gratitude the more indelibly. What brings thee to a scene 
 like this .? " 
 
 " Revenge," replied Rachel, calmly. " I have been spurned like 
 a hound by him for whom I sacrificed all that woman can — honour, 
 respect, and Heaven. Thy master, and my destroyer, has doomed 
 the victim he has made to death." 
 
 " To death ! " echoed the soldier, with a look of astonishment ; 
 "surely you dream." 
 
 " Not so," she answered ; " my dream at last is ended. Wilt thou 
 serve me in this my hour of peril ? or are thy professions like those 
 of the world, hollow and unsUible as the breath which made them .'' " 
 
 " Speak," said the old man, "and prove them. Though it cost 
 me my life, I will not belie my words. What am I to do ? " 
 
 " Give me an arrow from thy quiver," answered the Jewess. 
 
 " Ilarro did as he was requested, and Rachel, receiving the 
 weapon, seated herself upon the ground, and endeavoured to afiix
 
 160 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the tablets, on wliich she had written in her dungeon, to the point. 
 After searching her person for a ribbon or a cord to tie them with, 
 she quietly demanded of her companion if he had a knife. He took 
 one from his girdle and gave it to her. Without a moment's 
 hesitation she drew one of the long glossy tresses, which it had 
 once been her pride to ornament, through her fingers, and severed 
 it. In a few moments the tablets were securely fastened to the 
 steel head of the instrument. Rising, she cast her glances round 
 the scene before her till they rested on a distant banner, round 
 which several knights and a man in the dark flowing robes of an 
 ecclesiastic were assembled. 
 
 " Dost see those men ? " she demanded, pointing to the group, 
 " those close by the prince's banner ? " 
 
 The archer nodded his head in token of assent. 
 
 " Send me this shaft amongst them," she resumed, " and I will 
 deem my kindness to thy child o'erpaid — thy every promise kej^t. 
 Draw well thy bow," she added, as the man took the arrow and 
 fitted it to his weapon, " for life and death hang on thy strength. 
 Let thy arm be nerved by gratitude, as mine has been by vengeance 
 — shoot as thou wouldst for freedom or for hate." 
 
 Harro did as she requested. Using his still great strength, he 
 drew the missile to the very head ; and so sure was his aim, that 
 despite the vast distance between him and his mark, he hit the very 
 flag. 
 
 Rachel watched with eager eyes its flight, and saw with 
 satisfaction that her design was answered ; for an esquire raised the 
 arrow, and bore it with its burden to Herbert de Lozenga, the 
 ecclesiastic, who was conversing with the knights. The prelate read 
 the writing to those around him ; and Ulrick and Mirvan waved 
 their scarfs, in token that, whatevever the request or information it 
 conveyed, it was joyfully accepted. 
 
 " Thanks, old man ! " exclaimed the Jewess ; " thou hast done me 
 the last service I shall ever ask of man ; thy promise has been kept ; a 
 wretch's blessing rest upon thee ! Shouldst thou escape the siege," 
 she adcled, taking a collar of jewels from her neck, " these will 
 provide thee comforts for thine age. Mayst thou live long and 
 happy." 
 
 She placed her gift in the archer's hand, and drawing the capuchin 
 once more over her features, retraced her way cautiously towards 
 the keep ; her step was lighter as she did so, for she felt sure of 
 vengeance. 
 
 " Let me but triumph in life's parting hour," she murmured to 
 herself, " and I will deem my suffierings o'erpaid ; let (he fatal star 
 which didst preside over my mortal destiny shine but propitious 
 now, and Lno more will curse its influence. Robert of Artois, I 
 have kept my oath ; I feel that we shall meet again." 
 
 Instead of returning to her dungeon, she passed along the now
 
 STANPIELD HALL
 
 \
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 163 
 
 deserted armoury, iior paused till she reached the door of the 
 apartment where" Matilda and her cousin were confined ; a sentry 
 had been placed there, who raised his partizan at her approach : his 
 orders were that none should enter. Fortunately for Rachel's 
 enterprise, she still retained the signet-ring of her betrayer, given to 
 her charge in an hour of confidence, which her self-sacrifice had 
 but too well merited. Extending her hand, she showed the glit- 
 tering gem, exclaiming as she did so — 
 
 " This signal all within the walls obey. I am charged by thy 
 master to hold converse with his prisoners. Give me way." 
 
 The man, not doubting the truth of her assertion, unhesitatingly 
 lowered his weapon, and gave her ingress to the chamber, where we 
 must leave her for awhile, and return to the operations of the 
 besiegers. 
 
 The flames had destroyed the buildings which connected the 
 keep of Filby Castle with the lofty tower which served as principal 
 entrance to the edifice. The two latter, however, still held good ; 
 the threat of Robert of Normandy binding the garrison and their 
 chief by a sense of mutual safety. The principal efforts of the 
 enemy were, however, directed against the keep, where they knew 
 the captives were confined, and to which Robert of Artois and the 
 greater number of his followers had retired. Herbert de Lozenga's 
 men had brought several battering-rams with them, which, under 
 the direction of George of Erpingham, they were suspending from 
 their massive swings before the iron-plated gates of the stronghold. 
 It was an object with the besieged to impede the progress of their 
 labours, and it was the spot where the contest raged most fiercely. 
 The northern side of the donjon, next the water, was unassailed, 
 and comparatively unguarded. 
 
 It was from an angle of this position that Harro had winged the 
 shaft at the request of Rachel. 
 
 " Listen ! " cried the prelate, as he perused the billet. " We have 
 friends witliin the walls, Heaven will bless our cause ! Perhaps «re 
 morning's dawn the lost brides may be restored to us." 
 
 " Read, father, read ! " impatiently exclaimed both Ulrick and 
 Mir van. 
 
 The bishop did so : — " When the first hour of twilight falls, the 
 little postern 'neath the northern bastion will be opened. Place 
 your men in ambush. An esquire and a female will issue from the 
 keep. As you would avoid the sin of deep ingratitude, harm not a 
 hair of that man's head. His companion will explain the means by 
 which the keep may be secured. Keep up the assault upon the 
 western side, draw the attention of the beseiged to that spot ; and 
 that alone. Once within the walls, courage and your own good 
 swords must do the rest." 
 
 *' Perhaps some snare," said Odo of Caen ; " can you guess the 
 writing ? " 
 
 M 2
 
 164 STANPIELD HALL, 
 
 " Evidently a woman's liand," replied the reader, handing it at 
 the same time to the two bereaved lovers. 
 
 Ulrick and Mirvan each in turn eagerly took the scroll, and 
 returned it to the prelate Avith a feeling of disappointment, for it 
 was not the handwriting of either Isabel or Matilda. 
 
 " Be it from friend or foe its counsel shall be tried," exclaimed 
 Ulrick ; " I will not lose one chance of vengeance." 
 
 " Right, boy ! " cried his grandfather, the venerable Edda, who, 
 despite his years, had been one of the foremost in the attack. " See ! 
 George of Erpingham waves his sword in signal that the battering- 
 rams are placed. Odo and I will conduct the assault, whilst you 
 and your all but brother lead a party of your m^n by the wood, to 
 avoid suspicion. Once within its friendly shade, let them steal one 
 by one to the northern postern. If, as the writer promises, the door 
 should open " 
 
 " Leave us to answer for the rest," interrupted the tAvo 3"0ung 
 men, as they hastened to follow his advice, and draw off their men ; 
 *' perhaps, when next we meet, we meet as victors. Farewell." 
 
 Ere the aged Saxon could reply, they were on their Avay. 
 
 "Allow me to join you," said Robert of Normandy, as Odo and 
 the veteran marched to the scene of action. " My honour is 
 engaged in this as deeply, knights, as yours. 'Tis long since I have 
 joined in the noble game of war. My blood is warmed, and I feel 
 eager for the sport." 
 
 The besieged, Avho well knew that the destruction of the portal 
 must entail the surrender of the keep, used every means to defeat 
 the efforts of their enemy. Huge benches were brought from the 
 banquet hall, and hurled ujjon them, crushing numbers beneath 
 their massive weight. Robert of Artois, with the courage which 
 despair will often give, displayed a perseverance Avorthy of a better 
 cause ; armed with a large iron bar, he laboured to loosen one of 
 the enormous stones Avhich formed the battlements of his strong- 
 hold, the fall of any one of which must have been fatal to his 
 enemies, and rendered their battering rams useless. He would 
 doiibtless have proved successful had his men seconded his efforts 
 with equal ardour to his own ; but the slings of the Saxons, who 
 were posted at a distance, so antioyed them that they shrank behind 
 the buttresses, and their leader only ow^ed his safety to the strength 
 of his armour, Avhich was, hoAvever, bruised by the heavy bloAvs it 
 had received. As the battering of the huge beams fell upon the 
 portal, he redoubled his frantic efforts, till the vast mass of stone 
 trembled beneath his repeated shocks. So desperate did the 
 besieged at last become, that they used the bodies of the dead and 
 dying of their own party as missiles, and hurled them on the 
 persevering foe. 
 
 The attention of all within the Avails was directed to the western 
 side so entirely that, as Edda had suggested, the body of men under
 
 STANPIELD HAJiL. 165 
 
 the conduct of his grandson and Mirvan reached the postern by the 
 lake, as their unknown correspondent had directed. The last rays 
 of the setting sun had already kissed the bosom of the lake in 
 token of adieu as they arrived there. With breathless impatience 
 they waited for the promised opening of the gate ; every moment 
 seemed an age of suspense — an agony of expectation — whose 
 endurance was torture to the mind. The massive doors at last 
 turned slowly upon their rusty hinges, and the esquire Aymer 
 appeared, leading a female closely veiled ; in an instant he was 
 secm-ed and disarmed, and the postern closely guarded. 
 
 " What treachery is this ? " cried Aymer, in astonishment at the 
 unexpected attack ; " am I betrayed ? " 
 
 The youth was destined to a still greater surprise ; for his 
 supposed mistress, who was clad in the garments of Eachel, threw 
 herself into .the equally astonished Mirvan's arms ; and raising her 
 veil as she did so, discovered the features of Isabel of Bayeux, 
 whom the Jewess, in atonement for her former attempt upon her 
 life, had thus contrived to save. 
 
 " Where," demanded TJlrick, " is Matilda ? " 
 
 " IBtill in the tyrant's power," sobbed the excited girl ; *' haste, if 
 ye are men, to save her." _ 
 
 The words had scarcely passed her lips than Ulrick disappeared, 
 followed by his men ; he needed no clue — instinct seemed to guide 
 his steps to the rescue of his betrothed. And Mirvan, after con- 
 signing his rescued cousin and her companion to a party of his 
 archers to conduct them from the scene of danger, followed his 
 example ; for his heart was too generous to taste of happiness while 
 his sister's safety or his friend's peace of mind was still in peril. 
 
 The shrieks of despair and the groans of the dying within the 
 walls soon told to Robert of Artois that his den was in the hunter's 
 power. Casting aside the bar which he had continued to wield, he 
 rushed to the apartment where he had confined his captives, and 
 seizing on a female whom, from her di'ess, he recognised as Isabel 
 of Bayeux, he dragged her with him to an isolated turret which 
 rose by the side of the keep, the only communication between them 
 being a wooden platform, which, with a few blows of his sword, 
 was easily destroyed. 
 
 In a few moments Mirvan and Ulrick were masters of the keep, 
 the enemy being entirely subdued. 
 
 " Yield thee, traitor ! " cried the latter, gazing with agony on the 
 veiled woman whom Robert of Artois still held firmly by the hand, 
 and whom he believed to be Matilda ; " yield, and I spare thy life. 
 But as thou art a man, harm not that trembling dove beside thee." 
 
 " Hear me, vile Saxon," replied the baffled villain. " I have 
 sworn that Isabel of Bayeux shall be mine ; and here, amid the 
 ruins of my house, the destruction of my friends, I keep my oath, 
 and triumph still."
 
 16G STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " And I," exclaimed the Jewess, dashing aside her veil, and 
 gazing sternly upon the destroyer of her peace, " keep mine. In 
 life or death I swore to be beside thee. Where is now the bloom- 
 ing bride thou didst prefer to Rachel's fervent love ? — safe in her 
 kindred's arms. Whefre is now thy hold of tyranny and blood ? — 
 the despised Rachel gave it to the triumphant foe. In death — in 
 death we are united ! This is a fitting scene for nuptials such as 
 ours. Receive my bi'idal kiss." 
 
 Before the astonished Norman could recover from his disappoint- 
 ment and surprise, Rachel drew the knife which Harro had lent her 
 on the bastion, and plunged it into her seducer's throat. Although 
 her heart beat wildly as she did so, her hand was firm. 
 
 " My oath, my oath is kept ! " shrieked the wretched woman, as 
 she beheld her victim fall. " God of my fathers, have pity on Thy 
 guilty child !" 
 
 Still holding the weapon with which she had struck the blow 
 firmly in her hand, she sprang from the lofty battlements ; one 
 shriek, like some despairing angel's cry, and all was still. 
 
 " Such is the end of crime," exclaimed Herbert de Lozenga, who, 
 with Edda and Odo of Caen had found the person of Matilda,''and 
 conducted her to her betrothed ; " let Filby Hold be levelled with 
 the dust, that men may shun its wretched master's crimes." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Filby Hold having been completely destroyed, the victorious 
 party returned to Norwich, where, in a few days, by the bishop's 
 advice, the double marriages of Ulrick and Mirvan were celebrated, 
 amidst the rejoicings of the assembled nobles, and the vassals both 
 of Stanfield and the young earl's wide domains. Normans and 
 Saxons equally rejoiced. The double tie, which cemented the 
 union of the two most powerful leaders of the rival races within 
 the Angles, promised to that portion of the distracted kingdom at 
 least a temporary peace. Herbert de Lozenga had urged the 
 immediate completion of the ceremony, despite the recent death of 
 Matilda's father, for the experienced, wary statesman saw the 
 contest likely to ensue on the death of William the Conqueror — an 
 event of which he daily expected to hear ; and he determined to 
 place the happiness of his favourite beyond the chance of war, by 
 a tie which, ev6n in that rude age of despotism and cruelty, was 
 too powerful to be broken — the sanction of the Church. 
 
 " Bless you, my children ! " he exclaimed, as the two noble 
 youths and their trembling brides knelt to receive his benediction ; 
 " may your lives flow on pure as the current of your thoughts,
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 167 
 
 calm as the exercise of your virtues ; may children, who resemble 
 you, spring like fragrant flowers around you, adorn your path of 
 life, and cheer it at its close ; may the future crowm you with its 
 hopes, and past sorrows be repaid you in the present."- 
 
 Tears — but they were now tears of joy — bedewed the cheeks of 
 Edith as her maternal heart echoed the prelate's benediction ; and 
 she breathed a silent prayer that TJlrick's life might prove happier, 
 far happier, than her own. Edda, too, the venerable Edda, beheld, 
 in his grandson's mai'riage, the promise of his race renewed ; and 
 adding a blessing equally sincere, but equally destined to be vain. 
 
 The day was passed in rejoicing, usual at the period ; the poor 
 were plentifully regaled, the vassals contended in trials of manly 
 skill and strength, whilst their lords jousted in the lists, where 
 Matilda and Isabel, as Queens of Beauty, sat to reward and 
 encourage by their smiles the victors and the combatants. The 
 day was a glorious one, and the shields of the nobles and knights, 
 which were affixed to lances round the lists, showed their rich 
 blazonry in the rays of the sun. The two bridegrooms had 
 proved successful in almost every encounter, and thrice laid their 
 trophies at the fair umpires' feet. Even Odo of Caen had been 
 unhelmed by Ulrick, and laughingly observed that if marriage 
 gave such strength of arm, he too must become a Benedict. 
 Robert of Normandy, although passionately addicted to the 
 knightly sport, gallantly declined to joust, declaring that the 
 champions of two such dames must be invincible. It was the law 
 of the tournament that any knight who wished to try the prowess 
 of another should challenge him by touching the shield affixed for 
 that purpose beneath his pennon with his lance — its owner, fully 
 armed, generally remaining on horseback by its side, unless 
 when engaged in the melee, or in some separate contest. The 
 sports were nearly ended, when an arrow, sent by some unknown 
 hand amongst the crowd, transfixed the shield of Ulrick, The 
 method of conveying a challenge was so unusual, that most men 
 thought it accident, till Edda, as marshal of the lists, drawing it 
 out discovered a label of parchment affixed to it, with these 
 ominous words : " Foiled, but not subdued ! " The old man 
 mournfully shook his head as he read the inscription, which he 
 crushed quickly in his hand, to conceal it from his grandson, 
 unwilling that a cloud of doubt should mar the sunshine of his 
 present hour. 
 
 "This is no common arrow," said Odo of Caen, regarding it 
 attentively. " Its feather has been plucked from the ill-omened 
 raven's wing ; the spirit of Robert of Artois hovers round us still. 
 I fear more evil yet." 
 
 " I fear so too," observed Hella, the bard, who was standing near 
 his patron, and to whose excitable imagination the circumstance 
 seemed fraught with evil fortune. Had he seen the writing, the
 
 168 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 impression would have been even more gloomy and profound, for 
 he was one of those who drew omens from birds, and mysteries from 
 everything. " Who saw the traitor's body ? " he demanded. 
 
 Neither Edda, Odo of Caen, nor any of the nobles who were 
 standing round, remembered to have seen it. 
 
 " Perhaps," resumed the speaker, " the wolf's only wounded, not 
 destroyed. Ulrick may live to feel its fangs again." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " interrupted the bridegroom, who had seen the flight 
 of the arrov/, and who arrived on the spot in time enough to hear 
 the last observation ; " the Jewess struck home ; and there is no 
 blow as sure as that which is nerved by hate. Besides, tower and 
 keep are both levelled with the dust, and our enemy's bones, 
 doubtless, lie crushed beneath them. But be he living or dead, in 
 body or in spirit, with my good sword, and friends like these around 
 me, I can defy him." 
 
 Many a friendly glance answered the appeal ; and Ulrick, in the 
 sincerity of his own heart, believed them. 
 
 At this instant the prince gave the signal to end the jousts by 
 throwing down his truncheon, and the brides were conducted to the 
 castle, amid the shouting of the multitude and the benedictions of 
 the poor, to keep their marriage feasts. This time the gifted Saxon 
 bard poured out no unwelcome song as his harp sent forth its strain 
 in honour of the bridegrooms and their brides : — 
 
 " Lady, although thy cheek be pale, 
 
 Thy grief is but the bride's sweet sorrow ; 
 Fling over her the silver veil, 
 
 Her eyes will sparkle bright to-rcorrow. 
 
 The jewels in her bridal wreath, 
 
 Like rays of light and dewdrops clashing, 
 Are rivalled by the gems beneath — 
 
 The eyes through beauty's glad tears flashing 
 
 Fill to the bride a ruby cup, 
 
 And twine it with the choicest flowers ; 
 With wine and nectar fill it up. 
 
 As emblem of her future hours. 
 
 Hail to the bridegroom and the bride ! 
 
 Warm hearts are now around them pressing, 
 Hands that would aid whate'er betide, 
 
 And kindred lips pronounce their blessing. 
 
 Then, lady, though thy cheek be pale, 
 
 Thy tears are but the bride's sweet sorrow ; 
 Fling over her the silver veil, 
 
 Her eyes will sparkle bright to-morrow." 
 
 The revel was continued to a late hour ; and long after the wine- 
 cup had been pledged to the new-made brides, the song and merry 
 
 laugh echoed through the old walls of Norwich Castle. 
 
 » * * * * 
 
 In a remote corner of the city, near the old church of St. Julian, 
 stood a lone house, whose neglected and time-stricken exterior would
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 169 
 
 have conveyed the idea that it was uninhabited, had not the well 
 cultivated garden, which extended from the back even to the ceme- 
 tery, proved that careful hands attended it. Plants of a foliage and 
 blossom unknown to Europe were to be found within its low- walled 
 inclosure. This garden was an object of considerable interest and 
 curiosity to the thinly-scattered inhabitants who dwelt between it 
 and the water's edge. No human eye had ever seen the mysterious 
 gardener at his work ; still his labours were evident in the well- 
 weeded walks, and careful training of its flowers and fruits. The 
 house, unlike the ordinary buildings of the period, was entirely of 
 stone. The only apertures for the admission of light were at the 
 back, and those so narrow, and guarded by coarse wooden slides, 
 that it more resembled a fortress than an ordinary dwelling. Its 
 doors — for it had but two, one to the back and front — were studded 
 with thick iron nails. Few persons, however, had ever seen them 
 open ; and such casual passengers or watchers who had, shrank with 
 terror from its inmates, for they were of the despised race of Israel — 
 a people looked upon with abhorrence by the lower orders, and 
 cruelly persecuted, on account of their wealth, by the nobles and 
 petty vavasours of the lands on which they dwelt. Sometimes, 
 however, they secured toleration from their skill in medicine ; and 
 nJany a feudal lord, who would have wrung the last mark from the 
 Hebrew, protected his physician. In their last character even the 
 Church respected them ; and mitred abbots and dignified prelates, 
 when suffering from the surfeit or the spleen, condescended to invoke 
 their aid. 
 
 It was to the reputation which the master of the lone house in 
 question had acquired in the capacity of leech that he owed the 
 degree of safety which he enjoyed. Abram, for such was his name, 
 was from the East — the land of gold and gems, of mystery and 
 beauty — alike the cradle of the faith and superstitions of mankind. 
 'Tis strange when we reflect how little Europe has really given to 
 the world ; it has perfected science more than created it ; it has 
 accepted religion — split and divided it into sects, but founded none. 
 The East seems to have been like the first-born child, endowed with 
 the Creator's peculiar blessing. 
 
 On the night of Ulrick's nuptials, a boat, carefully rov/ed, glided 
 down the river which half-encircles the city, past the Abbey of 
 Carrow, and stopped only when it reached the shore facing the 
 mansion of the Jew. The rowers carefully drew the boat from out 
 the stream, and having formed a sort of litter with their oars, placed 
 something like a human form upon it ; it was difficult to distinguish 
 what, so carefully was it enveloped in the boatmen's cloaks. Gently 
 they raised their burthen on their shoulders, and, preceded by a 
 man in armour, who had conducted the operation, slowly directed 
 their steps toward the house we have described. "Whatever might 
 be the purport of their visit, it was evident that they were expected ;
 
 170 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 for, on the first signal, the door was opened to them, and closed the 
 instant they had passed the threshold with their burden. 
 
 They were received by a tall, aged man, bearing a brazen lamp, 
 whose strange costume and venerable appearance impressed even 
 the leader of the little band with awe and respect. His beard, of 
 silvery whiteness, worn long, after the fashion of the East, flowed 
 loosely over his dark gaberdine, which, although made in the 
 prescribed form, differed in richness of materials from those 
 generally worn by his persecuted race ; a girdle of silver confined it 
 to his waist ; the plates which composed it were graved with 
 Hebrew characters, as was the case of writing materials, and the 
 clasp of a pocket, curiously ornamented with needlework, which, 
 by chains of the same metal, depended from it. The wearer's 
 features were sharp and intellectual ; the forehead was magnifi- 
 cently high ; the eyes, despite his age, quick and penetrating, but 
 characterised by that restlessness of expi^ession w^hich long habits of 
 watchfulness in scenes of continued danger give ; the aquiline nose 
 and peculiar lip marked his descent from the despised nation of 
 the Jews. 
 
 " Place your burden there," said the old man, pointing to a low 
 couch, covered with deer-skins and soft matting. " Holy Abraham ! 
 but 'tis a fearful risk to run. The prince and nobles have doomed 
 him to the gibbet, and shoiild it be discovered that I have aided him, 
 little would they reck in their fury of the poor leech's life. 'Tis a 
 fearful risk ; but it must be run — it must be run. Persecuted as we 
 are ourselves, we owe something to humanity." 
 
 " And something to thine interest, Jew," replied the squire. 
 " The day will come when he who sheltered Robert of Artois may 
 lift his head with the proudest. My master has friends more powerful 
 than thou wotst of. This unnatural league between the Norman 
 and the Saxon race cannot last long. The Conqueror draws near to 
 his last breath ; his successor will dearly avenge his favourite's 
 wrongs on those who have assailed him ; and my master's blazon 
 will once more shine with the proudest. His future sovereign's 
 favour awaits him, should he live ; if not, it will avenge him." 
 
 " I am no stranger to the value of a prince's gratitude," replied 
 Abram, with a quiet smile ; " but say, how didst thou save him 
 from the ruins of his strong castle ? The world reports him dead ; 
 and those who trembled at his name, whilst living, now fearlessly 
 curse his memory." 
 
 " I alone," replied the esquire, " was with him in the tower, 
 except th* daughter of thy accursed race whose jealous hand struck 
 the fatal wound. I saw him fall, and would have avenged him, 
 had not the traitress done justice on herself by plunging from the 
 dizzy height, ending her vile career by death. I drew him from 
 the battlements to a secret vault beneath, where for days he hath 
 remained concealed alike from friend or foe ; the fools who
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 171 
 
 levelled both keep and tower in dust Utile thought that every 
 stone which fell but added to my master's safety, by hiding the 
 entrance to his concealment. Thou knowst the rest." 
 
 "A Jewess ! " exclaimed the old man, endeavouring to suppress 
 his agitation ; " how came one of our nation to raise her rebellious 
 hand against a Christian's life ? But thou hast answered me ; thou 
 spokest of jealousy — knowest thou the maiden's name ? " 
 
 " Rachel," replied the Norman ; " she Avas the daughter of the 
 chief Rabbi of Rouen ; my lord took her at the sacking of the city, 
 when Duke Robert seized it from the French. For awhile she was 
 all in all, but at last became so jealous, that his love soon tired ; too 
 much fondness fatigues us in a woman : it is the chasing of the 
 deer "-ives nleasvire to the hiTiiter : few prize the game which is so 
 
 easily won." 
 
 A half-suppressed groan broke from the bosom of the old man 
 when he heard the name of the unfortnnate being who had been 
 alike the victim of her own passions and Robert of Artois' cruelty. 
 With a violent effort of self-control he mastered his emotion, and 
 pointed to the men who had borne the wounded noble to his house, 
 to remove the cloaks in which he had been wrapped. Brantone — 
 for such was the name of the esquire — would have started had he 
 seen the fierce glance of hate which flashed from the eyes of the 
 leech when the pale features of the wounded man first met his 
 view— the basilisk's alone could have been more fearful. Drawing 
 a small silver probe from the case of instruments which he wore 
 suspended by his side, he proceeded to examine the wound, 
 which was situated in the lower part of the throat, just between 
 the juncture of the neck-piece and the coat of mail." 
 
 " Has thy master no friends or kinsmen near," demanded the 
 Jew, " in whom he can confide ? " 
 
 " I know but one," replied Brantone ; *' the prior of the 
 Dominicans — his uncle by the mother's side ; all else have failed 
 him." 
 
 " Send for him quickly, then," resumed the old man ; " for in 
 twenty-four hours he must answer for his sins. All human aid is 
 vain. The blow hath been too deeply struck for human aid to save 
 him ; and I would not, for the world, a Christian noble should 
 expire beneath my roof." 
 
 " Dog ! " said the soldier, raising his hand to strike him, " were 
 it a palace, he would honour it." 
 
 Abram started back, and drew a long, sharp-pointed weapon from 
 his bosom, and calmly av/aited the attack of the infuriated esquire, 
 who paused, half-ashamed of his own violence, and half-awed by 
 the calm attitude of the aged man before him, who seemed so 
 bowed by years that he felt he could crush him with a breath. 
 
 " Back ! " exclaimed the Jew ; " for did the blood of thousands 
 circle in thy veins, thy death were instant. Willingly I would not
 
 172 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 take thy life ; for the fierce storm which once raged here is now at 
 peace. A blow would thaw the frozen barriers of my blood, and 
 spread, like Etna's lava, desolation around." 
 
 " Patience, old man ! " cried the superstitious Norman ; " I did 
 not mean to harm thee. Let there be peace between us." 
 
 " Fear not," resumed Abram ; " I am cool — quite cool. Reptiles 
 only sting without discernment. Approach, young man," he added, 
 willing to increase the impression he had already made upon the 
 terrors of the strong soldier ; " nay, fear me not. Observe how 
 wisdom may contend with strength — how palsied age may bid 
 defiance to the force of youth. Look on this tiny instrument — 
 observe it well ; 'tis formed of that precious steel which in the 
 East men prize far more than gold. Tempered in fires lit first by 
 nature's hand, then quenched in snows coeval with the world, the 
 slender point inflicts no gaping wound, but a slight puncture 
 merely — a sempstress's needle would give as deep a scratch ; but 
 
 the point is venomed — anointed with Enough, this land breeds 
 
 not the reptile from whose sting 'twas ta'en." 
 
 " It might serve thee against one," doggedly answered Brantone, 
 struggling to conceal his terrors, " but would be useless against our 
 numbers, were we inclined to outrage." 
 
 " Thou would'st not be that one," said the leech with an 
 accent of cold contempt ; " but I am armed, were it against 
 thousands. Fearing not death, I have surrounded my lone hearth 
 with him. Norman, there's not a step within these walls but hides 
 a grave ; one blow," he added, catching up an ebony staff, and 
 pointing to a globe of coarse glass suspended from the ceiling, " and 
 a storm more fearful than the simoom's breath would shatter these 
 strong-built walls, and tear their inmates limb from quivering limb. 
 Away ! " he added ; " thou knowest my power — knowest how little 
 the old leech fears thee. Away, and do my bidding to the prior. 
 Tell him, when four-and-twenty hours shall pass, his nephew's 
 sleep will be eternal. I have stanched many a wound — recalled 
 the fleeting life to many a lance-pierced breast ; but here e'en 
 Abram's skill must fail." 
 
 Whether the physician spoke from really conscious power, or 
 from his knowledge of the human heart, so prone to superstition, it 
 would perhaps be difiicult to decide. Certain it is, that he possessed 
 vast knowledge, with some charlatanism mixed with it. His words, 
 however, produced the desired effect upon his hearers — ruffians 
 who, under ordinary circumstances, would have desired no better 
 sport than to ill-treat and persecute a Jew. Without a single word, 
 -they retired from the house, nor breathed freely till they found 
 themselves beneath the shadow of the church, where alone, accord- 
 ing to the superstition of the age, no evil power could approach 
 them. 
 
 " Praise be to our Lady ! " exclaimed one of the men, devoutly
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 173 
 
 crossing himself, "we are safe from yon den of sin. I would 
 rather have another such a siege at Filby than pass an hour in it. 
 Think you, sir squire, it is a Christian's part to leave our master in 
 his keeping ? 'Tis true his body is past caring for, but then his 
 soul ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " answered Brantone ; " his uncle, the worthy prior, will 
 care for that ; the old sinner will be too well paid to play him 
 false ; the Chm-ch would know how to deal with him, should the 
 Jew attempt aught against his salvation." 
 
 "Ay, ay," interrupted a third ; "leave the Church alone to deal 
 with infidels and sorcerers ; a sprinkling of holy water would take 
 the devil from out of the best of them. I saw the Archbishop of 
 ^oueii lately buru three of them ; they were fine robust fellows 
 when they went into prison, and fouglii with their guards like 
 troopers, biit the Church soon tamed them ; they walked on the 
 morning of their execution as meekly to the stake as a lamb does 
 to the slaughter-house, and sang their own funeral service as piously 
 as any monk of them all." 
 
 " Our master, I tell you again, is safe," interrupted the esquire, 
 who well knew his companion's tediousness when once mounted 
 upon his favourite hobby — sorcerers and infidels. " 'Tis time that 
 Ave should separate ; I must to the holy prior, who will doubtless 
 repay our fidelity to his nephew with something moi-e solid than 
 benedictions, and you to your hiding-place in Filby woods. When 
 all is over we can pass to Normandy, where a good lance never 
 lacks employment, or a good sword need hang rusty in its scabbard." 
 With these words the group separated ; the men to regain their 
 boat, and the esquire to the distant monastery of the Dominicans, 
 where dwelt the uncle of the unworthy Robert of Artois. 
 
 As the party left the house of the Jew, the old man carefully 
 closed the iron-bound door, and secured it by a massive chain and 
 many a well-forged bolt ; then, raising his lamp from the stone 
 floor, where he had placed it, he slowly directed his steps to the 
 chamber where he had left the wounded man. Going to a small 
 cabinet, he carefully drew from it various balsams and dressings, 
 and spread them on the table in the middle of the room. To have 
 gazed upon him, few would have suspected the storm of passions 
 raging in his breast, his manner was so calm, his actions so deli- 
 berate. A slight impatient quivering only in his fingers, something 
 like the half-clutch of the impatient vulture's claw, might have 
 indicated to a very close observer that his office was not one of 
 love, but a ministry of hate. Cautiously he cleansed the wound, 
 and pom-ed in the healing styptic, bound the throat, and then pre- 
 pared the draught for his exhausted patient. 
 
 " Precious elixir ! " he murmured, " few in this island have ever 
 tasted of thy healing virtues. I shall never more behold the 
 flowers from which thy subtle essence was distilled. Little did I
 
 174 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 dream, when first in Syria's land of wisdom I prepared it, that I 
 should ever waste it on my bitterest foe. But he must live," he 
 added, fiercely, between his teeth ; " live for a vengeance unheard of 
 until now ; for a vengeance which alone can expiate a wrong like 
 mine." 
 
 The sweet perfume of the balsam filled the chamber as it flowed 
 into the cup. Highly as the Jew prized it, he poured it with no 
 niggard hand ; so true is it that hate can sometimes be as liberal as 
 love. With almost a mother's care, he raised the head of the 
 wounded man, and poured the rich draught down his throat, then 
 gently replaced him on his pillow, and, with his finger fixed upon 
 his pulse, watched by him till he slept. 
 
 As soon as the deep breathing of Robert of Artois convinced the 
 old man that the medicine had taken effect, he rose from his seat 
 beside him, and walking to the foot of the couch, gazed upon him 
 for a few moments in feai'ful silence. 
 
 " Yes," he exclaimed, " the God of Isi'ael, though slow, is just ; 
 the destroyer of my fair and innocent child, like a helpless infant, 
 is prostrate at my mercy. Rachel," he added passionately, '* why 
 did not I sooner know thy destiny ? " For years so near thee, yet 
 ignorant of the casket which contained my treasure. I would have 
 ransomed all thy tears with pearls : as it is, they shall be repaid 
 thee by his groans. He scorned thee, too, poor girl ! He shall 
 have scorn for scorn, become his brother nobles' jest, be scourged 
 from the halls of his fathers, like some vile impostor, and die 
 despairing and accurst. If I could not save my offspring, I can at 
 least avenge her. But stay," he added, " something the Nazarene 
 spoke of thy heroic death. Thy bones must not bleach amidst the 
 ruins of thy tyrant's hold ! No Christian foot shall e'er profane 
 them. I will myself go forth while thy destroyer sleeps, and, as 
 the patriarch of old sought for the body of his son, "so will I seek 
 Rachel, lost child, for thine." 
 
 The bereaved parent struck a gong suspended by the side of his 
 cabinet : its low musical sound was echoed through the house, and 
 answered by a being Avho seemed half-giant and half-dwarf, so 
 disproportionate was the contrast between his height and the vast 
 breadth of his shoulders, the length of his arms, and the shortness 
 of his legs, the muscles of both of which indicated agility and 
 strength. Although somewhat advanced in years, he was far less 
 aged than his master, whom he looked upon with a love and venera- 
 tion amounting to idolatry, not only as a high priest of his nation, 
 but as one of the wisest and best of created beings. To him his 
 will was law ; and he would as soon have thought of questioning 
 the slightest expression of it, as of disputing the Law of Moses, or 
 the authenticity of the Pentateuch, tjnlike most persons of his 
 peculiar formation, there was nothing repulsive in his features ; on 
 the contrary, they were indicative not only of benevolence and
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 175 
 
 intellect, but were distinguished by manly beauty. From his 
 earliest childhood he had lived in the family of Abram, had 
 partaken with him of persecution and sorrow, as well as shared the 
 brief moments of sunshine in the old man's chequered, wandering 
 life. 
 
 " Ezra," said his master, " hast thou heard of the destruction of 
 Filby hold, the castle of the bold, bad man, who now lies sleeping 
 here ? " 
 
 " I have, father of the faithful race of Israel," answered the 
 dwarf. " Eli, who purchased many vessels and much goodly plate 
 of the spoilers, told me a strange tale concerning it. It seems the 
 castle was betrayed into the hands of his enemies by some wanton 
 daughter of our race, the discarded paramour of his fierce lusts." 
 
 " Speak not thus harshly of her," interrupted his master ; " for, 
 oh ! she was my child — flesh of my flesh, blood of my 
 blood ; my long-lost, only child ! When," he added, bitterly, 
 " shall Israel efface the stains of her captivity among the heathen ? " 
 
 The dwarf was struck to the heart by the tone of anguish in the 
 old man's voice ; he, too, had known and loved the erring Rachel, 
 had watched her little footsteps when a child, heard her repeat her 
 infant prayers, and when her ripening beauties opifened to woman- 
 hood, guarded her with a parent's love, with almost a jealous lover's 
 care. Her loss, which occurred during the siege of Rouen, was 
 scarcely more felt by her father than himself. Madly he rushed 
 from street to street, calling frantically upon the name of Rachel, 
 and proffering sums so fabulous for her recovery that all who heard 
 him deemed him mad. The sight of (the being who had caused so 
 much misery to himself and master excited his fury, and with a 
 spring he bounded towards the couch, and doubtless .would have 
 strangled him, had not the voice of Abram restrained him from his 
 purpose. 
 
 " Hold, Ezra ! " he cried ; " would that be vengeance ? " 
 
 " No !" answered the dwarf, turning his eyes from the sleeper, 
 as if fearful to trust them further. 
 
 " Leave him to me," resumed the old man ; " at present we must 
 go forth, whilst night favours our design. My Rachel's bones shall 
 not be left to be trampled on by Christian feet. Bring our cloaks, 
 and let the boat be ready." 
 
 Carefully securing the house, the disguised Israelites made their 
 way to the water side, from whence a boat, rowed by the strong 
 arms of Ezra, took them to Acle, where horses were easily procured 
 to Filby. Abram found, by inquiries from one of his people, whom 
 the thirst of gain led to remain all night about the ruins, that his 
 daughter's remains had been interred, by order of Ulrick, under an 
 oak, at a bowshot from the spot where she had fallen. By the aid 
 of his companions, it was quickly removed ; and the dwarf, taking 
 it in his arms, mounted with it on horseback, the living and the
 
 176 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 dead both being covered by a cloak. Daylight had dawned when 
 
 they reached the house. 
 
 * . * # * _ « 
 
 The lordly prior of the Dominicans was seated at his morning 
 repast, when a servitor announced the ari'ival of the esquire of his 
 nephew, whose supposed loss he bore with wonderful equanimity, 
 although the world had previously given him credit for entertain- 
 ing a sincere affection for him. The order to admit him was 
 immediately given, for he hoped to find him the bearer of certain 
 letters which had passed between himself and his relative, the 
 discovery of which Avould seriously compromise him with Herbert 
 de Lozenga, his spiritual superior. Hastily draining the remainder 
 of the spiced hippocras in the flagon before him, he wiped his full 
 lips with his linen kerchief, and prepared to receive him. Bran- 
 tone, as was usual when approaching churchmen of his rank, bent 
 the knee as he entered the apartment, exclaiming as he did so — 
 
 *' Your benediction, reverend father ! your benediction ! " 
 
 " Pax Dei sit semper vohiscum ! " muttered the priest, at the same 
 time swallowing the remaining morsel of the manchet bread. " Hast 
 brought me any letters from my nephew ? " 
 
 " Alas ! reverend father, you must be aware that he is unable to 
 write." 
 
 " I should think so," drily answered the prior, who imagined 
 that the esquire was trying the depths of his feelings, and the 
 soldier on his part supposing that the uncle had been informed of 
 his nephew's almost miraculous escape. 
 
 " It will be some time before you will hear from him again." 
 
 " I should hope so," muttered the priest, not altogether pleased 
 with what he considered Brantone's familiarity. 
 
 " Besides, even if he could find strength to write, it would be 
 difficult to find a messenger in his present abode." 
 
 " I should think so, friend," replied the ecclesiastic, crossing 
 himself ; " but answer me. Did your master, previous to his death, 
 confide any papers to your charge ? If so, quickly let me have 
 them. Poor fellow," he added, " his fate should be a warning to 
 us all how we indulge in our sinful passions, or engage in dangerous 
 enterprise." 
 
 " How, reverend father ? " exclaimed the soldier. " You are not 
 yet aware that your nephew, Robert of Artois, still lives ! " 
 
 " Lives ! " echoed the uncle, with an expression of anything but 
 agreeable surprise ; " and what does he want with me ? Doubtless 
 gold — more gold. I had need hold the primacy, and my poor priory 
 to boot, to supply half his extravagance ; it hath nearly ruined me 
 already." 
 
 " My noble master will never need gold more : he is wounded 
 unto death." 
 
 " And where is he concealed ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 177
 
 STANFIELD HALL 179 
 
 *' In the house of the Jew leech, Abram, whose skill none can 
 question, however they may his honesty. He will not answer for 
 his life more than for four-and-twenty hours. He must not die," 
 added the man, " without the Church's aid." 
 
 " Doubtless ! doubtless ! " muttered the priest. " I will despatch 
 Brother Felix — he is zealous and discreet ; besides, I will order 
 Masses to be said for his repose. The Church, though poor in 
 worldly wealth, is rich in spiritual grace." 
 
 '^ Had you not better shrive him yourself ? " demanded the 
 esquire, bluntly. " Methinks it were but kind to do him that last 
 good office, considering he is your sister's son." 
 
 " I enter the house of an unbelieving Jew ? Anathema ! Think 
 cn the scandal, my dear son. Should th? vxiQv of the Dominicans 
 be seen to enter such a den of wickedness, it would be a blister on 
 my name." 
 
 " Better that, than other ears should listen to the confession of 
 your nephew," replied Brantone, who began to see through and 
 despise the selfish nature of the churchman's fears. " You know 
 best what has passed between your kinsman and yourself ; besides, 
 none but you can prevail on the curate of St. Julian to receive his 
 body into consecrated ground. Sir Prior, you must come." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must. Blessed St. Dominic ! shield thy un- 
 worthy servant — lead him from this labyrinth ; and if ever again — 
 But how," he added, interrupting himself in his invocation, when 
 he observed the soldier regarding him — " how, without scandal, am 
 I to get there ? " 
 
 " Of course, reverend father, you are free to leave the convent at 
 your pleasure." 
 
 " Certes I am," answered the prior. 
 
 " Nothing more easy," continued Brantone. " As soon as night- 
 fall, conceal your habit in my horseman's cloak ; I will be your 
 escort to the Jew's, where you may give my master a cast of your 
 holy office, and none the Aviser ; long ere the matin bell, you can 
 return in safety to your nest." 
 
 " Thou sayest he has not many hours to live ? " said the priest, 
 regarding him with a keen glance. 
 
 " Thou mayst take the Jew's word for it, father, if not mine." 
 
 " Then I will go," said the prior, firmly, " and trust my person to 
 thy escort. Return at evening's close; — and here," he added, draw- 
 ing a piece of gold from his pouch, " is something for thine entertain- 
 ment ; but first go to the curate of St. Julian's, and tell him in my 
 narme to meet me at the house of the accursed Jew. Fortunately 
 his cure is a dependency upon our priory, antl he may look for 
 advancement at our hands. Heaven speed thee, my son ; be 
 fortunate, and, above all, discreet." 
 
 The esquire bowed reverentially to the dignitary, pocketed the 
 coin, and quitted the apartment. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 At the hour following the curfew, the reverend uncle was 
 seated by the side of his wounded nephew in the lone house ,of 
 Abram. Contrary to his expectation, he found the wounded man 
 apparently recovering from his hurt ; his voice, though low, was 
 clear, and his eye bright as ever, although his cheek was pale. 
 
 " Dog of an unbelieving race," said the ecclesiastic, who stood 
 calmly beside the couch of his patient, " didst thou not send me 
 word the days of my nephew were numbered, nay, his very hours ? 
 — and yet I find him strong ? " 
 
 " My words are of truth," replied the leech ; " the strength thou 
 seest is but the last rallying of life — a flash before the lamp expires. 
 The sun which gilds the coming day will shine upon his corpse." 
 
 ^'Liar ! " shouted Robert, nf Artoi? * " I hSY6 bSSH WClind^d n69:r6r 
 to death than this ! I shall live — I will live for vengeance ! I 
 will be a brand to thy accursed race ! My enemies shall bite the 
 dust before me ! Exert thy skill — thou hast not expended all thy 
 nostrums. Stretch the utmost effort of thine art ; mine uncle here 
 will glut thine avarice with gold, pour it like water on thy thirsty 
 palm ; he hath my hoarded treasure in his keeping ; all shall be 
 thine, save but my fleeting life ! " 
 
 The dignitary winced uneasily upon his seat, and muttered some- 
 thing about his nephew raving. 
 
 '• It shall be tried," murmured the old man, " not so much for 
 the gold as for the pleasing your reverend kinsman." 
 
 Abram left the room for a few minutes ; when he returned he 
 bore a small silver cup in his hand, which contained a highly 
 balsamic liquid, and offered it to the lips of the impatient knight. 
 
 '' Drink ! " he exclaimed ; " 'tis thy last chance of life — a frail one 
 it is true. Should it fail, all human aid is hopeless ; a few, a very 
 few, short moments will decide." 
 
 Robert of Artois eagerly drained the draught, and sank exhausted 
 upon his pillow. The old man quietly took his seat beside him. 
 Something like a smile of satisfaction was visible on his features, 
 as his long, shai-p, bony hand encircled the wrist of the drinker. 
 For more than a quarter of an hour he watched his patient in 
 silence, accustomed to veil every emotion of his heart under a 
 mask of cold impassibility. He hid, even from the keen church- 
 man, the fierce joy he felt as the pulse beat fainter and fainter 
 beneath the pressure of his finger. Seeing that the draught had 
 operated, he rose from his seat, and whispered to the prior — 
 
 " All that human skill can accomplish hath been done ; what 
 now remains rests between the priest, his conscience, and his God. 
 In an hour Robert of Artois will slumber with the dead." 
 
 " ril have no priest ! " shrieked Robert, as Abram left the 
 chamber. " I call upon the fiends to save me ! Can I not make a 
 compact but for one year of life ? I'll give my wealth, possessions 
 — my soul," he added, " but to live ? Will not the tempter hear,
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 181 
 
 or is it but a fable ? Is there no heaven, hell, angel, or demon to 
 assist me ? " 
 
 The Jew smiled as he withdrew yet farther from the chamber. 
 The despairing curses of the destroyer of his child fell like music 
 on his ear. They were the promise of the completion of his deeply- 
 meditated vengeance. 
 
 The hour, as the feech had predicted, had scarcely passed, when 
 the prior summoned the curate of St. Julian's to his presence ; he 
 was followed both by Brantone and Abram. It was clear, from the 
 livid cheek of the churchman, that his nephew's confession had 
 been a fearful one, for the blood had entirely forsaken his florid 
 face^ and the perspiration hung: iu thick drops upon his clouded 
 brow. The apparition of the coi'pse was yet More terrtule | ths 
 teeth were firmly set, the eyes distended as if they would leap 
 from the head, and its fingers entangled in the fragments of the 
 coverlid, which had been torn in its last fearful agony. So terrible 
 was the appearance of the body, that all but the Jew turned from it 
 in disgust. 
 
 " Brother," said the dignitary, addressing his subordinate with 
 that tone of .blandness with which a superior intimates a command 
 which the conscience of the hearer should reject, " thou knowest 
 of the misfortune which hath fallen on my house ; my nephew is 
 no more. Praise to our Lady ! he died penitent. See the body 
 secretly interred this very night within the vaults of the chapelry, 
 and in the morning visit me at my priory. We have long watched 
 thy zeal and diligence in the fold of which we are but an unworthy 
 shepherd, and it is our intention to remove thee to a more extended 
 field of usefulness. For thee, Jew," he added, " the worthy curate 
 on his return will pay thee for thy skill and kindness shown 
 towards the deceased ; although the former was but valueless. I 
 need not tell thee to be silent on the events of which thou hast 
 been a witness. Remember this — I caution not twice. Brantone 
 will escort me on my return. Farewell, and henedicite I " 
 
 Abram and the priest both bowed low, as the prior, without 
 casting a glance upon the couch where lay the body of his nephew, 
 quitted the apartment, and hurried from the house. That very 
 night, Robert of Artois, the noble Norman, whose sword had been 
 fhe terror of the country, whose exactions desolated the hearths of 
 many a peasant and petty franklin, was consigned to what the 
 world deemed his last resting-place, by the hands of two Jews ; no 
 knightly banner waved over his remains ; no gilded escutcheon 
 marked his resting-place. 
 
 " He will rest securely there," said the curate, as he turned the 
 key in the massive lock of the vault ; " his funeral rites must be 
 celebrated at some fitting time. Farewell, friends ! I will convey 
 the prior's benefaction to you in the morning ; that once done, 
 forget that we have met."
 
 182 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 And the pious man pursued his way towards his quiet cell, 
 wondering as he went at his good fortune. The Israelites dogged 
 his footsteps till they saw him housed, and retraced their pathway 
 to the church. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The two Israelites cautiously entered the church, and groped 
 their way to the steps which conducted to the vaults where rested 
 the body of Robert of Artois. It was not till they had descended 
 that they ventured to light the torch which the dwarf had brought 
 with him for that purpose ; for the exi;»edition ihev were enffaa^ed 
 in was ohe of danger, should any curious eye discover their pro- 
 ceedings. The superstitious as well as religious feeling of the age 
 being opposed to the mere entrance of any of their hated nation 
 within the consecrated precincts even in open day, much more so 
 at the lone hour of night, when, according to popular belief, pale 
 witchcraft celebrated its fearful rites — their mere presence under 
 such circumstances was suflBcient to condemn them to the stake. 
 The body of the knight had been deposited in an old stone coffin, 
 which had previously served some former inmate, but which in 
 the revolution of time had been despoiled of its original tenant ; 
 the rudely-sculptured cross upon its lid indicated that it had been 
 intended as the final resting-place of an ecclesiastic : 
 
 " Some lordly abbot or some mitred priest, 
 Whose band had grasped the crosier's holy staff, 
 Or scattered benedictions on the crowd." 
 
 " Help me to raise the lid," whispered Abram ; " the carrion may 
 be stifled else within its narrow cell. Holy Jacob ! how these 
 Nazarene dogs guard their vile ashes from their heir, the worm ! 
 Their pride revolts lest their polluted dust should mingle with its 
 purer kindred earth. So much for Christian vanity in death ! " 
 
 By the aid of Ezra's powerful arm the lid of the sarcophagus was 
 soon removed, and the features of the supposed corpse once more 
 exposed to the sweet air of heaven. The elder Israelite gazed upon 
 his destined victim with an air of ferocious joy, as he placed his 
 hand upon his pallid brow, and felt the gentle moisture which 
 already began to ooze from the sleeper's skin ; for our readers, 
 doubtless, have already suspected that the draught which the leech 
 had administered to Robert of Artois in the presence of the prior 
 was nothing morre than a powerful soporific, the wound he had 
 received being anything but likely to cause his death, although 
 from neglect and loss of blood it had occasioned considerable 
 exhaustion. 
 
 " We must be brief," said Ezra, disturbing the old man's reverie 
 of vengeance ; " day soon will dawn ; and it is not good men's eyes
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 183 
 
 Bhould gaze upon us bearing the body to the house — shall I raise 
 him ? " 
 
 Abram made a sign of assent, and his companion soon removed 
 the sleeper from his recumbent position ; and, with the assistance 
 of the old man, was proceeding to envelop him in a cloak brought 
 with them for the purpose, when a deep voice startled them. The 
 curate had recollected that the body had been interred with several 
 articles of value, which the prior, in the agitation of the moment, 
 had either forgotten or not thought it worth while to remove ; 
 amongst them a chain of gold and precious signet ring had 
 attracted his avarice, and he was returning to the vault to secure 
 them, when he was startled by the sight of the two Jews, whom he 
 doubted not were there with the same intention. So servile was 
 the respect and deference which all of their race paid to the 
 humblest member of his sacred profession, so accustomed was 
 he, in trampling upon them, to find an unresisting neck, that 
 the idea of any possible danger to himself never once crossed his 
 imagination. 
 
 " Dogs ! " he exclaimed ; " is it thus ye abuse the mercy of ©ur 
 holy Church, which suffers ye to draw your polluted breath in 
 Christian lands in peace ? Violate the dead ! break open the 
 sepulchre of a noble knight for the sake of the treasure he can 
 no longer defend ! Alas ! alas ! what will not the thirst of gold 
 lead men to ? " • 
 
 " Especially priests," interrupted Ezra, in a cold, sneering tone ; 
 " the reverend father measures the strength of others' conscience 
 by the weakness of his own. It were a curious speculation to 
 decide what brought him here." 
 
 The curate coloured with mingled shame and anger at the im- 
 plied accusation, which a secret monitor whispered him was just ; 
 still, as no proof existed of his intentions, he answered boldly, with 
 the assumed confidence of insulted innocence : 
 
 " My motives are known to Heaven ; I parley not with un- 
 believers of the duties of mine office, which alone have brought 
 me here. You will answer to the Church for this outrage on its 
 laws — this robbery of the dead. Infidels, I arrest ye both." 
 
 A low laugh, like the hiss of a serpent, rang through the vault 
 as Ezra sprang upon the speaker, caught him in his giant arms, and 
 forced him upon his knees beside the empty coffin ; then twining 
 his long bony fingers in the hair of the priest, he kept him like an 
 infant immovable in the position he had placed him in. For the 
 first time the intruder's heart beat wildly, and he lost his haughty 
 tone. 
 
 " What would you, masters ? " he cried, his cheek becoming 
 paler as he spoke. " The crime may be atoned without the price 
 of blood. Holy Church is not releutless, and a slight fin§, pgr^ 
 
 chance-
 
 184 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! a fine ! " exclaimed his captor. " The Christian 
 dog prates as if he were in the presbytery, and we captives and 
 bound before him. A fine ! how holy Chm^ch loves gold ! — ha, ha ! 
 a fine ! — how much, how much ? " 
 
 " Mercy ! " exclaimed the curate, now seriously alarmed for his 
 life, which, after such an outrage upon his person, he could no 
 longer deem secure. " I'll be silent ! — bind me by what oath you 
 will — upon the Evangile, nay, on the consecrated Host itself : only 
 spare my life ! — I'll show you," he added, " where the sacred 
 vessels of the church are all concealed ; they are of gold — pure 
 gold. Dogs ! you will not dare to shed a Christian's blood ? " 
 
 " Is it redder than a Jew's ? " demanded Ezra, still keeping him, 
 despite his frantic struggles, on his knees. "Father," he added, 
 addressing his companion in a tone of deep respect, " decide ; day 
 will soon break. What shall be his fate ? " 
 
 " Death ! " said Abram, who had listened to the curate's offers of 
 betraying the vessels of the church with- contempt. " In the oath 
 of a false priest there is no reliance ; in the heart of a coward mercy 
 hath no dwelling. Once free he would break his vow of secrecy, 
 and laugh at the credulous Jews as he consigned them to the 
 flames." 
 
 " As thou art a man — as thou art human," shrieked the priest, 
 " have pity ! " 
 
 " Am I a man ? " replied the Hebrew, in a low, stern voice. 
 " Why am I hunted, then, like a vile beast of prey, by those who 
 call themselves my fellow men ? E'en from his mother's womb, 
 the Jew is made the scoff of a superstitious rabble, less brutal than 
 their teachers ; his blood is thirsted for, e'en as the traveller lost in 
 the desert thirsteth for the well. Ye have made earth no more a 
 heritage for its once chosen people. Ye reckon us like herds, yet 
 hold us in far less estimation ; ye rend the flesh from off our aching 
 bones, doom, despoil us, beat us, rob us of our children and our 
 wealth. In your Christian pride, ye trample us like potsherds 
 'neath your feet, yet, in the hour of vengeance, prate to us of 
 humanity and mercy." 
 
 "Pity!" murmured the fainting man, already half -dead with 
 terror. 
 
 " Pity ! " iterated the Israelite, in a tone of scorn ; " were we in 
 open day, and I grovelling like a worm beneath thy feet, what pity 
 wouldst thou render me .? What would be thy answer to my 
 prayers and tears ? Scoffs and bitter mockeries. And why ? — 
 because chance made thee a Christian and me a Jew. Still it shall 
 not be said that Abram, without necessity, was cruel. As gently as 
 the shadow of the destroying angel's wing fell on the sleeping 
 heathen's host, so death shall fall on thee, I sacrifice thy life not 
 to my vengeance, but to my safety, priest." 
 
 The speaker drew from his vest the envenomed instrument with
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 185 
 
 which, on a previous occasion, he had menaced the esquire of 
 Robert of Artois, and with a firm hand inflicted a slight puncture 
 upon the neck of the kneeling man, immediately below the left 
 ear ; so small was the orifice that but a single drop of blood trickled 
 from the wound, although the effect was mortal. The head of the 
 priest fell gently upon his breast, as the hand of Ezra was with- 
 drawn ; and, witli a gentle sigh, the spirit fled from its earthly 
 tabernacle for ever. 
 
 " How shall we dispose of the Nazarene's body ? " demanded the 
 dwarf. 
 
 " I have bethought me," said his master. " Clothe him in the 
 garments of the sleeper, and place him in the empty sepulchre. 
 Should suspicion lead men to search the tomb, they will find, at 
 least, a mouldering corpse, and the ring and chain of Robert Artois 
 — his gown and cowl we must reduce to ashes." 
 
 " 'Tis well," exclaimed Ezra ; " but if the seekers come soon they 
 will never take the features of the fat priest for the stately face of 
 the Norman knight, although the colour of their hair and beards 
 are not unlike. How the craven proffered oaths and gold to save 
 his life ! I question if he would have hesitated to have thrown 
 his soul into the bargain." 
 
 " Silence ! " said Abram, in a tone of calm authority. " Sport 
 not with the dead ; we are no more its judges. As for the dis- 
 covery thou pratest of, let but twelve hours elapse, and the eye 
 even of the mother who bore him would fail to recognise the 
 inmate of yon coffin. To thy work, Ezra, and perform it dili- 
 gently," he added ; " for it is a task in which I cannot aid thee ; 
 the corpse of an unbeliever would pollute the hand of a sacred 
 Levite." 
 
 The bodies of the living and the dead were qaickly stripped by 
 the dwarf, and arrayed each in the other's clothes. The latter was 
 then lifted into the coffin from which the former had been so 
 recently removed. Although so lately deceased, traces of decom- 
 position already began to be visible upon the features of the priest ; 
 and it was with a feeling of perfect security that Ezra closed the 
 ponderous lid. 
 
 " Now raise the knight upon thy shoulders, and follow me," 
 exclaimed the glder Israelite. " Once in the church, I will ex- 
 tinguish the torch ; dai'kness will best protect us." 
 
 Daylight had already begun to dawn when the two Hebrews, 
 unseen by mortal eyes, left the profaned sanctuary of St. Julian, 
 and regained the secure shelter of their lonely habitation. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Three days after the marriage of Ulrick and Mirvan, the two 
 
 bridegrooms were summoned, together with most of the Norman 
 
 and Saxon nobles, to attend a council to be held by Herbert de 
 
 Lozenga, at the episcopal palace, where matters of grave import
 
 186 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 ■were to be discussed, affecting nothing less than the succession to 
 the Crown. By some means, the share which William of Normandy 
 had taken in the abduction of the two brides had got whispered 
 about — probably from some of the garrison of Filby ; and men's 
 minds were violently disposed against him. As soon as the 
 principal personages who had been summoned were assembled, the 
 prelate who presided exposed to them the villainy of the prince ; 
 his father's well-known disposition in his favour, contrary to the 
 rights of his elder brother Robert ; and concluded by demanding if 
 they were willing to assist in placing a tyrant on the throne who 
 had proved so reckless of their rights and honours, whose deceit 
 and cruelty were known to all, and whose reign could hardly fail 
 of proving destructive alike to Norman as to Saxon independence. 
 
 " Never, by Heaven ! " exclaimed Ulrick ; *' let others bow a 
 vassal knee to this unknightly robber ; mine ne'er shall bend 
 before him. If England must own a foreign king, let him at least 
 be one whom primogeniture hath pointed out the Conqueror's 
 natural successor. The isle," he added, " is not a petty fief, to be 
 transferred at his caprice or pleasure. Robert of Normandy shall 
 be my sovereign, let who will else acknowledge William's title to 
 the crown. Nobles, it is for you to say if I have spoken well." 
 
 " You have," answered Mirvan and Odo of Caen, with one voice, 
 both equally excited as himself by the unmanly outrage which had 
 been offered to Matilda and Isabel. " Long live our valiant brother 
 in arms, and future king. Prince Robert of Normandy ! " 
 
 Edda and the rest of the nobles, entranced — the former by his 
 love for his grandson, and the latter by the example of two such 
 powerful leaders as Mirvan and Odo — joined in the shout ; and all 
 but Eborard, the wily prior of the Dominicans, added their voices 
 to the cry, which was enthusiastically repeated amid the clash of 
 swords, which the assembly waved above their heads in token of 
 adherence and fidelity to the cause of their future sovereign. 
 
 Robert, who was present, gracefully bowed his thanks. He 
 could, despite the natural familiarity of his manners, assume, 
 when occasion required it, both the language and the bearing 
 of a prince. His words were brief, but to the purpose. He 
 pledged himself — should he by their aid defeat the unnatural 
 disposition of his father in his brother's favour — to govern justly, 
 confirm the existing rights of the nobility, and look upon his 
 Norman and Saxon subjects but as children of the same great 
 family. When he had finished speaking, the shout again echoed 
 through the hall — " Long live Robert of Normandy ! " 
 
 " Words," said Herbert de Lozenga, rising as soon as the tumult 
 had subsided, " are but air, and leave no impress of their purport. 
 Let all here prove that they are men who dare maintain by acts the 
 resolution they have spoken. Here is a deed," he added, throwing 
 at the same time a parchment which he drew from his breast upon
 
 STAXFIELD HALL. 187 
 
 the table, " by which we bind ourselves to venture our lives and 
 fortunes, lands and honours, in the cause. I'll be the first to sign 
 it ; and may Heaven reward me for the act, as I believe it to be 
 just and holy ! " 
 
 No sooner had the prelate affixed his signature than the nobles 
 crowded round the table, impatient which should be the first to 
 follow his example ; even the prior, who saw no hope of escape, 
 and who began to look on "William's cause as hopeless, did as the 
 rest ; George of Erpingham and Walter Tyrrel were the last to 
 sign. As leaders of the forces of the bishop, they had both been 
 summoned to the meeting. As soon as the ceremony was com- 
 pleted, Herbert de Lozenga folded the parchment and placed it in 
 his bosom. 
 
 "' Thanks, nobles, vavasours, and knights ! " exclaimed Robert, 
 his eyes flashing with the anticipation of a crown. " It is to 
 you that I shall owe my throne ; and, trust me, your future 
 sovereign " 
 
 " Our actual king ! " interrupted the prelate, sinking on his knee 
 and kissing the speaker's hand. " Your royal father sleeps his last 
 sleep. William the Conqueror, of all his vast possessions, retains 
 but six feet of earth ; he expired ten days since at the monastery of 
 St. Gervas. May God assoil his soul in peace." 
 
 So unexpected was the intelligence, that for a few moments 
 those who heard it were miute with surprise. News did not then 
 fly with the celerity of the present day ; none but the speaker and 
 Robert suspected even the monarch's illness. As soon as 
 they recovered themselves, every knee was bent to the earth, and 
 one simultaneous cry arose of " God save the king ! " 
 
 " Sire," exclaimed Mirvan, " the present is the time for action, 
 not for words. Might I presume to counsel you, with the dawn, 
 surrounded by your faithful nobles, you must commence your 
 march tov%'ards London. Your brother has many friends, active as 
 he is ambitious. A single day's delay might prejudice your cause ; 
 therefore, again I say, on to London." 
 
 A smile passed between Herbert de Lozenga and the prince ; for 
 no other, except his gaoler, was aware of the captivity of William, 
 so faithfully had the secret of his arrest been kept by those who 
 had undertaken its execution, 
 
 " Small danger from our brother," replied Robert, " since our 
 good friend and faithful counsellor (bowing to the bishop) holds 
 him in safe ward. We can arrange our differences Avithout an 
 appeal to arms. Whei;e the lion's skin will not avail him," he 
 added, "William can assume the fox's ; doubt not but he will 
 listen to such reasons as we offer." 
 
 " And may I ask your highness," demanded Odo of Caen — for 
 the kings of England did not, till a much later date, assume the 
 title of majesty — "what terms you intend proposing to the prince ?"
 
 188 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " The plain fulfilment of our father's will," replied Robert, 
 '' simply substituting my name for his. England for the elder 
 born, Normandy for the younger : they are not too hard, methinks, 
 since both by right of primogeniture are mine." 
 
 " And what security will your highness exact," said Edda, " that 
 he keep faith with you ? " 
 
 " His knightly oath," said the prince, " and my own good sword 
 will prove sufficient pledges for his faith," 
 
 There was a pause, for not one present but was struck with the 
 worthlessness of the first, and the little reliance which was to 
 be placed upon the second part of the security. Thoughts 
 dangerous to the captive's safety were passing in the minds of 
 many, yet no one was found hardy enough to give utterance to the 
 suggestions of his mind. Odo of Caen was the first to break the 
 silence which oppressed them, and make himself the interpreter of 
 the thoughts of all. 
 
 " Prince," he began, " there are men to whom oaths are as water 
 or the changing wind — men whom no ties, however sacred, can 
 hold — men whom the slightest breath of passion can induce to 
 break their deep-sworn faith, William is one of these, A 
 nation's peace, the safety of your fi-iends, and the stability of the 
 throne, demand a surer pledge than these," 
 
 " I understand," replied Robert, his cheek blanching as he spoke ; 
 " you mean the tomb. But no, rather would I forego the crown 
 itself, wander a simple knight the wide world through, seek 
 fortune in the desert, than stain my hand in my unnatural brother's 
 blood. True he has wi'onged me ; but the same womb bore us. 
 True he would rob me of my birthright ; yet I have never read that 
 Esau slew his brother. My hand would lack the strength to grasp 
 the sceptre were it stained in William's blood. Think not of it 
 more." 
 
 " It needs not, prince," said Walter Tyrrel, who already looked 
 upon his captive's fortunes as for ever set, and who was anxious to 
 render himself acceptable to the new monarch. " William is under 
 my guard ; leave it to me, and he shall never cross your path again." 
 
 " Boy ! " exclaimed the prince, " greatness is ever cursed by ready 
 tools like thee ! Thou dost belie thy blood by such degrading 
 service | we had thoughts to have held thee near our person, and 
 fostered thy career. This proffered baseness changes our intent. 
 Retire from the council, sir ; tior presume to approach our presence 
 until summoned. Father," he added, in a whisper to the bishop, 
 " there is a curse upon our race ; the tiger's whelp, reared in the 
 peaceful fold, betrays its lineage by. its instinctive thirst for blood. 
 Can the wild legend of our land be true .? Are we indeed Robert 
 the Devil's brood ? " 
 
 Bowing lowly to conceal the rage and mortification but too visible 
 upon his features, Walter Tyrrel left the apartment. A quiet smile
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 189 
 
 of Batisf action played on the features of the prior of the Dominicans, 
 as he did so, for he saw that the prince had made an implacable 
 enemy, and that he himself had found a tool fitted for his purpose, 
 
 " Wisely hast thou spoken, prince," said Herbert de Lozenga ; 
 " for what blessing could attend a crown bought with a brother's 
 blood ? But there are other means than oaths to bind this man — a 
 means to draw the venom from his fangs, yet leare him still with 
 life. Let him, in an assembly of the nobles, from my hands accept 
 the priestly tows. No bishop then could crown him, no sword 
 be drawn for his pretended rights. Once devoted to the altar, the 
 Church would know well how to guard her own," 
 
 " By Rollo, priest, but thou hast hit the mark," exclaimed Robert, 
 whose heart began to beat freely for the first time since the disposal 
 of his brother's person had been debated. " William will make a 
 jovial monk, and many an abbey and fat benefice shall mark our 
 loving favour." 
 
 A murmur of approbation arose amidst the nobles, who saw in 
 the proposal of the prelate a bloodless solution of their difficulty. 
 It was finally resolved that on the following day the prisoner 
 should be brought before them, and compelled to conform himself 
 to their decision, which the bishop undertook previously to make 
 him acquainted with ; and with this understanding the council 
 separated. 
 
 As Eborard crossed the cloisters on his way to his litter, he 
 encountered Walter Tyrrel, who, still smarting under the reproof 
 he had received, paced their deep shades, meditating schemes of 
 vengeance. The wily churchman read his purpose in his knit brow 
 and quick impatient step, and foresaw that his advances would be 
 gladly met. 
 
 " Methinks, sir knight," he whispered, " devotion like thine 
 demands at least some courtesy ; even in its refusal, William had 
 received its proffer better. Our new-made monarch must feel the 
 crown securely on his brow ere he ventured to spurn the hand 
 that might have rent it from him." 
 
 " That might have rent it from hira ! " iterated the excited man ; 
 " that will ! Father, I know thou lovest not this same Robert ; I 
 marked thy hesitation when the bishop proposed the signing of the 
 traitorous act. Set but thy foot to mine, and the withered leaf the 
 wind makes sport of shall not prove more worthless." 
 
 " What meanst thou, son ? " demanded the prior, with an air of 
 well -affected simplicity, 
 
 "Thou lovest not this would-be king — this Robert of Normandy ? " 
 
 " Certes, he hath proved himself scant friend to me or to my 
 order," replied the priest, with a shrug. 
 
 " That is as plain as words can say," resumed Tyrrel, " thou 
 hatest him — so I do ; the lightning is not less dangerous because it 
 slumbers in the thunder-cloud, nor thy hatred less to be feared
 
 190 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 because veiled in outward calm and priestly unction. "Wilt thou 
 join hands with me in this ? " 
 
 " I will," replied Eborard, in a voice so low that the impetuous 
 questioner caught the sense of his reply more from the look which 
 accompained it than the sound of the words. " Tell me," he added, 
 " how can I aid thee in the enterprise ? Speak in all confidence ; 
 let there be faith, my son, between us." 
 
 " I am William's gaoler," answered the traitor, in the same 
 subdued tone. " Hast thou two fleet steeds within thy stables ? " 
 
 " I have," said the priest, with a smile of intelligence, for he 
 began clearly to see TyrreFs purpose ; " and they are both at thy 
 disposal ; better ne'er bore a knight unto the field ; kings might 
 mount them to do battle for their crow-ns." 
 
 " 'Tis well, father ! 'tis well ! Let them be waiting saddled at the 
 city gates. I will find horsemen for them both." 
 
 " When ? " demanded the churchman. 
 
 " At midnight ; we have scant time to lose." 
 
 The prior bowed his head in token of acquiescence, and requested 
 to know if the fugitives would require gold for their journey, 
 which he offered to supply them with, so anxious was he to secure 
 the success of a project on v^hich his future fortunes hung. His 
 contentment increased when Tyrrel informed him that he had coin 
 enough. 
 
 " But, how — how," he demanded, " will you provide for his 
 escape ? All else seems easy after that." 
 
 " Leave it to me," replied the knight ; " long ere the dawn the 
 prince shall be upon the road to London. Lanfranc, the primate, is 
 his friend. The citizens will eagerly receive him. Once securely 
 king, doubt not but William's gratitude will find within the Church 
 a position more suited to thy services and zeal." 
 
 " Heaven knows best, my son," said his hearer, trying hard to 
 look humble and indifferent ; " we court not worldly honours, but 
 are content to be a humble watch-dog in the fold. Let us not waste 
 the time in vain discourse," he added, casting at the same time a 
 hasty glance to see if their conversation was observed, " lest evil 
 eyes behold us. Keep but thy purpose, and the horses shall not 
 fail thee. Farewell ! our Lady prosper thy intent ! " 
 
 With these words the two conspirators separated — the prior to 
 find his litter, and Walter Tyrrel to the tower where William of 
 Normandy, like a caged lion, fretted aw^ay the hours of his cap- 
 tivity. 
 
 He had not long regained his post, when Herbert de Lozenga 
 arrived to communicate to his prisoner the decision of his brother 
 and the nobles. His faithful marshal, George of Erpingham, 
 attended him. 
 
 " Tis well, sir knight," said the bishop, as Tyrrel rose and saluted 
 him ; "you keep good ward. Continue thy services, and the present
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 191 
 
 cloud upon thy fortuneB will pass away. How fares our prisoner ? 
 Impatient, doubtless, of his durance ? " 
 
 " As a wolf caught in a springe, my lord ; but I exchange few 
 words with him. Curses and threats are sweetest words with him. 
 My own temper is none of the most patient, and I avoid him, lest I 
 should forget the respect due to his birth, as well as to his defence- 
 less state ; an he escape, let our new monarch look to it." 
 
 " Small fear of that," replied the prelate ; " our towers are high, 
 and you keep faithful guard. After to-morrOw's evening, come to 
 me in my oratory ; I have much to speak with you upon, as well 
 as reconcile you to your offended prince, in whose good favour, 
 after all, you have a pleader whom you wot not of." 
 
 The knight merely bowed his acquiescence, and the speaker, with 
 his companion, entered the prison. 
 
 " 'Tis the last time," murmured Tyrrel to himself, " I shall be 
 forced to wear the mask before him. When next we meet, my 
 deeds shall make me known ; but till that hour arrives, patience — 
 patience." And once more he resumed his watch before the 
 tower. 
 
 "William was pacing his chamber with impatient strides when 
 the churchman and his attendant entered : it was the first time of 
 their meeting since the moment of his arrest. To one of his rest- 
 less character, captivity was galling enough, but uncertainty was 
 even worse than actual restraint. In the hours of his solitude he 
 had pondered on its probable result, and formed a thousand 
 schemes of vengeance on the man whose energy had baffled him ; 
 he longed for : yet feared the encounter, experience had taught him 
 he had to deal with one with whom to resolve was to execute. He 
 felt that he was too dangerous a captive to be lightly loosed. The 
 prelate felt on his part that he had a difficult mission to fulfil : to 
 bend an ambitious, proud, and stubborn mind to the resignation of 
 its long-cherished hopes of rule and ambition. For a moment, 
 therefore, they regarded each other in silence, measuring, like 
 skilful wrestlers, each the other's strength. The passionate prisoner 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 " So, my lord, you are come at last. I trust it is to implore our 
 pardon for this strange outrage on your monarch's son. You 
 have taken a strange way, methinks, to repay our royal father's 
 favour, by holding his son a captive. Tremble at his wrath when 
 he shall hear of it ; his indignant hand will rend the mitre from 
 thy brow, e'en though the Pontiff's self had placed it there." 
 
 " The vilest slave, the poorest serf," replied Herbert de Lozenga, 
 unmoved by the prince's threats, " will never more start at the 
 Conqueror's wrath or fear his frown ; thy father sleeps his last 
 sleep ; the archangel's trump alone can awaken him." 
 
 "Dead ! " exclaimed William, to whom the intelligence, in his 
 present position, brought tenfold danger. " Dead ! Where is thy
 
 192 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 knee, sir priest ? Forgettest thou that thou speakest to England's 
 king, or do I see a traitor ? " 
 
 '* Traitor I am none. My knee hath ah-eady offered earthly 
 homage to its lawful sovereign, thy elder brother Robert. The 
 assembled nobles," added the churchman, " have confirmed my 
 voice ; in two days he marches on to London." 
 
 "To be crowned !" shrieked William. "Priest of Belial ! "'tis 
 thou hast plotted this — my witless brother hath not brains to springe 
 a woodcock with. '?ell me," he added fiercely, " what is the bribe 
 for which he bought thy soul ? Try if I cannot outbid him. 
 Was't gold — was't power ? for priests I know, love both. Tell me 
 ihj price ! — my ransacked kingdom shall be ground to pay it ; thy 
 voice in England shall be but second to mine o\sti." 
 
 " Prince," interrupted his visitor, " it is already greater far than 
 thine, since by my mouth the king thy brother speaks." 
 
 " I say the traitor Robert Duke of Normandy ! " exclaimed the 
 prisoner, foaming with impotent passion, and striking his clenched 
 fist upon the table till the blood trickled from his knuckles ; then, 
 controlling himself with a violent effort, he added, " and what 
 would our loving brother with the fool his knavish tool l^ath 
 snared ? But I guess ! — imprisoned monarchs seldom have long to 
 live." 
 
 " Unhappy man ! thy words are but the echoes of thine own evil 
 heart. Robert's voice was the first to spare thy life ; he would not 
 wear a crown bought with thy blood. Learn," he added, presenting 
 him with a paper, " upon what terms thou still mayst live, if not a 
 monarch, at least in honourable state." - 
 
 William eagerly perused the paper, and his cheek became 
 alternately red and pale, as rage or fear predominated, while he 
 did so. As he concluded, his passion broke all bounds ; he tore 
 the document into a thousand pieces, exclaiming as he did so : 
 
 " Accursed priest ! this is thy work. In every line I read thy 
 subtle malice. But thou shalt tear the quivering flesh from off 
 these bones with pincers — pour molten lead into my throbbing 
 veins — rend out my heart, ere I consent to pronounce the damning 
 vov\'. A priest t Moloch shall be my god, and blood my con- 
 secration ; thy life shall be the first I offer at his shrine." 
 
 The infuriated man sprang upon the prelate, and, unarmed as he 
 was, would have strangled him or dashed his brains out against his 
 prison walls, had not George of Erpingham interposed his giant 
 strength between them. "With his mailed hand he thrust him back, 
 and William, exhausted by his passions, sank upon a seat — his 
 hair erect, his eyes glaring upon the churchman like a foiled tiger 
 disappointed in its spring. 
 
 Herbert de Lozenga gazed on him with a mingled sentiment of 
 pity and contempt. 
 
 " Prince," he said, in a tone unmoved by anger, " thou hast heard
 
 STANFIBLD HALL
 
 STANFIELD HALL ]95 
 
 thy doom. Twenty-four hours are given thee for reflection. That 
 space elapsed, I resign thee to the charge of those who well know 
 how to deal with natures such as thine. For thy attempt to lay 
 hands upon the priest of the Most High, we scorn and pardon 
 thee. Farewell ! " 
 
 Without waiting a reply, the bishop, attended by his faithful 
 marshal, quitted the tower. 
 
 " A priest ! " iterated William, as soon as he was alone ; " rather 
 the dungeon or the grave. Fool ! to be thus caught. For every 
 moment of my thraldom, a life should answer it, were I but once 
 more free. The hoary villain is not to be bribed. Robert hath 
 bought him ; body and soul he is his. Since my good angel hath 
 deserted me, I call upon the fiends to aid me. Wretch that I am," 
 he added, after a pause, " I am so lost that Lucifer himself would 
 scorn to tempt me. No hope of freedom ! — no loophole for escape ! 
 — here and hereafter cursed ! — undone for ever ! " 
 
 The captive sullenly dashed himself upon his couch, and gave 
 himself up to the bitterness of despair. His reverie was not of 
 long duration, for his solitude was broken by the entrance of 
 Walter Tyrrel into his cell. At first he scarcely deigned to notice 
 him ; suddenly the idea of tempting him flashed upon his mind, 
 and starting from his recumbent position he abruptly demanded : 
 
 " Knight, art thou ambitious .^ " ' 
 
 "Like most men," answered Tyrrel, coolly, '* I seek to mend my 
 fortune ; for, like your highness's, it has proved a scurvy one at 
 present. Patience or time, I suppose, will better it ; if not, I must 
 endure it." 
 
 " I'll better it," exclaimed William ; " satiate thy thirst with gold, 
 thy pride with honour." 
 
 " It must be in the Church, then," answered the young man, 
 carelessly, for it was no part of his plan to be too easily persuaded : 
 " if rumour speaks rightly, prince, you are likely to possess scant 
 other patronage, and I have little devotion for the cowl." 
 
 " With titles, boy," said the prisoner, sinking his voice almost to 
 a whisper ; *' the broadest earldom that our realm can yield, with 
 wealth wrung from these traitors' blood. Knowest thou not that I 
 am ali-eady king ? " 
 
 " I thought it was your elder brother, Robert. At least this 
 morning, at the council, the nobles hailed- him so." 
 
 William winced at the reply, and ev<^n then mentally determined, 
 should he succeed in winning his gaoler to his purpose, to repay him 
 by long years of expectation and disappointed hopes for the pang it 
 gave him. What to him was an oath more or less in the long 
 catalogue of those already broken ? 
 
 " Can nothing move thee ? " he murmured, 
 
 " To what ? " 
 
 " To free thy monarch from the snare traitors have woven round 
 
 2
 
 196 ■ STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 him — ^to accept the fortune which now woos thee to crown thy 
 name with honour — to place my foot npon the throne, Avhere thou 
 Bhalt stand the nearest. Methinks," iirgecl William, " an earldom 
 Avere no mean price e'en for so vast a favour ; what from my 
 brother canst thou hope for more ? " 
 
 " Perchance not half so much," replied Tyrrel ; '• but then I risk 
 not life and honour. Besides, a prince's promise is so soon forgot." 
 " Shall I swear ? " exclaimed the captive, beginning at last to 
 comprehend the man with whom he had to deal; " propose the oath." 
 The young man did so ; and the prince eagerly repeated it, 
 binding himself by every saint to bestow, the promised recompense 
 as soon as the crown should be securely his, and imprecating the 
 most fearful vengeance upon himself if he broke his oath to him. 
 
 " If I fail my promise," he concluded, " may thy arrow It t out 
 the perjured life-blood of rmj heart .' — may my days be but one long 
 agony of doubt ! — may all good men execrate my name, and history 
 hold me to the scorn of future ages ! " 
 
 The triumphant Tyrrel sank upon his knee, and kissed the hand 
 the speaker held to him. 
 
 '' Pardon me, sire, my doubts," he cried ; " but my future de- 
 votion shall atone for them. This very night I'll break your 
 chains ; tri^e friends are watching eagerly to aid us." 
 
 *' Name them," said the noAV joyous captive, who felt confident 
 that his escape Avas certain. 
 
 " The prior of the Dominicans." 
 
 '' Good ! he may be trusted : all churchman are not traitors." 
 " By his orders horses at midnight will be waiting for us at the 
 city gates. Long ere the day which was to seal your degradation 
 dawns, leagues shall divide you from your enemies. In three days, 
 at most, your highness may sleep in London, where the venerable 
 primate and your father's friends impatiently await you. Once 
 there——" 
 
 " My enemies shall feel the lion's Avrath," interrupted William. 
 " I'll make their homes a desert — their names a scoff ; and thou 
 shalt be my instrument of vengeance ; like the faithful jackal, 
 thou shalt hunt down the quarry ; and we'll divide the victim's 
 spoil between us. Fear not, good Tyrrel," he added, familiarly 
 placing hi& hand upon the shoulder of the man in his heart he 
 already meant to deceive, " but there will be enough for both of 
 ue. The headsman first, and confiscation after ! " 
 
 It was finally arranged that the knight should convey a suitable 
 disguise to the prince, who was not, however, to assume it till after 
 his evening meal, when all danger of observation from the men-at- 
 arms would cease, as after that hour they would have no pretext 
 for entering his apartment. 
 
 " And what mummer's mask am I to Avear ? " demanded William, 
 when all Avas arranged, and Tyrrel Avas about to retire.
 
 STANFIBLD HALL, 197 
 
 " A priest's." 
 
 " Good," he continued ; '* 'tis like the eagle's feather on the shaft 
 which wounds it. I'd like to trick the cunning bishop with a snare 
 of his own skin. I'll wear my cowl sooner than my loving brother 
 thinks, though not so long perhaps. Farewell. I have my in- 
 structions, and will follow them." 
 
 " Farewell, my liege," answered the traitor, who little thought 
 that in aiding the escape of William he was marring his own proud 
 fortunes ; " when next we meet thou shalt be in fact, as well as 
 right, a monarch." 
 
 "And thou a belted earl," said the tempter, graciously ; "the first 
 and nearest to our throne." 
 
 With these words they separated — the youth to indulge in dreams 
 of future greatness, the tyrant to meditate on schemes of future 
 vengeance. 
 
 As the clock of the cathedral struck the hour of twelve the same 
 night, a group of four men might be seen leading two well-appointed 
 steeds towards the gate of St. Stephen's — then, as now, the direct 
 road to London ; three were in the dress usually worn by the men- 
 at-arms of that period ; the fourth, enveloped in an ample cloak 
 and barret, might have been taken either for a noble in travelling 
 costume or a priest. From the number of franklins and person- 
 ages of note whom late events had assembled in the city, the 
 departure of such a party even at so late an hour created no surprise 
 to the warders — men selected from the burgher-guard — sleepy, fat- 
 headed fellows, more inclined to drink their ale in peace than 
 challenge for the pass-word three determined men who seemed 
 both able and willing to dispute it. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed the prior — for it was no other — 
 as soon as they were about a bow-shot from the gate, " we are here 
 at last. I trust our friends may arrive as safely. Bring the horses 
 under the shadow of this tree," he added, pointing to an old oak, 
 whose wide-spreading branches would have afforded obscurity to a 
 much larger party ; " here we will wait the arrival of the fugitives. 
 Holy Mother ! but this night's work has fatigued me." 
 
 The churchman seated himself upon the grass as he spoke, while 
 the men secured the horses, and all awaited in silence the arrival of 
 the prince and his companion. They had not long been thug 
 occupied, when they were startled by a rustling in the branches 
 above them. In an instant every one was on the alert ; the men at 
 arms, with their arroAvs drawn to the head, ready to fire into the 
 tree. 
 
 There was a pause, for the noise was not repeated. 
 
 " Waste not your shafts," said the prior ; " 'tis but an owl, or 
 some bird whose rest we have disturbed. Hark ! " 
 
 " Whoo ! whoo ! " was heard distinctly from the foliage, followed 
 by the shrill sharp cry peculiar to the obscene bird.
 
 198 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 " I told you so," he continued ; " three men-at-arms, and 
 frightened by an owl ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 The speaker's raillery was cut short by the arrival of the two 
 
 fugitives, who, dressed in the habits of monks, had contrived, 
 
 through the treachery of T3'rrel, to pass unsuspected by the guard. 
 
 " Benedicite ! " said the priest, as soon as he beheld them ; 
 
 " thank Heaven ! they are arrived at last." 
 
 William and his companion threw off their disguise in silence, 
 and appeared well armed in riding dresses underneath. The prince 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 " Sir prior, we are your debtor ; deeds, not words, must speak 
 our thanks. Are these men to be relied on ? " 
 
 " Body and soul, they are your highness's servants." 
 " 'Tis well," replied the prince, as he mounted; his horse ; " let 
 them attend us till w^e pass the outward post, when all danger for 
 the moment ceases ; and you, reverend father, accept our signet 
 ring — it might betray its wearer, for not an officer in our realm but 
 knows its impress ; we will redeem it with a monarch's ransom. 
 And now, my men," he added, " forward ! If we pass unchallenged 
 at the outward post, return to the good prior ; if not, prove to the 
 traitors you can use your swords. Adieu." 
 
 The two fugitives, preceded by the men-at-arms, advanced upon 
 their way, leaving the churchman beneath the shadow of the oak, 
 watching their progress with interest. 
 
 " He must succeed," miirmured Eborard ; " with less valour than 
 his brother, he has ten times his cunning and perseverance ; besides, 
 the Primate loves him, and will respect the Conqueror's will. Once 
 king, our haughty bishop may rue his traitorous zeal in Robert's 
 cause. I'd give my life," he added, " but once to feel my foot upon 
 his neck ; he hath thwarted me at every turn. Life ! " he added, 
 " I'd almost give my hope of heaven." 
 
 " Agreed ! " cried a voice from the centre of the oak — " agreed ! " 
 Unnerved v/ith terror, the blasphemer sank upon his knees, 
 trying to mutter a prayer. 
 
 " In nomme confiteor Dei ! Heaven have mercy upon me ! Blessed 
 St. Dominic, ora pro we." 
 
 The invocation Vv'as interrupted by a scream of horror, as a figure, 
 scarcely human in its proportions, dropped from the branches beside 
 him, and seized him by the neck with a giant's grasi3. 
 
 " Priest of Belial," whispered the dwarf — for it was no other than 
 Ezra, who had been out to collect simples for his master, and had 
 concealed himself in the tree on the approach of the party — " it is a 
 compact. Thou, art mine ! " 
 
 At this moment, overcome with fear, the prior fainted. 
 In this state he was discovered by the men-at-arms, on their 
 return. With some difficulty they recovered him from his swoon. 
 But the ring — the prince's signet-ring — was gone !
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 199 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Great was the surprise and indignation of the nobles on the 
 
 following morning, when, at the hour of their assembling, the flight 
 
 of their captive, and the treacherous Tyrrel, was made known to 
 
 them. Success, which before seemed certain, was once more reduced 
 
 to the chance of civil war — a risk which many were anxious to avoid, 
 
 whilst others secretly rejoiced at it, as a means of increasing their 
 
 fortunes by the plunder and confiscations of their enemies' domains. 
 
 Few, however, ventured to express either content or dissatisfaction 
 
 at the probable result, for the principal leaders remained as firmly 
 
 as ever united in the cause of the monarch whom they had 
 
 unanimously acknowledged. But to Robert the intelligence was as 
 
 a death-blow to his hopes ; the crown which he had grasped already 
 
 seemed to elude him, and the share which Tyrrel had taken in his 
 
 brother's escape deeply wounded him. The curse of his race, the 
 
 hand of fatality, seemed to be upon him. Of the other members of 
 
 the league, Herbert de Lozenga alone perhaps foresaw the probable 
 
 downfall of their enterprise ; for he knew how popular, by his 
 
 largess and courage, the fugitive had contrived to make himself with 
 
 the army, to whom his competitor was comparatively unknown. 
 
 The implicit obedience which the primate Lanfranc would be sure 
 
 to pay to the last will of the Conqueror, by whom he had been raised 
 
 to his elevated position, as well as his love for William, whom he 
 
 had educated, and who had received the honour of knighthood at 
 
 his hands, was another obstacle in their path ; and the mere fact of 
 
 that prince being acknowledged and crowned by a prelate possessed 
 
 of such influence in the kingdom, both from his high rank and 
 
 virtues, together with the possession of the late king's treasures, 
 
 would give him an immense advantage over his generous and less 
 
 prudent rival. Still the prelate did not despair of retiring with his 
 
 brother peers from the league with honour as well as safety ; for 
 
 most of the nobles possessed estates in England as well as Normandy, 
 
 and would naturally favour any arrangement which promised them 
 
 security for their possessions in both countries ; their party was 
 
 sufficiently powerful to be feared, and by remaining in arms, or by 
 
 advancing towards London, they might probably secure by treaty a 
 
 sufficient guarantee for their lives and liberties, as well as the 
 
 confirmed investiture of their lands. With this clear view of their 
 
 position, his object was to urge them to immediate action ; and his 
 
 voice was the first which predominated above the confusion which 
 
 the unexpected intelligence had caused. 
 
 " Hear me, most noble princes and lords," he cried ; " this is the 
 hour for action, not for words ; firmness and promptitude will oft 
 assure the triumph despair would resign as hopeless. Are we less 
 unanimous or less determined than before ? — is our cause less just ? 
 — or Robert's right to possess the crown less sacred ? "
 
 200 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " No ! " shouted the assembly, with one voice ; " Robert is our 
 lawful king, and Ave swear never to own another whilst he lives." 
 
 " 'Tis well ! " resumed the speaker ; " leave words for women, 
 then — deeds are for men ; and ours must answer for us. The elite 
 of the army of the late king is still in France ; discontent is rife 
 within the land ; the men of Kent bitterly resent the captivity of 
 their earl, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, the Conqueror's uterine brother. 
 I have already sent trusty emissaries to inform them of our purpose, 
 and doubt not but that they will rise to second us. London, between 
 two armies, must surrender. Hold we, then, our first resolve, and 
 advance towards it ? " 
 
 " We do ! " was the cheerful cry of all ; and it was finally agreed 
 that on the following morning they should commence their march 
 — ^the young men eager to win fame and honour, the old ones to take 
 advantage of events as they might arise. Just as the assembly was 
 about to disperse, the door of the council chamber was thrown hastily 
 open, and a stranger, clothed in complete armour, entered the hall, 
 without saluting any of the astonished nobles ; he made his way to 
 tlie spot where Rolbert was standing, and embraced him with a 
 familiarity which nothing but equality of rank or the tie of blood 
 could warrant. 
 
 The prince's first words explained the mystery of the stranger's 
 want of ceremony. 
 
 " Welcome, my reverend uncle ! " he exclaimed, at the same time, 
 according to the age, saluting him on the cheek. " By what good 
 providence do we see you at liberty ? It is not often that our father's 
 captives break their cage." 
 
 •' By our faith, nephew," replied Odo of Bayeux, — for it was no 
 other than the warlike prelate, whom the Conqueror had with great 
 difficulty been prevailed upon, when dying, to release, — " but our 
 brother's cage has proved a strong one. For the past, let us forget 
 it. William, I trust, sleeps in peace, and all my enmity is buried 
 with him ; but first," he added, " let me offer the homage of a 
 subject to his sovereign, and then to affairs touching our mutual 
 interests." 
 
 The speaker would have beijt his knee in token of fealty, had not 
 his nephew, whose hopes his presence had revived, gi-acefully 
 prevented him, saying as he did so — 
 
 '' The nephew can receive no homage from his uncle ; the king 
 demands no pledge from one whose loyalty is so well assured. 
 Besides, my lord," he added, " as a spiritual peer, it is not thus that 
 you should do me service." 
 
 " True," replied the warlike churchman, with a smile ; " but 'tis 
 always thus : whenever I have harness on my back I forget my 
 priesthood, and assume the baron. See how gravely our brother of 
 Norwich looks, as if to remind us of it. But come," he continued, 
 " present me to your friends."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 201 
 
 The shouts of " Long live the valiant Odo I " " Long live the valiant 
 bishop ! " echoed through the council chamber, 
 
 " Now then, to work," continued the prelate, as soon as the cries 
 subsided ; " let's see the muster-roll, — what nobles adhei'e to your 
 standard ; what friends you have to count upon ; what enemies to 
 crush, or to win over to your cause." 
 
 A few words made the speaker acquainted with the position of 
 "affairs, and the declaration by which the Norman and Saxon barons 
 acknowledged Robert as their king, and pledged their lives and 
 fortunes to support his claims, was submitted for his inspection by 
 Herbert de Lozenga. He perused it eagerly, and with evident 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Ay ! " he exclaimed, " this is something tangible. No vague 
 promises, signifying nothing ; no equivocation here. Lives and 
 lands are engaged, and my unworthy name will be honoured by 
 appearing in such goodly company." 
 
 Snatching a pen from the table, the speaker added his signature 
 to the list, which he handed over to his brother bishop. 
 
 " When do we march towards London ? " he demanded ; " 'tis 
 there the battle must be fought and won." 
 
 " With the rising sun," replied the now hopeful Robert. 
 
 " Good ! I will prepare for our reception there ; I have friends 
 amongst the greasy citizens. Find me, my lords, a trusty messenger ; 
 one with a soldier's eye and a statesman's head ; the less likely to 
 be recognised the better. He must be noble, for he will have to 
 treat with nobles ; brave, for the service is of danger ; speaking 
 Saxon as well as Norman tongue ; for, in his mission, he must have 
 speech with both," 
 
 Eborard, the prior of the Dominicans, although scarcely recovered 
 from the fright he had received the previous evening, had, to avoid 
 suspicion falling upon him for his share in the escape of William, 
 contrived to be present ; he saw that an excellent opportunity was 
 at hand for serving the cause to which he was so deeply committed, 
 could he obtain possession of the papers. Blandly, therefore, he 
 proffered the services of his esquire, a creature devoted to his 
 interest, to be the bearer of the important letters ; vouching, at the 
 same time, for his nobility, which was even more questionable than 
 his fidelity. Perhaps there was something too eager in his manner 
 of making the offer, or Odo of Bayeux knew too much of his 
 character, for he refused it so drily that even the effrontery of Eborard 
 did not allow him again to renew it. The concluding words of his 
 refusal were even more significant : 
 
 " Churchmen, in the simplicity of their unworldly natures, are 
 but poor judges of character, reverend prior ; therefore, we will 
 choose another messenger. Robert," he added, " let orders be given 
 that no travellers be i^ermitted to pass the city gates without a 
 permission signed by some military chief on whom we can rely.
 
 202 STAKFIELD HALL. 
 
 We must guard against treachery from within as from without ; — not 
 that I suspect aught like treachery from any here." 
 
 The prior bit his lips, and resumed his seat in silence. 
 
 " I am less likely to be recognised," said Ulrick, "and, should 
 the council deem me worthy of such trust, willing — nay, eager — to 
 undertake the expedition, for I would fain do something to prove 
 myself worthy of my place amongst you." 
 
 The warlike bishop eyed him for a few minutes as he would read 
 his very soul. Experience had taught him that bitter lesson, learnt 
 sooner or later in the world — suspicion ; but there was something 
 so open in the offer, so modest in the way in which it was made, 
 that he resolved at once to trust him. Some natures require no 
 guarantee for their honour and fidelity, for God has imprinted truth 
 upon their brow, and art can never imitate the signature. Ulrick 
 was one of these. 
 
 " Be it so, young man," replied Odo." I neither ask thy name nor 
 birth, for something tells me that thy heart is nobler far than either. 
 Short time for preparation waits thee ; within an hour thou must 
 depart. Take such precautions as seem best to thee to travel 
 unsiispected ; but remember it is an enterprise where prudence will 
 avail thee more than courage, and wit protect thee better than thy 
 sword." 
 
 Most present approved of the churchman's choice, for during the 
 attack on Filby Castle they had witnessed the courage and cool 
 presence of mind of the young lord of Stanfield. 
 
 " Farewell, my lords," said the young man as he quitted the 
 assembly to bid adieu to Matilda and his mother ; " within the hour, 
 I shall be ready for my departure." 
 
 " Had the guard of your prisoner, nephew," said Odo of Bayeux, 
 " been confided to that young knight, instead of the worthless traitor 
 who deceived you, our task might have been easier." , 
 
 Robert heard the observation in silence, for there were circum- 
 stances which made the comparison between Ulrick and Tyrrel 
 deeply painful to his nature. 
 
 The number of vassals which each noble could bring into the 
 field was next gone into, and the line of march drawn out. Here 
 Edda's knowledge of the country was of inestimable value, for he 
 enabled them so to trace their route that all doubtful places or 
 towns likely to be in possession of the enemy were avoided, 
 the great object being to arrive before the walls of London with as 
 little delay as possible. Their army was to be preceded by a 
 proclamation in which Robert's claim to the crown, as eldest son of 
 the Conqueror, would be duly set forth, and such promises of 
 equal government held out, as would induce the oppressed Saxon 
 population to hasten to his standard. 
 
 The council soon afterwards dispersed, the nobles to give orders 
 for the departure of their troops, and arrange the order of march.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 203 
 
 As Eborard mounted his litter at the palace gate, he whispered 
 something to one of his attendants, who set oif immediately to- 
 wards the house of Abram, the Jew. 
 
 " So," exclaimed the prior, as soon as he was seated in his 
 comfortable cell in the Dominican convent of the city, " my lord of 
 Bayeux already doubts me — let him ; doubts are not proofs. The 
 time will soon arrive when I may avow the step I have taken 
 proudly to the world, and trample on my enemies. Kobert, thy 
 star is on the wane. William's is rising, and my fortune with it. 
 Why loiters this cursed Jew ? " he added, starting from his seat, 
 and pacing the floor impatiently. " I must employ him as my 
 messenger to London. Ulrick shall find friends whom he wots 
 not of to meet him there. Robert of Artois' death shall yet be paid 
 me at his hands." 
 
 At this moment, Abram was iishered into the apartment, and 
 stood, bowing revei'entially, before him. " So, infidel, thou art 
 come," said the churchman. " I have employment for thee, in 
 which thou may est win not only gold, but friends, so that thou 
 executest faithfully the trust I shall confide in thee." 
 
 " Abram," said the old man meekly, " is the servant of his lord. 
 Let the master speak, the slave hears but to obey. Is the reverend 
 prior ill, the leech is ready with his drugs to cure him," 
 
 " Satan conf ©und thee, unbeliever, with thy drugs and charms. 
 I am for none of these ; thou must gird up thy loins, and journey 
 for me even unto London." 
 
 " To London ! " ejaculated the old man, with unfeigned astonish- 
 ment. " What should the leech do there ? " 
 
 " That I will tell thee. Seek out the king, and deliver to him, 
 word for word, my message. Tell him that his xmcle, Odo of 
 Bayeux, hath arrived, and that the rebellious nobles plot against his 
 crown ; that the men of Kent are expected to rise in Eobert's 
 favour. Bid him look to Pevensey and Rochester — both." 
 
 " Alas ! my lord ; but these are fearful words to fall from lips 
 like mine ; had not your reverend priorship better write ? " 
 
 " No, heathen," thundered the priest ; " I place my life in no 
 man's hands. If thou art caught, stoned, burnt, or hanged, 'tis but 
 a Jew the less ; for who would listen to his word against a Christian 
 and a noble ? " 
 
 " True," said the leech, bitterly ; " the reverend priest speaks truly. 
 The Hebrew's life is but as the twice-pressed grape, a thing fit to 
 be trodden underfoot by every brutal clown or steel-clad noble. 
 But how, please you, without a letter, am I to obtain an audience of 
 the king ? They would spurn thy servant from his palace gate, e'en 
 as an unclean beast from out the city walls." 
 
 '" I will provide thee with a token that shall procure thee access ; 
 but remember Ulrick, this new-found Earl of Stanfield as he calls 
 himself, is the bearer of letters to those of their friends about the
 
 204 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Court. It is of the utmost consequence he should be secured. Use 
 eyery diligence to arrive before him. It is well-known that thy 
 people possess facilities for travel organised in the interests of their 
 vile commerce. Say, dost thou understand me, Jew ? and art thou 
 willing to pleasure me in this ? " 
 
 " My lord hath spoken," said Abram, bowing low, " and his 
 servant hears but to obey his will." 
 
 " Tis well," answered the churchman ; " so, on thy return, shalt 
 thou find protection at our hand." 
 
 " Not for shekels of gold," replied the Hebrew, " or shekels of 
 silver, will I consent to do this thing, but for thy favour." 
 
 " How can it serve thee ? " demanded the prior, rejoiced to hear 
 that his purse-strings were to remain undrawn. 
 
 " There is a bark lying in the harbour near," replied Abram, 
 ^* which brought thee goodly wine from Rouen. Two of my 
 kindred, who are tarrying with me, would fain return unto their 
 native city, with sundry bales of merchandise — an order from thy 
 hand, under thy seal, would secure their passage, and good treatment 
 from the rude captain ; this is the only guerdon I would ask in 
 requital for my pains." 
 
 " Holy Mother ! " exclaimed the prior, " but thou seemest well 
 acquainted with our affairs. It seems our convent cannot import 
 wine for the poor and sick, but a Jew's nose must scent it ; besides," 
 he added, willing to make the obligation greater than it really was, 
 " it were an ill example for a Christian prelate to connive at a Jew's 
 escape." 
 
 " Then seek some other messenger," replied the old man, firmly, 
 " for thou hast heard the only conditions on which Abram will do 
 thy bidding." 
 
 " Dog ! this insolence to me ! Dost thou not know that I can 
 crush thee like a vile worm beneath my foot ? The Church's arm, 
 though slow to strike, is terrible when roused. Thou art too much 
 honoured in our condescension ; our confidence hath made thee 
 bold. Let me but raise my voice against thee, and thou art lost." 
 
 " But thou never wilt raise it," coolly answered the old man. 
 
 The calm tone of his voice, so different from the usual tone of 
 supplication with which those of his race addressed all who belonged 
 to the Church, astonished the crafty prior, whose first impulse was 
 to summon the assistance of his lay brothers, and consign him to one 
 of the numerous prisons of the convent ; but an instant's reflection 
 taught him that the Jew must possess a surer guarantee for his 
 personal safety than the mere confidence which had passed between 
 them, ere he ventured to brave his ^vl'ath. It was, therefore, in an 
 accent as free from anger as he could command, that he demanded 
 why he should not raise it. 
 
 " Because, priest of Belial," said Abram, firmlj', "it would be the 
 signal of thy destruction. Hast thou foi'got thy correspondence
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 205 
 
 with thy vile nephew, Robert of Artois ? Tlie letters are in my 
 possession." 
 
 " Go on," said the priest, clenching his teeth with suppressed rage ; 
 his eye glancing menacingly on the speaker. 
 
 . " Remember, too, thy treachery last night. Were it but known 
 that the prior of the Dominicans aided the flight of William of 
 Normandy, and, churchman though he is, his life would be of as 
 little pm'chase as the despised Jew's." 
 
 "And who would believe the Hebrew's word .?" demanded his 
 hearer, with a sneer. 
 
 " None," replied Abram ; " but all would listen to his proofs — 
 the nephew's letters, and the prince's ring." 
 
 "Sorcerer," shouted Eborard, starting from his seat ; "dost deal 
 with fiends ? I'll have thee racked for this, rend the flesh from off 
 thy unbelieving bones, bathe thee in molten fire, tear out thy accursed 
 tongue. Fool ! idiot ! " he added " with such a secret to enter in 
 these walls." 
 
 The firm glance and self-possession of the Hebrew during these 
 fearful threats were not lost upon the speaker, who, in the very 
 torrent of his wrath, calculated every chance affecting his own 
 safety, which some secret presentiment seemed to assure him would 
 be compromised by proceeding to extremities with the being who 
 had ventured to defy him ; he hesitated, therefore, to give the signal 
 which might lead to their mutual destruction ; they remained 
 gazing on each other -for awhile in silence. 
 
 "Hear me," at last replied Abram. "Thy crimes and my 
 knowledge of them enable the despised Israelite and the haughty 
 priest to treat as equals, I did not venture within these walls 
 without good precaution for my safety. If I return not within the 
 hour in safety to my dwelling, the letters which thou wotest of, and 
 the prince's signet-ring, will be placed in the hands of Odo of 
 Bayeux. Now, then, decide ; I speak no more." 
 
 In an instant the manner of Eborard changed. He felt that he 
 was check-mated by the wily Jew, and he inwardly consoled 
 himself for his present humiliation by anticipations of future 
 vengeance when the success of William should render further 
 temporising unnecessary. 
 
 " ' Tis well, Jew, at length I know the terms on which we treat as 
 equals. Be it so ; but remember, that the least treachery on thy 
 part will cost thee dear, for even should I fall I leave behind many 
 who would avenge me. There," added the speaker,, hastily writing 
 the order to the captain, and sealing it with his seal, " there is 
 the paper thou demandest for thy friends. See that the price 
 be thy fidelity — thy mission faithfully accomplished, and we are 
 quits." 
 
 " Thanks, most reverend prior," said Aljram, bowing with his 
 usual humility, "hast thou further orders for thy servant ? "
 
 206 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 " None ; thou knowest my message — see that it be delivered, or 
 woe upon thy head," 
 
 The aged- Israelite carefully folded the important paper, and 
 placed it in a pouch in the inner lining of his garment. His dress 
 was far less costly than the one Ave have described him as wearing 
 in his house ; instead of goodly cloth, his gaberdine was made of a 
 threadbare stuff, patched in several places, and a plain cord, instead 
 of the engraved silver girdle, bound it to his waist ; yet, wretched 
 as it was, probably an earl's fee would scarcely have purchased that 
 miserable vestment, for gems of price were quilted for security 
 within its folds, and the bond of many a noble for moneys lent 
 sewn between the linings. 
 
 In Abram's way from the priory, the only remains of which at 
 the present day is St. Andrew's Hall, where the greasy citizens of 
 Norwich, in the days of its corporate corruption, fed upon the flesh- 
 pots of Egypt, he had to pass that part of the city known as the 
 Castle Ditches, being the space comprised between the inner and 
 outer moats, and where the retainers of the nobles and the men-at- 
 arms were in the habit of amusing themselves by wrestling, 
 playing the game of quoits, or contending in feats of strength. 
 For some time the old man made his way comparatively unmolested 
 except by an occasional gibe or rude curse — insults to which he was 
 too much accustomed to notice. At last he approached a party of 
 soldiers, who had been playing for a wager at some game of agility, 
 and who were clamorously urging upon the loser, a square-built, 
 beetle-browed, ill-looking ruffian, to pay his loss. 
 
 " By St. Martin, masters ! " he exclaimed, " but you are hard 
 upon me ; you cannot have more of a fox than his skin. St. 
 Martin," he added, as he beheld the Jew approach, " never leaves 
 his votaries in the lurch. Here comes my treasurer ; now then, ye 
 cormorants, ye shall be paid in full." 
 
 To seize on the person of Abram, and drag him into the midst of 
 the circle, was the work of a moment ; the feat was so dexterously 
 accomplished that his companions hailed it with a laughing shout of 
 approbation. 
 
 " What would ye, gentle masters ? " demanded the old man, in his 
 isual submissive tone. 
 
 " Money," replied the ruffian ; " I have played on credit, and the 
 saints have sent thee to pay my score." 
 
 " Money ! " iterated the Jew ; " and where should I obtain it ? I 
 have been despoiled of everything but the garments which I wear. 
 The air I breathe is taxed, the light of heaven is taxed, my very 
 prayers are taxed. Were you to rend the flesh from off my bones 
 you could not wring a silver penny from me. I am poor." 
 
 The declaration was received with a shout of derision, as one of 
 the pleasantest jests imaginable ; the idea of a Jew being poor seemed 
 to them so ludicrous, so accustomed were the brutal soldiery to
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 207 
 
 such asseverations when they practised their unlicensed extortion 
 upon them. 
 
 " We shall see," said the fellow, tightening his grasp upon his 
 prisoner. " "Were thy gold secreted in thy very heart, I know a 
 trick to squeeze it forth. Be reasonable ; twelve silver pennies, and 
 thou art free. Thou canst not object to that, in honour of the saint 
 who hath sent thee to pay my debt." 
 
 '' I have already told thee that I have no money. I am old, and 
 in thy hands, weak, and cannot resist thee ; dispose of me as thou 
 wilt, for when did Christian ever spare one of our persecuted race ? " 
 
 " He blasphemes ! " cried the fellows, who had gathered round, 
 delighted at the sport of tormenting a Jew. 
 
 " Try the cord upon his thumbs," shouted one. 
 
 " Strip the unbeliever," said another, " and burn his greasy rags — 
 the ashes will be wortli the sifting." 
 
 The latter proposal seemed to hit their humour best, and, despite 
 his feeble resistance, the gaberdine was nearly torn from ofiE their 
 victim's back, when they were arrested by the voice of Ulrick, who, 
 on his way to the palace, to receive his letters of Odo of Bayeux, 
 came suddenly upon him. As the party who attended him were 
 numerously armed, the plunderers paused at his command. 
 
 " What would you do, my masters ? " he exclaimed. " Is it thus 
 you show your courage, in despoiling an unarmed, aged man ? 
 Shame on you — shame ! " 
 
 " He is a Jew," suddenly growled the fellow who had seized 
 him, " and ref useth to pay, in honour of St. Martin, twelve silver 
 pennies." 
 
 " And what right hast thou to force him ? Release thy hold upon 
 his garment, or, by the saint whose name thou hast profaned, I'll 
 crack thy casque, to teach thee mercy, knave ! " 
 
 This declaration was received with a murmur of discontent, not 
 only from the ringleader, but by his companions, who were 
 indignant that a Christian noble should interfere on behalf of an 
 Israelite, and whose appetites were excited by the hope of plunder. 
 
 " Drag him along ! " cried one. " Bring him to the cathedral 
 precincts ; no one will dare to interfere with us there." 
 
 " As thou art a knight," said Abram, in a supplicating tone, as 
 the ruffians were dragging him away ; " for the honour of her who 
 bore thee, leave me not in the hands of these rude men." 
 
 " Disperse the rabble ! " exclaimed Ulrick, to his followers. 
 " What ! " he added, as their leader, who still held his grasp upon 
 his prisoner, drew his sword to resist him, "art bent upon thy 
 punishment ? — this, knave, to teach thee humanity, and this to 
 remember Ulrick of Stanfield." 
 
 The indignant speaker made but two blows at the ruffian as he 
 spoke. The first shivered the iron helmet on his brow ; the second 
 inflicted a deep wound, which seamed his head from the temple to
 
 208 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the ja^^ His companions, seeing that the knight was in earnest, 
 took to their heels ; and the wounded man sullenly released his 
 captive, who immediately threw himself at his protector's feet, 
 blessing him for his humanity to one of the despised and persecuted 
 race of Israel. 
 
 " Follow your companions," said Ulrick, pointing with his sword 
 to the fellow he had wounded, and who v/as stanching his gashed 
 cheek with the end of his sleeve ; " and thank my mercy I do not 
 consign thee to the care of my seneschal. A rope were a fitter 
 instrument of punishment for a robber than a noble's sword. 
 Begone ! and, as you value life, beware how you cross my path 
 again." 
 
 " Beware, sir knight," shouted the villain, when he had withdrawn 
 out of the reach of the party, " how you cross mine ! You have set 
 your mark upon my face ; mine shall be graven in your heart, Peter 
 Norbeck never forgave an injury yet. We shall meet again to pay 
 our scores." 
 
 *' Follow him not," said "Ulrick to his followers, who, indignant 
 at the fellow's threats, were about to pursue him. " His head once 
 healed, he Avill forget the fray : an he remember it, small matter." 
 
 " And now, noble sir," said Abram, who had arranged his torn 
 garments, " let your valuer state at what price you set the old Jew's 
 ransom ; and poor as he is, he will beg from every brother of his 
 tribe but he will pay it." 
 
 " Ransom," said Ulrick, in a tone of compassion ; " and dost thou 
 think, old man, I saved thee from yon ruffians, but to plunder thee 
 myself ? I should be then the greater robber. No ! tell me but 
 where thou livest, and two of my followers shall see thee safely to 
 thy dwelling." 
 
 The Israelite listened to him in astonishment ; so extraordinary 
 did it appear to him that a Christian noble should render protection 
 to one of his nation without extorting gold as the j)rice of his 
 service. 
 
 '' Am I then free ? " he demanded, 
 
 " Free as the air." 
 
 " And without ransom ? " 
 
 *' Without ransom." 
 
 Abram bowed to the ground before the young noble, and repeated 
 his thanks, declining, at the same time, the escort that was proffered 
 him. Perhaps he was fearful of attracting attention to his dAvelling, 
 
 Ulrick, who was too enlightened to be entirely the slave of the 
 barbarous, rude prejudice of the age, which regarded the Hebrews 
 as a people accursed by God, and fit only to be oppressed by Christians, 
 gazed on the venerable old man who had resumed his way, with 
 interest and pity. 
 
 " It cannot be," he thought to himself— for he was too careful to 
 shock the prejudice of the age by uttering the sentiment aloud —
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 
 ^,Ml>lli
 
 STANFIELD HALL 211 
 
 '* that Heaven intended man to be its avenger ; Omnipotence needs 
 not our finite strength to crush its enemies. See," he added, 
 aloud, " the Jew returns ; he hath thought better of our proffered 
 escort." 
 
 Something had been cogitating in the old man's mind as he 
 pursued his way. The being whose ruin he was commissioned to 
 accomplish by the prior, by announcing his journey to London to 
 William, had preserved him from the brutal outrage of the ruffians 
 into whose hands he had fallen. Deeply as he had been wronged 
 by Christians, his humanity was not quite changed to gall. He 
 returned, therefore, on his steps, to warn him of his danger, and, if 
 possible, provide him with a shield against it. 
 
 '" Now, Israelite, what wouldst thou ,? " 
 
 " I would speak with thee," said the old man, bowing servilely, 
 '* speak with thee, noble sir, alone." 
 
 XJlrick motioned his followers to retire. No sooner were they out 
 of hearing, than Abram threw oflE the cringing manner which he had 
 hitherto assumed, and spoke with the dignity and firmness of a prince 
 addressing his equal — a tone which he maintained throughout their 
 interview. 
 
 " Sir knight," he began, " I little thought ever to feel interest or 
 care for one of Christian blood. Nay, frown not," he added ; 
 " didst thou but know half the wrongs, the bitter mockeries, I have 
 endured, thy anger would be less. Enough, I will serve thee. The 
 journey you are about to take will be a dangerous one. The 
 messenger of Odo of Bay eux would meet with little mercy at William's 
 hands, were he discovered." 
 
 " Knowest thou," interrupted XJlrick, struck with surprise, 
 *' knowest thou thus much ? " 
 
 " More — much more than this," continued Abram. " A messenger 
 already is commissioned to inform the prince of thy arrival, but for 
 thy sake he shall not depart. I have the power, as well as will, to 
 stay him. Where wilt thou lodge, supposing thou arrivest in safety 
 at thy journey's end ? " 
 
 " At Whitefriars. I have letters from the bishop there." 
 
 " Then art thou lost. The prior is devoted to Prince William. 
 He looks to be a bishop." 
 
 " With the Earl of Brittany then." 
 
 " Worse ; he would sell thee for a mess of pottage." 
 
 " At some hostel, then," added XJlrick, scarcely knowing where or 
 what to say. 
 
 " They are filled with spies. No," continued the old man ; 
 " thou hast served me for the sake of that common humanity which 
 Christians would deny all of my race ; I, in my turn, will serve thee. 
 Take these," he added, offering him a set of tablets, on which he 
 rapidly traced something in Hebrew characters ; " it will provide 
 thee with a secure retreat, where hatred would fail to find thee, and 
 
 p 2
 
 212 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 power lack means to drag thee forth. Not an Israelite within the 
 realm but, at the sight of them, would count down gold at thy 
 necessity — will shelter thee within his dwelling." 
 
 " Who art thou, man of mystery ? " demanded Ulrick ; " and 
 whence this power over thy peculiar people ? " 
 
 " Question not that," said Abram, " but use it for thy safety. 
 (Should closer danger press thee, this ring will prove thy safeguard. 
 Farewell. And may that Being, who is alike the God of Jew and 
 Gentile, bless thee for thy kindness to my age." 
 
 There was something so truthful in the old man's voice, so honest 
 in its tone, that Ulrick doubted not, even for a moment, of his 
 sincerity and ability to serve him. He concealed the tablets, as a 
 precious gage of safety, in his vest, and gazed upon the ring, which 
 he still retained in his grasp. 
 
 " By every saint ! " he exclaimed ; " but this is more mysterious 
 .still — 'tis William's signet." 
 
 With thoughtful mien he pursued his way to the palace, debating 
 in his mind whether to lay the singular gifts, and relate the inter- 
 view, before the prelate, or keep silence upon the subject. 
 
 ^ # # ^ ^ 
 
 In a vaulted chamber in the house of Abram the Jew, the entrance 
 to which was so cunningly concealed as to defy detection, sat, or 
 rather was bound, in an iron chair, the gaunt form of Robert of Artois. 
 The wound which Rachel had inflicted was more dangerous in 
 appearance than in reality, and the skill of her father had quickly 
 caused i4 to heal. During his progress to convalescence the old man 
 had treated him with the tender solicitude of a parent. He had 
 preserved him, not for love, but vengeance ; for as soon as the cure 
 was complete he had removed him, whilst in a deep sleep, by the 
 aid of Ezra, from the apartment above, and securely bound him in 
 his seat of torture. The room in which the victim was confined was 
 a low, arched vault, built of unhewn stone, and lighted by an iron 
 cresset, suspended from the ceiling. 
 
 The first idea of Robert, on recovering from the stupor in which 
 he had been plunged, was that he was dead, and the gloomy cell his 
 assigned place of punishment ; for, before him was an object well 
 calculated to strike terror to a soul more firm than his. The Jewess, 
 embalmed by her father's skill, was seated on a species of tribune 
 before him — her dark hair, as when living, glittering with gems — 
 her eyes, glazed by death, fixed with a stony glare upon him. Vainly 
 he sought to shut out that fearful image ; if he closed his eyes it 
 presented itself but more vividly to his mental sight — there was a 
 species of fascination from which he could not fly. Memory presented 
 her as he first beheld her — young and unpolluted, innocent and happy, 
 till, like a serpent, he had left the trail of his destroying passions on 
 her young heart, and blighted its existence. There was something 
 too horrible for reason in this silent commune between the living
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 213 
 
 and the dead ; his mind began to wander ; at times he would entreat 
 her to forgive him, then revile and curse her. Still the impassible 
 accuser gazed upon him, unmoved alike by imprecation or by prayer. 
 The countenance of Robert of Artois gradually became distorted by 
 passion and terror ; Rachel's retained the cold expression of the dead. 
 It is impossible to say how long the guilty man could have remained 
 in this frightful solitude and lived ; his ravings already began to be 
 incoherent, when Abram, with a case of instruments under his arm, 
 entered the chamber of death. 
 
 "Dog ! " exclaimed the indignant noble, as soon as he beheld 
 him', relieved from the worst apprehensions that he was dead. 
 '' What sorcery is this ? "Why am I bound like a thing for sacrifice 
 in this dark cavern, and what means this carrion here ? " 
 
 " It means," exclaimed the old man, with a passionate burst of 
 grief, " that she was my child, and thou wert her destroyer. It 
 means that she was betrayed, and that I am her avenger." 
 
 " Beware ! " shouted the captive, writhing with impotent rage ; 
 " beware how thou attemptest my life. My uncle, the prior, will 
 soon return to claim me ; his wrath will light a fire that will 
 consume thee." 
 
 " He will return no more," calmly replied the Jew ; " he hath seen 
 thee, as he believes, dead. Brantone, thy esquire, witnessed thy 
 interment in the neighbouring church from which I have released 
 thee, for not e'en the grave could shield thee from a hate like 
 mine." 
 
 " What wilt thou do ? " demanded Robert, blanched with terror, 
 when he saw how completely he was in the speaker's power. 
 
 " I'll tell thee," said Abram ; " T will not take thy life, for that 
 were mercy, not revenge ; but I will so change thee, that e'en thy 
 mother could not, were she living, recognise her child. A 
 premature old age shall replace thy manly strength — a gift thou 
 hast so oft abused ; the muscles of thy scornful brow and haughty 
 cheek I will dissect away, till not one lineament remain of Robert 
 of Artois. I'll change thy raven hair to grey, and pluck thy beard 
 from off thy living face. Then, when thou art deformed in person 
 as well as mind, when not one trace remains for men to know 
 thee by, I'll send thee into the world to beg, to rot, to starve, 
 to be the scoff of those who lately licked the dust from off thy 
 feet. What thinkest thou, Christian — shall I not be revenged ? " 
 
 " Horrible ! " shrieked his prisoner. " Mercy ! Mercy ! " 
 
 " Ay," continued the old man, drawing a scalpel from his case of 
 instruments, " such mercy as thou showedst to her. Writhe on, 
 serpent," he added, "thou canst not escape me." 
 
 A groan of anguish broke from the unhappy man, as Abram 
 plunged the instrument into his cheek, and began to remove the 
 skin. Cries and supplications, mingled with threats and curses, 
 were repeated, as with a firm hand and unmoved heart the avenger
 
 214 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 pursued his fearful task within the vault — the only witness the cold 
 and passionless dead. 
 
 Day after day he returned to his victim, and relentlessly pursued 
 his vengeance. By some corrosive preparation the beard was 
 utterly destroyed, and the deep brown clustering hair thinned 
 almost to baldness. As the Jew foretold, agony and terror turned 
 it grey. At last, when the transformation was entirely accom- 
 plished, when the once haughty features of Robert of Artois, seared 
 by a thousand minute cicatrices, were no longer to be recognised 
 either by the eye of love or hate, Abram resolved to release him 
 from his seat of pain ; the preparations for his own departure from 
 England had long been secretly made. Again the powerful narcotic 
 was administered, and the disfigured tyrant found himself, when 
 he awoke from his deep slumber, reclining beneath a tree, not far 
 from the castle of Ormsby, once his own domain ; he was clothed 
 in rags, an oaken staff and wallet were on the ground beside him. 
 Slowly he dragged his enfeebled steps towards the porch, where 
 several men-at-arms were amusing themselves with Brantone, 
 discussing the late siege of Filby Hold ; not an eye recognised in the 
 wretched object before them their once haughty lord, and one, a 
 fellow more surly than the rest, asked why he came prowling 
 round the manor. 
 
 " Do you not know me ? " he demanded, in a trembling voice. 
 
 " Know thee ! " exclaimed Brantone. " No, fellow, the servitors 
 of the prior of the Dominicans keep better company. Get thee to 
 the convent. The reverend father bestows no alms here." 
 
 " The prior ! Do I dream ? " said Robert. " Methought this 
 manor belonged to his once powerful nephew." 
 
 " Did belong," replied the men ; " but since our young lord's 
 death, it hath been granted to his uncle." 
 
 A low groan was the unhappy man's only reply to the announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Lost ! " he murmured to himself — " lost for ever. The accursed 
 Jew spoke truly. My own menials spurn me from my door." 
 
 As this moment an old hound, which had long been useless for 
 the hunt, but which had once been his companion in many a 
 gallant chase, approached, and began to whine and sniff the air 
 uneasily around him. 
 
 " Look ! " observed Brantone, " if old Rollo does not seem to 
 recognise him." 
 
 " Because," said Robert, dashing aside the indignant tear which 
 the faithful animal's recognition had caused him to shed, " he is 
 more faithful in his instinct than thou art in thy reason. Changed 
 as I am, he knows his wretched master, Robert of Artois." 
 
 A shout of laughter followed the announcement. 
 
 " Master," said one, " ha, ha, ha ! The noble knight returned from 
 Purgatory ! Ha, ha, ha ! "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 215 
 
 " From a worse place," observed another, pointing to his scarred 
 face. " Satan has left the mark of his claws ; he must have battled 
 stoutly to have got back again." 
 
 " Peace," cried Brantone ; " don't you see the poor wretch is mad ? 
 There," he added, throwing a small copper coin, " there is a mite 
 for thee ; stoop for it, and begone." 
 
 The o'erfx'aught heart of his quondam master swelled bitterly at 
 this last insult. Alms to be offered him at his own gate, by one of 
 his own creatures, a thing whom but a few days before he could have 
 crushed, was more than his haughty spirit could endure. 
 
 " Slave ! " he exclaimed, " it was not thus thou didst promise to 
 me when my mistaken pity saved thee from the gibbet to which 
 thy life was forfeit, for plundering the abbey at Lisieux ; hast thou 
 forgot thine oath of gratitude ? " 
 
 The loud laugh of the men, to whom the tale was imperfectly 
 known, roused the anger of the esquii-e almost to madness, and 
 catching up a quarterstaff which was near him, he would have 
 felled the seeming beggar to the ground, had not the faithful hound 
 sprung from his, by all but him, forgotten master's side, and pulled 
 him to the ground. In an instant a dozen weapons were raised, 
 and the brains of the faithful animal dashed out upon the spot. 
 
 " Villains ! you shall dearly pay for this ! " exclaimed the excited 
 Robert. " Deeply shall my poor hound's death be revenged ! " 
 
 " Begone ! " cried Brantone, rising from the earth. " I am a fool 
 to listen or be angered at a madman's ravings. Use your staves," 
 he added, sternly, to the men, " and drive the beggar forth." 
 
 The men-at-arms, eager to recover the good graces of the esquire, 
 who was known to be high in favour with their new master, 
 eagerly obeyed his commands, and, despite his curses and 
 imprecations, drove the wanderer from the gate. 
 
 " God ! " exclaimed Robert, as soon he was alone, " can this be 
 real ? Is it not some hideous dream ? Rachel," he added, as the 
 horror of his position flashed upon him in its bitter reality, " thou 
 art fearfully avenged ! " 
 
 Then commenced the real punishment of Robert of Artois. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It was near the hour of sunset, just before the guard for the 
 night was set, that a traveller, dressed in the sober garb of a 
 peaceful citizen, and mounted on a strong grey horse, which seemed 
 more fitted for a belted knight than a humble trader, approached 
 the barrier of Ludgate ; not, as now, in the very heart of the 
 Metropolis, the busy nest of active industry, but one of the fortified 
 entrances to the City, and connected by a low wall with the Barbican.
 
 216 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Cheapsyde, at the period of which we write, was a narrow street, far 
 different from the Cheapside of the present day ; quaintly-built 
 houses, chiefly of timber, overshadowed the roadway with their 
 rudely-carved projecting balconies, few of which were glazed — 
 strong shutters of wood, raised or depressed with cords, serving the 
 inhabitants to exclude both air and rain. As the buildings 
 approached Cornhill they became more and more straggling, with 
 gardens or patches of land between them. Sometimes a mansion 
 of more goodly aj^pearance than the rest might be seen a little 
 removed from the wretched unpaved road, but more frequently the 
 eye encountered only miserable huts inhabited by watermen and 
 small traffickers, or families whose fortunes were as doubtful as 
 their characters. 
 
 As Ulrick — for the traveller was no other than the disguised 
 Lord of Stanfield — neared the gate, his steed attracted the attention 
 of the men-at-arms, always ready to discuss the merits of a horse, 
 or speculate upon the character of its rider. The warder — a grey- 
 headed man, who still retained evidence of great personal strength, 
 and whose keen blue eye, glancing from beneath an overhanging 
 brow, would have prepossessed a physiognomist with any thing 
 but an opinion in his favour — stood by, listening to them in silence. 
 
 " Marry," said one, " but our citizen is well mounted ; I have 
 seen a worse piece of flesh than that sold for a hundred marks ; it 
 seems of Flemish breed; perhaps its master is some foreign 
 trader." 
 
 " Trader indeed ! " observed a second ; " where are his saddle- 
 bags ? He holds his seat more like a man accustomed to cl-ack 
 crowns than count them. There again ! How well he reined him 
 up over the broken ground ! No, no ; the rider of yon goodly 
 steed has never been a trader." 
 
 The warder, who had been scrutinising the traveller, nodded his 
 head with the air of a man who hears an opinion which coin- 
 cides with his own, but continued his observation in silence. 
 
 "Welcome, my master," said the first speaker, as Ulrick reached 
 the gate. " Art come to witness the coronation of our young King 
 William ? It takes place in two days. That steed would fetch a 
 goodly price to figure in the pageant. Many a noble will appear 
 worse mounted." 
 
 " Coronation ! " repeated the traveller in evident surprise ; " 'tis 
 rather sudden ; it is but lately that I heard of his father's death. 
 He is in haste, methinks, to grasp his crown," 
 
 "Traitors, 'tis whispered, disputed it with him," replied his 
 questioner ; " and the holy primate is resolved to make short work 
 of it. Hast never heard of the king's elder brother, Prince Robert ? " 
 
 " Not often," said Ulrick, trying to look indifferent ; " princes 
 and kings trouble me but little ; I strive to make an honest living, 
 and leave the great ones to settle their disputes."
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 217 
 
 " Thou art a trader, then ? " demanded the warder, speaking for 
 the first time. 
 
 The traveller merely bowed his head, so hateful to him was the 
 subterfuge to which prudence compelled him to have recourse. 
 
 " And what dost thou deal in ? " 
 
 " Steel, sir warder, steel." 
 
 " I thought so," drily observed the fellow, whose suspicions were 
 excited, although but vaguely. 
 
 " An you lack a sword, good friend, I shall be happy to furnish 
 you, and at a reasonable price," said Ulrick, willing to avoid 
 further questions, which began to anoy him. 
 
 " Perhaps I may use the occasion," replied the warder. " I have 
 long thoughts of cheapning one. Where shall I find you — in the 
 city ? " 
 
 " No, at the St. Dunstan, the patron saint of all good armourers," 
 answered Ulrick, at the same time giving his horse the rein to 
 continue his route. " Good night, my masters. I love not the late 
 hour, and mine host of the jovial saint will be uneasy if I tarry 
 longer." 
 
 The traveller with these words quietly resumed his way, much to 
 the annoyance of the warder, who gladly would have detained him 
 till the arrival of the officer and guard who were to relieve his post. 
 Once or twice he had thought to have arrested him on his own 
 authority ; but the lack of warrant, and the idea that after all he 
 might perhaps turn out to be some wealthy merchant, restrained 
 him, for the City was extremely jealous of its privileges, and he was 
 their immediate servant ; still he determined not to lose sight of 
 him, but set some one to dog his steps. 
 
 " Gilbert, Gilbert ! " he exclaimed, directing the voice to the 
 interior of the tower. Why, how the hound sleeps ! Gilbert, I say ! 
 Ho ! some of you, break your quarterstaff over his sleepy head ! " 
 
 A shrill cry of pain from within announced that his brutal order 
 had been complied with. A thin, pale, half -starved looking youth, 
 of about seventeen, came from the guard-room, wiping the drops of 
 blood which trickled down his high and not unintellectual forehead. 
 No tear, however, dimmed his bright blue eye, which shone from its 
 caverned socket with almost unnatural lustre, indicative either of 
 disease or insanity. Calmly the poor boy stood before his tyrant, 
 who this time, either because he thought him sufficiently punished, 
 or that time pressed, forbore to ill-use him further. 
 
 " Dost see yon traveller, hangdog ? " he demanded, pointing to 
 Ulrick. 
 
 " I do," replied the boy, meekly. 
 
 " Follow him — dog him to his home. Better lose thine eyes than 
 lose the sight of him. When thou hast housed him, bring me word, 
 fast as thy lazy limbs can carry thee." 
 
 " I will."
 
 218 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Away, then," continued the ruffian, " and make good speed. If 
 I find thou tarriest but one second I'll lash thee with my bow-string 
 till ] lay bare thy bones. Thou knowest me ; do not trifle with my 
 anger." 
 
 A Blight and almost imperceptible shudder passed through the 
 frame of Gilbert as he heard the threat. The next minute he was 
 following the track of Ulrick, as he wound his way through the 
 many intricacies of the crowded city. 
 
 It was not long before our hero perceived that he was watched • 
 every time he turned his head he perceived the pale-visaged boy, 
 whose glance instinctively shunned his, as if conscious of the 
 degradation of his employment. As he approached Temple Bar 
 considerable confusion was caused by a party of the City guard, 
 who were escorting the civic authorities on their return from 
 Westminster, where they had been to pay their homage to the new 
 king, who had solemnly confirmed their charter, to attach them to 
 his interests. 
 
 Ulrick saw that the occasion of avoiding his pursuer was too 
 favourable to be lost : spurring his powerful horse, he dashed 
 through the cavalcade, regardless of loaths and menaces, and 
 quickly disappeared down one of the numerous lanes which led to 
 the water side, by which means he avoided the Strand and the 
 village of Charing, following the banks of the river till he arrived 
 at Westminster, where he expected to find Anselm, abbot of Bee, in 
 Normandy, a known partisan of Robert, to whom he was more 
 especially addressed by Odo of Bayeux. 
 
 " Back, boy ! " exclaimed one of the guard, rudely seizing Gilbert 
 by the shoulders, as he was endeavouring to force a passage through 
 their ranks to follow the horseman. " What will happen next, when 
 traders take the crown of the causeway in the teeth of the City 
 magistrates, and boys break through the City guard ? " 
 
 " Pray let me pass," cried the youth, struggling to release himself 
 from the speaker's grasp ; my errand is of speed — you know not 
 how much depends on my fulfilling it." 
 
 A loud laugh, accompanied by blows, was the only reply of the 
 angry official, and the poor lad was thrust back until the procession 
 had passed ; when he had threaded the barrier Ulrick had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Anselm, the abbot of Bee, who was afterwards destined to fill so 
 important a niche in the history of his times, lodged with the prior 
 of Westminster, to Avhom he was distantly related. In his manner 
 he was cold and stately, concealing an ambition atoned for by great 
 benevolence under a veil of self-possession. Perhaps in early life he 
 met with one of those misfortunes which chill without freezing the 
 heart ; he had looked upon the world, and scorned its worthlessness. 
 Deliberately he perused the missive of his brother prelate, glancing 
 occasionally from the letter to the bearer, who met his gaze with
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 219 
 
 that unembarrassed ease which only ti*uth or long habit of dissi- 
 mulation gives ; the scrutiny was apparently satisfactory. 
 
 " We meet, my lord, in strange times," he observed, " and your 
 enterprise is one which only zeal and courage could undertake ; not 
 that I venture to pronounce it hopeless. Many of the nobles prefer 
 Robert's claim to William's ; but unfortunately the primate is against 
 him. In two days the church will consecrate the usurper's rights ; 
 Lanfranc will place the crown upon his head in the ancient abbey 
 of St. Peter's." 
 
 " Have the nobles, then, no voice in his election ? " demanded 
 Ulrick ; " for election it clearly is if the law of primogeniture be 
 set aside. The barons of the Angles already have proclaimed his 
 brother king, and even now, with Robert at their head, are on their 
 march to London." 
 
 "Robert," said the churchman, "possesses many kingly qualities ; 
 but he is rash as generous, and lacks the perseverance to assure the 
 triumph of his cause. Who are his chief advisers ? " — 
 
 " His uncle, Odo of Bayeux," replied our hero. 
 
 " Better in the field than at the council board," observed the 
 priest. " Who next ? " 
 
 " Odo of Caen." 
 
 " A valiant knight. Proceed." 
 
 " Edda the Saxon, Herbert de Lozenga, the Earl of Norwich, with 
 many chiefs and franklins of less note, and, last and least, mj'^self." 
 
 " Good men, I doubt not," muttered Anselm, musing more to 
 himself than addressing his visitor, " William de Warrenne, Roger 
 of Shrewsbury, De Vere, and Neville, will, I doubt not, join him. 
 Prince Henry, too justly offended at his father's will, might throw 
 his influence in the scale — Hear me, sir knight," he added ; " I 
 will see the men I speak of. Born no subject of this land — owing 
 it no allegiance — I can securely do so. Visit me again to-morrow at 
 the coming hour. Where art thou lodged ? — with secure friends, I 
 trust." 
 
 Ulrick briefly informed him that he was a stranger in the capital, 
 and had as yet to seek a lodging for the night. 
 
 " Imprudent," replied the churchman ; " tyranny is ever 
 suspicious ; the City swarms with spies ; the very appearance of thy 
 steed — for I noticed it from my casement — in a common hostelry 
 would create inquiry. I will send it to the house of our order at 
 Eltham. Leave it with me. Shouldst thou be compelled to fly, 
 Kent must be thy hiding-place ; 'tis there the battle will be lost or 
 won, for there lies Robert's strength." 
 
 Anselm's words were prophetic : it was in that fertile county, of 
 which Odo of Bayeux was earl, that the struggle terminated which 
 placed William Rufus on the throne of England. 
 
 " I would guard thee here," continued the abbot, kindly, " were 
 I other than a guest, or did I deem it a safe hiding-place. Be
 
 220 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 careful of thy safety ; remember that prudence is sometimes better 
 ban courage. Farewell," be added ; " jaeace and security go -with 
 tbee." 
 
 There was something so calculating, if not cold, in the 
 churchman's manner that Ulrick scarcely knew what to think of 
 him — bis very caution seemed dictated more by prudence than 
 regard ; still the high character he had received of him from those 
 who sent him did not permit even for an instant a doubt of his 
 good faith. " Perhaps," he thought, as he traversed the fields 
 between the abbey and Charing, "it is but the coldness of the 
 cloister." All men, he knew, possessed not the warm heart of his 
 benefactor, whose nature was as genial as his own. 
 
 The unhappy Gilbert had vainly made his way along the crowded 
 Strand, and from thence to the village of Charing, demanding of 
 the passengers if they had encountered a citizen, whose person and 
 steed he described. Some listened to him patiently ; others 
 answered with a surly negative. All trace of the object of his 
 pursuit had vanished, and what to do he knew not ; to return was 
 out of the question. Th^ brutal rage of his father-in-law — for such 
 was the relationship between the warder and himself — increased, as 
 it was sure to be, by disappointed avarice, was more than he dared 
 encounter. He wandered for some time in the fields and open 
 grounds between Charing and Westminster ; and at last, overcome 
 with fatigue, seated himself beneath a tree, and reflected bitterly on 
 his lonely, unprotected situation. 
 
 He had not been long thus occupied, before he was aroused by 
 the lash of a bow-string vigorously applied to his shoulders ; and 
 starting to his feet beheld, to his terror, the warder standing beside 
 him. The disappointed ruffian, weary of waiting his return, had 
 tracked him even there. " Cur," he exclaimed, repeating the blow, 
 " is it for this I feed thee ? Is it thus my orders are obeyed ? Where 
 hast thou left the man I bid thee watch ? " 
 
 Vainly Gilbert endeavoured to appease his wrath by relating the 
 manner in which he had lost sight of him : the evil passion of the 
 fellow was roused i and, like the tiger, whose appetite for blood is 
 increased by the first taste of it, so the terror and cries of the youth 
 increased his persecutor's fury. " I have lost a fortune by thy 
 heedlessness," he muttered between his clenched teeth. " I have 
 seen Sir Walter Tyrrel, the newly appointed captain of the king's 
 guard ; he recognised the rider from my description of his steed ; 
 a price is on his head ; and thus to lose it ! — Ay, shriek," he added ; 
 " I'll show thee as little mercy as thou hast shown obedience." 
 
 It is impossible to say how long the enraged warder would have 
 continued his cruel usage of his victim, had not Ulrick, who was 
 returning from his visit to the abbot, chanced to pass the spot. 
 Attracted by the cries of the boy, and disgusted with the cowardly 
 conduct of the ruffian, whom in the twilight hour he failed to
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 221 
 
 recognise, his first impulse was to interfere. Seizing him by the 
 neck, he hurled him to a considerable distance from the tree, 
 exclaiming as he did so, " Shame on thee thus to abuse thy strength ! 
 The lash is fit but for the hound, not for a boy." 
 
 The first thought of the warder, on regaining his feet, was to 
 attack the unceremonious speaker, whom he recognised at a glance ; 
 but prudence, and the hope of gain, changed his purpose ; perhaps, 
 too, the proof of strength which he had just received made him 
 doubtful of the result, should he venture to encounter him ; he pre- 
 tended, however, not to know him. 
 
 " Marry, master," he growled, " but you are ready with your 
 hands, though I bear you no ill-will for that ; my temper is 
 sometimes hotter than my reason. 'Tis the third time since 
 Monday this disobedient boy hath given me the trouble to seek him. 
 Let a drum but beat, or a banner wave, and presto ! there is no 
 keeping him within the house. Come, Gilbert," he added, in a 
 voice intended to be affectionate, " though knowest, if I am hasty 
 of speech, and sometimes rough of hand, that at heart I am not an 
 unkind father-in-law. Come," he added, in a low, peculiar tone, 
 seeing that his victim hesitated, " I am not to be trifled with. 
 Good night, sir," he continued, turning to his assailant ; *' I bear 
 you no ill blood ; but for the futiu'e be less ready with your 
 hands." 
 
 Ulrick, who had quickly recognised both the speaker and the boy, 
 was uneasy at the encounter, for he felt more convinced than ever 
 that he had been dogged, and suspected that the scene he had just 
 witnessed had merely been got up to detain him till assistance 
 should arrive to secure his person. With a brief " good night," he 
 turned coldly, therefore, from the mute supplicating look of Gilbert, 
 which seemed to implore his protection, and directed his way 
 towards Charing, turning from time to time a cautious glance to 
 see if he were followed. 
 
 Scarcely was he out of earshot, than the warder whispered to his 
 son-in-law, *' Follow him — trail after him like a serpent on thy 
 belly ; — lose sight of him again, and I'll rend the skin from off thy 
 fi^esh. Raise thy head from time to time, that I may see the track," 
 
 The poor boy, his limbs still smarting with the chastisement he 
 had received, threw himself, as he was bid, upon the ground, and 
 glided after Ulrick, who, unable to distinguish the creeping form in 
 the distan ce, pursued his way in the confidence that he had escaped 
 them. 
 
 In his A/ay to Westminster our hero had observed by the water 
 side a quiet solitary house, where a bundle of straw hung out, 
 denoting that entertainment might be had for man and beast : 
 thither he had directed his steps, to secure his accommodation for the 
 night. 
 
 " 'Tis rather late," replied the host, eyeing him carefully, " for a
 
 222 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 respectable citizen, such as you seem to be, to seek his lodging ; 
 but perhaps you are a stranger, -a trader from distant parts, or " 
 
 " I am," said Ulrick, " from a distant land, though not altogether 
 a stranger in England. If the hour is too late to please you, I can 
 seek elsewhere — a man with crowns in his pouch need never lack 
 for shelter in a city like to London." 
 
 " Not so hasty, good master," quickly exclaimed the Boniface, in 
 whose ear the word " crowns " tingled most musically ; " you might 
 go farther and fare worpe ; if we are careful whom we admit, it is 
 that our house is honest ; were your gown quilted with nobles, 
 you might sleep in surety here. Will it please you to sit here, or 
 shall I serve you in the inner room ? " 
 
 Ulrick cast a glance upon the company, which consisted of one or 
 two mendicant friars, several small traders, and three or four men 
 whom it would have been impossible to place in any class, unless in 
 that comprehensive one, cosmopolite. With a nod he signified to 
 the host that he should prefer the inner room, where he ordered 
 him to bring a flask of his best wine, and leave him undisturbed till 
 supper time. 
 
 As the master of the house retui-ned to the kitchen after serving 
 his guest, a scowling figure, the cap carefully drawn over the brow, 
 appeared at the outward door, and beckoned him out. It was the 
 warder. 
 
 No sooner was Ulrick alone than his thoughts naturally reverted 
 to his home and his young bride, whom he had left in the first 
 hours of wedded happiness at the stern call of honour. Matilda, 
 neither by tears, entreaties, nor sighs, had endeavoured to detain 
 him ; for, in her gentle nature, even the passion of love was con- 
 trolled by the sentiment of duty, and the resignation with which 
 she endured the separation increased, if possible, her husband's 
 admiration of her character and virtues. For some time he paced 
 the floor of his lonely chamber, plunged in one of those delightful 
 waking dreams in which youth cradles an unreal future ; wisely, 
 perhaps, consoling itself for the turmoils, cares, deceits, trials, and 
 disappointments of the present by the anticipations of happiness 
 never to be realised. He was startled, at length, from this dreamy, 
 reflective mood by a gentle tapping at the window ; at first he 
 deemed it accident, and continued his solitary walk ; but its repeti- 
 tion soon became too frequent and too loud to admit of his remain- 
 ing under the impression. Lowei-ing the cord which held the 
 shutter, he thrust his head into the night air to see who it was that 
 had disturbed him. 
 
 " Silence, sir knight," whispered the trembling voice of Gilbert ; 
 " you are beset like a tracked deer. The warder and myself have 
 dogged you to your lair. He is gone to fetch the guard, and will be 
 back within the hour. I am set to watch you here. For the sake 
 of our dear Lady, fly, if you value life."
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 223 
 
 " And what, boy, makes thee take so great an interest in my 
 favour ? " coolly demanded Ulrick, who doubted whether the 
 speaker's zeal in his service was not assumed to lure him from the 
 protection of the house, so little did he think of the slight kindness 
 he had shown him in saving him from his assailant. 
 
 " What makes me feel an interest ! " iterated the youth. " Didst 
 thou not defend me .? " 
 
 " Granted." 
 
 " Speak for me with pity ? " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Well ! " said the boy ; " ah, 'tis plain you have always been 
 beloved, have never missed the voice of kindness, or you would not 
 ask that question. If you knew how crushed I had been in heart 
 and spirit, how unused e'en to as much kindness as men would 
 show a dog, you'd feel and understand the reason why I risk my 
 life to serve you ; though, perhaps," added the speaker, with a sigh, 
 " it is so poor a thing that I should be a gainer by the loss." 
 
 There was a tone of sincerity, mingled with such utter hopeless- 
 ness, in Gilbert's words, that, despite his resolution to be cautious, 
 Ulrick felt convinced of the poor fellow's sincerity and purpose. 
 Eager, like most generous natures, to atone for the pain his doubts 
 had caused, he answered kindly : 
 
 " I believe thee, my good boy ; forgive me that I wronged thy 
 honesty by my suspicion. But tell me," he added, " whence comes 
 the danger I must fear ? " 
 
 " From the captain of the king's guard, to whom the warder 
 described your steed and person. Perhaps, sir knight, you know 
 him, for 'tis plain he recognises you ? " 
 
 " How do you name him, boy ? " 
 
 " Sir Walter Tyrrel. He hath promised gold to the warder if he 
 succeeds in apprehending you." 
 
 The last doubt disappeared from Ulrick's mind ; the name of 
 Tyrrel was a fearful omen ; for, although reared from childhood 
 together by the good bishop, tJiey had never loved each other. The 
 open, warm heart of the young Lord of Stanfield had never found 
 one affinity of feeling in his cold, calculating companion. 
 
 " Thou hast convinced me," he exclaimed, " of thy sincerity. In 
 naming Sir Walter Tyrrel thou hast named my bitterest foe. Wait 
 for a few moments, and I will rejoin thee." 
 
 The speaker was about to quit the window, when the voice of 
 Gilbert again arrested him. 
 
 " Not by the door, sir knight — not by the door. My father-in-law 
 and the host of the hostel are friends. He hath already put him on 
 his guard. The outward door is fastened ; you would be beset and 
 overpowered. By the window — by the window, if you value life." 
 
 The advice appeared too reasonable to be neglected. The height 
 was not very considerable to drop. Drawing his sword, which he
 
 224 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 wore concealed beneath his dress, he held it in his teeth, so as to be 
 ready in case of treachery. He threw his legs over the low balus- 
 trade, and let himself fall upon the ground. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, you are safe." 
 
 " And thanks to thee, boy," replied Ulrick ; " for without thy 
 warning I had small chance of escaping them. There," he added, 
 offering Gilbert at the same time a gold piece, " is a token for thee. 
 Haste to thy home, and thy share in my deliverance may pass un- 
 suspected." 
 
 The youth hesitated to take the money. The speaker thought 
 that he perhaps deemed it insufficient ; and, drawing another coin 
 from his pouch, of equal value with the first, offered them both, 
 
 '• It is not gold, sir knight," sobbed the boy ; " it is not gold. 
 You bid me return to my home ; alas ! I have now no home. I 
 was set here to watch, and not to warn you. Farewell ! If you knew 
 the price at which I have paid my debt of gratitude, you would not 
 think so little of my heart that gold could recompense its devotion 
 to your service." 
 
 " Then come with me," said Ulrick, extending his hand, which 
 Gilbert joyfully seized and kissed, " I am but a fugitive myself ; 
 yet it shall go hard but I will protect thee. But first to provide for 
 our escape. Unchain the boat, and take the oars out of the others 
 beside it, to prevent their following us." 
 
 These orders were quickly executed. The oars were removed 
 from the two larger barks into a light skiff lying close to the water's 
 edge ; when Tyrrel, accompanied by the- warder and two men-at- 
 arms, rushed down upon them. As soon as his father-in-law 
 perceived Gilbert, his rage knew no bounds. Once more the recom- 
 pense seemed likely to escape him, through the treachery of his ill- 
 used victim, on whom, whatever might be the result of the adven- 
 ture, he determined to be revenged. Drawing an arrow to the head, 
 he let fly the shaft ; and the devoted boy sank, wounded in the 
 chest, upon the shelving bank. 
 
 Ulrick, v/hose foot was upon the edge of the boat, might have 
 escaped without risking an encounter, could he have consented to 
 abandon his preserver — a baseness which, even for a moment, never 
 crossed his thoughts. To rush to the side of his wounded com- 
 panion, and raise him on his left arm, whilst with his right he 
 defended their retreat, was but the work of a moment ; indeed, so 
 rapidly was the movement executed, that he had retreated several 
 paces before his assailants had recovered from their surprise. 
 
 " Yield ! " exclaimed Tyrrel, rushing upon him with his two 
 followers ; for the warder had prudently run to the hostel to 
 summon the assistance of his friend the host. " Ulrick of Stanfield, 
 in the king's name, I arrest you ! " 
 
 A blow from the quick swoi'd of Ulrick was his only reply, as he 
 continued his retreat towards the bark, his face sternly turned
 
 ^TAN FIELD HALL. 
 
 225
 
 STAXFIELD HALL. 227 
 
 towards his assailants, his left arm. still supporting the form of the 
 unconscious Gilbert. One of the men-at-arms had already received 
 a deep cut across the arm, which rendered it nearly useless, and the 
 second evinced but little zeal in approaching the keen blade of the 
 fugitive, which flashed like lightning round his head, and occasion- 
 ally whizzed most unpleasantly in the ears of his enemy. Ulrick 
 and Tyrrel had the encounter nearly to themselves. 
 
 " Dogs ! " exclaimed the latter, fearing the man he hated would 
 escape him, " must I do your duty ? Upon him ! take him alive if 
 possible, but, as you value your heads, suffer him not to escape." 
 
 Thus exhorted, the two fellows pressed yet nearer, when, by a 
 dexterous feint, Ulrick avoided the sword of his chief opponent, 
 and let fall his own upon his helmet. So tremendous was the blow, 
 that the straps of the head-piece gave way, and Tyrrel fell half 
 stunned to the ground. For Ulrick to place his foot upon his chest 
 to keep him there was the work of an instant. 
 
 " Back ! " he cried, for the first time breaking silence, and holding 
 the point of his sword within an inch of the throat of his enemy ; 
 " another step, and the blood of your leader dyes my blade." 
 
 The men hesitated between the desire of saving their captain and 
 the fear of punishment. 
 
 " Order them to throw aside their weapons," said Ulrick, 
 addressing his prostrate enemy. 
 
 " Never ! " shouted Tyrrel, with a look of defiance. 
 
 The point of his conqueror's sword entered his throat about an 
 inch. 
 
 " Stay, stay ! " he groaned ; " if I command them to give up their 
 swords, wilt thou spare my life ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " By the honour of a knight ? " 
 
 " By the honour of a knight," added Ulrick. 
 
 " Well then," said Tyrrel with a look of hate, " obey him ! Throw 
 down your arms, I command you." 
 
 The men, who wished no better excuse than the orders of their 
 leader for relinquishing a contest of which they were both tired, 
 instantly obeyed, and cast their weapons half a bow-shot from them. 
 
 " Command them to retire a hundred paces from the shore," 
 continued Ulrick, seeing that his first order was complied with. 
 
 " That thou mayst murder me ! " shrieked the prostrate man, 
 writhing in mingled agony and shame beneath the foot of his 
 victorious foe. 
 
 " Carrion ! " said the generous youth, pressing him yet more 
 firmly down ; " the thought was worthy only thee. Decide ! I speak 
 not twice." 
 
 Again the point of the sword approached the villain's throat. 
 
 The command was given, and, like the former, as promptly 
 executed. As soon as the men had retired the prescribed distance, 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Ulrick released his enemy, first taking care to secure his sword. No 
 sooner was his foot removed than Tyrrel rose doggedly from the 
 ground. His rage was too deep for words — his humiliation too 
 profound ever to be forgotten. 
 
 " For the sake of this poor boy," said Ulrick, after he had placed 
 the wounded Gilbert in the boat, and was about to push of, I spare 
 thy life ; but remember, Tyrrel, when next we meet, our strife is 
 mortal." 
 
 " I will remember it," shouted the baffled traitor, shaking his 
 clenched fist after the receding boat. " By Heavens ! " he muttered 
 to himself, "my promised earldom could not give me half the joy 
 as once to feel my feet upon thy neck." 
 
 The scene we have described had passed so rapidly, that by the 
 time the^ warder had called the inmates of the hostel to his assistance, 
 the boat which contained the fugitives had reached the middle of 
 the stream, where the tide carried it down rapidly towards London- 
 bridge. 
 
 " Follow them ! " shouted the rufBan ; " they have not escaped us 
 yet." 
 
 The men rushed to the remaining boats, and found that every oar 
 was gone ; curses loud and deep accompanied the discovery : 
 meanwhile, the skifiE pursued its way. 
 
 XJlrick's position was an embarrassing one : alone upon the water 
 with his wounded companion, whom honour and humanity alike 
 forbade him to desert ; no refuge near, no friend whom he could 
 consult ; his liberty menaced at a moment when the gravest 
 interests depended upon his activity and freedom. The recollec- 
 tion of his young bride pressed painfully upon him : what would 
 be her fate and sufferings should he fall into the hands of his 
 relentless enemy ? He was startled from his painful reverie by a 
 deep groan from Gilbert ; the sound recalled him to himself. 
 Abandoning the boat to the direction of the current, which bore it 
 rapidly along, he approached the youth, and, with a gentle but firm 
 hand, he drew the arrow from his breast, and felt considerably 
 relieved when he beheld a gush of blood follow it ; for, like most 
 knights of the age, he knew something of leechcraf t, and was aware 
 that the wounds which bled internally were the most dangerous. 
 Opening his vest to tear a piece of linen to stanch the hurt, his 
 fingers felt something hard ; mechanically he drew it forth, and 
 beheld the tablets of the Jew. It seemed as if Providence, in the 
 hour of his need, had brought them to his recollection ; for he 
 remembered the words which accompanied the gift, though how to 
 find the residence, at such an hour of the night, of any of the 
 peculiar people, he knew not. 
 
 " How dost thou feel, boy 'i " he demanded of his charge. "Art 
 better ? " 
 
 " Much, much, sir knight," replied Gilbert, in a feeble tone,
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 229 
 
 " since you have -withdrawn the arrow. I shall be strong soon, and 
 able to assist you "^ith the oar. Thank Heaven, you are not hurt." 
 
 " Knowest thou where we are ? " 
 
 " Upon the river." 
 
 "Knowest thou where reside the principal Jews of the city, 
 merchants, or leeches .? " continued Ulrick. 
 
 " In Lombard-street, sir knight, "Why dost thou ask ? " 
 
 " Because it is with one of them w^e must find refuge. My life is 
 close beset ; my enemies will never think of searching for me there. 
 Tell me," he added, "where must we land ? " 
 
 " There," said the boy, raising himself in the boat and pointing to 
 a distant part of the bank ; " from thence, at the distance of a bow^- 
 shot, stands the house of Falk, of Cologne. Men say that he is good 
 and charitable ; he is well skilled, too, in leechcraft. 'Tis said he 
 cured the late king of the black fever, when all hope had failed him. 
 But you wall never gain shelter there." 
 
 " Why not, boy .? " 
 
 " He is too rich to need your gold. Men say he hath lent large 
 sums to the king ; it may be to his interest to betray you ; and 
 Jews, I've heard, would sell their souls to spite a Christian. Pray, 
 go not there ! " 
 
 " It is our only hope," said Ulrick, with a sigh ; " persecution 
 may have taught him mercy ; besides, you yourself say that he is 
 good and charitable ; added to which, I have a means to secure his 
 favour which something whispers me cannot fail of success." 
 
 Gilbert remained silent ; he was either too much exhausted, or 
 felt too much respect and gratitude to his companion, to urge his 
 objections fm'ther. Ulrick, as soon as they reached the shore, 
 assisted him carefully from the boat, which, with his foot, he sent 
 once more adrift, lest, being found near the spot where they had 
 landed, it should set the blood-hounds on their track. The boy 
 was so far recovered by the night breeze as to be able to walk, with 
 the support of his protector's arm. Slowly they wound their waj- 
 amid the various small craft drawn up on the shore, to be out of 
 the reach of the tide and the empty barrels and pieces of timber 
 scattered about, till they approached a narrow lane, inhabited 
 chiefly by watermen, and which conducted to Lombard-street. 
 Fortunately, from the lateness of the hour, there were few stragglers 
 about to watch their progress ; a light might be seen occasionally 
 through the crevices of the rude shutters, intimating that all the 
 inhabitants of the place had not retired to rest. They proceeded 
 without interruption, till they stood before the house they sought, 
 the habitation of Falk, the richest merchant of his tribe. The 
 house, though the most considerable in the street, presented, 
 externally, but a poor appearance, it being entirely denuded of 
 those quaintly carved attempts at ornament which already began to 
 characterise the age. It was impossible, however, not to observe
 
 230 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 that the doors and shutters were framed with a careful attention to 
 strength ; tlie latter, particularly, were so well joined together-, that 
 when closed not a single ray of light could penetrate from within 
 or from without. Its master, like the rest of his nation, at the 
 fierce period of which we write, although rich, enjoyed his wealth 
 with fear and trembling ; for the populace," taught to consider the 
 once chosen people of God but as beings fit only to be hunted and 
 persecuted, frequently attacked the dwellings of the Jews, veiling 
 their appetite for plunder under the convenient cloak of fanaticism 
 and religious pretext. It is astonishing how many of the descend- 
 ants of the same ruffian populace may be found even at the present 
 day — ay, and in high places, too, their savage and persecuting 
 propensities only a little modified by the times in which they live. 
 
 The two fugitives, after looking carefully round them to see that 
 they were unobserved, approached the door. Just as Ulrick was 
 about to knock with the handle of his sword, it was unexpectedly 
 opened, and a hand extended, which, grasping his, drew him and 
 his companion into the house, a voice at the same time whispering : 
 
 " You are late ; breathe not a word, but follow me." 
 
 " For a few minutes, Ulrick and his companion followed their 
 mysterious guide in silence ; a thick cloth curtain, which screened 
 a low arch, was drawn aside, and in an instant they found 
 themselves in the midst of a brilliantly-lighted saloon. Lovely 
 women, richly dressed, were seated upon cushions in the Oriental 
 fashion ; high-browed, dark-bearded men, conversing in groups, 
 standing beside them. It would be difficult to say which were 
 the most surprised — the assembled Hebrews, or the two strangers 
 so unexpectedly introduced among them. The women hastily let 
 fall their veils, and their fathers and brothers, drawing their long 
 knives — for swords were forbidden them — prepared to defend 
 themselves from some expected outrage. 
 
 The guide, a youth, whose error had brought the two parties thus 
 in contact, stood transfixed with anger and fear. 
 
 " Who art thou ? and what brings a Christian at this hour 
 beneath my roof ? " demanded a tall, venerable-looking man, in a 
 tone which proclaimed him to be the master of the house. 
 
 Ulrick placed the tablets in his hand, which the old man retired 
 to read by the light of a silver lamp suspended from the ceiling in 
 an inner recess of the apartment. 
 
 " What have I done ? " exclaimed the young Israelite whose 
 heedlessness had occasioned the unexpected introduction ; " by my 
 imprudence the Nazarene hath entered in the tent of my fathers." 
 
 The men, still grasping their knives, thronged round the intruders, 
 their black eyes flashing in fearful wrath upon them. The terrified 
 Gilbei't clung to his companion, who in the midst of the menacing 
 throng around them retained his calmness and usual presence of 
 mind. He felt, from the manner in which they were hemmed in,
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 231 
 
 that the least attempt at resistance would but provoke their fate. 
 Several arms were already raised to strike, when the voice of the 
 old man was heard as he issued from the recess, holding the tablets 
 of Abram in his hands. 
 
 " Harm them not," he cried. " Respect the guests of the high 
 priest." 
 
 In an instant every hostile expression disappeared, and instead of 
 being surrounded by ferocious faces, Ulrick and his companion found 
 themselves amongst friends. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Ulrick and his companion were conducted to a well furnished 
 apartment, provided with two couches, by their host, who, like 
 most of his nation, possessed a considerable knowledge of surgery. 
 The wound of Gilbert was carefully dressed, and the tired fugitives, 
 after being refreshed, were left to their repose. Early in the 
 morning the Jew visited them again, when our hero expressed to 
 him their thanks. 
 
 " You owe me nothing," interrupted the old man ; " my house 
 and services are freely yours ; he who hath served one so honoured 
 of o"»r nation hath a claim upon the gratitude of every Hebrew ; 
 only point out the way in which it may be further useful to you. 
 It seems that you are a personage of some note, for search hath been 
 made in every hostel of the city, and severe penalties denounced 
 against all who harbour you." 
 
 " And yet you, one of earth's persecuted race, venture to conceal 
 me." 
 
 " I am accustomed to danger," resumed the old man, with a 
 mournful smile, "and therefore almost indifferent to it. In 
 childhood, when I ventured from my home to breathe the fresh air 
 of heaven, I was hooted, beaten, and reviled by those of my own age. 
 I bore it patiently, for I was but a sickly boy — so patiently that at 
 last my persecutors got tired of tormenting me. My dawning 
 manhood was but a series of dangers and humiliations. Three days 
 after my first marriage the home of my wedded love was burnt and 
 plundered, and my young bride, the idol of my soul, life's richest 
 pearl, the descendant of a princely race — for the despised sons of 
 Abram count names as lofty, Christian, as thine own — perished in 
 the flames. The years which followed were a blank ; but I was 
 avenged, fearfully avenged." 
 
 " Thy wrongs indeed were terrible. But how wert thou 
 avenged ? " demanded Ulrick. 
 
 " By the captivity of the accursed city whose brutal rabble fired my 
 peaceful home," sternly replied the Hebrew. "It was Jewish gold 
 which armed the Conqueror's fleets — which paid his mercenary
 
 232 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 troops ; the despised Jew forged the yoke destined for a nation's 
 neck. "William was but the agent of his wrath. Had I not 
 prociired him vast loans from amongst my people, his barks had 
 never left the Norman shore ; the very jewels of his ducal crown 
 were pledged to me — his father's cup — all but his knightly sword." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " demanded his hearer. " Could a being whom 
 the world deemed so abject forge the fetters to enchain a country ? 
 Thou speakest truly, Jew : thou hast been fearfully avenged." 
 
 " And yet it has not shut out all humanity from my heart. Had 
 Harold listened to my cry for justice^ his bones had rested by the 
 Confessor's. I pointed out the hands to him, red with my Sarah's 
 blood, and asked for judgment ; he refused me — why ? Those 
 hands were Christian. In his pride he proflEered gold — gold ! " 
 added the old man, scornfully, " for the life of my young bride — 
 gold to the man who could have counted treasure with him ten 
 times o'er ! " 
 
 " Thou hast suffered much ! " exclaimed his guest, " and I marvel 
 that, at the request e'en of thy dearest friend, thy door should open 
 to a Christian. Should any of thy friends who witnessed my 
 arrival here last night prove treacherous and denounce thee ? " 
 
 " Fear not," said Falk, with a smile ; " such are not the vices of 
 our nation ; persecution hath made us faithful to each other. There is 
 not one of the vilest of our race who, on the sight of Abram's tablets, 
 would not risk his life to shelter thee ; besides, even the Red King's 
 wrath would pause ere it reached me ; he hath need of gold, is 
 negotiating a loan amongst our people, and I am not the poorest of 
 my tribe." 
 
 " Beware," said our hero, who felt deeply interested in the old 
 man's story, " how you hazard your wealth on so poor a surety as 
 William's faith ; know you not that many of the nobles have already 
 acknowledged Robert as their king ? — that his uncle, the warlike 
 Odo of Bayeux, is at the head of the confederacy ? — that, in a few 
 days, the army of his brother will besiege him in his capital ? This 
 pageant of a coronation will but render the tyrant's fall more 
 signal ; his reign will be a brief one." 
 
 " All," said the Jew ; " I know it all ; and can foresee the end as 
 truly as though an angel whispered me." 
 
 " And that will be .? " • 
 
 " The downfall of your hopes. Robert hath courage, but not that 
 dogged energy of purpose which wins and guards a crown ; he is too 
 much the bacchanal of the cup and kiss ; his ally, Roger of Shrews- 
 bury, is half won over. You smile," continued the speaker, " and 
 woncler how the poor Jew should prate of such high matter ; but 
 learn that, if v/e have no voice at the council board of nations, our 
 gold finds ears there. Yours v\-ill prove the phantom king, and 
 mine the real one. But, tell me, how can I assist your present 
 purpose ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL 233 
 
 " By procuring me a Siife disgtiise. I have friends whom I must 
 speak with." 
 
 " The Abbot of Bee ? " demanded his mysterious host, with a 
 smile. " Beware ! there is danger in the visit." 
 
 Ulriek started at the query, and a suspicion of the churchman's 
 treachery glanced across his mind : how else could he reconcile the 
 Jew's knowledge of his intentions ? Falk smiled at his suspicions, 
 for he read them as clearly in his changing countenance as though 
 he had given utterance to them. 
 
 " You wrong him," he said, replying to his guest's unspoken 
 thoughts. " Anselm is incapable of treachery. He is the firm friend 
 of Bishop Odo ; and, knowing that he is so, I guessed it was to him 
 your letters were addressed. How do you propose to visit him ? " 
 
 " Dressed in the poorest garb your friendship can supply me with." 
 
 " Then you are sure to be detected. Suspicion is awakened ; and 
 humble weeds are more likely to conceal a messenger than knightly 
 armour or a courtly garb. If you go forth, do so like yourself." 
 
 " I have no armour," observed Ulriek, who saw at once the 
 shrewdness of the advice, " and my good steed is sent to Eltham. 
 It hath already once betrayed its master." 
 
 " I can suj)ply you with both. When will you set forth ? " 
 
 " At the sunset hour. But my poor wounded boy," said our hero, 
 pointing to Gilbert, who lay on his couch wondering what could be 
 the subject of conversation between his protector and the Jew ; for 
 they had both spoken in French, the common language of the 
 higher classes at the time, and he understood only his rude mother 
 Saxon. 
 
 " I will take care of him. As soon as he is strong enough I will 
 provide him with the means to join you. Can I do more," demanded 
 the Hebrew, " for the friend of the honoured Abram ? " 
 
 " Nothing," answered Ulriek, " but to accept his thanks for the 
 generous hospitality thou hast accorded. Thou hast opened to me 
 a new page in the history of mankind ; doubt not I will peruse it. 
 For thine and Abram's sake, the Israelite shall henceforth be in 
 deed, as w^ell as in humanity, a brother to me. Despite the Church's 
 dicta," added Ulriek, " reason tells me that Heaven never intended 
 man to judge his fellow dust." 
 
 " In that I am repaid," said Falk. " Farewell ! Three hours 
 before sunset the steed and armour shall be ready." 
 
 At the appointed time our hero, nobly mounted, and clad in steel 
 a monarch might have envied, wearing his visor down, threaded 
 his way through the City towards Westminster. Several times 
 during his progress he encountered various portions of the royal 
 guard, but none presumed to stop or question him. If, as he 
 supposed, they were on the scent of the fugitive, his appearance was 
 so different from what Tyrrel and the warder had described, that 
 none could recognise him in the stately knight who slowly made
 
 234 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 his way through the crowded streets of the busy metropolis. He 
 arrived without interruption at his destination, and once more stood 
 face to face with the mitred Abbot of Bee. 
 
 " Welcome, sir knight," said the quiet, astute churchman ; " there 
 has been hot quest after you. Tyrrel is seriously wounded, and the 
 king furious at your escape ; you must have warm and true friends 
 to shelter you, for they have done so at the peril of their lives. As 
 you value your own," he added, " quit London instantly, for the 
 city swarms with spies, A large reward is offered for your appre- 
 hension." 
 
 " Not with my errand unachieved." 
 
 " Leave that to me ; I am unsuspected," observed the abbot ; 
 " your presence cannot advance the cause." 
 
 " But my letters, father ; my letters to the nobles." 
 
 " I will deliver them." 
 
 " I have friends, too, whom my absence " 
 
 *' May compromise," urged the priest, glancing uneasily around ; 
 " soon as you quit the abbey, depart at once for Eltham ; there you 
 will find your good steed waiting, together with letters, which I 
 have forwarded you by a sure hand for our friends in Kent. You 
 play a game for life, young man ; throw not a chance away, for you 
 have crafty enemies upon the watch to seize it." 
 
 The advice was too reasonable to be neglected, and Ulrick saw 
 that the cautious speaker had taken the precaution of forwarding 
 his letters to Eltham, not to risk compromising either himself or 
 friends, should their bearer unfortunately be taken. Hastily, there- 
 fore, bidding the priest adieu, he mounted his horse, determined, 
 without further hesitation, to quit a spot which menaced him with 
 so many dangers. Unfortunately, in the hurry of his departure, he 
 neglected the precaution which alone had prevented his arrest in 
 his progress through the city. He wore his visor up ; and the 
 warder, whom he had so severely chastised the previous evening, 
 and who, in the hope of encountering him, had been on the look- 
 out with a party of his men the entire day, saw, and instantly 
 recognised him. To seize his horse by the rein, and secure his 
 sword, was but the work of a moment. He was so securely held, 
 that resistance would have been as foolish as vain. _ ' 
 
 "What means this outrage, knaves?" demanded tTIrick. "Do 
 you take me for a thief, that you lay hands upon me in open day ? 
 Beware that you have sure warrant for the deed ; it else may cost 
 you dear." 
 
 "Warrant ! " exclaimed the warder, with a malicious grin. " The 
 headsman shall be my warrant, since, ere nightfall, he will have to 
 deal upon thee. By Saint Martin, to hear thee speak, one would 
 think that coat of mail covered a belted earl, and not a scheming 
 traitor. Away with him, my masters." 
 
 " And whither must I go ? " inquired their prisoner.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 235 
 
 " To the Tower — his highness holds his court there. To think," 
 added the fellow, Avith a laugh, " that silly head of thine should 
 bring me fifty silver marks ! They will buy plasters for the 
 hard blows I got last night. Most of my debtors pay me one way 
 or another — some with their coin, others with blood ; but thou 
 shalt pay with both." 
 
 " And thou shalt have more, knave, than thou dreamest of, an 
 thou letst not go my rein. I tell thee, I bear a message from the 
 king ; at peril of your lives detain me." 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! — which king ? " shouted the men, to whom Ulrick's 
 assertion appeared an excellent jest, so sure were they of his 
 identity. "The King of the Saxons," as they contemptuously 
 styled Robert, " or William the Red King .? " 
 
 At this instant a party of the royal guard, headed by John of 
 Montgomery, who was a secret partisan of the elder prince, whose 
 cause he soon after openly espoused, approached the spot, and 
 seeing a knight in rich armour, surrounded by several common 
 men-at-arms, who evidently held him prisoner, halted to inquire the 
 cause. 
 
 " The traitor who last night nearly slew Sir Walter Tyrrel ! " 
 shouted the warder, fearful lest the new-comers should interfere 
 with his prisoner, and secure the merit of his capture to themselves. 
 
 " There is a reward of fifty marks upon his head," cried a second. 
 
 " Peace, fool ! " growled the chief of Ulrick's captors, in an under- 
 tone ; " do you want to have the bone snatched from between your 
 teeth ? You see, sir knight, that we have fairly taken him ; our 
 party is quite numerous enough to conduct him to the Tower." 
 
 " You, sir knight," said Ulrick, calmly, as soon as he could obtain 
 a hearing, " doubtless will listen to reason. I know not whether 
 these fellows are mad or drunk, or take me for another. I told 
 them, as I tell you, that I came here on a message from the king. 
 Question the men ; they saw me quit the abbey — you know it is 
 the residence of the venerable primate." 
 
 John of Montgomery shook his head. He was not deceived 
 either by Ulrick's calmness or the equivocal truth he told of coming 
 with a message from the king. His secret inclinations prompted 
 him to release him ; but prudence whispered that such a step 
 might prove dangerous to himself. He was one of the few nobles 
 with whom the Abbot of Bee had tampered, and he doubted not 
 but in the knight before him he beheld the messenger of Robert to 
 the priest. 
 
 " In times less doubtful than the present," he replied, " the word 
 of a knight would be sufficient ; but duty compels me to ask if you 
 have no other proof ? " 
 
 " None," said Ulrick, carelessly. "* 
 
 " No papers ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 '^ammBi'mammm 
 
 ,^^
 
 236 
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " To be sure he has not," replied the warder, echoing his words ; 
 " come, my masters, away with him." 
 
 " Back, chm'l ! " exclaimed the commander of the guard, regarding 
 him sternly ; " it is not for a peasant to arrest a noble. Sir knight, 
 I must demand your sword," he added, turning courteously to 
 Ulrick ; " you are my prisoner.' If your tale be true, your captivity 
 will be but brief ; if not, I shall not ask excuse for performing an 
 act of duty." 
 
 As Ulrick was about to yield himself a prisoner, he suddenly 
 
 recollected the signet ring which Abram had given him. To draw 
 
 .his mailed glove from his hand, and hold it. to Montgomery's sight, 
 
 was but the impulse of a moment. The officer recognised it in an 
 
 instant. 
 
 " By heavens ! " he cried ; " it is the king's own signet ring ! " 
 
 The confusion of the warder and his men may be more easily 
 imagined than described ; like tigers w^ho had missed their spring, 
 they were about to sneak away, fearful of the consequence of their 
 mistake, w^hen the voice of their late captive arrested them. 
 
 " Secure those men." 
 
 The guard obeyed him in an instant. 
 
 " How is it your pleasure we should dispose of them ? " 
 demanded their leader. 
 
 " To prison with them." 
 
 Montgomery waved his hand, and despite their protestations, they 
 were dragged away, amid the sneers of the crowd who had collected 
 round the spot, and who were delighted at the sight of the warder 
 and his men being sent to prison. They had too often suffered 
 from their brutality to pity them, but followed their escort, shouting 
 and triumphing in their disgrace. In a few minutes Ulrick and 
 the captain of the guard were left alone. 
 
 "And now," said the latter, "please you to give me the ring. 
 I ask not too curiously how you obtained possession of it ; to me 
 it is sufficient warrant for releasing you from the rude clutches of 
 ihese men. Ride you to Eltham ? " he added, with a peculiar smile. 
 
 Our hero started, for the words conveyed a deeper knowledge of 
 his movements than he suspected him possessed of. For a few 
 moments they regarded each other in silence. 
 
 " Perhaps," slowly pronounced Ulrick, at last drawing the signet 
 from his finger and giving it. 
 
 "Then ride quickly," continued his questioner. " There you may 
 chance to find a steed and friends ; every hour you rest in London 
 may bring those less easy to be satisfied by your story than myself. 
 Farewell ! sir knight ; perhaps when next we meet we may meet as 
 friends." 
 
 Waving their hands as a signal of adieu, the two knights 
 separated ; Ulrick to cross the neighbouring ferry on his way to the 
 rendezvous designated by the worthy abbot, and Montgomery to
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 237 
 
 relate the history of his capture, and justify his share in his release 
 by returning William his lost signet-ring. 
 
 Oiir hero had journeyed several miles before he perceived that he 
 was followed by a young fellow dressed in the ordinary travelling 
 costume of the times, who rode a light horse, whose active pace 
 enabled him to keep up with his own good steed, encumbered as it 
 was by the weight of a rider armed ccqj-a-pie. Turn which way he 
 would, still the rider pursued the same route ; once, to avoid the 
 persevering horseman, he made a considerable detour by a wood 
 which took him a winding distance from the main road towards 
 Croydon ; but, faithful as his shadow, his pursuer followed him — 
 stopped when he stopped, and resumed his way as soon as he gave 
 his steed the rein. 
 
 Although Ulrick felt little uneasiness at the idea of a single 
 enemy, still he was annoyed at being so perseveringly tracked, and 
 determined to ascertain at once the purpose of the traveller, whose 
 route, by some caprice, seemed so exactly to tally with his own. 
 
 Emerging from the wood, he turned an acute angle of the road, 
 and reined his horse to await the arrival of the fellow, who could 
 not possibly ascertain whether he had pursued his way or not till 
 he was close upon him. The ruse succeeded, for, in a few minutes 
 he heard the quick, light step of the horse. Wheeling his own 
 round, he met the rider face to face. It was a lonely, retired spot, 
 fit for an encounter ; to avoid him was impossible. 
 
 The fellow who had so closely dogged him proved to be a young 
 man about three-and-twenty ; a light pointed beard, rather inclined 
 to red, adorned his chin, and connected it, by a few stragglmg silky 
 hairs, with his moustache ; his air, despite the simplicity of his 
 dress, was. martial ; and he rode his horse with the air of a man 
 accustomed alike to war or to the chase, 
 
 Ulrick was the first to speak. 
 
 " It seems, friend, that we ride the same way ; whither are you 
 bound ? " 
 
 " That is a question," replied the stranger, *' which a prudent man 
 scarce cares to answer." 
 
 " Still it must be answered," said our hero, " if we are to remain 
 at peace. I suffer no man to dog my steps," 
 
 *' Nor I any man to question mine, whether my errand be of 
 pleasure or caprice, business or danger. Ride on, sir knight," 
 continued the young man, with a quiet smile ; " we shall soon see 
 if our affairs or inclinations lead us the same way." 
 
 There was an easy, half-mocking tone in the speaker's voice 
 which jarred upon Ulrick's ear, not that there was anything in the 
 words at which he could fairly take offence ; still it annoyed him. 
 Pointing to the two roads which diverged from the corner of the 
 wood, and fixing his eye sternly upon the intruder, who seemed 
 more amused than frightened by the encounter, he said :
 
 238 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " It is my pleasure to ride alone ; choose your way." 
 " And mine to ride in company," coolly answered his tormentor* 
 " The society of so brave a knight is a safeguard to a poor citizen. 
 It is your own fault that we have come in contact ; I was content 
 with the protection of your shadow." 
 
 Fully convinced that he was followed by some spy or agent of the 
 tyrant's, the Lord of Stanfield drew his sword, determined at once 
 to end the matter, for he doubted not but the speaker only waited 
 their arrival in some village, or an encounter with some of the 
 partisans of William who patrolled the country, to order his arrest. 
 A glance of haughty surprise, more than fear, passed over his 
 tormentor's countenance at the action, and he quietly observed that 
 he was unarmed — an assertion which, in appearance at least, Avas 
 true, since neither sword nor weapon of any kind was visible upon 
 his person ; he seemed totally unarmed. 
 
 " I cannot raise my sword," exclaimed Ulrick, petulantly, as soon 
 as he was convinced of the fact, " upon an unarmed man, whatever 
 may be his intentions, be he spy or enemy." 
 
 " Of course you can't," coolly answered the horseman, " so you may 
 as well sheathe it again. It would be murder ! Besides, if our 
 roads should prove the same, why not pursue them in good fellowship 
 together ? " 
 
 " Because it is my pleasure to be alone." 
 
 " An unsocial humour that, and savours more of the cloister than 
 the camp." 
 
 The fugitive started at the speech, and asked himself, could the 
 strange horseman know him, or was it but one of those random 
 shafts which shrewdness or hazard sometimes wing .? Whichever it 
 might be, he felt that it was more necessary than ever to separate 
 from his obtrusive companion, whom he once more sternly bade to 
 choose his way, as he was resolved to ride alone. 
 
 " What if it leads to Eltham ? — would you wish me to arrive there 
 before you ? " 
 
 Ere Ulrick could reply, another horseman, well armed and 
 powerfully mounted, dashed round the corner of the wood, and 
 seizing the bridle of the stranger's horse, commanded him in 
 peremptory but respectful tone to follow him. 
 
 " To my grave as soon," replied the young man. " Villain ! let go 
 my rein ! Quick, sir knight ! your sword ! — lend me your sword ! " 
 
 Ulrick, who deemed the pretended arrest a new pretext to detain 
 him, set spurs to his horse, and had already gained a short distance 
 from the scene, when the sound of his own name arrested his 
 attention. Involuntarily he wheeled roimd to listen — it was re- 
 peated louder than before. 
 
 " Ulrick of Stanfield ! Craven, false knight ! is it thus you fulfil 
 your vow of chivalry to aid the unarmed and defenceless ? Thy 
 blazon will be stained for ever."
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 239 
 
 The language of the stranger, together with the mingled tones of 
 entreaty and indignation in his voice, convinced our hero that, 
 whatever might have been the young man's object in pursuing him, 
 he was at least no spy, A few seconds brought him to the spot 
 where the last-comer was still dragging the steed and his prisoner 
 after him. 
 
 " By what authority do you arrest this young man ? " he 
 demanded, 
 
 " By one not lightly to be disputed," replied the knight, for such 
 his golden spurs proclaimed him — " the king's ! " 
 
 " Produce it, then," 
 
 " Fool ! dost think a belted knight requires other warrant than 
 his sword ? Mine shall always answer for its master's deeds to all 
 who dare to question them ! This, to teach thee a lesson of more 
 caution," 
 
 Holding the rein of his prisoner's steed in his left hand, ihe 
 speaker made a dash at Ulrick, from whose well-tempered helmet 
 the blow of his sword glanced as from a block of adamant. In the 
 fierce encounter which ensued he had ample occasion to prove the 
 value of the Jew's gift — the armour, weapon, and horse were 
 admirable. Both knights were masters of their weapons, which 
 flashed with fearful celerity, describing fiery segments round each 
 other's heads. Their steeds seemed to take part in the struggle ; so 
 firmly were their riders seated, that one mind appeared to animate 
 them. 
 
 The blows of his opponent — and they were rained both thick 
 and heavily on Ulrick's armour — tried its strength, but made little 
 impression ; whilst, on the contrary, the red blood followed in 
 several places the stroke of his own good sword. Several times they 
 retreated to short distances to draw breath, which they had no 
 sooner recovered than, wheeling round, they returned again to the 
 assault. Although the life-stream damasked the well-polished mail 
 of the aggressor, his strength was by no means exhausted ; and our 
 hero, who was apprehensive of the arrival of succour, felt the necessity 
 of finishing with him. Relying on the training of his steed, the 
 third time they renewed the encounter, instead meeting the shock, 
 he dexterously avoided it by passing to the right, striking a furious 
 blow with his long weapon as he did so on his opponent's helmet ; 
 so well was it directed, that the steel clasps which united it with 
 the neck-piece were cut asunder, and a severe wound inflicted. 
 The wearer's head sank upon his breast, for one of the principal 
 arteries was severed, and in a few seconds he fell, exhausted by 
 rapid loss of blood, upon the ground. By the time his enemy had 
 alighted all was over — the strong man was a corpse, 
 
 "A knightly blow, and well struck," exclaimed the young 
 stranger, " I took thee from the first to be a man of courage, 
 'Tis well for both of us that we are not deceived. But mount thy
 
 2-40 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 steed, and let us hasten onward ; but first reach me yon traitor's 
 sword — perchance," he added, " I may have occasion for it yet." 
 
 There was too much reason in the advice not to be followed ; the 
 victor remounted, and for a few minutes rode silently with the 
 stranger whom he had rescued by his side. 
 
 " How didst thou learn my name ? " he at last demanded. 
 " I k)||pw the names of most men," drily answered the horseman. 
 " Methinks you were in no haste to claim it." 
 
 " Indeed," said Ulrick ; " then perhaps you can favour me with 
 the name of my opponent ? " 
 
 " Perhaps ; enough for the present that he was as brave a soldier, 
 and as unscrupulous a villain, as ever followed banner to the field. 
 Many a knight whose hold might else have blazed, and many a 
 mother who else had mourned her dishonoured child, may thank 
 thy arm. His last course on earth is run. But come," added the 
 speaker, " let us understand each other. Ride we to Eltham ? " 
 
 "We do." 
 
 " In fellowship ? " 
 
 "In fellowship," said Ulrick ; " but tell me what is thy name ? " 
 
 " Henry," replied his companion, " for the lack of a nobler ; my 
 father gave me little else beside. So call me simply Henry, or 
 Henry the simple — which you w^ill ; I am no stickler for ceremOny 
 — it irks me." 
 
 " So it would seem," replied our traveller, who began to be 
 rather amused than angry with the fellow's humour. " May a man, 
 without being thought too curious, demand how you became 
 acquainted with his name ? By our Lady of the Rood, it came most 
 opportunely to thy tongue ; perhaps some starling whispered it ? " 
 
 " By my faith," said the young man, " it was more like a raven 
 than a starling ; there was blood upon his beak." 
 
 " And his name ? " 
 
 Henry, as the stranger called himself, shruggeid his shoulders, 
 and looked at him with a peculiar smile, as much as to inform the 
 questioner that that was his secret ; but seeing a frown upon 
 Ulrick's brow, and probably reflecting that want of confidence was 
 but a poor return for the service he had received, he answered 
 frankly that Sir Walter Tyrrel had first told it to him — a piece of 
 intelligence which caused his companion to regard him once more 
 with suspicion. 
 
 " Tyrrel ! " he exclaimed ; " why, he is my bitterest enemy." 
 
 " Save one," drily added the strange horseman. 
 
 " And that is ' the king,' as William of Normandy hath styled 
 himself." 
 
 "Ay," said Henry; "and as, to-morrow, Lanfranc will crown 
 him. The fellow whose throat you so cleverly cut brought me an 
 invitation to the ceremony ; his method of delivering it was a 
 rough one, so I declined it."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 241
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 243 
 
 The easy, familiar tone of the speaker puzzled our hero, who was 
 at a loss to understand the rank of his companion, and his avowed 
 connection with WaltaJ" Tyrrel. Had his purpose been unfriendly, 
 nothing would have been more unlikely than his owning it ; 
 besides, he was, till Ulrick gave him the dead man's sword, 
 unarmed, and every step their horses took lessened the distance 
 between them and danger. 
 
 " Thou art a riddle ! " he cried, speaking as much to his own 
 thoughts as to Henry. 
 
 " And thou no sphinx to solve me. Have a little patience ; and 
 in time, like the serpent's tail in the emblem of eternity, the puzzle 
 will unfold itself. Thou seest," he added, " I have dealt with 
 bookcraft in ray time — though more, perchance, with men ; but 
 with thy cloister-breeding thou canst understand me," 
 
 "Perhaps," replied Ulrick, secretly annoyed at the increased 
 mystification to which he was being subjected. 
 
 " I tell thee that thou shalt, then. Let that content thee," re- 
 sumed the speaker ; " only I bide my time. And now tell me, sir 
 knight of Stanfield — how dost thou like the strange companion 
 fortune hath sent thee ? " 
 
 " So well," said the party he addressed, " that I will put no more 
 interrogations, lest, knowing thee better, I should like thee less." 
 
 " Frankly spoken ; there is something fresh in truth ; I know 
 the sound, although it is so seldom in my short life that I have 
 heard it spoken. At Eltham the riddle shall be explained." 
 
 " At Eltham be it," answered Ulrick. 
 
 A short ride brought the travellers to the priory of White Friars, 
 a dependency on the rich abbey of Bee, in Normandy. It was 
 situated near the village of Eltham, in one of those secluded, quiet, 
 sunny nooks which the monks of old so loved, and so well knew 
 how to select, and which in no country are more frequently found 
 than in merry England. It was one of those spots where silent 
 sanctity might build its cell, or the broken passions of humanity, 
 shipwrecked on the sea of life, seek and find repose. The evening 
 hour ; the stately heron, winging its solitary way to the distant 
 wood ; the glorious sunset, whose last rays, lingering like a lover's 
 kiss, gilded the slender pinnacle of the church, — were all in 
 harmony, forming a soft, dreamy picture, which the horsemen 
 completed. 
 
 On their arrival, they were immediately conducted to the apart- 
 ment of the prior, a stately-looking personage, who received them 
 alone, and who hastened to inform Ulrick that his steed, and the 
 promised letters from his brother Anselm, had already arrived ; at 
 the same time informing him that a lodging was already prepared 
 for him for the night within the walls. 
 
 " And where am I to lodge ? " demanded the stranger, in a half- 
 petulant tone, displeased perhaps at being overlooked by the lordly 
 
 R 2
 
 244 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 churchman ; " is there no room for me, good father, in your piouB 
 rookery ? " 
 
 The priest answered haughtily that a cell should be prepared for 
 him near his master. He was evidently offended by the irreverent 
 tone of the speaker, whom he took for an esquire or attendant upon 
 the person of his visitor. 
 
 " A cell ! " iterated Henry ; " well, a cell be it. "We will do 
 penance for our sins, since the hospitality of our host so limits our 
 entertainment ; but when last we hunted in this neighbourhood, if 
 our memory fails not, we were better lodged ; 'tis true we were not 
 then a fugitive," 
 
 The prior started from his seat, and approaching the stranger, 
 overwhelmed him with excuses for not having at once recognised 
 him ; adding, that he must reproach the Lord of Stanfield for 
 neglecting to inform him that his walls were graced by the 
 presence of such an honoured guest." 
 
 " Faith," said the young man, laughingly, " you must grant the 
 good knight absolution, then ; for he dreams as little that his 
 troublesome companion is the youngest son of the Conqueror, as 
 you, holy father, did yourself." 
 
 " Prince Henry ! " exclaimed Ulriok, in astonishment, at the 
 same time bending the knee. 
 
 "Ay," said his highness, "Henry the simple, as men call me, 
 though perhaps, after all, I have more wit than my scoffing brother 
 dreams, whose fraternal love was so disinterested he could not 
 bear me from his otvti safe keeping. My lodging is already 
 furnished in the Tower ; but, like a wilful youth, I preferred my 
 liberty or Robert's guardianship to his. Tut, man," he added, 
 " never kneel to me ; I am as poor, nay poorer than thyself. Our 
 father's love, of all his vast possessions left us but one poor hold 
 in Normandy, and a remembrance upon his treasurer, to be paid 
 when we can get it." 
 
 There was something so frank and soldier-like in Henry's 
 manner, that our hero felt instantly at his ease ; for, after all, he 
 had only taken such precautions at their first meeting as necessary 
 prudence and his safety dictated. The young prince explained 
 that it was by the advice of Anselm he had quitted London to join 
 himself to Robert's fortunes, and that he had recognised Ulrick's 
 person from having been a concealed witness of his first interview 
 v.ith the abbot. 
 
 " And who was the traitor ? " demanded our hero, " who would 
 bave forced your highness back ? " 
 
 " Richard of Lisieux, our brother's pander, tool, and executioner. 
 William will miss him sorely when there is some act which fears 
 the light of heaven to be accomplished. Stanfield," he added, 
 kindly taking his protector by the hand, " we owe thee a debt of 
 gratitude for that good blow ; it removed a stumbling-block from out
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 245 
 
 my path — a bloodhound from my track. Few persons live to tell 
 the tale of their captivity whom that bad man has guarded." 
 
 It was finally arranged that no notice should be taken to the 
 community either of the arrival or of the high rank of the prior's 
 guests, who both supped in his apartment, and soon afterwards, 
 fatigued with the events of the day, retired to rest, each throwing 
 himself upon his pallet ready dressed, in order to be prepared in 
 case of danger or surprise. 
 
 The prince and Ulrick had not been long sleeping when they 
 were roused by their host, who, attended by Father Segsil — an 
 aged Saxon monk, who of the community alone possessed his con- 
 fidence — entered their cell. 
 
 " Rouse, sir knight ! " he exclaimed ; " in less than an hour the 
 enemy will be upon us. They must not find you here ; Jesu 
 Maria ! they would burn our convent with as little ceremony as a 
 burgher's hold." 
 
 " And whence comes this intelligence, good prior ? " demanded 
 Henry, starting from his couch. " Would it had tarried some two 
 or three hours later ; I was indulged by Mistress Fancy with a 
 dream too glorious ever to be realised. I should like to have 
 revelled in it some few hours longer. 
 
 " The intelligence," replied their host, paying little attention to 
 the latter part of the prince's speech, "is from brother Segsil," 
 pointing as he spoke to his companion, who stood regarding Henry 
 with a look in which hate and interest were strangely mingled. 
 
 " May he not be mistaken ? " demanded Ulrick. 
 
 " Father Segsil is never mistaken," replied the prior ; " in an 
 hour the satellites of William will be here." 
 
 " Hath any messenger arrived at the convent ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " May not the good father be mistaken in his intelligence ? " 
 
 " Father Segsil is never mistaken," repeated their host, gravely ; 
 " his warnings are not to be neglected." 
 
 " Why, then," said Prince Henry, laughing, " we must e'en obey 
 them, as our fathers did the oracles of old, blindly and in con- 
 fidence. Forgive me, holy man," he added, turning to the aged 
 monk, whose dark eyes were still fixed immovably upon him, " if 
 I am somewhat more sceptic than the prior here ; perchance it is 
 the fault of unclerkly breeding." 
 
 " Shall I convince thee ? " demanded the old man, in a tone 
 which seemed to echo from a sepulchre. 
 
 " Faith ! I demand no better," replied the young man, extending 
 his left palm, which the monk thrust contemptuously aside ; and 
 seizing his right hand firmly, fixed the prince's attention by the 
 intense expsession of his gaze. 
 
 " Thy dream shall yet be realised, proud boy — the crown of 
 England waits thee."
 
 246 STANPIELD HALL, 
 
 The prince started ; that which at first he had treated as a jest 
 became serious, for the monk had indeed interpreted his vision 
 rightly. The flush of hope and surprise suffused his brow as he 
 demanded of the soothsayer : 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " When the Red King sleeps his last sleep — when the blood of 
 the Conqueror's favourite son hath gladdened the oppressed soil of 
 England, and bid her children hope for peaceful days. Then," 
 added the old man, " the crown thou hast so often dreamt of shall 
 be thine," 
 
 " But shall I keep as well as win it ? " demanded Henry, who, 
 although less influenced by the superstition of the age, could not 
 avoid placing confidence in the man who had so singularly in- 
 terpreted his dream. 
 
 " That will depend upon thy marriage," replied Father Segsil. 
 " If thou art fortunate enough to win a bride of the royal Saxon 
 blood, thou shalt die king of England ; if not, the curse of thy 
 race will overtake thee. Now, then, away ! I speak of the future 
 to thee no more." 
 
 " Tell me but this : shall we meet again ? " demanded Henry, 
 
 " If thou art wise enough to follow my counsel, yes. At the 
 proudest moment of thy life, if not when the last trumpet 
 summons earth together, I'll meet thee face to face. Farewell." 
 
 " Hast thou no good fortune, father, to predict to me .? " said 
 Ulrick. 
 
 The old man gazed mournfully upon him, and shook his head, 
 muttering to himself : 
 
 " Saxon — Saxon ; I read it in his open brow and bright blue eye. 
 Thou hast asked the old priest for a prediction — better have sought 
 his blessing ; but since the choice is made, take it and begone — a 
 career of honour, an unstained faith, a soldier's laurel, but a broken 
 heart. Once more I charge thee," he added, impatiently, " to 
 begone — ride for your lives. Once past the bridge, you may slack 
 the rein — no living thing will ever cross it afterwards." 
 
 The confident tone of the monk's voice, and the implicit faith 
 which the prior placed in his intelligence, no matter how 
 mysteriously obtained, decided the young men at once to depart. 
 Hastening to the stables, they found their horses ready saddled, 
 and after a henedicits from the prior and his companion, resumed 
 their journey, Ulrick leading his grey steed by a loose rein with 
 him. 
 
 Scarcely had they passed the bridge, a short mile from the 
 convent, and which connected the high banks of a deep ravine, too 
 steep for any horse to climb, too wide to leap, when the wooden 
 fabric burst into a brilliant flame, which dark figureg were seen 
 feeding with bundles of straw and faggots. The monk's prediction 
 came to their recollection — living thing never crossed it more.
 
 stInfield hall. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 The morning after Ulrick's departure from Norwich, Robert of 
 Normandy, at the head of a considerable body of troops and the 
 nobles who acknowledged his authority, marched from the city. 
 Herbert de Lozenga, whose experience was of so much value in the 
 council, accompanied him in quality of chancellor, that prelate 
 having consented to retain his ofifice at the . entreaty of the new 
 monarch. Edith and her daughter-in-law retired to Stanfield, 
 which, removed as it was from the scene of war, a small party of 
 vassals was suflRcient to defend. The bride of Mirvan was their 
 only guest ; and there, in the antique oratory of the countess, they 
 offered up their united prayers for the absent warriors' safety. 
 
 The prior of the Dominicans, who had accompanied the confiding 
 monarch to the gate of St. Stephen on his march, had returned to 
 his convent, and was walking in his stately garden, which extended 
 from the church (now St. Andrew's Hall) to the water side, 
 speculating in thoughtful mood upon the future, and not feeling 
 perfectly in security touching the past. The absence of the curate 
 of St. Julian's alarmed him, although few, he thought, could blame 
 him for having extended the rites of Christian burial to a knight so 
 valiant as Robert of Artois, and his own relative besides. The 
 principal cause of his uneasiness arose from the Jew, who had so 
 strangely possessed himself of the prince's signet-ring, and in whose 
 hands the papers found upon his nephew might be turned to 
 dangerous account. Twice had he sent to the house of Abram ; it 
 was empty, not a trace of any living being remained. He had found, 
 too, upon inquiry, that the vessel to whose captain he had given the 
 leech the letter had sailed for Rouen, having taken several passengers 
 with him. 
 
 " Let but William triumph — and he can scarcely fail to do so," 
 he muttered to himself — " and I may laugh at enemies, open or 
 concealed." 
 
 " Perhaps ! " exclaimed a voice, so near him that the words were 
 almost spoken in his ear. Eborard started, and beheld a pale, 
 attenuated being, meanly clad, regarding him with a fixed look. 
 His forehead was high and bald, his face marked with a thousand 
 minute scars, which gave it a most ghastly appearance, and his 
 limbs seemed to sink under him from sickness or want. 
 
 " And who art thou, fellow ? " demanded the prior, with a haughty 
 stare of surprise, " who darest so boldly answer to our thoughts, and 
 how gaindst thou entrance here ? " 
 
 " By the old way ! " replied the strange intruder, whom our 
 readers have already, no doubt, recognised as Robert of Artois. 
 
 " The old way ! " iterated the puzzled churchman ; " what old 
 way ? "
 
 248 STANFIELD II*ALL. 
 
 " The secret door behind the statue of St. Dominic in the 
 cloisters," replied the stranger, for such he appeared to his uncle, 
 " where you once heard a strange confession, father, and performed 
 a stranger deed." . 
 
 " And what was that ? " demanded Eborard, still more and more 
 amazed. 
 
 " The marriage of a Christian with a Jewess." 
 
 " Hush ! " exclaimed the astonished prior, turning pale at the 
 words, which had been spoken loudly, for the mere whisper of such 
 a sacrilege would have been sufficient to subject him to the censure 
 of the Church ; and, if proved, to deposition from the high rank he 
 held within its pale. 
 
 " Even as you please," said the mysterious man : " I wish not 
 to oflEend you." 
 
 " How didst thou learn the fearful secret ? " 
 
 " Because I witnessed it," replied his tormentor, whose object 
 was to work upon the fears of his reverend uncle ; for he knew him 
 too well to expect much pity or generosity at his hands should he 
 make himself known to him. " Added to which, I have the fact 
 attested under the hand and seal of Robert of Artois." 
 
 " Where is it ? " eagerly demanded the priest, who felt how 
 necessary to his safety it was to possess himself of such an important 
 document. " Hast it with thee ? " 
 
 "It were a wise trick that ! " exclaimed his nephew, " to bring my 
 gage of safety to the enemy's camp ! No, no, sir priest, I am not 
 to be caught in such a springe ; the paper is in secure hands, who 
 will transfer it to the primate should aught like ill occur to me." 
 
 " Thinkest thou," stammered Eborard, " that I am capable of ? " 
 
 " Every thing," interrupted the wretched man ; " nay, frown not, 
 priest, nor raise thine eyes in pious mockery to Heaven, to attest 
 the innocence thou hast long since lost ; enough for me, I know 
 thee," he added ; " know thee better than the confession ever yet 
 revealed thee — better even than thou knowest thyself. Now let us 
 deal together." 
 
 " What wouldst thou — gold ? " demanded the terrified churchman, 
 who inwardly cursed himself that he had ever yielded to the 
 passionate menaces and entreaties of his nephew, and performed 
 the sacred rite between him and Rachel — the only condition on 
 which the haughty Jewess consented to be his ; for, although she 
 placed no faith in the ceremony herself, she thought it might bind 
 him. 
 
 " I would," laconically answered Robert. 
 
 " What sum ? " 
 
 " As much as will defray the expense of a knightly suit of 
 armour and a good steed — say two thousand marks : thou seest 
 I am moderate to begin with." 
 
 " Two thousand devils," groaned the prior ; " where should I
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 249 
 
 find so vast a sum ? Dost take our poor priory for a bishop's see ? An 
 I were to count you half the sum, the brotherhood would keep a 
 twelvemonth's Lent." 
 
 '* Take it, then, from the treasure which thy nephew confided to 
 thy care," said his disfigured creditor ; " ten thousand chances if ever 
 he returns from Purgatory to claim it at your hands." 
 
 " What treasure ? " faltered Eborard. 
 
 " The twenty thousand marks in gold," sternly replied Robert ; 
 '' to say nothing of the vessels of gold and silver torn from many 
 an outraged shrine. The money, quick, at once ; for I am sick of 
 parleying with thee ; and, now I think on't," he added, " make it 
 three thousand marks — it will save trouble for us both." 
 
 Eborard thovight it best to comply with the demands of his 
 unwelcome visitor at once, lest they should rise as he disputed 
 them ; he felt he was in his power, and had no resource left but to 
 obey. His secret, whilst confined to his own breast, was his slave ; 
 in the possession of another, it became his master, and he submitted 
 to its chains. Motioning to Robert to follow him to his cell, he 
 counted down the gold to him with a heavy heart ; for, like most 
 worldly natures, he clung to the yellow dross ; it was an idol which 
 in his selfish breast had replaced the purer image of his God. 
 
 " There ! " he exclaimed, as the last glittering piece fell from his 
 reluctant fingers ; " I trust thou art satisfied." 
 
 " For the present," coolly replied his nephew, pouching the coin. 
 " Farewell. Perhaps we may one day meet again." 
 
 " The paper — the confession of Robert of Artois ? " demanded 
 Eborard, with an imploring look, which showed the importance he 
 placed on the possession of it. " When shall it be mine ? " 
 
 "Never," said his creditor, "till I am paid in full. Fear not — it 
 is in safe hands ; I am not likely to slay the goose which lays such 
 golden eggs. Sleep in peace till next thou hearest from me ; that 
 is," he added, "if a soul so black as thine can sleep. Hast any 
 message to William of Normandy ? — for in three days I trust to join 
 him. There is work to do in which I may be useful." 
 
 " None," sighed the prior ; " at least none which thou canst 
 bear." 
 
 " I have no other means to gain access to him," resumed his 
 tormentor, with a smile — the first which, since his fearful punish- 
 ment, had been seen upon his pale, disfigured countenance. " Adieu, 
 most pious father," he added, with a sneer. " I do not ask 
 thy benediction, lest it should turn to curses on my head." 
 
 " Adieu," said the priest, as he left the cell ; " and may all the 
 plagues of Egypt go along with thee ! Who can this ruffian be," he 
 murmured, " who thus holds my destiny in his rude hands ? Can 
 it be some agent of the accursed Jew ? No matter who, I am in 
 his toils ; and resistance, like regret, is equally in vain." 
 
 In the manner in which Robert of Artois had approached his
 
 250 STANPIELD HALL, 
 
 uncle, he had shown a true appreciation of his character. If he 
 had revealed himself, ten to one he had not been believed. Besides, 
 in his own person, the crafty prior might have defied him, for he 
 could not have denounced him for the sacrilege he had committed 
 in marrying him to Rachel without implicating himself — a thing 
 most anxiously to be avoided. He had suffered as few men have 
 suffered, and the effect produced within his mind was as great as 
 the change upon his person ; but whether for good or evil, time 
 alone can tell. 
 
 Concealing his gold carefully upon his person, he passed the city 
 gates, having first provided himself with a good steed, which he 
 bought of a Saxon peasant, who had most probably stolen it from 
 some straggler of Prince Robert's army, for the price at which he 
 sold it was a vile one. 
 
 " Now, then, for London," muttered Robert of Artois, when he 
 was fairly on his journey. " Like a shadow of the past, I will appear 
 amongst them ; like a voice from the tomb, I will croak my 
 predictions in their ear. There is one being left in the world who 
 still, perchance, may love me ; let me seek him out ; and then as 
 destiny or inclination hereafter may decide." 
 
 As William, two days after his coronation, was leaving his capital 
 to march to the encounter of his brother, who, by the advice of his 
 counsellors, had thrown himself into Kent, he was accosted by a 
 knight, sheathed in a plain black coat of mail, who demanded an 
 audience in private. There was something in the tone of the 
 speaker's voice which told the Red King he was no stranger to him ; 
 and despite the remonstrances of his attendants, whom he com- 
 manded to ride apart, the favour was accorded. Long and earnest 
 was the conversation which ensued, the monarch frequently 
 expressing by his gestures both interest and surprise. At last, at 
 his request, the stranger raised his visor, and disclosed the features 
 of his favourite, Robert of Artois ; but so changed, as we have 
 described, that but for the unanswerable proofs of his identity, 
 which from former passages between them he had been enabled to 
 adduce, and the strange tale of his metamorphosis which he had 
 related, his master never could have credited his assertion. 
 
 " This is indeed the poetry of vengeance," exclaimed the king, in 
 a voice almost of pity ; for there were still, when his evil passions 
 were not roused, some traces of humanity in him ; but fear not, 
 Robert, thou shalt have ample means of paying back the Jew thy 
 debt with interest. My lords," he added, beckoning his suite to 
 approach, " henceforth thie noble stranger is attached to our person ; 
 for the present, it is his pleasure that his name and rank should be 
 concealed. Know him, then, but as William's friend, and the Black 
 Knight. The time, I trust, will soon arrive when we may grace 
 him with a nobler name, the one he hath so long and faithfully 
 borne ; till that hour arrives it is our pleasure that none question
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 251 
 
 him of the past. Forward, my friends," he added, at the same time 
 setting spurs to his impatient steed ; " forward to Kent." 
 
 It is far from our intention to trace the course of the civil war 
 which ensued, with varying success, between the two brothers : 
 history hath more faithful chroniclers than we can presume to be. 
 William — as crafty as Robert was generous and rash — contrived 
 to engage the affections of his Saxon subjects by liberal concessions 
 in their favour. They were now so thoroughly subdued, that few 
 longer aspired to the recovery of their ancient liberties, but were 
 content with the promised mitigation of the iron rule of their 
 Norman princes. The Red King at last contrived to detach Roger, 
 Earl of Shrewsbury, from his brother's interests, who, with his 
 powerful fleet, prevented the arrival of succours which the con- 
 federates expected from Normandy ; thus place after place fell into 
 his hands, and despite the devotion of Odo of Bayeux, Ulrick, and 
 the few nobles who still adhered to a falling cause, Pevensey Castle 
 alone held out for Robert. 
 
 It had for some time been besieged in vain ; the great natural 
 strength of its position rendered it almost impossible to be 
 taken except by famine. Changing, therefore, his often foiled plan 
 of assault into a blockade, William set down to besiege it in due 
 form. 
 
 In the various battles which had been fought our hero had twice 
 preserved the life of Robert, who repaid him by an attachment as 
 sincere as he was capable of entertaining. Often would he, when 
 walking with him on the ramparts, indulging in familiar conversa- 
 tion, express his regret that Heaven had not blessed him with such 
 a son. " I feel," added the unhappy prince, " that then I should 
 have something worth living for." It was evident that some secret 
 sorrow prompted this regret ; but Ulrick possessed too much 
 delicacy to seek his confidence on the only point where he seemed 
 disposed to be reserved. 
 
 It was on a similar occasion, when the realmless monarch, who 
 for a considerable time had been silently occupied in watching the 
 night fires of the enemy, whose forces encircled the last spot of 
 ground which owned his authority in England, turned suddenly 
 round to his companion, and breaking silence, exclaimed : 
 
 " I am weary of being cooped up like a wild fox in my den. 
 What thinkest thou, Ulrick — are we not strong enough to lead a 
 sortie from the keep ? My sword is getting rusty for lack of use, 
 and I feel the gall within my heart is rising daily to my lips ; a 
 bout might cure me of this folly, or end it, perchance, at once. 
 'Tis but the hour of ten ; by midnight all might be prepared." 
 
 The Lord of Stanfield, whose absence from Matilda made the 
 monotony of his existence but more drear, eagerly caught at the 
 proposal, and they were descending the ramparts to give the orders 
 necessary to carry it into effect, when they encountered the
 
 252 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 venerable Edda and Herbert de Lozenga, who were both hurrying 
 to a lone watch-tower at a distant angle of the castle. The prince 
 informed them of the project he had just conceived, which the 
 prelate listened to with a reproving air, for although a man of peace, 
 he saw at once that, even if successful, it would be attended with 
 no ultimate advantage. 
 
 " You hear our pleasure doubtingly, my lord," said Robert, in a 
 half-offended tone. 
 
 " I may question its wisdom, sire," replied Herbert, " without 
 presuming to censure it. Our only hope is that succours from 
 France or Normandy may arrive ; but for your unhappy quarrel 
 with my Lord of Shrewsbury, they had been here ere this. Wait 
 but a little and " 
 
 " I'll wait no longer ! " replied the monarch sternly ; then added, 
 for he saw that his manner had given pain, " Yet still am thankful 
 for your prudent counsel. Truth is, my lord, I am weary of this 
 world of treachery and disappointment. The brightest gems in 
 England's crown could not console me longer for the absence of 
 green fields and a merry chase. I must do something to break my 
 thrall, lest in very spleen I turn upon myself and devour my own 
 heart. France — pshaw ! by Rollo, but our brother the other side of 
 the Manche has had good reason, long ere this, to leave us to om* 
 fate. "William has found the way to grease the Frenchman's palm ; 
 I have no hope fi-om France." 
 
 " But I have, sire," quietly observed the bishop ; " brighter than 
 ever." 
 
 " You have received letters, then, my lord ? " observed TJlrick, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 *' Nor message ? " added Robert. 
 
 " None. I see," said the prelate, with a smile, " this mystery 
 displeases you. Deign to come with me, sire ; if there be treason, 
 it shall be explained. Trust me it is no dangerous one ; for the 
 noble Edda and myself, together with a few poor monks, are the 
 sole conspirators." 
 
 With these words the speaker resumed his way, followed by the 
 aged Saxon and the two warriors ; not a word was spoken till they 
 arrived at the tower we have already mentioned. 
 
 " Now, then, for the conspiracy ! " exclaimed Herbert, lighting a 
 lamp, and placing it in one of the loopholes of the battlement ; " it 
 will soon be answered." 
 
 Robert saw to his surprise that a similar light, in a few seconds, 
 made its appearance in the window of a belfry attached to a small 
 convent, removed about a bow-shot from the line of the enemy's 
 camp. 
 
 " It is already answered," said Edda ; " the intelligence is good." 
 
 By placing the lamps in different positions, questions were asked
 
 STANFIELD HALL 253 
 
 and the responses made — a system of telegraphing which lasted 
 about twenty minutes ; at the end of which time the prelate, 
 turning with a smiling face to Robert, informed him despatches 
 had arrived from France. 
 
 " And their contents, my lord ? " hastily demanded the prince. 
 
 " In ten days succour will arrive, winds and the will of Heaven 
 permitting," answered Herbert. 
 
 " Is't sure ? " 
 
 " Most certain." 
 
 " Still will I forth to-night. I feel an impulse not to be con- 
 trolled. The fierce spirit of the founder of my race is on me," 
 added the prince ; " it is an omen presages me success. Within the 
 hour, the moon will set. Let the soldiers arm themselves with flax 
 and torches ; bring flasks of oil to pour upon the tents. By Rollo's 
 sword ! Pevensey shall witness a blaze this night to light up its old 
 towers ! See to it, Stanfield." 
 
 Ulrick eagerly withdrew to prepare the men for the night's work, 
 which he doubted not Avould be v/arm and bloody ; for, whatever 
 might be Robert's defects as a leader, want of courage was not one ; 
 though, unfortunately, it was of that reckless kicd which, however 
 valuable in an individual soldier, is little to be desired in a chief. 
 
 The bishop remained silent ; he saw no good could result from 
 the attempt, but knew that it would be useless to oppose it further, 
 for Robert had sworn by the oath of his race — the only pledge 
 which the princes of his house were never known to violate. The 
 experienced Edda also disapproved of the expedition. 
 
 " You, my good father," resumed the prince, " will summon 
 our council., and impart the intelligence. You have no need of my 
 weak head to aid you ; whatever your wisdom may decide upon, 
 Robert is always ready to approve." 
 
 "Always ? " demanded Herbert, perhaps rather maliciously. 
 
 " Always, unless it cross my previous resolution. Farewell," he 
 added ; " wait but an hour longer on the ramparts, and you shall see 
 a blaze, old friend, to cheer your drooping spirits : the camp of my 
 rebel brother shall feed the flame." 
 
 The party had scarcely left the ramparts when a figure, which 
 had been hid by one of the huge embrasures of the battlements, 
 stepped from its place of concealment into the bright moonlight, and 
 throwing aside the cloak which enshrouded him, discovered the 
 person of a man-at-arms, who had evidently been a spy upon their 
 conversation. A deep red cicatrice extending from the temple to the 
 jaw identified Peter Norbeck, the ruffian from whose brutality, our 
 readers will recollect, Ulrick had saved Abram the Jew, and who 
 had vowed vengeance for the chastisement his insolence and cruelty 
 so well had merited. With a smile of mingled satisfaction and 
 hatred he drew an arrow from his quiver, and shot it towards a low 
 mound lying between the castle and the enemy's camp, and
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 remained for a few minutes leaning on his bow to watch the result. 
 A low flame from some kindled brushwood told the traitor that his 
 intelligence had been received ; and he left the ramparts to return 
 to his abandoned guard, muttering as he went — " I have kept my 
 word, Norbeck's oath of vengeance hath never yet been broken." 
 
 The intended sortie from the castle was betrayed. 
 
 Robert of Normandy and his chosen band had halted about half 
 a mile from William's camp, to give final instructions for the assault. 
 The spot was a long avenue of aged oaks, opening on the plain, 
 where the tents of the enemy were clearly to be seen in the pale 
 moonlight. Some of the men were carrying dry furze and com- 
 bustible matter, which they had hastily collected for the occasion ; 
 others were whispering togethei', calculating the plunder which 
 would probably be found in the tents of the Red King and his 
 nobles, whilst the principal leaders of their own party were bidding 
 adieu to Herbert de Lozenga and Edda, who had accompanied the 
 expedition thus far on its way. 
 
 " Be not too rash ! " exclaimed the warlike prelate ; " your 
 enemies are numerous, and should they rally after their first sur- 
 prise, must overwhelm you. Remember, Ulrick, you have now a 
 being whose existence hangs on yours ; remember that your life is 
 pledged deeply to her, as to your country, and that one rash act " 
 
 A deep groan from the speaker interrupted the conclusion of his 
 caution, as he sank mortally wounded by an arrow which some 
 unseen hand had winged. The aged Edda caught him as he fell. 
 
 " Treason ! " shouted Robert of Normandy and the knights, who 
 witnessed with horror the cowardly assassination ; " we are beset ! 
 To arms ! to arms ! " 
 
 A party of William's followers, who had been jDlanted in ambush, 
 rushed from their concealment in the forest ; Tyrrel headed them, 
 urged on by the double motive of hatred to Ulrick and the desire to 
 distinguish himself in the cause upon whose success his promised 
 earldom depended. Many of Robert's men-at-arms, encumbered by 
 the brushwood and materials they had gathered, died ere they could 
 draw their weapons ; others fled. The principal object of the enemy 
 seemed to be to secure the person of the prince, whom Odo of Caen, 
 and his namesake of Baj'eux, and several knights, stoutly defended, 
 reckless of their own lives, provided thej^ preserved that of the un- 
 fortunate monarch to whom they had sworn allegiance. As brave as he 
 was rash and inconsiderate, Robert for awhile resisted every attempt 
 to reconduct him to the fortress ; but with each moment's delay 
 the danger which menaced him and his devoted defenders increased. 
 Bands of dark, fierce-looking mercenaries were beginning to form in 
 compact bodies round them ; the one headed by Tyrrpl had already 
 taken the party in the flank, so as to cut off their retreat. Uh'ick, 
 who had vainly attempted to rally the fugitives, saw the danger, 
 and, at the head of a dozen of his Saxon followers, threw himself
 
 STAXPIELD HALL. 255 
 
 between his friends and the enemy to defeat it. Here the battle 
 raged most fiercely ; the sword of TJlrick did fearful execution ; 
 each sweep left a gap in the compact Norman ranks, which their 
 overwhelming numbers .alone enabled them to fill up. The rival 
 leader fought with all the desperate courage of humbled pride, 
 ambition, and unslaked hate. 
 
 " Save the king ! " shouted our hero, who saw that he and his 
 gallant band would uselessly be sacrificed, unless immediate advantage 
 were taken of their devotion to retreat to Pevensey, for longer 
 resistance was impossible. 
 
 " Down with the traitors ! " echoed Tyrrel, who felt like a 
 famished tiger when he sees his prey escaping him. " Five hundred 
 marks for this boaster's head ! — a thousand for the person of 
 Prince Robert ! " 
 
 Animated by the hope of reward, again the mercenaries rushed 
 on the faithful few ; but though they were again repulsed by the 
 calm courage with which they were encountered, another such 
 attack must needs be fatal. Half of Ulrick's little band had bit the 
 dust, and two were wounded. Again, therefore, he shouted with 
 increased energy and desperation to save the king and to retreat to 
 Pevensey. 
 
 Robert, who had resisted every persuasion of those around him to 
 retreat, no sooner heard the voice of Tyrrel offering a thousand 
 marks for his person, than he became a changed man. Flinging 
 away his broken brand, he turned to those near him, saying in a 
 husky voice ; 
 
 " The sin of our youth hath found us. The day is against us. On, 
 friends, to Pevensey ! — 'tis our last hope." 
 
 It is doubtful whether the devoted courage of the Lord of Stanfield 
 could have secured them from falling into the hands of the .enemy, 
 had not a party, headed by Mirvan, sallied from the castle to assist 
 them, for the shouts of the combatants had been heard through the 
 stillness of the night upon the battlements, and the garrison judged 
 their friends had been surprised. 
 
 Even thus supported, their retreatwas with difficulty accomplished ; 
 they rushed pell-raell into the courtyard ; and so close was the 
 pursuit, that the drawbridge, which was raised the instant they had 
 passed, let several of the enemy into the deep moat as it rose, for 
 their feet were already upon it : the arrows of the men-at-arms 
 upon the watch-tower soon despatched them. 
 
 " Where is the bishop ? " demanded William de Warrenne. 
 
 " Dead " ' groaned Robert. 
 
 " And Ulrick ? " said Mirvan, anxiously looking round. 
 
 " Dead or a prisoner, too." 
 
 That night there was scant revelry in the beleaguered fortress of 
 Pevensey. 
 
 The following morning the warder brought notice that a gibbet
 
 25b STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 was being erected within bow-shot of the walls, the ground around 
 it was kejjt by a numerous body of archers, and that the troops of 
 "William were assembling in vast numbers in order to be present at 
 an execution of more solemnity than usual. 
 
 Mirvan heard the intelligence with dismay, for his fear but too 
 rightly foreboded that it was for Ulrick, for the companion of his 
 youth, the friend of his heart, the husband of Matilda. Half-frantic 
 with grief and indignation, he imparted his suspicions to Pi'ince 
 Henry, who immediately conducted him to his brother's chamber, 
 where the council was already assembled. 
 
 The chiefs were debating on the propriety of holding out to the 
 last, or at least till the promised aid from France should arrive ; 
 their position, though wearying, was anything but desperate. 
 Pevensey was strongly garrisoned, well-provisioned, and, except 
 from treachery within, might long protract its surrender. Robert 
 sat listening to the debate more like an unconcerned spectator than 
 a king whose crown and life were perchance at issue. His heart 
 was crushed ; from some secret cause the conduct of Tyrrel deeply 
 affected him ; and the probable fate of Ulrick, who had so 
 generously devoted himself to insure his safety, weighed Jeeply on 
 his spirits, Mirvan's tale roused him from his apathy. 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, starting from his chair, " the gibbet for 
 the bravest knight that ever drew his sword in honour's cause ? 
 Perish thus ignominiously for my sake ? — never, never ! Decide, 
 my lords, upon some means to save him. My crown — my life — 
 whatever my cruel brother will, to ransom him ; but cursed be my 
 name, and stained my shield, if Ulrick p'prish, and through fault of 
 mine ! " 
 
 Odo of Bayeux, although deeply grieved at Ulrick's misfortune, 
 contemplated no such sacrifice to save him. His own ambitious 
 projects, which aimed at nothing less than the Papacy, demanded 
 that his favourite nephew should be king ; and to advance his 
 views one step, he would have bartered a hundred lives, and 
 thoiight the attainment of it cheaply paid. He proposed, therefore, 
 that a herald should be sent to William's camp, offering ransom for 
 the prisoner, and declaring that, in the event of any outrage being 
 offered to his life, his friends would fearfully retaliate upon all of 
 the opposite party who might fall into their hands. 
 
 Robert heard the proposal with undisguised contempt ; he knew 
 too well the ferocious disposition of his brother to suppose for one 
 moment that any consideration of humanity could influence him. 
 The rest of the council approved of the idea, Mirvan alone excepted. 
 
 Whilst the debate was going on, the realmless king took up a pen, 
 and amused himself by writing, occasionall}' listening to what the 
 various speakers urged, ^yithout showing his letter to any one, ho 
 carefully sealed it with his private signet, and placing it in the 
 hands of Mirvan, whispered him :
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 257 
 
 ^r .^, -^/^
 
 STANPTELD HALL. 259 
 
 " Take it to William's camp ; let a herald and a flag of truce 
 precede you, I know the price of your brother's life, and, vast as 
 it is, I am prepared to pay it. Away ! before these selfish men 
 suspect and seek to thwart our purpose." 
 
 Mirvan kissed the hand of the generous, but rash and feeble, 
 prince ; he half -suspected the sacrifice he was about to offer to 
 the shrine of friendship and honour, and quitted the room in 
 silence. 
 
 " Where goes my Lord of Norwich ? " demanded Bishop Odo, 
 looking anxiously after him ; " I trust, fair nephew, you have no 
 secrets from your friends — proved friends — such as we are ? " 
 
 This was too direct a question to be evaded ; from any other than 
 so near a relative Robert would have answered haughtily, and 
 perhaps even so to him had not his soul been oppressed with the 
 bitterness of its sorrows and disappointments. It was one of those 
 moments when we feel the insufficiency of worldly grandeur — when 
 the phantoms of the past, like mournful shadows, obscure the 
 interests and passions of the present — when pride appears as ashes, 
 power as worthless, and the heart thirsts to indulge in those sympa- 
 thies which adorn and dignify humanity — sympathies which form 
 the perfect part of an imperfect whole — the mortal signs of an 
 immortal spirit. 
 
 '• I can treat with my brother better," he answered, to his uncle, 
 "than through my council, for we have long understood and 
 known each other." 
 
 " This is folly — spleen ! " exclaimed the prelate ; " the very mad- 
 ness of misgoverned judgment ! Wouldst fling a sceptre from thy 
 head as twere a spinster's distaff ? " 
 
 "Perhaps," carelessly replied Robert; "especially if the toy 
 encumbered me." 
 
 " Recall the messenger ; this must be prevented." 
 
 Odo and several of the knights advanced towards the door, when 
 the prince with great dignity placed himself between them, still 
 holding in his hand the pen with which he had written to his 
 unnatural brother. Possessed of great mobility of character, the 
 outrage to his rank had roused him ; the fierce passion of his race 
 was upon him, and his eyes flashed with ill-suppressed indignation. 
 In an instant the sadness of his heart had passed away. 
 
 " Is this your deference," he uttered sternly, " to your sovereign's 
 will — this, my lords, your loyalty to the monarch you have sworn 
 allegiance to ? Remember," he added, " but one scratch of this 
 pen " — here the speaker dashed it from him as he spoke — " and 
 William is your lawful king ; and you, instead of loyal nobles, 
 become a herd of vile conspirators, — your lands given to confiscation, 
 your heads the axe's forfeit prey. Advance one step to recall my 
 messenger, and I declare my abdication, proclaim my brother king, 
 without one stipulation for your lives and honours ; and well you 
 
 S 2
 
 2G0 
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 know the tender William's mercy ! As it is, whatever our own fate, 
 yours shall be cared for ; whatever our own sacrifice, your lands 
 shall remain secure." 
 
 The members of the council gazed upon each other in surprise and 
 consternation. The dilemma was too serious a one to be trifled 
 with ; they felt that without the prince they were but a band of 
 conspirators, without hope of mercy. Before they could recover 
 themselves, the fall of the portcullis announced that Mirvan had 
 departed with the herald, when all thoughts of opposition ceased ; 
 ,for they would have been as useless as dangerous. Robert listened 
 coldly to their protestations of respect and submission, and waved 
 them haughtily fi'om his presence. 
 
 " My poor brother," exclaimed Prince Henry, taking him kindly 
 by the hand as soon as they were left alone, " is this sacrifice indeed 
 worth making .? Remember that a crown once lost is seldom e'er 
 regained. Reflect, it is not yet too late." 
 
 " I have reflected," answered Robert, calmly. 
 
 " My heart would burst were it longer prisoned here, shut up 
 with mere lip loyalty, petty jealousies, and vile ambitions. Besides, 
 I long for the green woods again ; I am sick of human faces, and 
 want to look on nature, to talk with her in her deep recesses. Her 
 silent voice will pour no odious flatteries in my ear, waken no storm 
 of passions in my heart. I would forget the past, and all that can 
 remind me of it," he added : " its vain regrets, its broken hopes, its 
 worm which never dies. Woman's love hath palled upon my lip, 
 man's treachery left but a sepulchre within my heart. I have 
 found but one being constant, in friendship devoted, generous, 
 true ; he hath sacrificed himself for me : he shall not perish if my 
 crown can save him." 
 
 It was while labouring under feelings bitter as these that the 
 unhappy prince, a few years later, sold his duchy of Normandy to 
 the rapacious William for the contemptible sum of ten thousand 
 marks, and engaged but a band of adventurous followers in the 
 Crusades, which Peter the Hermit so successfully preached through- 
 out the principal countries of Europe. But we are anticipating 
 events ; it is time that our readers returned to Ulrick, whom we 
 left contending with his old enemy, Tyrrel, to protect the retreat of 
 his friend and sovereign, the unfortunate but generous Robert. 
 
 Opposed to overwhelming odds, it was the object of our hero, to 
 sell his life dearly rather than be taken, for he well knew the fate 
 which would await him at the hands of William and his worthy 
 minion ; but, despite his frantic courage, and the niimbers which 
 fell beneath his weapon, he was at last surrounded and disarmed. 
 The large reward which the leader of his enemies offered for 
 securing him alive tempted many (tf the men-at-arms to risk their 
 own lives in securing him. Tyrrel's joy knew no bounds when he 
 beheld the being whose superiority' he had always hated a helpless
 
 STANPIELD HALL, 
 
 261 
 
 prisoner before him ; every epithet which insulting cowardice 
 could apply to vanquished heroism did he lavish on his captive, who 
 bore it with that calm, silent contempt which often strikes deeper in 
 the breasts of the unworthy than scorn or loud reproaches. When 
 brought before William and his nobles in the tent of the former, his 
 demeanour was cold and dignified ; and when that tyrant, with a 
 refinement of cruelty, condemned him to the gibbet, although his 
 cheek might blanch, his glance was as free and his mien as erect as 
 ever. So favoiirable was the impression, that even his enemies 
 thought it hard that so noble a knight should be so unnecessarily 
 degraded. Some interceded for him, but in vain ; the Red King 
 affected to despise the history of his birth, and condemned him as a 
 mere peasant to the shameful tree. 
 
 " It is the crime, and not the scaffold, which dishonours," 
 answered Ulrick, proudly, as he heard his doom. " All true hearts, 
 fierce prince, will judge thy judgment, and infamy will brand thy 
 memory with it." 
 
 Wounded and bleeding as he was, he was hurried from the 
 tyrant's presence, and cast into a dungeon till the coming morning ; 
 then to be again led forth, to meet his doom. 
 
 As we have described, the gibbet was erected within bow-shot of 
 the castle, and most of William's troops were on the ground ; the 
 Red King and his favom-ites arrived soon after to see our hero die. 
 The coward heart of Tyrrel beat high with gratified revenge ; he 
 anticipated with ferocious joy each pang, and revelled in the idea 
 of the agonies which such an ignominious death would cause his 
 victim's proud and gallant spirit. 
 
 At the foot of the fatal tree stood a fellow clothed in a crimson 
 shirt, which descended nearly to his ankles ; his sleeves were rolled 
 up to the shoulder, displaying his coarse, muscular arms ; he was, 
 perhaps, the least excited spectator of the scene. He was coolly 
 occupied in selecting a coil of rope from a number near him^ and 
 twisting it into a slip-noose — the occupation proclaimed the 
 executioner. 
 
 "■Now, marshal," exclaimed William, turning to Sir Richard 
 Whetstone, " how long are we to wait ? Hath not the shaveling 
 trussed the fellow for the gibbet yet, or must we lose the morning 
 chase to wait the good father's pleasure ? " 
 
 " Be not impatient," replied the knight, in deep disgust ; " your 
 victim, sir, is ready." 
 
 Many of the nobles beheld with equal indignation the execution 
 of a man whom they had so often encountered in the battle-field, 
 whose courage had been the theme of even the common soldier's 
 tongue, and whose enmity to Tyrrel they thought justified by that 
 unworthy favourite's insolence and presumption. Several of them 
 had solicited William in his favour : he had sternly refused to 
 listen to their prayer, or change the unknightly nature of his death.
 
 2G2 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " shouted Tyrrel, as soon as Ulrick reached the 
 fatal spot, " I thought his vaunted courage would abandon him at 
 last. See how pale the traitor is ! " 
 
 " With loss of blood, then," coolly answered Ulrick ; " but, 
 coward, I parley not with thee. Once more I do protest, for the 
 honour of my knighthood, against the degrading nature of my 
 death, which only a mind framed like a tyrant's could have 
 conceived, or men lost to honour execute. Now then I am ready 
 to meet my fate as becomes a Christian and a noble." 
 
 " As a traitor and a felon ! " shouted Tyrrel. 
 
 " Away with him to the gibbet ! — fit end for the vile peasant ! " 
 
 So disgusted was Roger of Shrewsbury with Tyrrel's conduct, 
 that he dashed his mailed glove in the villain's face, exclaiming as 
 he did so : 
 
 " Cur ! another such a word, and I'll rend thy fawning, lying 
 tongue from out thy mouth. For his treasons, his judges best can 
 answer for their judgment ; but peasant he is none : and I 
 proclaim him liar, craven, and forsworn — aye," he added, fixing his 
 eyes upon William — " e'en though he wore a crown — who dares to 
 brand him one ! His death is a murder, not an execution ! " 
 
 A murmur of approbation from the nobles "near, Avho were 
 equally disgusted with the speaker, warned William that he was 
 treading upon dangerous ground ; still, in the bitterness of his 
 hatred, he determined to persevere. Tyrrel, pale and subdued by 
 the noble scorn and haughty glance of so powerful a noble as Roger 
 of Shrewsbury', withdrew behind his master. 
 
 " Proceed with the execution," exclaimed the impatient monarch ; 
 " let us end this scene." 
 
 Ulrick, despite his courage and lofty resolution, turned pale as 
 the minister of shame approached him ; it was not death he feared — 
 it was dishonour. Ere, however, the ruffian could lay a hand upon 
 him, Mirvan, his horse covered with foam, followed by the herald 
 whom he had outridden, galloped on the ground ; and, advancing 
 to the Red King, placed his brother's letter in his hand, who turned 
 alternatel}'^ pale and red with emotion as he perused it, 
 
 " What are your orders, sire ? " demanded Whetstone, kindly 
 holding that something favourable to Ulrick had occurred. 
 
 " Suspend the execution," said William, with ill-concealed rage. 
 
 " Your highness ! " exclaimed Tyrrel, fearful lest his victim 
 should escape. 
 
 " Back, sir knight," cried his master, haughtily, and not unwilling 
 to mortify him ; " this is beyond your sphere. Guard your prisoner, 
 marshal, but treat him well. Let us," he added, turning to the 
 principal nobles near him, " in to council." 
 
 Whetstone cut his prisoner's cords, and in an instant Ulrick and 
 Mirvan were locked in each other's embrace ; whilst Tyrrel stood 
 confounded and abashed at the strange termination of the scene.
 
 STAXPIELD HALL. 2G3 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 During the following morning a spacious pavilion, destined for 
 tlie meeting of the royal brothers, was erected on the plain, at an 
 equal distance from the camp of the Red King and the beleaguered 
 fortress. There, for the first time since the Conqueror's death, the 
 two princes were to meet, and articles of peace be debated between 
 them. The position of William, though thus far victorious, was 
 anything but sure. The crown sat but loosely on his brow ; to bind 
 it there securely he was obliged to make concessions, at which his 
 haughty soul revolted, to the nobles and clergy, many of whom, with 
 all his condescensions, were but coldly satisfied. 
 
 Robert, although reduced to the strong castle of Pevensey, 
 possessed a moral strength in his alliance with the French king, 
 which the adherence of Lanfranc and the barons barely balanced in 
 his rival's cause ; added to which, the promised aid from France 
 might still arrive, and turn the tide of fortune in his favour. The 
 usurper was too keen a gamester not to calculate every chance ; like 
 most heartless men, he was capable of sacrificing even his resent- 
 ments to his interests, and hence the order to suspend the execution 
 of our hero ; for the generous Robert, in his letter, expressly 
 declared that all attempts at negotiation would be vain if a single 
 hair of Ulrick's head were touched. 
 
 Many loiterers, attracted by the coming interview, were lingering 
 round the spot ; amongst others, Tyrrel and Robert of Artois, whom 
 we shall henceforth designate by the name he bore in the camp, 
 that of the Black Knight. The mystery which attached to his 
 person — his intimacy with the king, as well as the cold habitual 
 reserve of his manner, which forbad all attempts at approach — made 
 him an object of curiosity with many, and of a superstitious dread 
 with others. Tyrrel, however, only saw in him a dangerous rival 
 in his master's favour ; he was jealous of his importance, and 
 anxious to find some clue to his secret as a means of supplanting 
 him, the first step to which he naturally thought would be to bring 
 about a certain degree of intimacy : the present was too good an 
 occasion to be thrown awa3\ 
 
 " Bon jour, sir knight ! " he exclaimed, in a careless, off-handed 
 tone, as he advanced towards ' the spot where the object of his 
 speculation was standing, gazing with a dreamy look upon the various 
 preparations. 
 
 The Black Knight simply bowed his head without replying, but 
 Tyrrel was not to be so put off. 
 
 " So," he continued, " our campaign is nearly over. Robert, 
 though a foolish prince, is at least a generous master, since he resigns 
 his crown to save his favourite's life." 
 
 " A sacrifice till now unheard of," replied the part}-- addressed, 
 " in the hist_ry ^'^ x)rinces. Their memory, like water, retains no
 
 264 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 trace of the absent object once reflected there. The most devoted 
 service, in their eyes, is but a duty scantily paid ; their promises are 
 as unstable as the winds, with which their favour changes." 
 
 " You, at least," said Tyrrel, " have no reason to complain, since 
 your favour with the king exceeds the proudest nobles ; his 
 confidence in you is as unbounded as your merits. Many envy the 
 Chevalier Noir — since it is his pleasure only to be known as such — 
 his hold on V/illiam's friendship." 
 
 " Perhaps fools often take mere tinsel for pure gold," answered 
 the Black Knight, carelessly ; " but you," he added, " ought to be 
 equally satisfied. The services you have rendered Ruf us are deep 
 and many : first you released him from, prison ; conducted him 
 to London to be crowned ; detected the correspondence of his 
 enemies ; and since you recovered from the wounds received on 
 the occasion, have done good service in the wars. These, sir 
 knight," he added, sarcastically, " are claims a prince like William 
 never can forget, e'en were his memoi^y shorter than his love." 
 
 " And you might add," muttered Tyrrel, who began to feel any- 
 thing but satisfied at the delay in his promised earldom, " that 
 through my agency the plans of the besieged have all been known 
 and frustrated — witness last night's attack. Peter Norbeck is a 
 useful agent in the fortress of our enemies." 
 
 The name of Peter Norbeck seemed to excite the suqDrise of his 
 companion, for it was connected with certain passages of his life to 
 which he had long lost the clue ; it was, therefore, no longer in the 
 light bantering tone which he had assumed, but in accents of deep 
 and undisguised interest, that he demanded if he alluded to a Norman 
 man-at-arms who was formerly in the City guard. 
 
 " No," resumed the speaker ; " but to his brother, whom the 
 bastard of Stanfield punished for trying to squeeze a vile Jew's purse 
 of a few silver pennies. The fellow hates, as such men only hate, 
 with the ferocity of a bloodhound, as well as its determination. I 
 have found him a faithful agent, perhaps because the prey we hunted 
 was the same. The man you inquire after is his brother, now one 
 of the warders of the City who first detected Ul rick's mission to the 
 rebels." 
 
 " Is he with one of the companies who have followed Ruf us to 
 the wars ? " demanded the Black Knight. 
 
 " There is the very man," exclaimed Tyrrel, pointing to the warder, 
 who, with several of his companions, was lounging about to watch 
 the proceedings ; " he is my go-between with his brother." 
 
 Without a word of adieu, or thanks for the information, his 
 questioner, turned upon his heel, and proceeded directly, v/ith his 
 usual measured tread, towards the spot where the group were 
 standing. Laying his mailed hand upon the ruffian's shoulder, he 
 simply pronounced the words, " Follow me," and Avithout waiting 
 to see if he was obeyed, directed his steps towards the neighbouring
 
 STANFIELD HALL 265 
 
 ■wood, conscious that his authority was such, from his influence 
 with William, that men even of a much higher rank would reflect 
 . twice ere they yentured to dispute it. The warder followed with 
 the instinctiYO obedience of a hound at the call of its master. The 
 Black Knight was held in a sort of mysterious terror by all, a 
 feeling to which the ghastly expression of his countenance — now 
 scarcely human — not a little contributed. 
 
 As soon as they reached an open sward, bounded by a running 
 brook, where the brushwood and grass were too low to give shelter 
 to an eavesdrooper, the foremost paused, and waited till the man 
 whom he had so long been anxious to find stood before him face to 
 face. 
 
 " Is your name Norbeck ? " he demanded. 
 
 " It is, sir knight," answered the fellow, respectfully, at the same 
 time feeling uneasy, although he kn^ew not why, at the strange 
 conference which he foresaw was about to take place between them, 
 
 " Formerly of the City guard ? " 
 
 " And now one of its warders," added the fellow, hoping to 
 create a favourable impression by the announcement of the re- 
 sponsible office with which he was intrusted. 
 
 " To whom," continued his questioner, " sixteen years since, a 
 male child was intrusted by a noble knight, together with a large 
 sum of money — the boy to be brought up as your wife's, by a 
 former marriage ; the gold to be employed for his support and 
 future establishment in life ? " 
 
 " The same," faltered the man, his uneasiness and astonishment 
 increasing at every question. 
 
 " Doth that boy still live ? " 
 
 " He does." 
 
 " And where ? " 
 
 " Marry, that is more than I can tell," replied the warder ; " 'tis 
 months since I beheld him. He was always a wayward, stubborn 
 brat, even as a child ; as he grew up, I had hard lines with him. 
 The traitor who should have swung this day upon the gibbet can tell 
 you, perhaps, more of his whereabouts than I can, since he it was 
 who took him from me. I'd give the heaviest coin in my purse but 
 to lay hands on him again." 
 
 '• Why so ? " demanded the Black Knight, a shade of haughty 
 displeasure rendering his features still more repulsive than even 
 their unnatural transformation had made them. 
 
 " Why so ? " iterated the ruffian ; " why, because is it not natural 
 I should wish to find the runaway again ? But may I ask, noble 
 sir, why you feel so interested in his story ? Perhaps he is known 
 to you ? " 
 
 " Ask me nothing," sternly replied his questioner ; " but as thou 
 vahiest that neck of thine, answer truly ; think not to deceive me, 
 for I can detect the lie on falsehood's quivering lip — read it in the
 
 266 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 shifting glance or hesitating speech. I have dealt too long with men 
 to be easily deceived, and despise them too much to pardon their 
 treachery lightly. Tell me," he added, drawing his sword, " how 
 the boy's fate became mixed up with the knight of Stanfield's ; 
 and remember that thy first lie will prove thy last — I warn not 
 twice ! " 
 
 Finding that it would be dangerous to prevaricate, and ignorant 
 whether the knight's motives to the boy were of good or evil, but 
 trusting to the latter, the warder, without much disguise, described 
 all that had passed between both Gilbert and himself, even to the 
 beating and Avounding of the former, and his rescue by Ulrick from 
 his hands. Had the wretch, when he related the lashing with the 
 bow-string, caught the flash of the fierce vindictive eyes fixed upon 
 him, he would have read his doom as plainly as if voice had spoken 
 it. When he had finished, he stood Avith a half-doubtful, half- 
 confident air before his mysterious judge. 
 
 " And thou hast told me all ? " demanded the Black Knight. 
 
 "All," said the ruffian, anxiously; "I trust, noble sir, that you 
 are satisfied." 
 
 "■ I were difficult to please an I were not satisfied," answered his 
 questioner, sarcastically ; " thou hast proved thyself a faithful 
 guardian — a most kind one. Thou mightest have slain the boy, 
 and yet thou only gavest the lash ; as men correct a hound at fault, 
 a restive steed, or base-born serf. There," he added, bitterly, 
 taking a handful of coin from the pouch suspended at his girdle ; 
 " there is the first proof how much I am satisfied with thee ; anon, 
 thou shalt have another more lasting than the present : I am one 
 who always pays his debts." 
 
 As the speaker poured the money into the warder's greedy palm, 
 he dropped, apparently by accident, several of the pieces upon the 
 ground ; in stooping to pick them up, the head of the fellow was 
 bent to the earth, leaA'ing an opening about two inches wide 
 between his helmet and rough coat of mail, which left the back 
 part of his neck totally defenceless. Before his fingers could grasp 
 the first coin, the long heavy blade of the Black Knight's sword 
 descended with the rapidity of a flash of lightning upon the mark, 
 and the head of the ruffian rolled at the feet of his executioner. 
 
 " Carrion ! " exclaimed the assassin ; " if, indeed, he merited the 
 liame of such ; the headsman should have dealt with thee, and not 
 a noble's sword ; thou art but too honoured to fall by hands like 
 mine." 
 
 Spurning the gory head, whose eyeballs were still rolling in their 
 sockets, contemptuously from him, »he was about to quit the spot, 
 when he observed a packet of papers in the belt of the being whose 
 crimes he had so fearfullj- punished : to secure and read them was 
 the work of a few minutes. Surprise and indignation were visible 
 Qn hw countenance as he did so.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 267 
 
 " Fratricide as well as usurper," he murmured, " this crime, at 
 least, shall be prevented ; if I cannot recall the past, at least I will 
 endeavour to atone it." 
 
 With these words the unhappy man directed his steps towards 
 the scene of meeting. 
 
 At a preconcerted signal, the royal brothers, each attended by six 
 nobles totally unarmed, set out for the place of rendezvous ; the 
 men-at-arms, fity in number, who escorted them, halted by agree- 
 ment at a hundred paces on either side of the tent. In the train of 
 William were Lanfranc, the primate ; Roger of Shrewsbury, 
 Aubrey de Vere, and three barons of less note. With Robert came 
 the Earl of Norwich, Edda the Saxon, William de Warrenne, and 
 three Norman vavasours, who still remained firm to his cause. 
 The party of Robert were the first to enter the tent ; the prince 
 preceded his friends a few paces, leaning on the arm of Mirvan, 
 with whom he was engaged in deep conversation. 
 
 " Had my son proved worthy of his name," s lid the unhappy 
 prince, " my hand should have withered ere I set my seal to such a 
 treaty ; as it is, with me the secret dies, since I alone possess the 
 proofs of his legitimacy and birth," 
 
 Had not the speaker's attention been occupied by the sudden 
 blast of the trumpet which announced the arrival of William, they 
 must have heard the rustling between the inner lining and outward 
 canvas of the tent, occasioned by the retreating steps of one who 
 had overheard the prince's confidence. It was the traitor Tjvrel. 
 
 " He comes," said Robert, advancing to the altar erected in the 
 centre of the pavilion ; " one struggle, and 'tis past." 
 
 At this moment William Rufus and his party entered. The 
 heavy draperies of the pavilion were let down, and the two 
 monarchs and their councillors were shut from the gar^^e of the 
 men-at-arms without. Prince Henry had declined being present at 
 the interview : either he doubted the Red King's faith, or he 
 disapproved of the sacrifice which his brother Robert was about to 
 make. Cunning beyond his years, he veiled beneath an appearance 
 of lighthearted reckless humour schemes of ambition which the 
 prophecy — for such he considered it — of the Saxon monk at Eltham 
 had engraved too deeply on his heart ever to be effaced. Whilst 
 the conference was taking place, he remained with the escort at a 
 distance, laughing and chatting with the officers who commanded it. 
 
 " There they go," he exclaimed, as the parties entered the tent ; 
 " the vulture and falcon are at roost together. We shall soon have 
 no better sport than to hunt the red deer in the forest, gentles ; 
 that is, if our kind brother of the red poll leaves us the liberty to 
 do so." 
 
 " If your grace has a doubt upon the subject," observed the young 
 noble to whom the observation was addressed, " I should advise the 
 air of Normandy — there, at least, you may hunt in security."
 
 268 
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 " Perhaps ! " said a deep voice near them. The speakers turned 
 and beheld the Black Knight, whose person they had become too 
 familiar with dm-ing the late struggle not to recognise. With his 
 usual quiet step he had approached them almost unperceived. 
 
 " Back, sir knight ! " exclaimed the prince. " Know you not it is 
 forbidden by the terms of the truce for either party of the escort to 
 approach the other ? " 
 
 " I belong not to the escort," replied the intruder ; " my errand 
 is to place this packet in the hands of Henry of Normandy." The 
 knight held out the papers he had taken from the belt of the warder 
 as he spoke, and disappeared almost as suddenly as he had presented 
 himself. 
 
 The prince perused the letters so mj'steriously conveyed to him, 
 and although they contained nothing less than matters touching his 
 life, not a frown or gesture of surprise betrayed the deep emotion 
 which the perusal of them occasioned. Trained early to the wiles 
 and intrigues of courts, he was perfectly master of himself, and 
 while he read the hearts of others, guarded the secrets of his own 
 like a sealed book. 
 
 To those who knew the fiery, impatient character of Robert, it 
 was a matter of surprise that he discussed the proposed articles of 
 the treaty with his brother so calmly ; by it he accepted his father's 
 will, and gave up all claim to the crown o£ England, contenting 
 himself with his hereditary duchy of Normandy. The only points 
 on which he was inflexible was the safety of Ulrick, and the 
 personal security both of life and lands of his adherents. On these 
 no arguments could move him, and William, who saw that the 
 primate and the nobles of his party not only coincided in the 
 reasonableness of the terms, but were prepared to support his 
 brother in insisting on them, was forced, though with an ill grace, 
 to yield. Lanfranc drew up the treaty, to which the rival princes 
 and barons set their names and seals, both brothers swearing on the 
 altar to observe it. 
 
 " Stay," said Robert, as William, with a cold sarcastic smile upon 
 his face, was about to quit the altar, " thou hast sworn on the 
 Evangile — swear also by the oath of our race to keep good faith 
 with me. Thou knowest the tradition of our house — thou knowest 
 the fearful curse which hangs o'er him who breaks it." 
 
 " What I have sworn I have sworn ! " exclaimed William, turning 
 pale ; for, superstitious as he was cruel, he knew that the required 
 oath would deprive him of his cherished scheme of vengeance. 
 " Why doubt my faith, or tax it further ? " 
 
 " Why ? " iterated Robert ; " because I know that oaths are like 
 water with thee. Didst thou not swear to our mother at the abbey 
 of Caen never to prejudice thy elder brother's right .? The crown 
 thou hast obtained by perjury best can answer how thou hast 
 observed thy oath. Didst thou not swear to prove a lovirj^ brother
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 269 
 
 to her youngest Henry, and hast thou not sought his life ? Thy 
 oath on the Evangile ! " he added ; "as soon would I trust the 
 inconstant wind or fickle waves as such an oath from thee. Speak, 
 lords, have I not reason ? " 
 
 " You have," replied the primate and peers, who began to feel 
 regret at the part they had taken, and were anxious to make the 
 treaty a lasting one between the princes — a step to which their 
 interests impelled them, for most held possessions in Normandy as 
 well as England, possessions which, in all probability, they would 
 lose should war again break out between the brothers. 
 
 " Still the Norman hesitated, for vengeance was almost as dear to 
 him as ambition ; vainly he gazed upon those who had placed him 
 on the throne for encouragement in his refusal ; cold, stern glances 
 met him on every face, and he felt that delay might prove 
 dangerous even to his crown and life. 
 
 " Swear ! " exclaimed the united nobles, unanimously, several of 
 his own party advancing towards Robert. 
 
 " Be it so," muttered the tyrant, furiously ; " propose the oath." 
 
 " By the bones of Rollo," said his brother, impressively, " you 
 swear never to attempt aught against the life, liberty, and honour of 
 Ulrick of Stanfield — to restore him instantly to freedom — in return 
 for the unreserved surrender of my crown — and to hold all who 
 have supported my rights scatheless in honours, lives, and lands." 
 
 " I swear it," repeated William, faintly, " by the bones of 
 Rollo." 
 
 " And may the curse of j'our race," added his brother — " of him 
 men call the Devil's Son, whose couch of fire not all the prayers of 
 Holy Church or blood of Heaven's blest martyrs e'er can quench, be 
 yours if e'er you break your oath ! " 
 
 All present shuddered as Rufus repeated the fearful imprecation ; 
 for not one but firmly believed that the soul of the common 
 ancestor of the two princes was to remain, according to his compact 
 with Satan, in hell till one of his descendants, by breaking the 
 oath of his race, should release it. 
 
 " Now, then," said Robert," " take the crown, and may it prov« 
 to thee of thorns. Care and suspicion haunt thy pillow — poison 
 the wine-cup in thy hour of mirth — pall e'en the kiss of beauty on 
 thy lip ! Reign in terror — haunted by shadows — heartless, friend- 
 less, and alone ! " 
 
 William, despite the natural hardihood of his nature, shrank at 
 the well-merited malediction of a brother whom he had so 
 treacherously supplanted in his birthright, and left the tent with 
 his train in gloomy silence ; leaving Robert to await the arrival of 
 the rescued prisoner, according to the terms of the treaty to be 
 immediately set at liberty, i^s the monarch left the pavilion, 
 Tyrrel, impatient to impart the important secret he had so basely 
 obtained, arrested his steps, and demanded a moment's audience ;
 
 270 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 his look and bearing indicated that it was for a communication too 
 pressing to be refused. 
 
 "Prince," said Edda, addressing the now crownless king, who 
 still remained standing by the altar where Ruf us had pronounced 
 the fearful oath, " the joy I feel at the certitude of again embracing 
 my grandson will hardly repay the sorrow which I experience at 
 this most generous sacrifice, fatal alike for thee and for my country ; 
 history will chronicle the heroic deed long after the icy hand of 
 Death hath effaced its record from the hearts of those who witnessed 
 it." 
 
 " It has been greater, old man, than thou wotst of," said Robert, 
 kindly ; " but let it pass : all of my i-ace are not alike ungrateful. 
 In my path through life I have sown affections and gathered tares ; 
 love hath been blighted, honours lost, ambition crushed ; e''en in 
 that corner of my heart," he added, bitterly, " where I had garnered 
 up a hope for age, the mildew of treachery and deceit hath found 
 me." 
 
 All were impressed with the deep melancholy of the speaker's 
 voice, and listened in respectful silence. 
 
 About half an hour after "William's departure the curtains of the 
 pavilion were once more raised. Edda and Mirvan advanced to 
 meet their liberated friend ; but found, to their surprise, that, 
 instead of Ulrick, it was the primate, with Roger of Shrewsbury and 
 Tyrrel, who entered the tent. 
 
 " Where is the Lord of Stanfield ? " demanded Robert impatiently. 
 
 "A prisoner," replied Tyrrel, with an air of triumph and 
 malicious satisfaction. 
 
 " By whose orders ? " 
 
 " The king's." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the indignant prince, " hath William already 
 broken the oath of his race ? This baseness is unworthy even of 
 him. And you," he added, addressing Lanfranc, "priest of the 
 Most High, primate of England, witness of this perjury, you 
 announce it to me ! Shame ! oh ! shame." 
 
 "The king," said the churchman haughtily, "hath broken no 
 oath ; he took it but conditionally." 
 
 " Conditionally ! " repeated all the nobles present. 
 
 " That his brother," resumed the speaker, " made an unreserved 
 surrender of the crown. Hath he done so ? — can he do so ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " demanded the prince, with a look of surprise. 
 
 " Because thou hast a son, to whom thy rights devolve — if rights 
 thou hast," replied Tyrrel impatiently. " Deny it not ; I heard 
 the avowal from thine own lips almost within the hour." 
 
 Robert turned deadly pale ; it was clear to all that his very heart 
 was torn with rage, with contempt, with deep and bitter emotions. 
 Fixing his eyes upon the speaker with so singular an expression 
 that even the bold traitor was awed by it, he murmured :
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 271 
 
 " And thou heardest this ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Behind the curtains of the tent. More," added Tyrrel, "that 
 thou alone possessed the proofs of thy son's legitimacy and birth." 
 
 " Dishonoured villain ! " exclaimed the prince, with a burst of 
 passion. "First perjury to thy benefactor, who confided his 
 prisoner to thy ward, and now dishonour to thy knighthood by 
 meanly descending to be a spy. But I waste words," he added, 
 using a violent effort to recover himself ; " I'll speak with thee anon. 
 First for the archbishop — what would our perjured brother 1 " 
 
 "That," said Lanfranc, "which alone can render the oath of 
 William binding, and enable you to fulfil your stipulations in the 
 treaty of the unreserved surrender of the crown — the proofs of 
 your son's birth." 
 
 " What if I refuse .? " said Robert. 
 
 "Your minion dies ! " answered Tyrrel, with a look of exultation 
 — " hangs on the gibbet, from which, by a trick, you would have 
 rescued him — hangs like a dog, unless his master saves him." 
 
 It was sad to see the look of loathing and disgust with which the 
 prince turned from him to address the primate. 
 
 " And what proof have I," he said, "if I consent to leave my son 
 Avithout a name, to sacrifice his , birthright to my brother's fears by 
 the surrender of these proofs, that your monarch will keep faith 
 with me ? " 
 
 " William's fearful oath," replied the prelate, " which then 
 becomes a surety, and mine ; for by my priestly vow I swear," and 
 the speaker kissed his golden cross as he spoke, " if he keep not 
 faith with thee, this voice, which proclaimed him king, shall 
 launch the thunders of the Church upon his head — this hand, 
 which anointed him, shall sign his deposition. Robert of 
 Normandy," he added, " may trust the faith of one who never broke 
 his vow to God, to friend, or enemy." 
 
 " As friend or enemy I trust thee," said the prince, drawing at 
 the same time a parchment, with the seals of his mother, the Queen 
 Matilda, the Archbishop of Rouen, and Onfroy, Marshal of 
 Normandy, from his breast. " Take the proofs ; from this hour 
 forth I am a childless man ; the retribution is complete." 
 
 The hand of the archbishop trembled as he received the 
 important document. Devoted as he was to the interests of the 
 Red King, he could not behold without emotion the sacrifice — 
 accomplished, as it were, against nature — wrung by treachery from 
 a generous, noble heart. 
 
 " Let it console thee, prince," he said, " that this deed has secured 
 a nation's peace and a true friend's safety. Within the instant 
 Ulrick of Stanfield shall be free. Farewell ! Would we had 
 earlier met, or been for ever strangers ! "
 
 272 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 Motioning to Tyrrel to remain, the primate quitted the pavilion 
 to bear Rufus the proofs he was so impatient to obtain. 
 
 No sooner had Lanfranc departed than Robert recovered his 
 usual self-possession and serenity. Without deigning to cast a 
 glance either of reproach or hate upon the man who had so 
 unscrupulously betrayed him, he began to give directions for his 
 approaching departure for Normandy, where Mirvan, whose chief 
 possessions lay there, as well as those of his young bride, proposed 
 to accompany him. 
 
 " I cannot," he exclaimed, " bow the knee and profess lip loyalty 
 to a sovereign I despise. My heart would wither in its own deceit. 
 Let William," he added, " confiscate my English fief — my father's 
 lands and father's honours shall content me." 
 
 "Which shall not be lessened by our favour," said his prince, 
 embracing him. " Normandy hath forests as wide as any England 
 boasts, to chase the red deer in, and hearts as true to welcome 
 thee." 
 
 " Old as I am, I, too, would with thee, prince," added Edda, 
 " were I not planted to the soil like some aged oak. Uproot me, 
 and those who live beneath my shade must perish too." 
 
 Again the curtains of the tent were raised, and this time his 
 impatient friends were not doomed to disappointment, for the lord 
 of Stanfield entered at liberty. His first impulse was to bend the 
 knee to Robert, whose generous sacrifice had deeply touched his 
 grateful nature ; the prince welcomed him with a sad, but friendly 
 smile, wishing internally, as he gazed upon him, that Heaven *had 
 blessed him with a son like TJlrick. Tyrrel looked upon the scene 
 with an affectation of scorn and triumph. 
 
 " Robert, my sovereign," said our hero, " what hast thou done to 
 preserve my worthless life ? — widowed this wretched kingdom of 
 its happiness, bartered thy birthright, sacrificed thy son, all — all for 
 me?" 
 
 " Bartered them freely," interrupted Robert, " since I have 
 preserved my friend, rew^arded virtue in its noblest form, and 
 punished vice and measureless ambition. Ere I depart," he added, 
 " from the realm no longer mine, I have a debt to pay. Leave us, 
 my lords ; leave Ulrick and mj^self with Walter Tyrrel alone within 
 the tent ; anon we will rejoin you on the road to Pevensey." 
 
 The command was instantly obeyed, the prince and the two young 
 men alone remained within the tent. Tyrrel's first impulse was to 
 lay his hand upon his sword, for although the speaker and the 
 knight of Stanfield were both unarmed, his suspicious nature fore- 
 bode treachery. 
 
 " Touch not thy sword, young man," exclaimed Robert, mournfully. 
 " It is not with such weapons I would punish thee. By Heaven, 
 my sister's honour, or my father's bones, are not more sacred to me 
 than thy life."
 
 STANFIELD HALL.
 
 SJANFIELD HALL. 275 
 
 " Punish me ? " faltered Tyrrel, lost in amazement at the prince's 
 tone and manner. 
 
 " Ay, with words which shall pierce deeper than my sword I 
 fall like a coal of fire upon thy head ! gnaw like a serpent's fang 
 within thy heart ! — if indeed," added the speaker, contemptuously, 
 "reptiles have hearts." 
 
 " Rail on, prince ! " exclaimed Tyrrel, with an affected laugh ; 
 " I can forgive a baffled gamester's spleen ; my promised earldom 
 shall console me for a few sharp words." 
 
 " Can it console thee for a crown ? " sternly demanded Robert. 
 
 The young man started from the pillar of the tent, against which 
 he had been carelessly leaning ; a light from heaven or hell broke 
 on his astonished mind ; for the first time he suspected that which, 
 if true, would indeed, to a soul like his, be the most fearful 
 punishment his treachery and ambition could receive ! Twice he 
 essayed to speak, but the voice remained choked within his throat. 
 
 "A crown ! " at last he hoarsely murmured. 
 
 "Ay, a crown!" repeated the prince; "ambition's dream; 
 fortune's last gift to reckless, daring minds. — Ulrick," he said, 
 passionately, "I have been a man of pride and sin, but still of 
 unstained honour. I gloried in the blazon of my house, the power 
 of my race, the fame of my forefathers, their hundred victories by 
 land and sea ; judge, then, how deep the pang which rends this 
 heart when I proclaim that man of infamy and shame — that thing 
 I loathe and spit upon — my son, the legitimate heir of my proud 
 name, the inheritor by birthright of Normandy and England." 
 
 The guilty man crushed as by the voice of a denouncing angel, 
 sank overwhelmed upon his knees ; deeply as TJlrick despised, 
 he could not gaze upon his humiliation without pity. 
 
 " Fool ! " continued the excited father, with yet greater vehemence, 
 "go bend the knee to him who should have been thy subject — for 
 whose hollow promise thou hast lost a throne ; go cringe and fawn 
 to beg the earldom bought with a crown, and beg for it in vain. 
 Tread, a thing scorned and abhorred, upon the soil which should 
 have called thee master ; die as thou hast lived, without a name, 
 self-disinherited ! " 
 
 " Not without a name," faltered Tyrrel, rising from his knee ; 
 " thy son can never lack a name." 
 
 " And who will give it thee when I disown thee ? — the kind 
 uncle," added Robert, with a sneer, " whose abject tool thou hast 
 become, and into whose hands, like an obedient hound, thou didst 
 resign the only proof of thy high lineage ? Never more shall the 
 secret pass these lips ; — fool ! I but tell it thee to be thy punishment." 
 
 " Is thy justice so implacable ? " replied the wretched man ; 
 " does no sentiment of nature speak within thee at least to acknowledge 
 me thy son ? " 
 
 " My son a landless beggar ? — never, never." 
 
 T 2
 
 27 G STANPIELD HALL, 
 
 " Normandy is still within thy gift," urged Tyrrel, for so we must 
 continue to designate him. 
 
 " But never shall be thine ! " interrupted his father, sternly. 
 " Set but a foot in it, and I will place thee in a cage w^here thou 
 shalt fret against the bars in vain. Reptile ! thou art completely 
 crushed. Hint but to William of thy birth, his jealousy will doom 
 thee dead. By thine own arts is every hope defeated. The only 
 witness of thy birth, the venerable guardian of thy youth, is dead — 
 slain, I too justly fear, hj thy unnatural hand." 
 
 " Then I am lost ! " murmured the conscience-stricken culprit in 
 a low voice to himself. 
 
 " Lost and accursed ! " added his justly-incensod parent, " both 
 here and hereafter ! Instead of the fond heritage of a father's love, 
 receive his malediction ! I curse thee in the name of the long- 
 cherished hopes and affection thou hast blighted ! May no child 
 e'er live to honour thee — no voice of love or duty smooth thy dying 
 pillow ! May the shadow of" the greatness thou hast lost haunt 
 thee like an avenging spirit — the secret of thy birth fester like a 
 serpent's fang in thy vile, treacherous, proud, ambitious heart ! 
 May the death-hope which whispers peace to the repentant sinner's 
 soul fail thee in thy last hour of need ! May thy grave remain 
 unhonoured by a human tear — shunned as a spot accursed by every 
 foot ! False knight and perjured friend, degenerate son and most 
 unnatural traitor, farewell for ever ! " 
 
 The wretched man, crushed by the fearful weight of a father's 
 malediction, so terribly pronounced, rushed from the tent as if 
 fiends pursued him — the avenging w^ords echoing in his ears as he 
 fled. More like a spectre than a human being, he passed the 
 guards and officers who surrounded William's tent, and, dashing 
 aside the silken curtains, entered the inclosure. It was fortunate, 
 perhaps, for the monarch that he v/as absent. All th3,t Tyrrel 
 found there were the ashes and half-melted seals of the fatal 
 parchment, the proof of Ms high birth. The sight still further 
 increased his fury, and, foaming like a maniac with impotent rage 
 and shame, he hastily left the spot. 
 
 The broken-hearted Robert remained, after the departure of the 
 son whom he had so fearfully cursed and justly disowned, a prey 
 to terrible excitement. In the midst of a life of reckless dissipation, 
 he had long counted on the moment w^hen the Conqueror's death 
 VN'ould have enabled him to acknowledge him ; for, though not of 
 royal birth, his mother had been noble. It was some time ere 
 Ulrick could bring his chafed spirit to something like composure ; 
 but all his entreaties to induce him to recall his malediction were in 
 vain. 
 
 " Never ! never ! " he impatiently replied, dashing, at the same 
 time, as if ashamed of human weakness, a tear from his burning 
 cheek. " Words wrung from a heart bruised like mine can never
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 277 
 
 be recalled. 'Tis past for ever' ; the last hope of my life is gone, 
 and nothing now remains but a few years of madness, folly, the 
 wine-cup, and the revel — the battle-field, or pilgrim's staff — an 
 heirless name, and childless sepulchre." 
 
 " He may repent, and yet atone the past," urged our hero, 
 willing to calm him further, by giving utterance to a hope he was 
 far from entertaining ; for none knew so well as he how radically 
 bad was the nature, how engrafted the vices, of the being for whom 
 he pleaded. His words, however, produced an effect the very 
 opposite of his intent ; the more he pleaded, the more obstinate the 
 outraged prince became ; and he finally extorted from Ulrick, before 
 they left the tent, a solemn vow never to reveal the secret of what 
 had passed, or the mystery of Tyrrel's birth, save at his express 
 command. The oath was reluctantly taken, but faithfully kept. 
 They afterwards rejoined their friends, and returned to Pevensey. 
 
 As the train crossed the drawbridge Prince Henry encountered 
 the warder's brother, Peter Norbeck, who, by an affectation of 
 blunt humour and open speech, had gradually wormed himself into 
 his favour ; indeed, so much so, that, from a simple man-at-arms, 
 he had promoted him to a post amongst his personal attendants ; 
 little dreaming that, in so doing, he was but walking blindly into 
 the net which his enemies had spread. 
 
 " Ah, good Peter ! " exclaimed the young prince as soon as he 
 beheld him ; " I have employment for thee. Send Bras de Fer, 
 the executioner, to my chamber ; I would speak with him." 
 
 " With Bras de Fer ! " echoed Norbeck, turning pale ; for 
 conscience whispered that it might be for himself the services of 
 that hated functionary were about to be required. 
 
 " With Bras de Fer," repeated Henry with a loud laugh, slapping 
 him at the same time familiarly on the shoulder. " Why, how the 
 fellow stares ! Go you before, and fix me a noose in the carved 
 oaken beam in the great hall. And see that the cord be strong ; 
 for," added the speaker in a tone of confidence which might have 
 deceived a more suspicious nature than Peter's, " within an hour a 
 greater weight of treachery and crime than thy honest nature can 
 suppose must swing there." 
 
 " Fear not, your grace," replied the ruffian, perfectly reassured 
 by the prince's manner on his own account ; " the cord shall be 
 strong enough to hang the fattest monk in merry England, where, 
 as men say, the holy crows are fattest." 
 
 Had the speaker seen the cold, satirical smile which Henry sent 
 after him as he departed on his errand, he would have gone less 
 cheerfully on his way. 
 
 Within the hour the prince, attended by a dozen men-at-arms and 
 the executioner, entered the hall, where Peter Norbeck, mounted 
 on the summit of a ladder, had already strung the fatal cord. 
 Bras de Fer eyed the preparations critically, and nodded approval.
 
 278 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 " I think it will do, your grace," exclaimed Peter, admiring his 
 own skill. 
 
 " I trust it will," replied the prince sarcastically ; " but Bras de 
 Fer had better try it." 
 
 The functionary, who had previously received his instructions, 
 began to ascend the ladder, as if to try the strength of the cord, 
 according to Henry's orders. Peter, to make way for him, 
 mounted still higher, and thereby facilitated the purpose of the 
 hangman. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better have descended ? " he observed. 
 
 " Not at all necessary," replied his companion, with a smile of 
 quiet humour ; for he seemed to enjoy the joke exceedingly ; 
 " indeed, I could not very well do without you." 
 
 " You will find it firm," said Peter, catching at the rope and 
 placing it in the hands of Bras de Fer, who assured him it would 
 answer the purpose extremely Avell. " How do you make the 
 knot ? " 
 
 " That is a secret. Most men are bunglers at the knot ; but, as 
 you are not a likely man to betray confidence," continued the 
 hangman, " I don't mind showing you. You perceive, on turning 
 the rope twice thus, you allow the noose to run, but not to slip ; 
 once formed, you pass it round the neck of your subject thus." 
 
 Suiting the action to the words, the speaker quickly placed the 
 fatal cord around the throat of Peter Norbeck, who sat listening 
 with unsuspicious gravity, deeply interested in his explanations. 
 
 " What next ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Why, the next thing we do," replied Bras de Fer, " is, perhaps, 
 the most delicate touch of our craft — the most difficult point of all. 
 Passing our arms thus, we pinion our man, and, springing with 
 him from the ladder, launch our handiwork into eternity." 
 
 The executioner, who had gradually got his victim in the 
 requisite position, sprang with him from the ladder as he spoke. 
 Sliding down the convulsed body of the criminal, he dropped to 
 the ground, leaving Peter Norbeck swinging in the air, much to 
 the amusement of the men-at-arms, who had w^atched the whole 
 proceeding as an excellent jest. 
 
 " Cast the carrion into the moat," said Henry, as he quitted the 
 hall when the death-struggle was over. " Such be the fate of 
 every cowardly assassin — the doom of every traitor." 
 
 The letters which the -Black Knight had placed within his hand 
 proved that the wretched Norbeck had undertaken, for a bribe of 
 two hundred marks, to poison him that very evening at the 
 banquet.
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Farewell to England ! " exclaimed Robert of Normandy, as 
 lie entered the bark at Rye destined to bear him from the land 
 whose crown he had so singularly lost, " I leave thee with regret, 
 for thou hast been the scene of many a gallant hope, of many a 
 daring deed. Farewell, my friends," he added ; " should England 
 grow distasteful to you, remember that while Robert hath a home 
 in Normandy, he hath a heart to share it with you. Give no fresh 
 cause of umbrage to him who is now your king, and you are safe. 
 William's fears will prove sufficient safeguard. He may break his 
 vow to God, his brother, and his people, but never will he dare to 
 violate the fearful oath of his unhappy, fated race." 
 
 TJlrick was the last whom the exiled prince embraced, exclaiming 
 as he did so : 
 
 " Adieu, thou noble heart I How different had been my fate 
 had pitying Heaven but blest me with a son as true, as worthy of 
 my love, as thou art ! Living or dead, in exile or on a throne, 
 Robert will rest thy debtor." 
 
 Odo of Bayeux and Prince Henry, who accompanied their 
 nephew and brother to his duchy, embraced in turn their 
 companions in arms, who, according to the stipulations, were 
 immediately to separate, each at the head of the remnant of his 
 followers, to return to his respective home. Edda, our hero, and 
 Mirvan were still at the head of a considerable number of vassals — 
 the imposing appearance which they presented, together with the 
 safe-conduct of William, prevented their being attacked by any of 
 the disbanded soldiery who roamed the country, plundering the 
 weak and frequently exacting ransom from the strong. 
 
 On a bier, in the centre of their march, was borne the body of 
 the venerable Herbert de Lozenga, so foully slain by an assassin's 
 hand, arrayed in his episcopal robes, his face calm as a sleeping 
 prophet's. The body of the murdered prelate was preceded by 
 twelve priests from the neighbouring monasteries, who sang at 
 intervals the Litany of the Dead. TJlrick followed it bareheaded 
 and unarmed. The kind old man had been to him as a father, and 
 he mourned him like a son. In his pious gratitude, he had had the 
 corpse embalmed, and intended to entomb it in the magnificent 
 cathedral his munificence had built. There, in the centre of the 
 choir, before the high altar, may still be seen the resting-place of 
 the Chancellor of William the Conqueror and first Bishop of Norwich, 
 Herbert de Lozenga ; all his predecessors, as well as himself up 
 to the year 1094, having borne the title of Bishop of Thetford only. 
 
 On the arrival of the funeral train in the city, both people and 
 clergy came forth in crowds to meet it ; all united to pay the 
 last act of homage to their pastor, whose benevolence had been 
 unbounded, as his life had been holy and useful. Even his successor,
 
 280 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Eborard, the worthless prior of the Dominicans, whom William, 
 much to the discontent of the primate, had named to the vacant see, 
 joined in the procession. Such is the homage which triumphant 
 vice is sometimes bound to pay to virtue. 
 
 Those only who have felt the pangs of separation from the being 
 whom they love — the agony of doubt, of hope, and fear, v/hich 
 imagination causes in the anxious heart — can picture the meeting 
 between Ulrick and his bride, who now gave visible promise of 
 becoming a mother, and forging by the holy claims of maternity a 
 yet more indissoluble tie around her husband's heart. Edith too — 
 the once more happy Edith — embraced her son, her Edward's 
 living image, and in the gladness of the present hour forgot the 
 tears and trials of the past. Amongst the first to welcome him was 
 Gilbert, the poor boy whom he had left wounded behind him in 
 his flight from London, under the hospitable care of the rich Jew, 
 Falk of Cologne. Four months' absence had so improved his ap- 
 pearance that his benefactor could scarcely recognise him ; his 
 anxious, terrified look had given place to one of modest confidence ; 
 his attenuated cheeks glowed with recovered health ; his step had 
 become elastic, and kis spirits light. Still, in the midst of his joy — 
 and it was almost childish — at again meeting with the first being 
 who had ever shown pity or interest in his welfare a cloud of 
 doubt obscured his open brow ; something remained to be told 
 which he feared might change his protector's smiles to frov-v^ns. 
 
 " Welcome, my faithful boy ! " exclaimed Ulrick, raising him 
 from his knee. " Beshrew me, but I should often have borne a 
 lighter heart had I but known thou wert well housed at Stanfield. 
 How didst thou find thy route hither — did the Jew direct thee ? " 
 
 " Not the Jew," faltered Gilbert, " but his daughter Hester, who 
 tended me, watched over my sick-couch, ministered like an angel 
 to my sufferings. 0, my lord ! if indeed the sight of your poor 
 Gilbert gives you pleasure, it is to her care alone you owe it, for 
 my heart was all but broken when you returned no more." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied our hero, smiling at what he deemed the 
 boy's grateful enthusiasm ; " it seems the pretty infidel made good 
 use of her time, and traced her image on thy young heart while 
 within her power." 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord," said Gilbert, blushing, " but Hester is, 
 or rather soon will be, a Christian." 
 
 " Indeed ! " answered Ulrick, thoughtfully. " Of this we must 
 speak further ; meanwhile, welcome, dear boy, to Stanfield." 
 
 It needed all the influence both of his mother and Matilda to 
 restrain our hero's anger when they informed him that the 
 beautiful Jewess Hester had not only left her father's roof with 
 Gilbert, but was actually at that very moment an inmate of the 
 Hall. His first impression was that the wounded youth had availed 
 himself of her fathe^r's hospitality to seduce her from the paths of
 
 STANFIELD HALL 281 
 
 innocence ; still there was something so childish in his look, so 
 frank in his nature, that his mother's words easily induced him to 
 discard it. 
 
 , " You wrong them," said Edith, calmly ; " if they love, it is as 
 angels love — earthly passion hath not yet left its stain on their 
 unsullied hearts. The maid is truly Christian ; truth from the 
 lips of a poor sick boy hath reached her soul, and Heaven, which 
 smiles not always on the churchman's horpily or scholar's page, 
 hath worked its 'will through him. See her, Ulrick," she added ; 
 " question her ere you decide to scare the young-fledged soul upon 
 Redemption's threshold back from its place of rest ; see her, and be 
 convinced." 
 
 Matilda, seeing the impression which his mother's words had 
 produced upon her husband, without waiting for his reply, raised 
 ithe silver call to her lips — the signal agreed upon for Hester to 
 enter. It was impossible not to be struck with the beauty and 
 childish grace of her manners as she did so. Bending the knee, 
 before he was aware of her intent, she raised his hand to her lips 
 and kissed it. Such was the homage w^hich in her father's house 
 she had been accustomed to pay to the elders and chief men of her 
 people. 
 
 " They tell me, Hester," said Ulrick, raising her kindly as he 
 spoke, " that thou hast left thy father's house to become a Christian 
 — is this thing so ? " 
 
 "It is," replied the maiden, modestly" ; else had I not abandoned 
 my father in his age, or the sisters of my blood." 
 
 " And what hath wrought this change ? Why wouldst thou 
 leave the faith of thy father and thy nation ? " 
 
 " Because I found it," said Hester, speaking in the phraseology 
 of the East, which, from her childhood, she had been accustomed 
 to, " as barren as the sea of my own distant land, whose waters 
 never yet were ruffled by the sea-bird's wing ; because I found in 
 it observances without devotion, a body without a soul." 
 
 "And what hast thou found in Christianity?" demaded our hero, 
 struck with the impressive earnestness of her manner and peculiar 
 expression of thought. 
 
 " Love," replied the Jewess, with a modest blush ; " love, with 
 which creation teems ; love, which at every step proclaims the 
 work of an Almighty Hand ; love, which makes suffering joy, and 
 persecution peace ; love, which is God, since God alone is perfect 
 love. Not all the Temple's awful pomp," she added ; " the name, 
 at which nations trembled as they read, graved on the high priest's 
 mitred brow — speak the Divinity like those plain words, ' Love one 
 another." 
 
 " And Gilbert taught thee thus much of Christian faith ? " 
 
 " Taught me," said Hester, " and taught me not ; I felt as if I 
 but reniembered it like some forgotten air which memory hath
 
 282 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 treasured in its cell. The note-key struck, and all the gushing 
 melody returned." 
 
 " Hast thou no other love ? " asked Ulrick. 
 
 " For my father and my sisters, yes," replied the maiden, her 
 eyes suffused with tears at the recollection that her absence had 
 clouded the joy of their once happy home. 
 
 " And none for Gilbert ? " 
 
 " For Gilbert ? " repeated the maiden, with a look of innocent, 
 childish surprise, so pure that our hero almost blushed to have 
 asked the question. " Oh, yes, I love him as I love all things of 
 God ; I love him as our great father loved the dove which brought 
 the branch of peace ; love him as the faithful friend who guided 
 my footsteps here ; as a brother," she added, gravely — ^for the first 
 time, perhaps, comprehending the drift of the question. " Hester 
 will never love him less or more." 
 
 " Would that the venerable Herbert lived ! " exclaimed Ulrick ; 
 " his pure soul would best direct and understand thee ; mine is 
 unequal to the task. Remain, Hester, with the kindred spirits of 
 my wife and mother : they will instruct and love thee. Soon as 
 thou art prepared, the Church's rites shall welcome her stray dove 
 back to its longing bosom." 
 
 Peaceful that night was the slumber of the Jewess ; the last 
 cloud, as she imagined, between her and happiness had disappeared ; 
 she dreamt not of the trials by which Heaven would test her 
 fortitude ere it crowned her triumph by making her its own. 
 
 Early the following morning, Ulrick encountered Gilbert on the 
 ramparts ; the poor youth, scarcely aware of the nature of his 
 feelings towards the laeautiful being whose destiny had become so 
 strangely mixed with his, was listening beneath her window to the 
 hymn into which her morning prayer broke forth : 
 
 " I have seen the Lord's might in the fair evening- star — 
 In the bright worlds of light He hath scattered afar ; 
 Not more wond^ol^s are these as a proof of His power, 
 Than the insect whose home is the bright-tinted flower. 
 
 I have heard the Lord's voice in the thunder's loud sound, 
 When the lightning's red flash scattered terror around ; 
 But His dread will is spoken as plain as in these, 
 When borne on the delicate voice of the breeze. 
 
 Oh ! there is not a thing that hath being or life. 
 From the emmet's small form, to the ocean's wild strife ; 
 Not a leaf on the shrub, or a sweet-scented flower. 
 But are emblems alike of His goodness and power. 
 
 I have seen the fierce waves by the tempest's breath thrown— 
 
 Man left on the billow to struggle alone — 
 
 And felt that each creatiare was safe in His hand 
 
 On the mad foaming sea, as when cradled on land." 
 
 " Rash boy ! " said our hero, pityingly ; " thou art drinking of 
 the draught that will but increase thy thirst. Tell me, dreamer,"
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 283 
 
 he added, " what I can do best to show my gratitude for thy past 
 service." 
 
 " Gratitude ! " echoed Gilbert. " Ah ! now you jest, my lord. 
 What debt can you owe to the wretched being whom your bounty 
 rescued from a slavery worse than death ? Besides, what more can 
 I desire than to remain near you — to watch and tend you — live for 
 your use — die in your service ? " 
 
 '* Dreams, boy, dreams ! " replied Ulrick, who saw that Gilbert's 
 was a character which mingling in the world alone could form, and 
 which, permitted to vegetate in peaceful solitude, would lose even 
 the little energy it possessed. " The purposes of a life may not be 
 wasted for a caprice like this ; fortune hath many roads to 
 greatness, and the courageous heart cannot fail to find one." 
 
 " I am without ambition," sighed the youth. 
 
 " A cloister, then, perchance, would suit thee better ? " 
 
 Gilbert started ; for a monastic life was the very last of which he 
 had been dreaming. His kind protector feared that his love for 
 the fair Jewess would prove hopeless. Hers was one of those 
 pure, visionary natures which seldom descend to earthly love, but 
 exhale themselves away in the retirement of the convent or the cell 
 of the desert ; and he was anxious to plunge him into the active 
 realities of life, in order to make him forget its dreams — too often 
 the most difficult and painful task for youth. 
 
 " A cloister ! " echoed Gilbert ; " never ! never ! My heart was 
 never framed for solitude. Do not send me from you," he added ; 
 " all my hopes and affections are garnered here. It would break 
 my heart to part with them." 
 
 " This is madness, folly, boy," answered Ulrick. 
 
 " I must be the physician of thy mind as well as the protector of 
 thy fortunes. In three days I will give thee letters to Robert 
 Duke of Normandy ; for my sake he will cherish thee 'neath his 
 wing. There thou mayst achieve a name a soul like Hester's may 
 be proud to love. At the present hour her heart is wedded to her 
 faith alone ; it knows no other rival." 
 
 " In three days ? " sighed the youth. 
 
 " In three days," repeated our hero, turning away, unable to 
 resist the pleading look which Gilbert directed towards him. 
 
 " In three days," repeated the boy, as he plunged into the 
 neighbouring wood, " I shall again be desolate. Fool, to think 
 that earth produced one flower of happiness for a wretch like me ! 
 Ungenerous Ulrick ! " he added, at the same time throwing himself 
 upon a low bank under one of those great oaks beneath which, 
 perchance, the soldiers of Caesar had often halted, or the Druid 
 celebrated his mysterious rites ; " blessed himself in all that love 
 can yield, little he recks of the poor peasant youth, whose gratitude 
 is perchance a burden to him. Why send me from him ? What 
 need have I to seek a name ? "
 
 284 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 "Thou hast a proud one, boy — as proud as his whom thon 
 namest thy protector," exclaimed a deep voice near him. " But 
 thou must prove thyself worthy of it ere thou darest to claim it." 
 
 Gilbert started from his seat ; absorbed in his sorrow, he had 
 not marked, when he threw himself upon the bank, that a stranger, 
 dressed in a pilgrim's russet garb, his cowl drawn over his features, 
 was already seated beneath the shadow of the gnarled tree. 
 
 " What knowest thou of my name or me, father ? " demanded 
 the astonished youth. 
 
 " More than thou knovv^est of thyself," replied the stranger ; 
 " for that past, which is to thee a volume sealed, my eyes can read." 
 
 " The page would be a sad one," said Gilbert carelessly ; for he 
 deemed the pilgrim sporting with him. 
 
 " It may be a glad one soon," 
 
 " Father," said the young man, " 'tis plain thou knowest but 
 little of me or my fortunes : thy science hath deceived thee. My 
 birth is humble as thy russet gown ; my name ignoble ; my life 
 hath hitherto been wretched — useless. Sport with me no more ; 
 I am too sad for jesting." 
 
 " And I too pressed for time," replied the stranger, v/hom our 
 readers have no doubt already suspected to be no other than Robert 
 of Artois. " Answer me this : dost thou ' not bear a red cross 
 deeply printed on thy breast — near to thy heart ? " 
 
 " I do," exclaimed Gilbert, feeling, for the first time, deeply 
 interested in the pilgrim's question. "From infancy I have 
 observed the mark ; and once, when I asked my father how it came 
 there, he answered me with blows, and bade me keep my peace." 
 
 "Vile slave!" muttered the stranger; "but his debt is paid. 
 Tell me, boy, did no secret loathing of thy heart — no impulse 
 whisper thee — the warder was not thy father ? " 
 
 " I knew," said the young man, " he was but my step-father." 
 
 " Thy step-father ! " repeated the pilgrim contemptuously. " He 
 never saw thy mother ; her proud heart would have spurned him 
 like a cur, had such a being raised his eyes e'en to the dust she 
 trod on." 
 
 " Maud, then, was not my parent ! " exclaimed Gilbert, " Thank 
 Heaven for that ! Stranger, thou hast removed a weight from this 
 bruised heart. The heavy blow, the taunting speech, the bitter 
 gibe, were doubly bitter when I reflected 'twas a mother dealt them. 
 But tell, in mercy tell me, who were my parents ? Live they yet ? " 
 
 " Thy mother sleeps the sleep of all ; thy father lives, though 
 men believe him dead. A fate as strange as cruel, and merciless as 
 just, obliges him to walk the earth like some unburiedshadow : 
 but fear not thou ; his crime leaves no dishonour on his name ; 
 thou yet mayst proudly bear it. It shall go hard but the hope lost 
 to himself he will achieve for thee." 
 " His name ! his name ! "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 285 
 
 " Merit it, boy, and thou slialt learn it," replied the pilgrim ; 
 " for the present hour, farewell. Let what has passed remain a 
 secret, locked in thy breast like the first impulse of thy boyish 
 love. Thou knowe^t the ruin called the Druid's Cell ? Should 
 danger threaten or misfortune reach thee, seek me there ; for, poor 
 and abject as the world may deem me, I may not lack the means to 
 save or serve thee." 
 
 Ere Gilbert could recover his astonishment the speaker dis- 
 appeared v/ithin the wood, leaving the bewildered youth in doubt 
 whether what he had heard was real or but the vision of some 
 waking dream. 
 
 Bitterly didtthe poor monks and clergy regret the loss of their 
 venerable superior, Herbert de Lozenga, whose rule had been of 
 love. His successor's, the unworthy Eborard, proved of iron ; for, 
 conscious that he was regarded with dislike, if not contempt, he 
 avenged himself by the annoyance with Avhich petty tyranny 
 torments the spirits it cannot subdue. Short as had been his reign, 
 the chapter had already appealed against his vexations, harsh 
 encroachments on their privileges, to the primate, whose j)ower 
 alone could stand between them and the haughty bishop. Reckless 
 as Eborard was, he trembled at the name of Lanfranc, w^hose 
 indignation at his appointment had been openly expressed, and 
 whose authority, for a canonical fault, could even yet depose him, 
 despite the protection and favour of the king. He had just heard 
 from one of his creatures of the proceedings of the monks, and was 
 pacing his chamber in rage and vexation, when an attendant entered 
 to inform him that a stranger, meanly clad, desired admittance to 
 his presence. 
 
 " I have no humour to listen to strangers or intruders ! " 
 exclaimed the impatient prelate ; " I am pestered enough with the 
 stiflE-necked brotherhood, whose spirit I must either bend or break. 
 Send him to the prior or the almoner ; and to teach thee, brother, 
 discretion for the future, I forbid thee for the rest of the week to 
 appear in refectory during the evening meal." 
 
 " But the stranger, reverend father," urged the dismayed lay 
 brother, " has letters of importance, as he says. I told him how 
 difficult you were of access, but he would take no denial ; he said 
 they were from the king." 
 
 " The king ! Imbecile, admit him instantly ! And for thy 
 want of sense," added Eborard, '• in detaining this messenger from 
 the king, add to thy penance a midnight vigil to our Lady ; pray to 
 her to teach thee common sense, and grant me patience to bear 
 with thee." ,, , ^ 
 
 " Now, fellow," said Eborard, as Falk of Cologne humbly bent 
 before him, " what is thy will with us ? Have we misunderstood 
 thy message ? Dost thou indeed bring letters from the king ? Or 
 was it but a ruse to gain admittance to our presence ? "
 
 286 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Bowing low, the aged Israelite, who seemed worn with grief as 
 well as travel, presented a slip of parchment, sealed with the royal 
 signet. In it the monarch recommended the bearer to the bishop, 
 urging him to obtain for him, by every means, possession of his 
 daughter, deluded from her home by the esquire of the lord of 
 Stanfield. 
 
 "He must be rich," thought the prelate to himself, "to have 
 obtained such a missive from the Red King." 
 
 " How can I serve thee ? " demanded the bishop, after having 
 carefully perused the letter. 
 
 " By restoring to me my child," replied the Jew. " Thou art a 
 judge as well as high-priest of thy people. Thy laws forbid all 
 intercourse between the children of our nation. Hester hath been 
 deluded from me by a wounded snake, which in my pity I had 
 sheltered. A shame hath fallen upon Israel ; desolation is upon 
 m.y hearth — sorrow on my grey hairs, for the child of my age hath 
 dishonoured them." 
 
 " Thinkest thou," demanded Eborard, eager, in his hatred, to 
 involve Ulrick in the censures of the Church, " that this boy — this 
 esquire — is but the cloak for some more artful villain .' That his 
 master, the lord of Stanfield " 
 
 " Never saw my child," interrupted Falk ; " at least not till she 
 had abandoned the home of her fathers. In my desolation I will 
 utter no injustice, lest the Lord of Israel confound me in His 
 wrath. Till this serpent Gilbert poured his venom in her ear, 
 Nazarene never gazed upon her face. I had garnered her like my 
 life's pearl, in secret. My care was for her, my toil for her, my 
 prayer for her. Perchance," he added, bitterly, " I had made an 
 idol in my heart, and the God of my fathers hath punished me for 
 my wickedness." 
 
 " Why seek, then, to regain her ? " said the churchman, coldly. 
 
 " Because she is my child," answered the Jew ; " and merciless 
 as the Christian's law hath been to us — persecuted, reviled, 
 outraged, and degraded as we have been — the iron finger of 
 oppression hath not effaced all trace of humanity from my breast. 
 Because when the last trumpet shall sound, and the scattered race 
 of Israel shall assemble in the valley of Jehoshaphat before 
 the judgment-seat of the Most High, I would exclaim, ' Thanks, 
 Lord, the children which thou gavest are all with Thee ! ' " 
 
 " Should she turn Christian ? " 
 
 "Horror ! " shrieked the Hebrew ; "rather would I behold her 
 dead than turned unto the strange God of the Christian. Pardon 
 me ! " he exclaimed, as he marked the haughty frown on the 
 bishop's brow ; " I know it is a great thing I demand — an unheard- 
 of thing — for a Jew to exercise his natural right over his rebellious 
 child, for an Israelite to find justice against a Christian ; but if I 
 am poor in prayers," he added, " I am rich in that the Church
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 287 
 
 prizes more than the empty triumph of an infant convert. I am 
 rich in gold. Name what ransom, sum, mulct, or offering — call it 
 what you will — you please ; were it the last shekel of my house, 
 I'd count it freely — restore me but my child." 
 
 The passionate grief with which Falk pronounced these last 
 words made little impression upon the obdurate heart to which 
 they were addressed : but his offers of gold were more favourably 
 received ; for Eborard was one of those in whom the yellow idol 
 Mammon had long replaced the purer image of the Deity ; his 
 dreams were of gold ; his very prayers, if the ignoble aspirations 
 of such a thing of clay merit the name, were all of gold. Belus 
 had found in him a ready worshipper, for his statue was of gold. 
 One rival passion, whose existence he dreamt not of, lay dormant 
 in his heart ; its sleep had been profound, its waking was destined 
 to be fearful. 
 
 " Thou speakest truly, Jew," said the bishop, after a pause, in 
 which he had mentally calculated how much he could wring out 
 of him ; " it is a great thing which thou demandest ; still, as the 
 Church is merciful, and the king befriends thee, I may perchance 
 stand thj' stead in this ; but thine alms for such a favour " 
 
 " Shall content e'en thee," said Falk, eagerly ; " I am no niggard 
 to cheapen when 'tis my flesh and blood I would redeem ; name 
 the sum at which I may secure the Church's silence, and thy 
 powerful aid." 
 
 " What thinkest thou of a thousand marks of gold ? " demanded 
 Eborard. 
 
 " 'Tis a large sum, but yet it shall be paid," answered Falk — 
 " paid were it the last coin I possess. Place but my child once 
 more beneath my care, and the gold," he added, with a sigh, " is 
 yours." 
 
 " Think not, Jew," said the churchman, " that I consent to this 
 for mine own gain. Thy gold is for the poor. Penance and 
 prayer must atone my share in this, if indeed the maid be truly 
 Christian." 
 
 " I know ! I know ! " impatiently interrupted the old man, 
 fearful lest the prelate should demand an extra sum as a solace for 
 his conscience ; which, however, he shrewdly valued at its true 
 price. " Fear not that the Israelite misjudges thy condescension. 
 When wilt thou secure the wretched girl ? " 
 
 " This very day our precept shall be issued forth," said Eborard ; 
 " and the gold " 
 
 "Be counted to thee," replied Falk, "when Hester is restored 
 unto her father. Farewell, my lord. To-morrow the poor Hebrew 
 will once more kiss the dust before thy sacred presence." 
 
 With these words the dignitary and the despised Jew parted — 
 the former to issue his mandate for the arrest of Hester, the latter 
 to seek a lodging with one of his nation in the city.
 
 288 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 That same evening Ulrick was seated in the oratory of his 
 mother, listening to Matilda, who was instructing the young and 
 beautiful neophite in the creed of her new faith. There was 
 something so pure, so innocent, so free from every taint of earth, in 
 the character and enthusiastic devotion of the maiden, that her 
 protectyess began to regard her almost with a sister's love. Added 
 to which, the pious work in which she was occupied was, according 
 to the spirit of the age, so meritorious in the eyes of the Church, 
 that it assured paradise to those who successfully completed it. 
 
 "But why," urged Matilda to Hester's wish of retiring to a 
 convent as soon as she had been received into the Church, " why 
 quit the world ? It hath duties as sacred as the cloister. 
 Besides," she added with a smile, " poor Gilbert's love merits some 
 pity." 
 
 A blush suffused the cheek of the fair Jewess, and she was about 
 to reply to her, when the subject of their conversation rushed into 
 the oratory, exclaiming : 
 
 " Save her, my lord ! They come to drag the victim forth to 
 sacrifice ; they would tear her alike from heaven and you ; the 
 soldiers of the Church demand their prey." 
 
 Ere Ulrick could reply, the curtain which screened the entrance 
 to the oratory was drawn aside, and a tall, ferocious-looking monk, 
 followed by an officer who bore the new bishop's arms embroidered 
 on his vest, and a party of men-at-arms, unceremoniously entered 
 the apartment. Indignant at the sight, Gilbert half-drew his 
 sword, and in his enthusiasm blood would have doubtless been shed, 
 had not the hand of our hero restrained him. Matilda, offended at 
 the intrusion, and alarmed for the safety of her protegee, half 
 encircled her with her arm, and regarded the men with an 
 inquiring but disdainful glance. The priest read from the 
 parchment which he held in his hand a citation for Hester to 
 appear before the bishop and the ecclesiastical court, to answer to 
 the charge of having fled with a Christian ; a crime," added the 
 fellow, " abhorrent both to God and man, and punished by the 
 Church with death." 
 
 As soon as he had concluded, the civil officer advanced to arrest 
 her. 
 
 '• My dream — my dream ! " exclaimed the Jewess, fixing her 
 beautiful e3"es on high, and every feature glowing with the most 
 exalted enthusiasm, as if already she beheld the martyr's crown. 
 " The wolf hath broke the fold ; the tiger hath tracked the fawn. 
 The words of my A^ision are realised — ' If thou wouldst indeed be 
 Christian, learn to sufiier, for to suffer is to love.' I am ready ; 
 whither must I go ? " 
 
 " To prison ! " replied the officer, moved, despite himself, at the 
 sight of so much beauty and courage ; although, in the fulfilment 
 of his office, he advanced to secure her person as he spoke.
 
 STANFIELD HALL.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 291 
 
 " Back ! " said Ulrick, sternly ; " is Stanfield Hold a brigand's 
 den, that thus your master violates the laws of courtesy, and seizes 
 on my guest ? The maid is Christian." 
 
 " Let her prove it," replied the priest ; " but till she does she is 
 our prisoner." 
 
 Ulrick regarded him with a smile of cold contempt. Terrible as 
 was the power of the Church, he knew that it had its limits ; 
 but had it been ten times more despotic, he would have blushed to 
 have resigned an innocent, unoffending being at its summons, 
 who had no friend save himself. 
 
 " I will be warrant for the maid's appearance," answered our 
 hero ; " till then Stanfield is her home, and I am her protector." 
 
 " What if we resist ? " demanded the monk. 
 
 " My vassals shall scourge ye to the boundaries of my lands. 
 Hence ! " he added ; " pollute my home no longer ; lest I forget 
 your office in its errand, and crush ye like vipers 'neath my feet ! 
 Gilbert, haste to the seneschal ; call out the guard, and bid them 
 hurl these intruders into the moat, if, in three minutes, Stanfield 
 is not clear of them." 
 
 Scarcely had the command escaped his lips than the youth had 
 quitted the apartment. 
 
 " Beware, sir knight ! " exclaimed the monk, as he retreated ; 
 " the Church's arm is iron — it will crush thee." 
 
 "Better be crushed by it than live its slave," said Ulrick. 
 " Away ! and tempt not my patience further ! " 
 
 " Not for me ! " exclaimed Hester — " not for me this coil ! 
 What were my worthless life to one moment's danger unto thee 
 or thine ? Besides," she added, "the fate my vision told must be 
 fulfilled. Sir officer, I am your prisoner, and will follow you." 
 
 " Never," interrupted Matilda, " will I resign you to the charge 
 of that ferocious man. If danger threatens, courage must meet it ; 
 if persecution comes, paHence must bear it ; if death awaits us, 
 innocence shall welcome it." 
 
 At this moment the seneschal and men, conducted by Gilbert, 
 entered the oratory ; a ad the baffled messengers of priestly 
 tyranny, venting curses, withdrew, to inform their employer of the 
 failure of their mission. 
 
 Early on the following morning, as Eborard was considering 
 how best to accomplish his designs, and secure not only the person 
 of the Jewess, but invc Ive Ulrick in the censure of the Church, he 
 was informed that a jemale demanded to see him. Finding, on 
 inquiry, that she was young and beautiful, he gave orders to admit 
 her — for, churchman though he was, he was not insensible to the 
 charms of a red lip )r flashing eye. Much to his annoyance, the 
 prior, whose cold, S' ately manner towards him not all his courtesy 
 and blandishments could change, entered his apartment at the 
 same moment as his visitor. 
 
 U 2
 
 292 BTANFIELD HALL, 
 
 " Welcome reverend brother ! Benedicite, fair daughter ! " he 
 exclaimed, addressing each of them. " We will but hear the worthy- 
 prior's pleasure, and attend your will." 
 
 " Hear it now, my lord ! " exclaimed the female, bending her 
 knee, and at the same time throwing back her veil, which discovered 
 features of such uncommon loveliness, that Eborard felt the warm 
 blood rushing to his heart with most unpriestly violence. " I am 
 your prisoner — the Jewess, Hester, whom you seek." 
 
 The prior devoutly crossed himself ; for, although a kind, he was 
 a superstitious man. His superior remained gazing upon her with 
 flushed brow and trembling pulse. For the first time' in his life he 
 felt subjugated by the influence of beauty. Often as it had crossed 
 his path before, it had never touched his heart. 
 
 " Is it possible ? Art thou," he demanded, " the Jewess ^Vhom 
 the lord of Stantield insolently refused to our behest ? 'Tis well 
 he hath thought better of it ere om- wrath had crushed him." 
 
 " The knight of Stanfield sheltered me not as a Jewess, but as a 
 Christian, reverend father." 
 
 " Now, praised be our Lady ! " exclaimed the prior, with a 
 benevolent smile ; " the lost sheep of Zion returned to the fold, 
 and a soul is won. Thou art a Christian, maiden ? " 
 " In all but name," replied Hester, modestly. 
 " And hath Ulrick," demanded the prior, in a tone of disappoint- 
 ment, " sent thee here to plead thy cause alone ? " 
 
 " He knows not of my coming," said the maiden. " Visions had 
 warned me ' of approaching danger. Could I behold my kind 
 protector suffer through his zeal for me ? That were indeed to prove 
 myself unworthy of the name I bear in heart." 
 
 " Remove her," said the prelate to the attendant lay brothers, 
 who appeared upon his summons. 
 
 " Where ? " demanded the prior. " To the convent of St. 
 Mary ? " 
 
 " No," replied the bishop, sternly, "to he palace prison." 
 Despite the prior's intercession, the maiden was conducted to the 
 prison ; and the good man, whose interfei'ence had been haughtily 
 rebuked by his superior, with a thoughtful mien returned to his cell 
 within the cloister. 
 
 Gilbert remembered the advice which the recluse had given him, 
 to seek him in the hour of danger or advert ity : and on the arrest 
 of Hester, he sought him in his retreat, and summoned him, with 
 all the energy of despair, to fulfil his promis*^ 
 
 " Follow ! " exclaimed the uriknown, moved to compassion at the 
 distress of the only being who still possessed a claim upon his 
 affections ; " it is not exactly the destiny I woVld choose for thee, 
 but since Heaven hath willed it so, I will not viinly seek to tkwart 
 its purpose." 
 
 An hour's walk brought them to tlie palace-gate of the haughty
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 293 
 
 Eborard, where, despite their entreaties, threats, and despair, they 
 were refused admittance by the prelate's guard, who advised them 
 to apply to the almoner, or to come on the following Friday, which 
 was dole-day. As they were returning, disheartened, fortunately 
 they encountered the worthy prior, who listened with pity to 
 Gilbert's tale, and felt his interest in the fate of the fair Jewess 
 augmented by the artless story of her conversion. 
 
 " Hast thou courage, boy," he demanded, " to ride to London, 
 and demand an audience of the primate ? " 
 
 " To death," said Gilbert, eagerly, " in such a cause." 
 
 " 'Tis well," resumed the churchman. " I will give thee a letter 
 which will secure thee an audience of Lanfi'anc. Tell thy tale 
 with the honest simplicity thou hast told it me, and doubt not the 
 result." 
 
 "And I," replied the recluse, " will arm him with a weapon to 
 depose and crush this mitred tyrant, whose sacerdoce is a 
 blasphemy — whose religion hypocrisy." 
 
 The good prior's letter was speedily written ; and that very day 
 Gilbert, bearing a packet from his mysterious friend as well as the 
 priest's missive, started for London. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 In his anxiety to ascertain the fate of his protege, Ulrick had 
 several times presented himself at the palace of the new bishop to 
 solicit an audience, but without success ; the haughty churchman 
 refused to see him, and he returned on each occasion to the 
 inquiring Matilda the bearer of ^fresh disappointment and dis- 
 quietude. Short as had been Hester's residence at Stanfield, she 
 had acquired not only the love of its genef'ous owners, but the 
 esteem and admiration of all its inmates. Her youth and beauty, 
 no less than fervent piety and unfeigned humility, had won her 
 friends. The poor whom she had solaced, the wounded she had 
 tended, were all unanimous in their pi-aise of her gentleness and 
 patience ; and many openly declared that, should the haughty 
 prelate seek to wrong her, crowns should be broken and swords 
 drawn in her defence. Meanwhile the recluse, as the Black 
 Knight was now called, did not remain idle. 
 
 If the conduct of Eborard appeared inexplicable to the friends of 
 the Jewess, it was still more so to the brethren of the convent and 
 his own immediate household. Since he beheld his prisoner, his 
 character seemed entirely changed ; he no longer occupied himself 
 in tormenting his clergy, or inventing fresh means of curtailing 
 their privileges. Even his schemes of ambition for awhile were 
 laid at rest ; letters remained unanswered ; decrees, long meditated, 
 postponed ; and his revenues unaudited. In the solemn ofiBces of
 
 294 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 the Church, the episcopal throne was frequently vacant, and the 
 hours which should have been devoted to the services of his God 
 were passed, to the astonishment of all, in visits to his prisoner, 
 whose chamber was guarded by several of his minions whom he 
 had brought with him from his priory, and on whose unscrupulous 
 fidelity he could rely. The inmates of the convent were debarred 
 all access to her. 
 
 The younger monks observed, too, with significant smiles, the 
 attention which he paid to the adornment of his person ; gems of 
 price, contrary to the canons of the Church, glittered on his fingers, 
 and his hair and beard were perfumed. His table, to the great 
 scandal of the prior, was served with the choicest wines, and he 
 indulged in the excitement of the cup more like some reckless 
 soldier than the sober inmate of the cloister. 
 
 The truth was, Eborard loved — if indeed the impious sentiment 
 which could make him forget his vow to God and priestly rank 
 merits the name — madly, wildly loved. 
 
 Ardent piety alone can reconcile men to the cloister, or the 
 deepest sentiment of religion wed them to the priesthood. Eborard's 
 union with the Church had been one of interest and ambition 
 only. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that the cold barriers 
 which prudence and calculating hypocrisy, had raised melted like 
 wax before the breath of human passion. 
 
 Love in the virtuous, well-governed heart is a pure, gentle 
 stream, fertilising and refreshing all that it embraces ; in the 
 unholy breast it is a torrent, whose pathway is destruction and 
 desolation. 
 
 It was on the fifth morning after the departure of Gilbert for 
 London that Falk of Cologne, after much entreaty, succeeded in 
 obtaining an audience of the bishop, whose intentions, although far 
 from guessing the truth, he began vaguely to suspect. The prelate 
 received him with his usual haughty indifference ; indeed, he 
 would have scarcely deigned to dissemble with the Jew, but for 
 the letter which he had been the bearer of from the king. To his 
 demand for his daughter, he replied that, great as was his inclina- 
 tion to serve him, he could not forget the duty he owed to his high 
 station and the laws of the Church ; but that in a few days, after 
 he had again consulted the chapter on the subject, he might 
 perhaps be enabled to restore her to him. 
 
 " Perhaps ! " iterated the Jew, eying him keenly, for he was no 
 stranger to the character which Eborard bore ; " there was no 
 ' perhaps' when first we spoke ; then all was clear and well defined. 
 Have I," continued the agitated father, " but withdrawn my child 
 from one peril to expose her to the worst extreme of fate ? Nay, 
 bend not, priest," he added, *' thy haughty brows on me. While 
 Ruf us has need of gold, I bear a charmed life beyond thy malice 
 to assail. Give me my daughter, or I will appeal unto the primate.
 
 STANPIELD HALL 295 
 
 Little as he loves our persecuted race, he loves still less the priest 
 who holds his vows as feathers in the balance of his evil passions." 
 
 With difficulty the prelate restrained the scornful defiance which 
 rose upon his lips, but prudence bade him dissemble ; he more 
 than half -suspected that complaints sufficiently serious had already 
 been made to the stern Lanfranc against him, and he trembled at 
 the idea of an additional charge ; for, as legate of the Pope as Avell 
 as Archbishop of Canterbury, the zealous primate was in all 
 matters of ecclesiastical discipline his all but irresponsible judge ; 
 besides which, he knew him already to be prepossessed against 
 him. 
 
 " I pardon thee, rash man," he answered, trying to assume the 
 tone of injured innocence, " thy vile, injurious suspicion ; it proves 
 how little thou knowest of Holy Church, or its much-slandered 
 ministers. In thy headlong passion appeal unto the primate. I 
 am prepared to meet the charge, and surrender him my prisoner. 
 For me, perchance, it were the safest step, for my brethren already 
 wonder at the clemency I have shown to a daughter of thy 
 unbelieving race ; but, remember, once in his power, not e'en the 
 king's authority can tear her from it ; and if his justice dooms her 
 to the stake, blame thyself, not me." 
 
 " The stake ! " shrieked Falk, his cheek blanching at the word. 
 " No, no — impossible ! Though priests, ye are men. Ye cannot 
 have forgotten the mothers who bore yon, the sisters who shared 
 your love — all is not stone in your cold, selfish hearts. The stake ! 
 and for a child ! " he added. " It is too horrible even for Christian 
 cruelty." 
 
 " She hath fled, and with a Christian," said the prelate, coldly ; 
 ♦ " such is the Church's law." 
 
 " Accursed be that law ! " exclaimed the Hebrew, still more and 
 more excited ; " for 'tis of Moloch's creed. Devils alone could 
 frame it ; no men, save those who have renounced the ties of nature, 
 be found to execute it." 
 
 " This in our presence, Jew ? Thou blasphemest." 
 
 " Hear me," continued the aged Israelite : " I know the key- 
 stone to your hearts ; 'tis gold — the yellow idol at whose shrine 
 your souls are daily sacrificed. Yield me my daughter back 
 unstained, unharmed, and I will sate your avaricious thirst, though 
 I count down the last shekel of my wealth, and wander forth the 
 beggar of my tribe." 
 
 " It cannot be," answered Eborard, his impious passion struggling 
 against his cupidity ; "all I dare do I will — unseemly haste would 
 compromise myself — in a few days perchance." 
 
 " A few days ! " interrupted Falk, sternly ; "and what in a few 
 days will my daughter be to me ? A degraded thing ; abject as 
 violence and brutal lust can make her. Deny it not — the lie would 
 blister on thy lip ; a father's fears can pierce the shallow veil of
 
 296 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 thy deceit. Man," he added throwing himself upon, his knees, "if 
 our creeds be different, our natures are the same ; our loves and 
 hates, impulses, hopes, and fears, all spring from the same source. 
 Beggar me, and I will bless thee ; restore to me the child of my 
 age, and at the judgment-seat of the Most High the Jew will not 
 accuse thee." 
 
 " Thou hast my answer ; lay it to thy reason, not thy passion. 
 In five days thy daughter shall be free, and Heaven pardon thee 
 thy unjust suspicions." 
 
 " Enough," said the suppliant, with an unnatural calmness ; " I'll 
 trust its justice further than thy mercy. Farewell, sir priest ; thou 
 hast yet to learn that if the Hebrew be slow to strike, his aim is 
 but the surer." 
 
 Without further reverence or word the speaker quitted the 
 apartment. 
 
 " There is some spell upon me," exclaimed the guilty man, as 
 soon as he was alone — " a spell which drags me to perdition. It is 
 no longer the cool blood which c'rcles in my veins, but the 
 volcano's burning lava. The image of this girl pursues me at the 
 altar, in my dreams ; my prayers a'.e of her, my thoughts of her, 
 my being is of her. Vainly I fly from restless vigils to a more 
 restless couch. Fever is in my sle ^p, and mocking kisses sear my 
 eager lips. I will possess her," hd added, " e'en though mj- forfeit 
 soul should be the purchase of r. moment's bliss." 
 
 For a fevv^ moments he cont'^nued to pace the rush-strewn floor, 
 and then, as if struck by a p'^dden thought, raised the silver call to 
 his lips, and sounded twic<3. The signal brought Robert of Artois' 
 former squire, Brantov^e, to his presence. His new master had 
 already proved his 'dsef ulness, and hesitated not to trust him. 
 Beckoning him to the window where he stood, he pointed out to 
 him the retreScing figure of his visitor, who was seen slowly wind- 
 ing his ^:d,j across St. Martin's Plain, The fellow's eye followed 
 him with the sagacious look of the bloodhound. Instinctively he 
 guessed whs- '::z,'a exnected from ixirr*. 
 
 " ►^Gi-it ■:T-^ iTtrii man .'"" uGinjitnICi the J^r^^^^e, pointing to the Jew. 
 
 " 5 -:ti« "iy ioixi." 
 
 " Wouldst know him tx^.'*in r '' 
 
 " From a thousand," said I^rantoil? ; "it is not the first time I 
 have seen him. For days he has been lingering round the palace, 
 and twice asked an audience of the prior." 
 
 " Did he obtain it ? " eagerly inquired Eborard, whom, the in- 
 telligence confirmed in his fearful purpose. 
 
 " No, my lord ; I took upon myself to drive him forth." 
 
 " And tiiou didst well," observed his master, with a smile ; " but 
 he had done better who had silenced his slanderous tongue for 
 ever. Thou wert speaking to me lately," he added, " of the lands 
 of Carrow — part of the fief of thy late master."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 297 
 
 " True," eagerly intei-rupted Brantone. 
 
 " Come to me in two days," slowly continued Eborard, with a 
 look of peculiar mearting ; " and we will speak yet f iirther on the 
 subject. I am not one of those ungrateful masters who forget 
 faithful service. Am I understood ? " 
 
 "Perfectly," replied the esquire, with a look of intelligence. 
 "As for yon infidel, rest satisfied, my lord, in this world he shall 
 cross your path no more." 
 
 " I seek not to understand thy meaning," said the churchman ; 
 for he was a hypocrite even with the instruments of his crimes ; 
 " 'tis true he bath menaced me — outraged my honoiu- by his vile 
 suspicions — threatened to denounce me," he added, bitterly, "to 
 the primate ; but, as a Christian, I forgive him. Do thou the same. 
 Farewell." 
 
 " Umph ! " muttered Brantone, as he retired from his master's 
 presence ; " such forgiveness is like that of the Bishop of Beauvais 
 to the thief who stole his cup ; he pardoned him the robbery, but 
 burnt him for the sacrilege. Heaven keep me from such pardons 
 as churchmen give ! " 
 
 " The crime indeed is fearful ! " exclaimed the prior, who, with 
 an agitated step, was pacing the cloisters of the cathedral, accom- 
 panied by a venerable ecclesiastic, one of the members of the 
 chapter, and our old acquaintance the recluse, during the Jevv^ and 
 the esquire's interview with his superior. " Heard Christian men 
 ever of such wickedness ? It is enough to make the very saints 
 tremble in their shrines, and his pious predecessor rise from his 
 tomb to shame him ; unholy love in an anointed bishop of the 
 Church ! — a sin indeed hath fallen on our house." 
 
 " "Why not at once arrest him ? " demanded the youngest of his 
 companions ; " the evidence is clear." 
 
 " Because," said the dignitary, " he is canonically our superior, 
 and we are bound by oath to obey him in all lawful things. The 
 primate only is his judge ; without him we can do nothing. "Would 
 to our Lady he were corae ! " 
 
 " Should he in his madness offer violence to the innocent object 
 of his lust ? " observed the aged monk. 
 
 " Fear not that," replied the recluse ; " I am bound by no vow 
 of obedience : should he attempt it, I would rush from the place 
 of concealment where I so long have watched, and strangle liim 
 with as little remorse as I would crush a serpent beneath my 
 foot." 
 
 Both the prior and his companion crossed themselves in horror 
 at the idea of such a necessity. 
 
 "Such a deed fits not a Christian man," said the former; 
 " remember that, however unworthy, he is still a priest, and that 
 no layman's hand may touch him. But, hush," he added, as 
 Brantone entered the cloisters ; " there goes the bloodhound whose
 
 21)8 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 fearful errand we have overheard. Heaven forfend that the life of 
 the wretched Jew should fall a prey to his vile master's treachery ! " 
 
 " Deep as is my cause of hatred to the accursed race, I will at 
 least preserve the old Jew," whispered the disfigured man, " and 
 baulk yon villain's purpose. The lord of Stanfield owes him a debt 
 of gratitude, for the Jew once preserved his life." 
 
 " Have you the means of communicating with him .? " demanded 
 the prior. 
 
 " I have." 
 
 « Is he still within the city ? " 
 
 " In the city and on the watch," replied the recluse ; " he is not 
 one of those to sit contented by the ingle-side whilst danger 
 threatens a hair of those he loves. We may trust the Jew's safety 
 with confidence to him." 
 
 The letter was written and despatched. That very night Bran- 
 tone was an inmate of the deepest dungeon of Stanfield Hold ; his 
 schemes of villainy for a while were baffled. 
 
 In the morning of the day previous to which Falk, according to 
 Eborard's promise, was to receive his daughter, two Carmelite friars 
 arrived at the convent, and demanded hospitality for the night — a 
 request which the prior, to whom such matters were generally re- 
 ferred, instantly accorded. There was nothing in the manner of 
 their reception to convey the idea that- the strangers were other 
 than they seemed ; yet all the brotherhood appeared to feel that a 
 deeply observant eye was upon them. The stately demeanour of 
 the elder chilled as well as awed them. The service of the day 
 was performed with more than usual attention on the part of all ; 
 and when at night the prior, in the absence of the bishop, 
 gave the usual benediction, the monks retired to their cells with a 
 vague impression that some event of moment threatened their 
 h-ouse. The elder ones, who were members of the chapter, were 
 seen about an hour afterwards, when all was silent in the cloisters, 
 to glide singly with stealthy tread and thoughtful brow into the 
 apartment of the prior. 
 
 That very night the worthless prelate had resolved to accomplish 
 his design. The fever of his blood, excited by the wine-cup had 
 mauijted to his brain, and in the gratification of his unholy passion 
 he was prepared to violate alike the laws of God and man — the 
 sanctity of his order, and the innocence he should have guarded. 
 
 The great bell of the cathedral tolled the hour of midnight as he 
 rose from the table where he had been carousing in solitary sin, 
 and directed his steps towards the tower where his prisoner was 
 confined. 
 
 The chamber of Hester was a long-disused oratory, of an 
 .octagonal form, each side containing an arch quaintly carved in 
 ^tone. In the one opposite to the door an altar formerly stood, but 
 the steps which led to it, together with the crucifix, carved in the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 299 
 
 ■wall itself , remained ; the former having, perhaps, been too 
 cumbrous to be removed. To the left of the entrance was a strongly 
 grated window, which by day alone gave light to the apartiiient. 
 The arch facing it had formerly conducted to another recess, in 
 which most probably a similar window had been situated ; but it 
 was now blocked by a solid screen of coa,rse oak panel-work, on 
 which some faint attempts at ornament had carelessly been traced. 
 A lamp, suspended from the ceiling by an iron chain, shed a feeble 
 light upon the kneeling person of the fair Jewess, whose pale cheek 
 and sunken eye showed the mental torture to which she had been 
 subjected by her impious persecutor. But if the maiden's eye was 
 hollow, its brightness was not dimmed. In her enthusiastic nature 
 she regarded the trials to which she was exposed as sent to test her 
 faith, for which she would have sacrificed her innocent blood with 
 joy, and like the Christian virgins in the first ages of the Church, 
 have hailed the martyr's crown as the proudest boon which Heaven 
 could bestow. 
 
 Still, despite her courage, and the confidence which she felt in 
 her delivery, even though it shoiild prove by death, from the 
 loathsome offers of her persecutor, the human portion of her nature 
 trembled as the door of her prison opened, and the excited Eborard, 
 still under the influence of wine, entered the apartment. Having 
 first secured the door, he placed his torch upon the ground, and for 
 a few moments surveyed his victim in silence. It was a picture 
 angels might have wept to witness : a priest of the Most High 
 meditating sin, and purity unarmed, except by prayer. The priest 
 was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " Maiden," he murmured, in a voice thick with emotion, " th» 
 hour has arrived which decides the fate of both of us. Why didst 
 thou cross my path ? Till I beheld thee my dreams were but of 
 ambition — my days of calm content, I have appealed to reason,, 
 and reason fleeth from me ; religion mocks my prayer. Grant me 
 thy love, and all that wealth can purchase, hope desire, or man 
 achieve, are thine," 
 
 "All ? " replied the Jewess scornfully ; "all save Heaven." 
 
 " We will make earth our heaven," replied Eborard. " Our 
 paradise shall rival Eden's bowers — its fierce delights fall with 
 reviving freshness on thy heart, truer than the dull, placid dream 
 which angels dream. Hast thou no pity in fhy nature ? Can a 
 form so framed for love enshrine a heart of stone ? Name but the 
 price at which I may attain thee, I'll ransack earth to find it. This 
 heart, so cold to all, hath now become love's glowing temple, and 
 thou the idol of its shrine.^ Thou art my life — my destiny ! I live 
 but in thy smile. Be merciful," 
 
 " B9 merciful unto thyself ," replied Hester, " and cast this hatefulj 
 passion like a leprous garment from thee. What have I done, that 
 thou shouldst strive to scare my unfledged soul from its salvatioji ?-
 
 300 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Why seek to change the light of my young days to darkness so 
 prot'oijiid no after ray of hope can pierce it ? Thou art a teacher 
 of thy people, a shepherd of thy fold ; lead not the steps of innocence 
 astray ; act not like the fell wolf unto thy charge. God," she added 
 " let not this man's wickedness shake my new-born faith ! let not 
 e'en his triumph make me doubt Thee ! Save me from him, and 
 him from his weak self ! " 
 
 "Thou prayest in vain," said the apostate with increasing 
 resolution ; " not Heaven itself can save thee ! I tell thee, maid, 
 thou Vv'ert created mine, ages before this world was fi-amed — twin 
 stars, loving in heaven, and at last, in time's fulness, born on 
 earth in form of frail humanity. With restless love I've sought 
 the sacred partner of my soul. Beauty's light hath beamed athwart 
 my path, but never touched my heart ; music's voice wanted 
 thy breath to give it melody. I cannot live but in thy ]3resence. 
 Thou wert not, sure, created to destroy me, or, if thou wert," he 
 added v/ith increased excitement, at the same time seizing her by 
 the arm, and attempting to enfold her in his accursed embrace, " the 
 same bolt shall crush us both ; but ere it falls thou shalt be mine ! " 
 
 " Release me ! " shrieked the trembling girl, vainly attempting 
 to free herself from his passionate hold. " I am but a child ; think 
 on thy priestly vow ! . . . Hath Heaven no aid ? or are its 
 thunders silent ? " 
 
 " This is coyness," whispered Eborard ; " soon v/ilt thou laugh at 
 these old prejudices, and thank love's teacher for the gentle violence 
 which woos thee to thy happiness. These struggles," he added, 
 tearing aside the veil which shrouded her virgin form, " do but 
 accelerate my triumph." 
 
 The v/retched girl strove with almost superhuman strength 
 against the attempts of the apostate priest, whose excitement 
 increased with every convulsion of her graceful form. Placing his 
 hand upon her waist, he endeavoured to pollute her lips with his 
 detested kiss. Horror gave additional force to her frantic efforts ; 
 and, thrusting him from her, she sprang upon the steps beneath 
 the crucifix. Clasping the sacred emblem as her last refuge, 
 she exclaimed, in a voice which woke the silent echoes of her 
 dungeon : 
 
 " Priest of God ! darest thou brave thy Master ? " 
 
 For a few moments the wretched man was appalled. With the 
 trustful confidence of an infant clinging to its parent, Hester 
 embraced the crucifix ; her eyes lit with the enthusiasm of faith — ■ 
 her dishevelled tresses veiling the bosom whose modest covering 
 the rude hand of her persecutor had torn ^side. 
 
 " Ay, even there," cried Eborard, the dark passions of his evil 
 nature doubly inflamed by the contest, and disappointed — "even 
 there will I claim thee. If Heaven hath thunders, let it strike and 
 save thee."
 
 STANPIBLD HALL. 301 
 
 " It hath ! " exclaimed a solemn voice, whose deep tones trans- 
 fixed the guilty wretch with terror, as he was about to drag his 
 victim from her last protection ; " Heaven hath heard, and by its 
 servant answers thee." 
 
 At the same instant the rude oak j^anelling was drawn aside — 
 being, in fact, a concealed door, whose existence was known only 
 to the prior — and Lanfranc, the primate, attended by the members 
 of the chapter, Ulrick, and Gilbert, all of whom had been concealed 
 witnesses of the impious scene, entered the apartment. The stern 
 brow of the prelate was dark with horror and indignation at the 
 sacrilege he had heard, the profanation which had been attempted. 
 
 " Saved ! saved ! " said the Jewess, in a voice of enthusiastic 
 gratitude, as she sank upon her knees. " In Heaven hath been my 
 trust, and Heaven hath not deserted me." 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! " murmured Eborard, slowlj' recovering from his 
 surprise, and not daring to meet the primate's indignant gaze ; 
 " the Arm I braved hath struck me down at last." 
 
 'In an instant Ulric and Gilbert were at the side of Hester, whom 
 they raised from her ;ittitude of thanksgiving. At the sight of her 
 friends, the energy which had so well sustained her through the 
 fearful scene gave way, and, drooping her head upon the manly 
 breast of her protector, she wept as sisters weep upon a brother's 
 bosom. Meanwhile, four of the monks secured the person of the 
 apostate superior. 
 
 " Wretch ! " said Lanfranc, advancing to Eborard, and tearing 
 the golden chain and cross, the emblems of his episcopal rank, 
 from his unworthy neck ; " as legate of the Pope, I here degrade 
 thee ; deprive thee of all authority and jurisdiction in the now 
 widowed Church ; suspend thee from all priestly functions. Awa.y 
 with him to prison." 
 
 " Thou art mine enemy," replied the wretched man, recovering 
 some portion of his former audacity, " and leagued with these, the 
 rebel inmates of my convent, to destroy me. I appeal from thee 
 unto the king." 
 
 The prior and monks listened with horror and astonishment to 
 the accusation, mixed with some uneasiness, for they well knew 
 his influence with the monarch, whose interference might still 
 screen his unworthy favourite, and impose him on them ; but they 
 knew not the character of the primate, who listened to the culprit 
 unmoved. 
 
 " And what canst thou urge," demanded Lanfranc, pointing to 
 Hester, " against the maiden's accusation ? " 
 
 " That she is an infidel — her oath against a Christian prelate will 
 not be believed." 
 
 " What to these witnesses, the members of thy chapter ? " 
 
 *' That they are mine enemies, who have rebelled against me," 
 answered the unblushing apostate.
 
 302 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 *' And to me ? " continued the primate, willing to see how far his 
 infamy would lead him ; " what canst thou urge against my oath ? " 
 
 •' Thy well-known opposition to my consecration — thy insolent 
 remonstrances with the king," replied the prisoner, hope once more 
 beginning to dawn within his subtle mind. *' Fallen as thou thinkest 
 me, William will not forget the service I have rendered him. His 
 powerful hand wnll find the means, despite thy enmity, to raise me." 
 
 " Fool ! " said the archbishop, calmly, " thou dost but precipitate 
 thy doom. Nor king nor prince shall ever judge between us. As 
 primate, already have I suspended thee from every priestly 
 function ; as legate, I excommunicate thee ; I cast thee forth from 
 out the living Church — cancel thy share in its inheritance. Appeal," 
 he added, " to thy unworthy master : see if his arm be strong 
 enough to break the curse of Rome, or cancel the sentence which 1 
 here pronounce." * 
 
 All present listened to the denunciations of the speaker with a 
 sacred terror, so universal was the dread of excommunication 
 in that unenlightened age. Men whispered it with fear and 
 trembling, shrinking from the unhappy wretch on whom it fell, as 
 from a pestilence whose slightest contact was* pollution — a living 
 corpse doomed to eternal death. 
 
 The guilty Eborard, overwhelmed and crushed by the last act of 
 the stern justice of Lanfranc, felt that every hope indeed was gone, 
 and permitted himself to be dragged unresistingly away by those 
 who but an hour since had trembled at his frown. 
 
 " Approach, poor girl," said the primate, addressing Hester, who 
 still clung to Ulrick, as to a brother's side ; " nay, fear not, maiden — 
 all are not wolves who guard the fold. If our voice fee stern in 
 judgments on the guilty, it is rich in blessings on a soul like thine. 
 I bless thee ! " added the old man, laying his hand upon her head, 
 as she knelt, trembling with awe and gratitude, at his feet ; " I bless 
 thee out of Zion. Angels have watched thy heart to guard its 
 purity, and blessed martyrs smikd upon thy triumph. The Church 
 shall receive thee, stray one, to its bosom, e'en as a mother welcomes 
 her lost child. These hands shall pour the regenerating waters of 
 baptism upon thine innocent head ; and never shall they be raised 
 in prayer or benediction, but thou, fair child, shalt be remembei*ed." 
 
 The heart of Hester was too full of gratitude to Heaven to permit 
 her tongue to express her thankfulness ; but the warm tear Avhich 
 fell upon the venerable hand which had been extended in blessings 
 over her spoke to the prelate's heart more eloquently than e'en her 
 lips had done. 
 
 It was morning ere the rescued convert, escorted by Ulrick and 
 the now happy Gilbert, returned to Stanfield, where Hester was 
 
 * The unworthy successor of Herbert de Lozenga was really deposed by the 
 Pope, though not exactly in the manner related.
 
 STANFIELD HALL 303 
 
 received both by Edith and Matilda with the expression of the 
 warmest love. Again and again was the wondrous tale of her 
 deliverance repeated, and the youth called upon to explain his 
 share in it. It seems that on perusing the letters of which he was 
 the bearer, t)oth from the prior and the mysterious recluse, the 
 primate at once proposed to accompany the messenger to Norwich, 
 to witness with his own eyes the truth of the fearful accusation 
 placed within his hands. The rest is easily understood. Lanfranc 
 and Gilbert were the two Carmelite friars who had claimed 
 hospitality at the convent, and whose arrival had so impressed the 
 community ; for the simple russet gown could not veil the prelate's 
 stately form, or dim the lustre of his searching eye. The members 
 of the chapter alone were entrusted with the secret of his presence ; 
 and by them the arrangements were planned which led to Eborardis 
 detection, even in the moment when it seemed least possible to 
 those who calculate not that the ways of Heaven are unlike the 
 ways of man. 
 
 On applying on the following morning for an interview with 
 Eborard, Falk was conducted to the presence of the archbishop, 
 who explained to him that his daughter was no longer a prisoner, 
 and that in two days he should himself receive her into the bosom 
 of the Church. The unhappy man, overwhelmed with the in- 
 telligence, to him ten thousand times more terrible than death, 
 withdrew, like one stunned, from the primate's presence. He saw 
 too well the stern, sincere character of the speaker to tempt him by 
 that universal key to the human heart, gold ; for in Lanfranc's 
 heart it was but dust, when weighed against the triumph of his 
 church, or the redemption of a human soul. 
 
 " A Christian ! " muttered the Hebrew to himself, as he directed 
 his steps across the plain of St. Martin on his way to the city. "The 
 curse never fell upon my house till now. Our blood hath been 
 shed like water, but it was the sacrifice of faith ; our gold hath 
 been wrung from us by torture, oppression, and the rack ; but now 
 the richest pearl is taken from us — the fairest flower is torn from 
 Judah's stem. Our name will become a by-word on our nation's 
 lips — a scorn, a shame to Israel ! Never ! " he added, bitterly. " If 
 the degenerate girl can thus forget her duty to her kindred and her 
 father, he will not forget his oath to Israel's God, or that he is a 
 judge and elder of his people." 
 
 Full of this stern resolution, he directed his steps towards the 
 market-place, where, by the corner of the church, dwelt a dealer in 
 drugs, one of his own peculiar race. Hassack was known, not only 
 to the city, but all the country round, for his curious skill in herbs 
 and simples. Many a greedy heir had sought his aid ; and the 
 parent whose length of days was a check upon his wild career 
 slumbered in peace : the unfaithful wife removed the jealous 
 husband, the perjured lover the victim of his passions. Un-
 
 304 STANPIELD HALL, 
 
 scrupulous, and caring for nought but gold, the amassing of which 
 formed the onlj^ pleasure of his withered heart, Hassack's skill was 
 at the disposition of all who could gratify his ruling passion. So 
 crude were the tests Vv^hich science at that time possessed, that the 
 detection of poison was almost impossible ; and the poisoner 
 pursued his guilty trade, suspected, but in safety — too many great 
 ones whom he had served being bound to interest themselves in 
 his protection. Just as Falk reached the dingy, wretched-looking 
 spot where the poisoner retailed his drugs and nostrums, he 
 encountered the recluse, to whom he had formerly been known, 
 having in his days of extravagance and pride freq\iently advanced 
 him money upon his knightly bond. Fortunately the change 
 which Abram's vengeance had wrought in him precluded the 
 possibility of a recognition ; the pale, agitated countenance of the 
 Jew excited his attention ; and crossing to the old stone pulpit, 
 near which, in Catholic times, the priests and monks used to 
 address their liocks, and the proclamations of the city authorities 
 were made, he hid himself behind one of the heavy pillars, to 
 watch his proceedings, which an instinctive feeling told him were 
 dangerous to the life of Hester, and consequently to the happiness 
 of Gilbert. After half an hour's converse, the old man quitted 
 the den, the character of whose owner was well known to the 
 observant spy, who marked the sigh of deep-drawn agony which 
 broke from the bosom of the wretched father as he passed him. As 
 soon as he was out of sight, the recluse, in his turn, entered the 
 house of Hassack. At first the conversation between him and its 
 master was violent, but the Jew's tone of d-efiance gradually 
 subsided to one of deference, and at last to entreaty. For once he 
 
 had found his master. 
 
 * * * # * * ' 
 
 Lights were blazing on the high altar of Norwich Cathedral, and 
 the font was decked with earliest flowers of spring, on the morning 
 of the day which was to receive the fair Hester into the bosom of 
 the Church, which put forth on the occasion that imposing pomp 
 which no ritual has ever equalled either in grandeur or sublimity. 
 
 Despite the silence which had been observed respecting the 
 sacrilegious conduct of the unworthy Eborard — and the silence of 
 the cloister is proverbial — strange rumours, connecting his name 
 with that of the youthful Jewess, were rife amongst the people — 
 rumours which the absence of the suspended prelate from the 
 service at which the primate had twice publiclj^ officiated only 
 tended to confirm. At an early hour the vast aisles were crowded 
 by the curious citizens and their buxom wives and daughters. 
 Many of the latter had heard wonderful descriptions of the 
 neophyte's beauty, and most of them came, womanlike, to criticise 
 and to compare. A few, and but a few, came for the nobler purpose 
 of joining in the hymn of triumph for a soul redeemed from error.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 »0„ 
 
 305
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 307 
 
 Amongst the crowd of spectators was an aged man, bent more by 
 sorrow than by age, whose compressed lips and blanched cheek 
 gave but faint indications of the fearful struggle passing in his 
 breast — a struggle which rent his very heartstrings with its anguish, 
 maddened his reeling brain, and whispered him despair. Disguised 
 in the loose gown and hood then commonly worn by the superior 
 class of citizens, the miserable Falk — ^for it was no other than the 
 father of the convert — had been one of the first to enter the church, 
 where the discovery of his presence would probably have caused 
 his death. He had seen with a bitter smile the decoration of the 
 font — to him the altar of sacrifice, and remained to await the com- 
 pletion of the rite which was to sever him for ever, as he thought, 
 from the child of his age, and bring shame and humiliation upon 
 his name and race. 
 
 The procession at last approached : first came four boys clothed 
 in long white rochets, tossing the silver censers from side to side, 
 filling the air with costly perfumes ; then a monk bearing the 
 primate's cross ; after him the priests and brothers of the com- 
 munity, headed by the prior holding his staff of office. A shade of 
 sorrow was on the good man's brow, for he thought on the dis- 
 honour which the Church had received in the crimes of his late 
 unworthy superior, Lanfranc, adorned with the insignia of his 
 high office, closed the procession, walking under a canopy borne 
 by four knights. As the prelate proceeded along the aisles, he 
 scattered his benedictions on the kneeling crowd, which rose and 
 sank like an imdulating wave as he approached and passed them. 
 But the principal object of all eyes was the fair convert, who 
 clothed in white and veiled by drapery, was led by her sponsors, 
 Ulrick and Matilda, towards the sacred font. Gilbert watched her 
 approach with the same delight with which an infant might, in the 
 early ages of creation, ere sin had drawn its curtain between men 
 and the bright beings of another world, have watched an angel's 
 steps. His heart was almost too full for breathing, his happiness 
 far too great for words ; yet a few moments, and Hester, his boy- 
 hood's hope, his earliest dream of love, would become a partaker of 
 the same faith — the same hope as himself. The recluse, who felt a 
 deeper interest in the proceedings of the day than any yet suspected, 
 watched his excited looks, and, for reasons best known unto himself, 
 determined not to lose sight of him. 
 
 The venerable primate had already poured the regenerating 
 waters, and pronounced the words whose might opens the gates of 
 the lost inheritance of Adam to his fallen race, when a loud cry 
 startled the more distant spectators. Hester was seen to sink into 
 the arms of Matilda and Isabel, who with her husband had graced 
 the solemnity with their presence. At first they thought that the 
 young Christian, overcome by her emotions, had fainted ; but the 
 increased agitation of those around her, and the astonishment of | 
 
 X 2 I
 
 308 STANPIBLD HALL. 
 
 the priests, many of whom in their zeal were disposed to cry " A 
 miracle ! " soon convinced them that something far more singular 
 had happened. The voice of Matilda at last was heard distinctly 
 to exclaim, in accents of anguish and terror : 
 
 " Alas ! she is dying — she is dying ! " 
 
 " Dying ! " re-echoed the crowd, impatiently pressing nearer to 
 obtain a view of what was passing. 
 
 " Dying ! " shrieked Gilbert, thrusting those who stood between 
 him and Hester aside ; " let me once more behold her, that her 
 image mav be impressed on my young heart — its first and latest 
 idol." 
 
 Despite the resistance of the crowd, the agitated youth broke 
 through the compact mass, and rushed into the circle which, over- 
 whelmed with grief and horror, surrounded the apparently dying 
 Hester. The wreath of flowers and veil had been removed from 
 her fair brow, and her long dark tresses, damp with the re- 
 generating stream, contrasted fearfully with her pale cheek ; her 
 eyes were closed, and large tears hung on their soft silken fringes. 
 As the innocent child lay with her head pillowed upon Matilda's 
 gentle breast, she looked like Purity expiring in the arms of 
 Religion. 
 
 " 'Tis past ! "» exclaimed Lanfranc, signing the cross over the 
 unconscious girl ; " Heaven has claimed its owti." 
 , '' She is not dead," murmured Gilbert, his voice choked with the 
 deep agony which consumed hinf. " Cold as she was to earthly 
 passion, she could not leave me without one look for memory to 
 treasure in its cell — one word, to break at once the heart her gentle 
 nature was too merciful to crush, and leave to linger in an un- 
 pitying world. Hester," he added, taking her hand, and fixing his 
 despairing eyes upon her already rigid features, " hear the voice of 
 my agony, the cry of mj- broken hope. A look, a word, a sign for 
 the poor boy whose love was like the love which angels feel — ^^on 
 whose dull path no future ray of happiness may shine." 
 
 It seemed as if the sound of his voice had arrested her pure soul 
 :^r a moment in its flight, or that its guardian spirit, with a human 
 tear, permitted it one moment to return to grant the boon he asked. 
 As if waking from a heavy sleep, Hester opened once more her 
 veiled eyes, and cast on the speaker a glance such as a dying sister 
 might bestow upon an only brother — a glance where the sorrow of 
 parting, where piety and love were unstained by human passion or 
 regret. 
 
 As the maid sank xAth all the rigidity of death into the arms 
 which suppoi-ted her, the primate motioned to his attendants to 
 remove the fanatic Gilbert from the church — an oSice which they 
 accomplished with firmiiess, but with kindness, closing the gates to 
 prevent his return. 
 
 The unhappy youth plunged into the wood which L-^.y between
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 309 
 
 the cathedral and the river. Despair was in his heart, and madness 
 in his eye ; but there was one who read his purpose — his guardian 
 genius hovered near him. The recluse, who had followed him from 
 the church, was hard upon his footsteps. 
 
 Another yet more wretched being left the qp,thedral at the same 
 instant as Gilbert — the unhappy Falk whose bigotry had, as our 
 readers have doubtless long ere this suspected, plotted the death of 
 his daughter at the very moment of her conversion. The claims of 
 his nation and abandoned faith to vengeance were even to his 
 morbid mind completely satisfied ; but now a new avenger, the 
 father, awoke within him — nature spoke with a voice which neither 
 sophistry, anger, nor superstition could silence. Hester was his 
 only girl — had been the light of his solitude — the pupil of his 
 leisure hours ; and he loved her as all men love the thing they teach 
 —as old men love the children of their age. 
 
 The priests had already commenced the Litanies for the Dead, 
 when the calm voice of Lanfranc, who had recovered his usual 
 composure, interrupted them. 
 
 "Not the prayer of intercession, brothers, but the hymn of 
 triumph. Heaven hath taken the maiden to itself ere sin or human 
 passion had time to sully with their breath the seal of redemption 
 upon her unpolluted brow ; we have seen an angel wing its flight to 
 heaven, claiming its new-won heritage, and not a sinner trusting 
 for pardon, part doubtful on its way. Bear her to the church, 
 strew flowers before her, as for its virgin bride, and raise the song 
 of joy." 
 
 In the enthusiasm of the moment, the young maidens who had 
 come to \\iitnes8 the ceremony of Hester's admission into the 
 Christian pale raised the inanimate body in their arms, and bore it 
 to the high altar, before which a bier had been hastily arranged ; 
 others strewed flowers, as the primate directed, in their way ; while 
 the attendant clergy raised the solemn song with which the Church 
 marks its rejoicings and consecrates its triumphs : 
 
 " Te Deum Laudamus Te, 
 Rejoice and raise the grateful strain, 
 Heaven from earth a soul shall gain, 
 
 Scatter the incense round. 
 Salvation's news to Israel tell, 
 The Church's note of triumph swell, 
 And the pealing anthem sound. 
 
 " Ta Deum Laudamtu Te, 
 She comes, she comes, ; lost Jodah's child, 
 No more from Thee and Heaven exiled, 
 
 We bear before Thy shrine. 
 'Tis done— life's early threshold past, 
 The Hebrew maid redeemed at last, 
 Is sealed for ever thine." 
 
 The multitude joined in the strain ; and the service, which was
 
 310 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 begun in the baptismal rite, ended with the dirge for the dead. At 
 a late hour in the evening, at the request of Hester's protector, the 
 body was removed to Stanfield, to be placed in the ancient vault of 
 the old chapel, where Ulrick and Matilda were in the habit of 
 offering up their daily supplications for the repose of their murdered 
 fathers' souls. After the service they had retired to the oratory, as 
 usual, indulging in that deep communion which hearts devoted to 
 each other alone can know, when Gilbert, his eyes excited by hope, 
 his lips quivering with eager emotion, followed by the recluse, 
 entered the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Ulrick and Matilda were both startled at the appearance of 
 Gilbert ; the excitement, the wild look of happiness, amounting 
 almost to insanity, which glistened in his eyes ; his eager words 
 cut short and broken by the deep emotion under which he laboured 
 whilst endeavouring to unfold the secret which had caused him 
 such tumultuous joy, that reason was almost shaken on its seated 
 throne. Finding it impossible to explain himself, he sank upon 
 his knee, and caught the hand of Matilda in his, exclaiming as he 
 did so : " Heaven hath not yet claimed its own ! Lady, she lives ! 
 Our angel lives to gladden earth with virtues all her own — lives to 
 give sunlight to my path, and waken music once more to my ear." 
 
 "Alas ! " said Matilda, in a voice of pity, " he is mad ; grief hath 
 distraught him. Poor boy ! poor boy ! " 
 
 Ulrick inclined to the same opinion as his wife. He looked first 
 at Gilbert, then at the recluse, whom he recognised, despite his 
 disguise, as the mysterious Black Knight he had so frequently 
 seen dm-ing his own imprisonment in the camp of Rufus, and 
 whose influence with the king he was no stranger to ; indeed, from 
 the unearthly character of his features, the once handsome Robert 
 of Artois was now a being whom, having encountered, it was all 
 but impossible to forget. 
 
 " He is not mad," replied the intruder, in answer to Ulrick's 
 inquiring look. " Heaven, to permit me to atone for many crimes, 
 has enabled me to perform one good act. Hester, the Jewess, 
 indeed no longer exists ; but Mary, the Christian, sleepeth." 
 
 Mary was the name the fair convert had received in baptism. 
 
 " Sleepeth ! " repeated Matilda, in a voice which trembled 
 between hope and incredulity. 
 
 " Sleepeth ! " iterated the recluse. " I wonder not, lady, at thy 
 incredulity ; but her fate is not more wondrous than my own. 
 Aware, from cruel experience, how bitter is the hatred, how un- 
 dying ihe vengeance of her race, I have permitted the seeming 
 triumph of her father's purpose to secure her safety : he and all the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 311 
 
 world, except her friends, must deem her dead ; but to them — to 
 the true hearts that love her — I again repeat, the maiden lives." 
 
 " Explain this mystery," said Ulrick ; " if thy words be sooth, 
 more welcome sounds ne'er fell upon mine ear." 
 
 " You all," resumed the narrator, " know Hassack, the Jew, who 
 vends his nostrums in the market-place ? " 
 
 " We do ! " impatiently answered his excited listeners. 
 
 " Also his fearful skill in poisons and such drugs as minister to 
 the worst of passions ? " 
 
 " By reputation well." 
 
 " And I, perchance, by evil, sad experience. The day previous 
 to Hester's baptism," continued the recluse, " I encountered her 
 distracted father ; e'en my seared heart could pity him, for I read 
 the storm of human passion raging in his heart ; bigotry con- 
 tending with paternal love — vengeance with pity — the cry of 
 nature with the voice of hate ; 'twas the mind's agony, more lasting 
 than the body's pain, leaving scars deeper than vulgar eyes can 
 read — burning, although unseen. I traced him to the house of the 
 vile mediciner — saw him with trembling hand count down his 
 gold — instinctively I guessed it was the price of blood." 
 
 " His child's ! " exclaimed Matilda. " Impossible ! Jew though 
 he be, thou wrongest him." 
 
 " So judge the pure in heart, lady," resumed the speaker ; " but 
 so judge not those whom crime or sad necessity hath forced to 
 watch the hearts of others — to trace deceit lurking beneath the 
 brow of seeming frankness — falsehood peeping through the mask 
 of truth — the voice of cruelty with mercy's accents burning on its 
 lips. Reason tells us what men should be ; bitter experience shows 
 ua what they are. "What followed proves I judged the Jew and his 
 rash purpose rightly." 
 
 There was a tone of sarcasm ai\d subdued passion in the voice of 
 the recluse, which startled the ear of Matilda ; she felt confident 
 that she had heard its e >'atul before : it woke an echo in her heart 
 at which memory tremb'M Imt was confused, for not one feature 
 of the wretched man coild whe recall to mind. Fixing her eyes 
 upon him almost with a look of terror, she involuntarily ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Surely we have met before." 
 
 The seared brow of her ancient persecutor flushed as he had 
 heard an accusing angel s voice ; but his repentance was too sincere 
 to equivocate or deny the trith. Feeling that the time for re- 
 vealing himself had not yet arrived, he contented himself by 
 simply admitting that they had. 
 
 " When and where ? " dem.\ndi9d the lady, with increased interest 
 and curiosity. 
 
 " That, too, ere I quit this Ian /or wver, thou shalt learn : this 
 present hour permit me to proceetl. On Falk's departure from the
 
 312 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 poisonei^'s den I entered. It matters little to my story by what 
 means I forced Mm to confess the purpose of the old man's visit ; 
 enough, he did confess it. It was to bribe him to prepare a liquid 
 which, mixed with the water in the sacred font, would cause the 
 death of all upon whose brow 'twas sprinkled." 
 
 " Villain ! " cried Gilbert — " unnatural monster ! E'en at the gate 
 of heaven to sacrifice his child ! " 
 
 " "Why not have denounced the fearful sacrilege ? " demanded 
 .Ulrick, who, with the horror-stricken Edith and Matilda, listened 
 with anxious heart for the conclusion of his tale. 
 
 " Denounced him ? " repeated the recluse. " Little dost thou 
 know the fearful race. For good or ill they far surpass the dogged 
 bloodhound in unwearying patience ; the snake is not more subtle 
 in its v/indings, the tiger more ferocious in its spring. I was born 
 noble as the noblest in my land, was honoured, rich in lands and 
 friends, possessed a form the eye of beauty had not always loathed 
 to gaze upon. In evil hour I wronged an aged Jew — a thing," he 
 added, fiercely, " whom, in my pride of strength, I could have 
 crushed like a vile worm beneath my feet — whose life, to human 
 thinking, was a reed within my iron hand ; and yet he vanquished 
 me." 
 
 " Vanquished thee ! " repeated Ulrick, in a tone of incredulity, 
 
 "Vanquished and judged me. Not, indeed, with knightly arms, 
 but more than devilish cunning ; deprived me of my very name — 
 robbed me of the rights I drew e'en from my mother's womb — tore 
 from my seared and blistered front the seal of individuality which 
 God had stamped upon my brow — made me the wretch I am." 
 
 " Fearful man ! " shrieked Matilda, " I know thee now — know 
 why my heart trem^bled at thy voice — my nature shuddered at thy 
 presence. Ulrick, it is " 
 
 " My father, lady," interrupted Gilbert, clamping her robe, " my 
 father ! " 
 
 The agitation of the poor youth, his imploring glance, and the 
 recollection that he had saved the life of Ukick, sealed the secret 
 upon her lips ; though how her ancient persecutor could be the 
 parent of the speaker was a mystery she could scarcely comprehend. 
 
 " What means this strange terror," demanded Ulrick, " and still 
 stranger recognition ? However evil," he added, addressing the 
 recluse, " I know that thou art capable of good, for thy timely 
 warning saved Prince Henry's life," 
 
 " Then for that one good act," said Matilda, " question him no 
 more ; if he hath deeply sinned he hath been sorely punished. 
 Unhappy man ! " she added, " Heaven forgive thee ; I never will 
 accuse thee at its bar." 
 
 " Thanks, lady, thanks, for thy most generous pardon," replied 
 the repentant man, at the same time gracefully bending his knee 
 before her : " it will lighten the anguish of remorse in many a
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 313 
 
 bitter hour. But concealment comes too late. Ulrick of Stanfield," 
 he added, rising as he spoke, and speaking in a firm and almost 
 haughty tone, " thou seest a man whom friends and kindred alike 
 deem dead — a man whose dirge Holy Church hath long since sung — 
 whose heritage his greedy heirs have ta'en — a man who, pandering 
 to a tyrant's lust, would have aided Rufus to deprive thee of thy 
 fair bride. I need not say the wreck of Robert of Artois stands 
 unarmed before thee." 
 
 For a few moments there was a powerful struggle in Ulrick's 
 breast. The man who had caused him so much fearful misery 
 stood before him. The idea of injui'ing an unarmed man never 
 for an instant presented itself to his imagination ; but Avhen he 
 reflected upon his wi^ongs, twice did he feel tempted to bid him 
 arm himself, and meet him knightly in the field ; but each time he 
 encountered Gilbert's pleading look and Matilda's forgiving smile. 
 The better principle, of his nature prevailed. He could not crusl^ 
 a heart already torn and bruised. 
 
 "Robert," he exclaimed, "friendship there can never be : let 
 there be peace between us, however great thy crimes. Thou hast 
 truly spoken — they have been fearfully avenged. This boy," 
 pointing to Gilbert, " whom thou callest thy son, shall be a bond 
 of mutual forbearance between us. On with the tale this strange 
 discovery broke." 
 
 " Enough ! " resumed Robert, as we must call him. " I had the 
 means to compel the poisoner to my purpose. The nature of the 
 drug was changed, and a mixture prepared which caused the 
 appearance of death only. From the opening of the cathedral 
 doors I watched the arrival of each comer. Despite his disguise, I 
 recognised the Jew, saw him stealthily pour into the font the 
 mejins, as he thought, of vengeance on his child. You know the 
 rest." 
 
 " Let us haste," said Matilda, " to the vault ; should the poor 
 child awake amid the horrors of the charnel-house, reason might 
 totter on its throne." 
 
 " Fear not for that," observed the preserver of Hester ; " since I 
 alone possess the power to wake her." 
 
 He drew from his vest a small box filled with a pungent aromatic 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " Come, father," cried Gilbert, impatiently, " to the vault — the 
 vault." 
 
 " Caution, boy," said Robert, calmly ; " for we have to contend 
 with those who know no scruple where their vengeance is con- 
 cerned ; the hatred of her race would reach the maiden e'en at the 
 altar's foot, should they once suspect her life has been presei-ved. 
 Can you," he added, addressing Ulrick, " answer for the caution of 
 all within these walls ? " 
 
 " All," replied our hero ; " there is not one in Stanfield but loves
 
 314 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the maiden for her gentleness and virtue ; but as already the shades 
 of night draw on, it were better, perchance, to wait till the house- 
 hold are retired to rest ere we descend into the chapel. For a few 
 days Hester can remain concealed within my wife's apartments ; 
 none can enter unbidden there ; we can afterwards consult the 
 means of safety — now our first step must be to rescue her." 
 
 Ulrick's proposition Avas too reasonable to be rejected ; and, 
 despite the impatient eagerness of Gilbert and the anxiety of 
 Matilda, the party remained within the antique oratory waiting the 
 hour of midnight. Never did the tardy foot of Time advance more 
 slowly than to the excited watchers. At last the turret-clock struck 
 the hour, and our hero and Robert of Artoip, each taking a waxen 
 torch from the iron sconces in the walls, prepared to descend. 
 
 The chapel of Stanfield was a low, irregular building of unhewn 
 stone, of even greater antiquity than the hall itself, its architecture 
 being of the earliest Saxon age. Rude stone cofBns, containing the 
 ashes of many of its ancient lords, from their ponderous size more 
 resembling tombs than sarcophagi, were ranged in the aisles, in 
 deep recesses cut within the walls. The one in which Hester had 
 been inclosed was in a niche nearest to the altar. Over it frowned 
 the image of some long-forgotten saint : 
 
 Carved in grey stone and cunning work, 
 The labour of some rustic sculptor's hand. 
 
 As the party entered the quaint old edifice, their torches flashed 
 upon the salient points of the building, lighting the massive shrines 
 with a dim, religious light, which brought them into a faint relief, 
 and cast broad, deep shadows, such as Rembrandt would have loved, 
 upon the roughly-jointed pavement. In fact, the scene was .one 
 equally suited for the poet or the painter : 
 
 Regardless of the night's dull gloom, 
 They cast around a curious gaze 
 On low broad arch and massive tomb 
 Seen by the red light's flickering rays. 
 Saints in sculptured stone were there, 
 Whose spirits in the noiseless air 
 
 Watched o'er the sacred pile. 
 kt this perchance the world may deem 
 My words a visionary di"eam, 
 
 Philosophy may smile. 
 But if communion e'er be given 
 With beings less of earth than heaven, 
 
 'Tis in some lone hour, when 
 The relics of long ages past, 
 The shadows o'er the rapt soul cast, 
 
 Our thoughts are spirits then. 
 
 " How still and solemn is the night ! " whispered Matilda, who, 
 despite her husband's entreaty, had insisted on rxcompanyihg them 
 upon their expedition; "not a breath of air sigh^ through the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 315 
 
 vaults of the old chapel. The very echoes of our footsteps fall 
 noiseless as the feet of Time upon eternity's dull sand. Yet here 
 sleeps one," she added, advancing from the entrance of the chapel, 
 where, with the rest of the party, she had paused to contemplate the 
 scene, and, pointing to the tomb of Hester, " whom, living or dead, 
 his breath cannot corrupt, whose nobler essence his scythe cannot 
 destroy, for her mortal covering was no more to Hester than the 
 casket to the gem it guards and holds." 
 
 " True ! " exclaimed the recluse ; " and from this bed of death — 
 this living tomb, replete with life and beauty, shall arise creation's 
 masterpiece — pure, lovely woman. Whilst all is silent, let us hasten 
 to hurl back the ponderous stone, and wake her back to life and its 
 warm ties — its tears, humanities, and tendernesses — if possible, to 
 love." 
 
 As pale as monumental marble, Gilbert was standing by the 
 tomb ; life and passion seemed to have deserted his cold cheek ; 
 his heart was too full for words — one would have broken it ; a tear 
 would have been a blessing, and yet he could not weep. Rooted 
 he stood, like a statue, by the spot — animation and life suspended 
 in the deep struggles of doubt and hope. 
 
 "Aid me," said Ulrick, drawing from his vest a bar of iron, 
 which he had brought with him for the purpose, and at the same 
 time placing his torch in the hands of Matilda ; " should the poor 
 girl awake within her tomb, it were too much for reason ; aid me 
 to lift the stone.". 
 
 By the repeated efforts of the speaker and the recluse — for Gilbert 
 remained perfectly incapab4e of rendering the least assistance — the 
 ponderous lid of the coffin was at length removed, and the fair form 
 of the inmate met their gaze. Her coraitenance was as calm as that 
 of an angel sleeping. The flowers with which affection had strewed 
 her restrng-place were still unfaded. Her hand, Matilda thought, 
 grasped the silver crucifix, which the primate himself had placed 
 upon her breast, as if to press the image of her Saviour nearer to 
 her heart. Stooping, she imprinted a kiss upon the sleeper's brow, 
 and felt, as she did so, more than a dawn of hope, for a gentle 
 moisture, different from the cold, clammy dew of death, remained 
 upon her lips. 
 
 At the sight of the being whom he so tenderly, passionately, 
 though hopelessly, loved, the spell which had bound the senses of 
 Gilbert was broken. With a loud cry he flung himself at the foot 
 of the coffin, and called upon her, with a thousand endearing ex- 
 pressions, to awake and gladden those who loved her by her 
 presence. 
 
 " Wake, Hester ! " he exclaimed, " that earth may once more 
 gladden in thy smile. Wake, and save me from the living death 
 which existence without hope or love must bring. Wake," he 
 continued, in a strain of yet deeper passion, "though but to
 
 316 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 enshrine thy beauty in a cloister. I still might hover round thy 
 home, as restless spirits pine around Eden's gates. Wake," he 
 added, with a cry of despair, seeing that his adjurations were un- 
 answered, " e'en though it be to smile upon another, to break the 
 heart v/hose idol thou hast been, and whose last words shall bless 
 thee." 
 
 " Patience, Gilbert," said Ulrick, laying his hand kindly upon his 
 shoulder ; "prayers and tears are for the dead, and Hester, I trust, 
 is living. See, her brow is unchanged, the rose upon her lips 
 unfaded ; be firm, and wait w^ith patience." 
 
 " She'll wake no more," groaned the excited boy ; " Death is too 
 greedy of his prey to resign so fair a victim — heaven too proud of 
 such a conquest to yield back the brightest angel of its virgin choir. 
 Father," he added, wildly, " thou hast deceived me — broken alike 
 thy faith and my torn heart ; for this is death — not sleep — not 
 sleep." 
 
 The recluse, deeply moved by his son's agitation, drew from his 
 vest a small silver box, which he carefully opened, and poured a 
 portion of its highly aromatic contents upon a sponge, So powerful 
 was the perfume that the chapel was filled with the sweet odour. 
 Placing the sponge in the hand of Gilbert, he said : 
 
 " Apply it to her brow and nostrils : the subtle essence will 
 evaporise the foul drug which holds the maiden in this lethargy. 
 Be firm ; trust to thy leather's word — he will not fail thee, boy." • 
 
 Eagerly did his son receive the precious gift, and kneeling by 
 the Bide of the fair girl, applied it, as he was directed, to her brow 
 and nostrils. The effect was slow but curious ; no sooner did the 
 essence come in contact with the spots where the poisoned water 
 had fallen, than a thin vapour was distinctly seen to arise from the 
 sleeper's skin, a profuse perspiration followed, and, to the inex- 
 pressible joy of all, a deep-drawn sigh proved that the breath of 
 life was not extinct within her form. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " whispered Matilda, who had w^atched the 
 process with intense interest as well as hope, " she breathes." Had 
 not a flood of tears come to her relief, she must have fainted, so 
 violent had been her emotion. 
 
 At last, to the frantic delight of Gilbert, Hester slowly opened 
 her eyes, but as if overcome by the light of the torches round the 
 coffin, or oppressed by the soporific influence of the drug, heavily 
 closed them again ; her lips moved twice — nothing but inarticulate 
 sounds, however, broke from them. 
 
 " Hush," said Ulrick, " she would speak— there again," he added, 
 at the second effort. 
 
 " Gilbert !" faintly murmured the waking girl, again opening 
 her eyes, and fixing them upon the youth. 
 
 " She speaks ! " he shrieked, starting from his knees and raising 
 her in his arms. "Heaven hath heard its wretched creature's
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 317 
 
 prayer — the cry of his lone agony — the voice of his bruised heart. 
 God ! " he added, " dares the impious wretch who doubted of Thy 
 mercy, dares he thank Thee ? " 
 
 Matilda received the scarcely awakened girl within her arms 
 from Gilbert, who reluctantly resigned her ; so greedy did he feel 
 of the privilege of once more supporting her weak, trembling form, 
 that he felt jealous of resigning it even to one of her own sex. 
 
 " Let us quit this gloomy place," said Matilda, in her turn 
 resigning the precious burthen to her hiisband's stalwart arni. 
 " Bear her to my chamber ; she is cold — but half-recovered still. 
 I and my women are the best nurses now.'" 
 
 The proposal was too rational to be opposed even by Gilbert, 
 who entreated, however, to be permitted to kiss her hand ere 
 Ulrick bore her from the chapel. He had the happiness of again 
 hearing her murmur his name as she was carried from l^m. — a 
 circumstance which neither Matilda nor her husband failed to re- 
 mark. 
 
 On the following day, when Gilbert was admitted to the presence 
 of Hester, he observed with joy the faint blush of pleasure which 
 suffused her cheek as lie entered the chamber. Our readers will 
 remember the effort which she made at the moment of her sup- 
 posed death to open her sealed eyes — the look she had cast upon 
 him — the half -murmured expression of his name. The cry of his 
 despairing love had waked an echo in her heart never heard till 
 then, and the same name had been the first word her lips pronounced 
 when recalled from the living tomb to which she had been 
 consigned. Living it might indeed be called, for, although 
 animation had been suspended, consciousness had all the while 
 remained. She remembered the death-dirge which had been 
 chanted over her, had felt the warm tears of Matilda as she im- 
 printed the parting kiss upon her brow, and endured for four-and- 
 twenty hours all the terrors of the grave ; felt, in anticipation, the 
 earthworm preying on her beating heart. Vain had been all her 
 efforts either to move or speak ; the drug was too potent for her 
 will to break ; every faculty seemed changed to stone ; she felt 
 like a living statue imprisoned in a rock. 
 
 In the desolation of her loneliness the memory of Gilbert had 
 returned to her — his boyish but devoted love — the agony of his 
 parting look — and the first feelings of love engendered in her heart, 
 as it faintly beat within its sepulchre. Many days had not elapsed 
 before the ardent youth obtained from her the confession that she 
 was content to live for him ; that gratitude had given birth to a yet 
 warmer passion. 
 
 How sweet, how exciting is the sensation when first the lip of 
 woman tells us we are beloved ! The soul expands, it merges into 
 a new existence. The flowers appear more fragrant to the sense ; 
 earth seems full of music, we hear its melodies in every
 
 318 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 murmuring wind or babbling brook, catch beauty from the stars, 
 revel in nature's harmonies, and find a shrine in every nook and 
 dell. Pity the heart can feel the spell but once ! Other and fairer 
 lips may breathe the words again, but they will never fall so 
 sweetly on the ear as when man hears them first. 
 
 For days Gilbert was plunged in this intoxicating bliss. When 
 driven, from the chamber by Matilda's anxious care, he wandered 
 in the umbrageous woods of Stanfield, told to the trees his tale of 
 happiness, or whispered it to every running stream. Hester was 
 soon sufficiently recovered to share his walks ; and often at the 
 evening hour, deeply veiled, accompanied by Ulrick and Matilda, 
 she would venture forth to catch fresh health from the pure breeze 
 of heaven. 
 
 The lord of Stanfield felt it to be his duty to inform the 
 vener^le primate, whom the proceedings which necessarily 
 followed Eborard's deposition detained in the city, of the wonder- 
 ful recovery of Mary ; for it is by her Christian name that we shall 
 henceforth designate the beautiful convert. The good man 
 listened with astonishment to the strange tale, with indulgent 
 kindness to the history of her love. Stern only to himself, his 
 heart was not insensible to the happiness of others ; and after a 
 long interview with Robert of Artois, in which that unhappy man 
 revealed to him, under the seal of confession, the secret of Gilbert's 
 birth, Lanfranc not only gave his approbation to the marriage, 
 but offered himself to visit Stanfield, and secretly to celebrate the 
 rite. Addressing himself to Ulrick, as he bade him farewell, he 
 said : 
 
 " Heaven, it seems, hath designed them for each other, and mine 
 shall not be the voice to part them. Go," he added ; " in five days 
 I will meet you at your ancestral home. There shall their love be 
 consecrated by the Church's blessing ; that done, let them quit 
 England, and for ever. The unnatural fury of her father, should 
 he discover that his child yet lives, may else prove fatal to her, 
 despite a husband's watchful care and love." 
 
 It were needless to describe the ectasy of Gilbert or the blushes 
 of Mary, when they heard the primate's decision : the first was 
 wild with joy, the latter calm in the deep sentiment of her 
 happiness — a happiness she was too pure a child of nature to 
 conceal, too artless to deny — a happiness which their friends 
 witnessed with a joy but second to their o\vn. 
 
 Our readers may remember that on the retirement of Robert of 
 Normandy from England, Mirvan, whose principal possessions, as 
 well as those of his bride, were situated in that country, resolved to 
 follow him, being too much disgusted with William's tyranny to 
 accept him as his sovereign. With the consent fof both princes he 
 succeeded in exchanging his English fiefs for estates of equal value 
 in the land of his fathers, whither it was his intention to sail as soon
 
 STANFIELD HALL 319 
 
 as Ralph de Gael, his successor as governor of the city, should 
 arrive. Under his protection it was decided that Gilbert and his 
 young bride should retire to Normandy, where, with the wealth 
 which Robert of Artois had rescued from his unworthy uncle, they 
 could live in happiness, if not in splendour. Fain would Ulrick 
 and Matilda ^have accompanied them ; but they were bound to 
 England by other ties and other claims. Edith and the venerable 
 Edda still lived to claim their care. 
 
 The day at last arrived which was to unite the youthful lovers 
 in those indissoluble bonds which death alone can break. Faithful 
 to his promise, the venerable Lanfranc arrived at Stanfield ; the 
 chapel was secretly prepared, and at midnight, in the presence of 
 Ulrick and Matilda, the nuptial benediction was pronounced. 
 
 Three days afterwards the happy pair sailed under the protection 
 of Mirvan and Isabel for Normandy, their future home of love and 
 happiness. The letters which their kind protector furnished them 
 vnih for the duke insured them a princely welcome, and Gilbert 
 gradually rose to offices of trust and honour. As the party were 
 assembled on the Denes at Yarmouth, watching the arrival of the 
 boat which was to convey them to their ship, the happy bridegroom 
 was made aware that his separation from his father was to be 
 eternal. To all his remonstrances the repentant Robert of Artois 
 answered that his resolution was fixed,'^and that his future days, 
 under the approbation of the primate, were devoted to his God alone. 
 
 " Go, my children," he added, " and if the blessing of a guilty 
 man may weigh with Heaven, mine shall fall like its soft dews 
 upon your innocent heads ! Whether in the cloister's shade or the 
 far-distant plains of Palestine, my last thoughts will be of you ; 
 my latest prayers be yours ! Farewell ! Pray that at the 
 judgment-seat of the Most High we all may meet again ! " 
 
 There is nothing more painful to the heart than the bitter task 
 of bidding adieu to those we love ; linger over it as we will, the 
 fatal word must at last be spoken. Happily the agony it occasions 
 is seldom lasting, or o'ercharged nature would succumb beneath 
 the pain. Still it was long, very long, ere the sundered friends 
 forgot the anguish of that sad hour. Mary clung to Ulrick and 
 Matilda, with all the passionate grief which an infant feels when 
 separated from the parents v/ho have loved it. The former was at 
 last obliged to untwine her arms from the agitated Matilda's neck, 
 and place her in the boat, where, on the shoulder of her equally 
 affectionate Gilbert, her sorrow gradually exhausted itself in tears 
 and prayers for the generous beings who had so warmly sheltered 
 and protected her. 
 
 As the vessel receded from their view the primate bestowed his 
 benediction on the exiles ; it accompanied them on their journey 
 over the deep waters, even to the country of their future home : 
 the good man's prayers were heard in heaven.
 
 320 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Three months after the scene we have endeavoured to describe 
 Matilda became a mother, and the joy which she and Ulrick both 
 felt as they clasped their infant daughter to their breasts blunted 
 the edge of their regret. The aged Edda lived long enough to 
 hold the little stranger at the font : perhaps, in the secret wishes of 
 his heart, he would rather it had been a boy ; but 'as its parents 
 were both young enough to be the authors of a numerous race, he 
 concealed his disappointment, and expired in the arms of his 
 grandson — blessing him and the infant shoot whose graceful 
 maturity he was not destined to witness. Seven years afterwards 
 a second daughter completed the domestic happiness of our hero, 
 who welcomed it with as fond a smile as though it had been a son 
 destined to bear to distant time the noble name and manly virtues 
 of his father. 
 
 Robert had act'^i wisf 1;^ in exacting from his brother William 
 *he C2th «r rM" -;„ce with regard to the safety of the lord of 
 Stanfield. Although frequently urged by his unworthy minion 
 Tyrrel — whose hatred of Ulrick since the dreadful interview in the 
 tent had, if possible, increased — to exert the regal power to oppress 
 him, the king remained faithful to his vow ; the fearful penalty 
 which he superstitiously believed attached to its violation he dared 
 not brave. Securely seated on the throne, he even permitted the 
 return of his younger brother. Prince Henry, to England, where he 
 doled out to him at intervals the, scanty appanage which the 
 Conqueror had left him. 
 
 Ruf us had reigned about eight years, when the death of Lanfranc 
 rendered the primacy vacant ; an occasion which the greedy 
 monarch eagerly seized for retaining its revenues in his hands, as 
 he had already done those of several other vacant bishoprics ; but 
 falling into a dangerous sickness, he was seized with remorse, and 
 the clergy representing to him that he was in danger of eternal 
 perdition if he did not make atonement, he sent for Anselm, abbot 
 of Bee, who, our readers will remember, had been one of his 
 brother's most devoted partisans. The churchman, on his arrival, 
 humbly refused the dignity — fell upon his knees, and entreated 
 the king to change his purpose, and when he found the monarch 
 resolved, kept his hand so closed that it required considerable 
 violence to force him to receive the insignia of his spiritual office ; 
 but once within his grasp, he held it firmly — and "William had more 
 than one occasion to repent the choice he had made, for the new 
 prelate was as courageous as he was incorruptible ; in short, for 
 once the tyrant had found his master. Anselm's reputation for 
 sanctity and humility was too great for even the regal authority to 
 venture to assail him. 
 
 In the midst of his career William had often experienced one 
 bitter pang — the thought that on his death-bed his brother Robert, 
 
 whom he detested, or Henry, who was equal) j'' the object of his
 
 STANFIELD HALL,
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 323 
 
 aversion, would succeed him. He resolved, therefore, to marry, 
 and secure, if possible, a direct successor to his crown. By means 
 of spies, he discovered that his younger brother frequently visited 
 the convent at Rumsey, where the Princess Matilda, daughter of 
 Malcolm, the third king of Scotland, resided, under the protection 
 of her aunt, the abbess Christina. Although, during the lifetime of 
 her uncle and brothers, Matilda was not the heiress of the Saxon line,, 
 still she was dear to the nation on account of her connection with 
 it. Her lover — for such Prince Henry in secret was — had never 
 forgotten the prediction of the aged monk, Father Segsil, at Croydon. 
 Ambition had tempted him in his first visit to the convent ; but the 
 virtues and beauty of the recluse soon inspired him with a purer 
 motive, and he loved — truly, passionately loved. Nor was it long 
 ere he won from the fair girl's lips the confession that he was 
 beloved again. We may imagine, therefore, his fury and despair 
 when Tyrrel, with a malicious smile, announced to him his brother's 
 intentions of proceeding to the convent, and to give England a 
 queen in the person of the Saxon princess. Deeply as he felt 
 wounded, both in love and in ambition, by the intelligence, he was 
 too much a courtier to give his enemy the triumph of perceiving 
 that the shaft had reached him, and he parried the thrust by 
 demanding, in his turn, when the king was to bestow on him the 
 so long promised earldom, which his services merited. This was 
 a sore subject with the traitor, and he winced beneath the thrust. 
 Despite all that he had done (and his services to William had been 
 as varied as they were unscrupulous) the recompense was as distant 
 as ever. The monarch still put him off with promises ; nay, seemed 
 to take a malicious pleasure in exciting his hopes only to disappoint 
 them. Indeed, his intention in this respect was frequently so 
 apparent, that the traitor often questioned whether the secret of his 
 birth was not even known or guessed at by the tyrant, and the 
 suspicion but added to his shame and disappointment. 
 
 " William will find," said Tyrrel, with a scowl, " that even my 
 loyalty may be xirged too far. He hath broken promise and oath 
 with me ; and yet the latter," he added, with a peculiar smile, " was 
 a strange one." 
 
 " It woiild have been stranger," observed Prince Henry, "had he 
 kept it. Humph ! " he added, as he turned upon his heel and left 
 the knight, "that fellow might be useful ; he hath a conscience as 
 pliant as a courtier's back." 
 
 That very night the unhappy lover sought an interview with 
 Anselm ; an achievement of no common danger, for since the re- 
 covery of his health the Red King's remorse had disappeared, and 
 he bitterly regretted that ever he had been induced to bestow the 
 primacy upon a character so cold and so unyielding as Anselm. 
 Since their dispute, the episcopal palace had been continually 
 surrounded with spies ; and those nobles were sure of being visited 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 with their monarch's displeasure who either visited or entertained 
 relations of amity with its master. It was not, therefore, without 
 reason that the prince took the precaution of disguising himself 
 in a monk's gown and capuchin to obtain access to him. Cold as 
 Anselm was, he was not incapable of friendship. He had not for- 
 gotten the previous visits of Henry to Westminster, when he was 
 only Abbot of Bee, and he received him again, if not with warmth, 
 at least with cordiality, and listened to his tale with deep interest. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the primate, when Henry had related his 
 tale ; " wed with a nun professed ! Is William mad ? or does he 
 dream the Church's thunders slumber in our hand ? There must be 
 some deceit in this ; he never dares attempt it." 
 
 " You mistake, venerable father," sighed the anxious lover ; 
 " Matilda is not a nun : she has only worn the veil as a protection in 
 these lawless times, when even the altar can scarce protect its own. 
 Her lips as yet have breathed no vow which sunders her for ever 
 from the world." 
 
 " Then am I powerless ! " exclaimed the churchman. " Had r^he 
 been wedded to the altar, I would have snatched her from a 
 hundred kings ; but, as it is, Rufus may claim her person : he is 
 the guardian of every orphan in the realm." 
 
 " But still," said Henry, and then paused. 
 
 "Still what?" demanded Anselm, fixing his eyes upon the 
 hesitating speaker. 
 
 " The Church may claim her still. Who is to know her vow is 
 yet unspoken, if you assert it is ? Pardon me, holy father," he 
 added, sinking on^his knee as he marked the frown on the prelate's 
 brow; "but despair hath made me mad. I love the fair Matilda, 
 not with the rash impulse of a lawless love, but truly, nobly, with 
 a passion worthy her name and mine. Again," he added, " my 
 tyrant brother threatens to cross my path. He hath despoiled me, 
 and I have borne it patiently ; plotted against my life, and I have 
 forgiven him ; but let him touch my love, my heart's first hope, my 
 manhood's prize, and I . will beard him in his strength. Like 
 himself, I have the blood of the same fiend-begotten ancestor 
 within my veins. Let him beware how he arouses it." 
 
 " This is the very frenzy of despair. Hast thou forgot he is thy 
 king as well as brother ? " demanded Anselm, " But perchance it 
 is ambition leads thee to seek the Saxon princess's hand. Her 
 name, in the event of William's death, would pave her husband's 
 pathway to the throne. And I have not now to learn that Henry 
 of Normandy aspires to the crown." 
 
 " At present he aspires only to the love of the fair Matilda," 
 answered the young man. 
 
 " And I will aid thee ! " exclaimed Anselm, after a pause, during 
 which he had well scrutinised the features of his visitor — " when 
 does Rufus start for Rumsev ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 32J 
 
 " With the dawn. With him to will is to perform. He kno^vs 
 no procrastination in the search of interest or pleasure." 
 
 " I will place a bar between him and his hopes," resumed the 
 primate, " which, powerful as he is, he cannot break. Farewell, 
 and thank thy fortunes for this visit ; it hath saved the maiden 
 from the tiger's fangs. No words — I know the gratitude of princes. 
 !• will save Matilda for her own sake as well as thine." 
 
 That very night the archbishop, attended only by a slender train, 
 left the metropolis, and directed his way towards the convent where 
 the princess, unconscious of her danger, resided, in her holy, calm 
 retirement. 
 
 On the second day after his departure, William, attended by & 
 numerous suite of nobles and retainers, entered the small town of 
 Rumsey. With a refinement of cruelty which only a heart like 
 his would have been capable of. Prince Henry was forced to be of 
 the party. The only hope of the unhappy lover was in the promise 
 which Anselm had made. Although he could not foresee the means, 
 he doubted not of the power of the holy man to perform his word, 
 for his influence was scarcely second to that of the Red King 
 himself. 
 
 On arriving at the front of the convent, they found the gates 
 closely barred ; nor was it till the third summons of the herald, who 
 demanded admittance in the name of the monarch, that the vener- 
 able and noble abbess condescended to make her appearance at the 
 gate. Proud of her royal birth, and still more of her spiritual 
 authority, the aged Christina demanded, in a cold, calm tone, the 
 " cause of the king's visit to her humble cell ; for so, in the mock 
 humility of the age, she designated the truly magnificent establish- 
 ment over which she had so long and honourably presided. 
 
 " I come to claim my ward," impatiently exclaimed the tyrant — 
 " the Saxon princess, Matilda, who hath too long been lost in the 
 obscurity of the cloister — to place her in a sphere where the homage 
 due alike unto her birth and matchless beauty shall encircle her — 
 in a word, good mother, to place her on the throne to which she is 
 so nearly allied in blood." 
 
 " Matilda is the bride of Heaven," answered the abbess, " and 
 earthly love, e'en though a monarch's, were a sacrilege too fearful 
 to be dwelt on. Retire, then, prince, and leave the house of God 
 to its poor inmates, who ask but liberty to pray for the welfare of 
 their country and the salvation of their souls in solitude and 
 silence. Again I do repeat it, Matilda is professed." 
 
 " 'Tis false," said the infuriated Rufus ; " none of your holy 
 trickery with me, your pious mummery, and holy cant ! Give 
 entrance to the convent, or by my father's soul, I'll batter the 
 sacred rookery down ! Fit fate for such a nest of treason and 
 rebellion ! ." 
 
 " The will of Heaven be done ! " exclaimed the aged abbess.
 
 326 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Come, then, and, if thou darest, rend the Church's bride e'en 
 from the nuptial altar ; but beware," she added, sternly, "the curse 
 of the saint from whose embrace you tear her. Weak as my voice 
 is, it shall yet be heard in heaven for vengeance on the sacrilege 
 and crime. Unbar the gates," she added to her attendants, " and 
 let the monarch enter." 
 
 Without deigning an obeisance to the tyrant, the venerable 
 speaker retired from the gate, and in a few minutes the ponderous 
 doors of the church were flung wide, and Rufus and his nobles 
 entered. 
 
 The scene which met their view was well calculated to impress 
 the superstitious nobles with awe. As they advanced slowly down 
 the centre aisle, in every stall of the choir was seated the 
 immovable form of a veiled nun. The superior had resumed her seat 
 upon her abbatial throne, close to the high altar, which blazed with 
 a hundred lighted tapers ; clouds of rich incense filled the air, and 
 partially obscured the group of priests who officiated before the 
 sacred shrine. In the centre of them might be perceived the 
 kneeling form of the young princess, divested of her rich attire, 
 and robed in the simple habit of a nun ; a long tress of her golden 
 hair, lately severed from her fair head, lay upon the altar ; and as 
 William and his train gained the centre of the church, the black 
 veil held by the officiating priest descended like a cloud upon her 
 head. The heart of the unhappy Henry failed him at the sight ; it 
 seemed the knell of hope. 
 
 " What trickery is this ? " demanded William, his cheek and 
 brow flushed with rage at the sight. " Where is the Saxon 
 princess, the niece of Edgar Atheling ? " 
 
 " Dead !" replied the abbess ; "the princess Matilda lives no more." 
 " Dead ! " echoed the king and nobles. 
 
 " Dead," resumed the abbess, " to the world ; she is a nun pro- 
 fessed. Raise, sisters, the hymn to invoke the blessing of the Most 
 High upon the sacrifice." 
 
 In obedience to the command of their superior, the nuns had 
 commenced the " Veni Creator " before the disapjjointed king ^ 
 had recovered himself sufficiently to interrupt them. His harsh 
 discordant voice was soon, however, heard above the choral strain 
 of the trembling cloistered maids. 
 
 " And who," he exclaimed, " without my license, hath dared to 
 do this ? Bear witness all," he added, " the rites are not yet com- 
 plete ; that, without my sanction, they are invalid. Matilda is 
 destined to a throne ; she is my ward, and thus I claim my right." 
 The speaker strode to the rails of the altar, which he burst reck- 
 lessly open, and advanced to seize the trembling girl, who clung to 
 the sanctuary for protection. Already had his rude hands grasped 
 her veil, when the deep voice of the primate, whose presence he 
 had not perceived amongst the crowd of priests, arrested the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 327 
 
 impious act ; he started at the sound ; the hiss of a serpent had 
 been more grateful in his ear, 
 
 •' 'Tis well, prince," said the churchman ; " is not the measure of 
 thy iniquity yet full ? Thou hast widowed the Church of her 
 bishops ; applied to ambition and ungodly waste the revenues of 
 the sequestered sees, the patrimony of heaven and the poor ; and 
 now, to complete thy guilt, thou comest with armed men and 
 sinful violence to rend the spotless bride of Christ from His in- 
 sulted altar. Back," he added, " ere the justice of offended Deity 
 levels the thunder of its Avrath against thee ; back, ere I place thy 
 realm in interdict, and breathe on thee, and all that aid thy evil 
 passions, the sentence of the Church." 
 
 At the sound of Anselm's voice the most devoted followers of 
 Rufus drew back ; they knew too well his stern, unbending nature 
 and vast influence with the people, from his reputed sanctity, to 
 brave him. The Red King alone maintained his ground, and 
 confronted the courageous primate. 
 
 " I will at once appoint bishops to the vacant sees ! " he exclaimed, 
 trusting to bribe Anselm to acquiescence by the promise ; " restore 
 the revenues ! " 
 
 " Back," repeated the archbishop, sternly. 
 " Yield on the point of the investitures," he added. 
 " Back," continued the unmoved prelate. 
 " Confirm the Church's liberties." 
 
 " Back," iterated the churchman, who knew too well the 
 character of the monarch to trust his promises, or be deceived by 
 them into a dereliction of his duty. 
 
 Seeing that his commands were not obeyed, the archbishop 
 advanced to the altar, and taking in his hands the legatine cross, 
 held it up slowly before the people : every knee, except William's, 
 was bent in the church at the sight. Then followed a breathless 
 pause, for all guessed the fearful words about to follow. 
 
 " Let all who would not share in the excommunication," he con- 
 tinued, " pass the threshold of the church. If a single armed foot 
 but cross the sacred line an inch, a breadth, a hair, on him and on 
 his race I breathe the curse of Heaven." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed William, as he saw the nobles slowly quit 
 the church, " will you desert me at yon shaveling's bidding ? 
 Salisbury, Mortimer, Warrenne ! is this j-our loyalty ? Traitors ! " 
 he added, when he saw that all but himself had passed the limit 
 prescribed by the primate, " your lands shall pay the forfeit of this 
 treason." 
 
 " We will not war against the Church ! " exclaimed the nobles. 
 " Our lands were won by our good swords ; our swords shall still 
 maintain them. Thou art the king, but he is the archbishop." 
 
 " He is a traitor ! " hoarsely muttered the king, at the same time 
 laying his hand upon his sword.
 
 328 STANPIBLD HALI 
 
 " Strike ! " said the jarelate, " and crown my pilgrimage with the 
 Martyr's glorio^^s crown ; strike, and deluge the shrine of God with 
 b-lood ; strike and set the seal of death upon thy guilty soul. Lo ! " 
 Jte added, snatching the veil of Matilda from his grasp, " I defy 
 thee ; king as thou art, I thrust thee forth from out the sacred 
 precincts. Armed with the Church's banner, I oppose thee — drive 
 thee like a fierce wolf from out the sacred fold." 
 
 The instant William drew his sword the horror-stricken nobles 
 cried out " Sacrilege ! " and had rushed into the church, had not 
 the previous command of the archbishop restrained them. 
 
 William, subdued by the firmness of his enemy, and alarmed at 
 the spirit displayed by his hitherto obsequious barons, recoiled as 
 the prelate advanced, and retreated backwards till he had passed 
 the threshold, Anselm following him all the while under the pro- 
 tection of his cross. As soon as the royal intruder was expelled, 
 the primate with his own hands closed the gates, and the choir 
 burst forth spontaneously in a hymn of triumph. 
 
 In an irritated mood, the baffled tyrant returned to London, and 
 immediately afterwards, attended only by Tyrrel and a few of his 
 immediate followers, started for the New Forest, created by the 
 devastation of his father, to indulge in the pleasures of the chase. 
 
 On the third morning after his arrival, at an early hour, he left 
 Winchester, accompanied by William de Bretuil, Tyrrel. and others, 
 lor the hunt. Fortunately for the fair fame of his brother. Prince 
 Henry on that fatal' day remained in Winchester, or a share in the 
 4eath of the tyrant had doubtless been attributed to him. 
 
 Rufus, like all the princes of his line, was extremely jealous of 
 Ms prerogatives in hunting. Volumes might be filled with the 
 sruelties inflicted by the Norman sovereigns upon the transgressors 
 of the game-laws. The chase was their ruling passion, and Tyrrel 
 shared in the instincts of his race. In a sylvan glade of the forest 
 iie had stricken a royal deer, which was so designated from the 
 number of branches on its antlers ; his foot was already upon the 
 neck of the palpitating victim — the knife in his hand ready to give 
 the couj} de grace, w^hen a horseman broke through the intervening 
 brushwood. It was Rufus, whose evil genius had sent him to be a 
 witness of the act. 
 
 " Villain ! " he exclaimed, " it is a royal hart. What insolence is 
 this ? — e'en in our very presence to strike our prize ! " 
 
 Tyrrel murmured something about not having counted the 
 number of branches on its antlers. 
 
 " I'll teach thee how to count ! " interrupted the furious monarch. 
 ^ By heavens, it is a hart of grease fit for a king to chase ! A prison 
 may teach thee better manners, knave. Should the hound be served 
 before its master ? " ; 
 
 Stung by the insult, and alarmed at the menaces of the tyrant, 
 ^A'ho had never been known to pardon an offence against the forest
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 329 
 
 "1 
 
 laws, Tyrrel became desperate. The consciousness of high birtk 
 and merited degradation — of William's broken promises, had en- 
 gendered a flood of venom in his heart, which wanted but one added 
 drop to make it overflow. That drop the last words of Rufus gave. 
 
 " Hound ! " iterated Tyrrel. " Hear ! 'Tis thou who art the 
 hound, and I thy master. Remember thy oath — ' May the Jieenest 
 arrow in thy quiver pierce my perjured heart if I hreak faith with 
 thee.'' The faith hath been broken, and the hour of vengeance hath 
 at last arrived." 
 
 " Traitor ! " said Rufus, half -drawing his sword. 
 
 " Traitor to thy teeth ! " exclaimed Tyrrel, as he fixed the fatal 
 arrow to his bow. " Know 'tis thy injured brother Robert's son 
 who strikes — whose avenging arrow rids England of her tyrant, 
 and peoples hell with another of his fated race." 
 
 That very night the body of" the Red King was conveyed to 
 Winchester in a common cart by a peasant family named Purkiss, 
 who had found it in the forest, and the guilty Tyrrel sailed in a 
 fishing boat from the land where his birth entitled him to reign. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 On hearing of the death of his brother, Prince Henry felt that th« 
 moment had arrived for the realisation of his long cherished and 
 deeply meditated schemes of ambition. His first step was to hapten 
 to the episcopal palace in Winchester, and seciire the treasures of 
 the late king — an act which he successfully accomplished, despite 
 the remonstrances of their keeper, De Breteuil, who frankly told 
 him that they were the property of his legitimate sovereign and 
 elder brother Robert. The impetuous prince drew his sword, and 
 menaced him with death in the event of his resisting him ; and 
 being backed by a considerable number of barons, whom he had 
 gained over to his cause, that faithful officer was compelled to 
 yield. Two days afterwards, feeling himself sufficiently strong, 
 Henry threw off the mask, and proclaimed himself king ; his 
 elder brother's absence from the kingdom materially facilitated his 
 obtaining possession of the crown. Thus the rights of Robert were 
 a second time set aside by the successful usurpation of the younger 
 princes. After a short struggle, during which that unfortunate 
 man displayed his usual reckless courage and inconsistency, a 
 compromise was entered into, chiefly by the influence of the primate 
 Anselm. The. elder brother resumed his duchy of Normandy, and 
 acknowledged Henry as king, on condition that the latter paid him 
 a considerable pension annually. 
 
 Ulrick had been amongst the first of the few nobles who joined 
 the standard of the legitimate monarch, and the very last to 
 counsel his abdication of his rights — a conduct which, when tho
 
 330 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 struggle had terminated, did him no injury in the friendship of 
 Henry, who, of all his brother's partisans, excepted the lord of 
 Stanfield alone from feeling the weight of his resentment, and 
 even invited him to be present at his nuptials with the Princess 
 Matilda, which, as soon as the peace was concluded, he prepared to 
 celebrate with all due pomp at Westminster. 
 
 A council of prelates had been previously held by Anselm, who 
 declared before them that the vow taken by the Saxon maiden had 
 only been conditional, as a means of protecting her from the 
 tyranny of the late king. The reasons were found valid, and 
 Matilda pronounced at liberty to marry by the unanimous 
 judgment of the assembly. 
 
 The abbey church was crowded by nobles and their high-born 
 dames, who vied with each other in the cumbrous magnificence of 
 their costume. Despite the censures of the Church (and the 
 primate had fulminated them loud and frequently) against the pre- 
 vailing fashion of the day — the long-toed shoes, looped with silver, 
 and not unfrequently golden, chains to the knee — the wearers of 
 these forbidden ornaments were numerous and bold : the occasion 
 of displaying their preposterous finery was too tempting to be lost, 
 but the most prudent took care to draw back from the circle 
 which surrounded the archbishop, whose inflexibility they well 
 knew and dreaded. This ridiculous mode lasted nearly two 
 centuries, despite the prohibition of the Church, which even in the 
 plenitude of its power, when its thunders could crush a throne, 
 found them impotent against a fashion. Such are the anomalies of 
 poor, weak human nature. 
 
 The shouts of the people, who were transported at the idea of the 
 descendant of their ancient monarchs sharing the Conqueror's 
 throne, announced the arrival of Henry and his bride, who soon 
 afterwards entered the church, followed by the abbess of Rumsey, 
 the aged Princess Christina, Ulrick, Matilda, and a stately train of 
 chivalry and beauty. As the bridal procession moved towards the 
 high altar, where Anselm, attended by his suffragan bishops, 
 stood ready to perform the rite, Ulrick's thoughts naturally 
 reverted to the aged monk at Croydon, who had prophesied to 
 Henry his high fortune, and its continuance, provided he married 
 in the royal Saxon line ; nor did he fail to remember the predic- 
 tion touching his own fate — " a life of unblemished honour, but a 
 broken heart." " Let it come," he murmured to himself ; " provided 
 it spare those I love, I fear not the bolt myself." 
 
 He was soon, however, diverted from such sombre thoughts by 
 the commencement of the ceremony. 
 
 The archbishop had scarcely pronounced the first words of the 
 service, when a loud voice from the back of the altar commanded 
 him to forbear. In an instant all was confusion ; men gazed upon 
 eaoh other, and with inquiring eyes seemed to demand the cause of
 
 STAXPIELD HALL. 331 
 
 such unseemly interruption. The superstitious trembled, for the 
 sound evidently came from the shrine of St. Edward the Confessor, 
 whose canonised bones rested behind the altar. After a few 
 moments' pause, during which Henry endeavoured to reassure his 
 trembling bride, just as Anselm was about to recommence the 
 ceremony, the command was repeated in a still louder tone than 
 before, and the tall, stately form of Father Segsil, the aged monk 
 of Croydon, was seen slowly advancing from the tomb of the 
 sainted king, whose name was still so dear to every Saxon heart. 
 Though clad merely in the ample, flowing, dark robe of his order, 
 prelates and nobles were alike impressed with awe at his appearance. 
 A long silver beard fell in waving masses upon his breast, his 
 features, though sharp with age and vigil, retained traces of former 
 beauty as well as dignity ; bright blue eyes flashed from beneath 
 a lofty brow, such as the divine Angelo in after years gave to the 
 prophet Moses. Time, as loth to touch perfection, had laid his 
 hand most gently upon him ; his noble form was but slightly bent 
 with the weight of a hundred years ; and as he slowly advanced, 
 guiding his steps with a simple staff, all involuntarily made way 
 for him, till he stood before the altar, confronting Henry and the 
 archbishop. 
 
 Fixing a searching glance upon the bridegroom, he demanded in 
 a tone in which a monarch might have addressed his vassal, or the 
 priest of Jove proclaimed his antique oracle to some expectant 
 worshipper : 
 
 " Dost thou remember me, king ? " 
 
 Henry, who was too much impressed by the sudden apparition 
 to reply, bowed his head in token of his recognition of the 
 speaker, whom, from his vast age, he had long since considered as 
 numbered with the dead. 
 
 " All I foretold thee is accomplished," resumed the old man : 
 " the Red King sleeps within his grave, and thou art king." 
 
 " Most ti'ue, good father," replied the monarch, who had quickly 
 recovered from his surprise. 
 
 " I told thee, prince, that we should meet again — meet at the 
 proudest moment of thy life — and I have kept my word. But if 
 this marriage," added the monk, " is indeed to bind the Norman 
 and the Saxon race in the strong chain of love — to heal the 
 wounds of mutual hate, and give a long divided country peace — no 
 voice but mine must celebrate the rite. It is for this that I have 
 lived. This one act accomplished, I have done with life, and all its 
 waking dreams." 
 
 " Art mad, my brother .? " exclaimed the archbishop, indignant 
 that a simple monk should interfere with his high office. " Who 
 art thou that, at thy bidding, England's primate should resign his 
 functions ? — speak ! I love not priests who deal in mysteries." 
 
 With a faint smile, Father Segsil approached the angry prelate,
 
 332 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 and whispered a single word into his ear. ; the effect was elec- 
 trical. 
 
 Anselm started, and regarded the old man with an air of mingled 
 awe, astonishment, and respect. Bowing his head in acquiescence, 
 he took from one of the attendant bishops his consecrated stole, 
 and placed it with his own hands around the neck of the aged 
 man ; saying, as he did so : 
 
 " It i-s most just. The will of Heaven be done." 
 
 Henry and his bride were both too much struck by the lofty bearing 
 of Father Segsil and the sudden act of the archbishop, to offer the 
 least opposition. On a motion of the old man's hand they knelt 
 before him, whilst with a firm voice, which sounded through the 
 lofty aisles of the church like an echo from the grave, he 
 pronounced the nuptial benediction. At the conclusion of the 
 ceremony he laid his hand upon the head of the youthful queen, 
 and blessed her even as a father might have blessed his child. 
 
 '• Thou daughter of a hundred kings!" he, cried; "yet a few 
 SQoments, and the voice which blesses thee shall be heard no more 
 on earth, but it shall rise before the throne of the Most High, to 
 implore His mercies upon thee and on thy people. Protect thy 
 oppressed country ; be thou a refuge to the weak — a hope to the 
 despairing ; so shall men bless thy name on earth, and angels write 
 it in the Book of Life in heaven. So shall thy race — no, no," he 
 murmured, as, overcome by some sudden emotion, he sank into 
 the arms of those around him. " Dark ! dark ! The spirit hath 
 passed from me. I can see no more." 
 
 " He is dying ! " exclaimed Anselm, who had placed his finger 
 upon the pulse of the aged monk ; " his race is run." 
 
 " Hast thou no blessing, no gift for me ? " demanded Henry, 
 bending his knee, and catching the hand of the expiring man, 
 ■whose sudden death, after the accomplishment of the events he 
 had so singularly foretold, struck him with religious awe and 
 astonishment. 
 
 " I have," faintly replied Father Segsil, opening with an effort 
 his nearly closed eyes. '• Where is St. Edward's crown ? " 
 
 " Upon my brow," answered the king. 
 
 *' And where his sceptre ? " he resumed, in a still weaker tone. 
 
 *' I bear it in my hand." 
 
 " All," murmured the old man to himself, " all but the ring are 
 there — St. Edward's ring, the matchless gem, graved with the holy 
 cross. St. George, who won the ruby stone in Palestine, predicted 
 it should ne'er be worn except by England's kings. Where," he 
 added, speaking in a still louder tone to the Norman prince, " where 
 is the coronation ring of England's monarchs ? " 
 
 " Lost ! " exclaimed the abbot of .'Westminster, who, from his 
 office, was guardian of the regalia ; " lost on the field of Hastings. 
 It is well known the Saxon monarch wore it in the battle ; it hath
 
 STANPIELD HALL, 333 
 
 never since been found, despite the recompense the Conqueror 
 offered, the search his soldiers made." 
 
 Father Segsil, with an effort which seemed far beyond his 
 expiring strength, raised himself from the arms of those who 
 supported him, and gazed with an expression of mingled benevo- 
 lence and dignity upon the youthful sovereign at his feet. 
 Thrusting his hand into his bosom, he slowly drew from it the 
 long-lost gem, and placed it with a mournful smile on Henry's 
 finger, whispering as he did so : 
 
 "■ Now thou indeed art king ! " and, exhausted by the effort, he 
 fell back into the arms of those who were near him — a corpse. The 
 young queen and her aunt, the aged abbess Christina, sank upon 
 their knees and offered up their prayers for the dead. 
 
 " This is indeed a precious gift," said Henry, pointing to the 
 ring and addressing the archbishop. " The good monk hath been 
 its faithful guardian. He was a holy man," he added : " he 
 foretold our succession to the crown — our marriage with Matilda. 
 Bury him, my lord, like a prophet and a saint." 
 
 " Bury him like a king," replied the primate, " for such, in truth, 
 he was." 
 
 " A king ! " repeated Henry and the nobles who were near. 
 
 " A king," iterated Anselm. " God hath miraculously prolonged 
 his days beyond the usual span. But I repeat, the voice which all 
 heard pronounce upon our monarch and his queen the nuptial 
 benediction was the voice of Harold the Saxon king, so long 
 thought slain upon the field of Hastings. Peace to his memory — 
 honour to the brave and the unfortunate ! " 
 
 This strange discovery accounted for the interest the monk had 
 taken in the marriage of Henry and Matilda, It was afterwards 
 fully confirmed by documents left by the preceding abbot of 
 Croydon, to whom the defeated monarch, immediately after the 
 battle of Hastings, had made himself known, and by whose advice 
 he had devoted himself to the Church. 
 
 The obsequies of the aged prince were privately, but regally, 
 celebrated by night, in the church where he had resigned his latest 
 breath, his last resting place being at the foot of the holy 
 Confessor's tomb, and known but to the few who assisted at his 
 interment, and to whom the secret was confided. 
 
 Immediately after the marriage of Henry, Ulrick returned to 
 Stanfield. All hope of throwing off the yoke of the Norman race 
 was abandoned on the union of the princess Matilda, whom the 
 people loved for her charities and many virtues, as well as for her 
 Saxon descent, and prayed that she might be the mother of a race 
 of monarchs to succeed her — a prayer destined to disappointment, 
 as she died without issue manj' years befoi'e Henry, who, soon after 
 her death, married again, in the hopes of an heir, but was equally 
 doomed to hope in vain.
 
 334 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Ethra, Ulrick's eldest-born, was at the age of sixteen a tall, 
 graceful, capricio^^s, wayward girl ; in her Madonna-like beauty 
 she more resembled her grandmother, the once beautiful Edith, 
 than either her father or Matilda. From her earliest childhood she 
 had betrayed a strange passion for solitude, and frequently had 
 alarmed her anxious parents and terrified her attendants by escaping 
 from them to bury herself in the deepest recesses of the surround- 
 ing forests, where the distracted Ulrick had, on more than one 
 occasion, found her seated by some babbling brook, singing to the 
 murmuring waters, or couched, like a young fawn, within a mossy 
 dell or flowery nook, weaving wild garlands of the simple flowers 
 which grew around her. The sight of her innocent amusement 
 and infantine beauty would arrest the reproof upon her father's 
 lips. How was it possible to scold the fairy being whose musical 
 laugh at the sight of him rang through the woodland glade ? 
 Ofttimes the words of anger were checked by a shower of kisses ; 
 for, despite her wild temper and strange taste for solitude, she 
 loved her father with all the deep afiiection of her thoughtful 
 nature ; her heart clung to his as the graceful ivy clings around 
 the majestic oak. She was proud of his courage and manly 
 strength — proud of his fame, and the devotion of the Saxon race, 
 who looked upon him as their protector — proud that he was her 
 father. 
 
 Finding it impossible to restrain this peculiar disposition in his 
 child, Ulrick resolved, as far as possible, to provide for her safety ; 
 for which purpose he trained two young bloodhounds, who 
 gradually became so much attached to their fairy charge that they 
 followed her in all her wanderings, stopped when she stayed, 
 guarded her whilst she slept, and, with the wonderful instinct of 
 their nature, permitted no one who was a stranger on the domain 
 to approach her person. Ethra loved her savage, wild companions ; 
 for savage they truly were to all but her. Often, in sport, would 
 she try to baffle their peculiar poAvers of tracking out those they 
 sought, by concealing herself within the cleft of a rock, or climbing 
 into the leafy branches of some lofty tree. The faithful animals 
 seemed to understand and enjoy the sport. Aided by their 
 exquisite scent, they invariably found her, and bayed with joy at 
 the discovery. Some of the aged servants of the household 
 predicted that no good could possibly arise from this strange 
 companionship ; and the old chaplain remembered a prophecy said 
 to have been written by a former lord of Stanfield, which ran 
 
 thus : 
 
 Woe to our house, when the maiden and hound 
 A home in the halls of the stranger hath found ; 
 The raven and owl shall inhabit it then, 
 And the wolf and the fox make its turrets their den. 
 
 Our hero, although far from superstitious, could not avoid being
 
 STANPIELD HALL 335 
 
 struck by the singularity of the prediction, which he commanded 
 to be carefully concealed from his wife, threatening with his severe 
 displeasure any who should reveal it to her — a prohibition which 
 caused the domestics but to repeat it the more frequently amongst 
 themselves, till at last they became persuaded that their young 
 mistress was the being whose evil fortune was to bring the long- 
 predicted desolation upon the house of her fathers. They shook 
 their heads ominously when the maiden and her dogs passed by 
 them, and not infrequently signed the cross, or dropped a bead to 
 Heaven for her safety ; for, strange and capricious as was her 
 disposition, all who knew. her felt themselves impelled to love 
 her. 
 
 It was on a fine morning in September that the young heiress, 
 clad in her simple dress of white, crossed the drawbridge, attended 
 by her faithful followers, Thor and Woden ; for so they had been 
 named, in honour of their pure Saxon blood. The warder shook 
 his head as they passed him, and whispered to the seneschal his 
 fears that the dreaded prediction was not far from its fulfilment — a 
 confidence which the officer returned by informing him that death- 
 lights had been seen in the chapel, a sure sign of misfortune to 
 their master's race. The deep bay of the bloodhounds, and the 
 joyous laugh of their charge, were soon lost in the recesses of the 
 forest into which they plunged. Their cry startled the timid fawn 
 from its secret lair and roused the antlered stag to direct its flight 
 far from the nut-brown woods of Stanfield. The thoughtless, 
 happy girl was making her way through the intricacies of the 
 underwood — now recalling the dogs from the scent of the flying 
 d«er, now urging them on — when the animals suddenly uttered a 
 deep growl, and darted down a narrow path which led to a 
 fountain known by the name of the Druid's Well. Ethra imme- 
 diately followed, fearful lest her companions, so ferocious to all but 
 her, should attack some traveller, or peasant hastening to his 
 labours. On reaching the spot she discovered the hounds both 
 crouching, as if to spring upon an aged woman, who had evidently 
 climbed the low projecting rock on which she .stood for safety. 
 Although dressed in mean attire, there was an air of dignity in her 
 manner which struck the beholder with respect. Her foot was 
 firmly planted, and a sort of staff, with a long knife at the end, 
 such as might be used for cutting water plants, was grasped in her 
 right hand, ready to strike her assailants in case they should 
 approach her. 
 
 " Down, Woden — down, Thor ! " cried the maiden, rushing 
 between the excited dogs and the object of their attack ; " down, I 
 say ! Do not fear, good mother," she added ; " they are obedient 
 to my voice, and will not harm you." 
 
 " Do I look as if I feared them ? " exclaimed the woman, in a 
 harsh voice. " It is long, very long, since I feared aught of earth.
 
 336 STAN^IELD HALL. 
 
 and I miglit add of Ileaven ; the first can take from me nothing 
 but life, and the latter is too merciful to harm me." 
 
 The Avoman descended as she spoke, and fixed a curious glance 
 upon the fair girl who had so opportunely appeared to rescue her ; 
 for, despite her weapon and the courage with v/hich she might 
 have used it, the two dogs, who lay whining and croiiching at 
 their mistress's feet, would doubtless have torn her in pieces but 
 for her interference. 
 
 " You are a stranger, mother, in these parts," said the maiden, 
 meeting her glance with a look as bold and searching as her own. 
 " If you have lost your way, I will guide you ; if you are in 
 distress, follow me to the castle, and I wdll relieve you. One good, 
 at least, results from nij sti-ange w\\ndering propensities — they lead 
 me fi'equently to the succour of my fellow-creatures." 
 
 " Thou art, then, the daughter of Ulrick of Stanfield," exclaimed 
 the woman ; " she whom the superstitious peasants call the Forest 
 Fairy ? Thy beauty well deserves the name — thy goodness even 
 more so than thy beauty. Farewell ! I have no need of human 
 guidance — human help. I dare not longer stay, lest, as I gaze 
 upon thee, and read thy fate, my heart should feel once more the 
 throb of sympathy and pity." 
 
 " And what wall be my fate ? " demanded Ethra, whose curiosity 
 was excited, but not her fears. 
 
 " Canst thou bear to listen to it ? " said the stranger, peering 
 at her from beneath her bushy brows. 
 
 " I can bear much," answered the maiden, proudly. " Armed 
 in my innocence, I have never yet experienced fear, though 
 I have passed the lone hours in the forest, and marked the 
 lengthening shadows creep silently upon my path — have felt the 
 lightning's kiss upon my cheek, yet hath it never harmed me. 
 "While innocent, I laugh at fear." 
 
 " But when innocence hath left* thee ! " interrupted the woman, 
 with a bitter laugh. 
 
 " I first must cease to be," replied Ethra, with offended dignity ; 
 " thou ravest of things impossible, good mother." 
 
 " I thought so once," shrieked the hag ; " but, like thee, I was 
 deceived. Hear me, proud daughter of a still prouder line. Thou 
 hast asked to know thy fate, and I will not deny thee. Thou shalt 
 love and be beloved, be won and scorned, be injured and avenged. 
 Thou art in the toils : fly as thou wilt, thou canst not escape thy 
 doom ; for there is one upon thy track w^ho never yet spared 
 woman in his lust, or man in his revenge. Farewell ! Perchance, 
 when thy fate shall be accomplished, we may meet again." 
 
 The speaker had no sooner concluded her prediction than she 
 plunged into the thick underwood whi^h grew around the borders 
 of the well, and disappeared ere the astonished Ethra could detain 
 her. The two dogs, who had w^atched h«r with suspicion, sprang
 
 STANPIE-LD HALL. 
 
 337
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 339 
 
 forward, and would haxe followed her, had not their mistress 
 once more restrained them. The affectionate brutes looked 
 wistfully into her face, as if to ask the reason why she forbad them 
 to follow the instinct of their nature, which told them the object 
 of their fury was dangerous to their mistress's happiness and peace. 
 
 " She is mad ! " exclaimed the maiden, seating herself close to 
 the well ; " and I were as mad as she is to heed her strange 
 predictions. I mxxst keep more at home, and check this rambling 
 disposition, fitting the daughter of some village serf, but not the 
 heiress of the lord of Stanfield." 
 
 Whilst thus seated indulging in her many fancies, her eye was 
 attracted by a water-lily which floated on the well, almost within 
 reach of her arm from the projecting piece of rock on which she 
 sat. Bending to secure the flower, whose beauty pleased her, the 
 maiden overbalanced herself and fell. The pool was deep and 
 dangerous ; and despite fhe efforts of her faithful hounds, who 
 leaped in and supported her, she must have perished but for the 
 arrival of a stranger, who, seeing that the dogs were incapable of 
 dragging their burden over the species of natural parapet formed 
 by the rock, hastened to assist them by leaning over the water 
 whfire the barrier was lowest. The sagacious animals swam with 
 their inanimate mistress directly towards him. Catching her by 
 the arm, he drew her forth, and, laying the insensible form upon 
 the grass, busily occupied himself in endeavouring to restore her. 
 Relieved from the weight which they had for a considerable time 
 sustained, Woden and Thor soon contrived to release themselves 
 from their watery prison by leaping over the rock. Jealous, as 
 they generally were, of the approach of strangers near their charge, 
 they seemed to feel that in the present crisis he was a friend, and 
 they aided the exertions of the young hunter — for such the 
 preserver of Ethra, by his costume, seemed to be — by licking the 
 hands and face of the inanimate girl, occasionally howling piteously 
 in evidence of their distress. 
 
 After chafing her hands and forehead for a considerable time the 
 yoiing man applied a small silver flask to her lips ; and observed 
 with pleasure, after swallowing a few drops of the rich cordial it 
 contained, that the object of his care heaved a deep sigh, and half- 
 opened her eyes, which, overcome with languor, she immediately 
 closed again. 
 
 " How beautiful ! "exclaimed the stranger, gazing upon her with 
 sudden and passionate admiration ; " could I, ere life returns, 
 snatch from her lips one kiss, memory should treasure it with 
 those golden hours which, like the oases in the desert, cheer life's 
 pilgrim on his dreary way." 
 
 Ardent as was the speaker's admiration of beauty, and reckless 
 as were the means by which he gratified it, the very helplessness 
 of Ethra protected her from further outrage than the burning kiss 
 
 Z 2
 
 340 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 which he imprinted on her lips, and which many of my fair 
 readers may feel inclined to think he had fairly earned by the 
 service he had rendered in dragging her out of the water — only it 
 was not quite generous to pay himself ; one kiss bestowed is worth 
 a thousand stolen ones. 
 
 The impression upon the still, half-conscious girl was electrical ; 
 a tremulous agitation ran through every limb , and a faint blush 
 instantly suffused her features. 
 
 " Where am I ? " she murmured. 
 
 " In safety, lady," replied her j)reserver — " guarded by one who 
 would give his worthless life a thousand times ere danger should 
 approach you, or sorrow blight one smile upon thy brow. But tell 
 me," he added — for he had noticed the golden girdle and bracelets, 
 the badges of her high rank — " whom have I had the happiness of 
 serving .? " 
 
 " I am the daughter of the lord of Stanfield," said the maiden, 
 casting down her eyes, for she felt uneasy beneath his gaze. 
 
 Had she seen the frown upon the inquirer's brow, as she 
 announced her lineage, Ethra might have been spared the long 
 corroding sorrow of after years — for it was a frown of bitterest, 
 deepest hate, black as a thunder-cloud, but transient as the 
 lightning's flash. Recovering himself, he demanded in the same 
 bland voice : 
 
 " And you have lost your attendants in the forest ? " 
 
 " These are my attendants," replied Ethra, with a blush, as, for 
 the first time, the impropriety of her rambling disposition was 
 forced upon her. " Thor and Woden are faithful guardians ; 
 besides," she added, " on our own domain, surrounded by the serfs 
 and vassals of our hovise, what should I have to fear ? " 
 
 " Fear ! " exclaimed the hunter ; " who that wears human form 
 could harm thee ? No, lady, thou art as safe within the forest 
 shade as within thy father's halls : thy beauty and thy innocence 
 protect thee." 
 
 Ethra started from the bank upon which the stranger had placed 
 her ; the word innocence had recalled to her mind the hag's 
 prediction. She felt, she knew not why, that it would be wiser to 
 end the scene at once. Gracefully thanking him for the service he 
 had rendered her, she asked him his name, that her father might 
 know whom to thank for the preservation of his child. 
 
 " My name," said the young man, with well-acted humility, " is 
 too obscure to dwell upon the lord of Stanfield's memory ; nor is it 
 from his hands I seek reward. One thought of the wandering 
 hunter, lady, when you pass this spot, one kind recollection of his 
 services, and they are over-paid," 
 
 Gracefully bending the knee, he kissed the hand which the 
 maiden extended to him, and disappeared up the winding 
 pathway which conducted from the dell.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 341 
 
 Ethra remained for several minutes fixed to the spot, absorbed in 
 her reflections ; the kiss which the bold stranger had impressed 
 upon her lips when he thought her insensible shocked her delicacy, 
 but haunted her imagination ; the deep but respectful admiration 
 with which he regarded her, the service he had rendered her, all 
 created in her heart an interest for the stranger dangerous to her 
 peace. 
 
 " I wonder," she whispered to herself, as slowly she directed her 
 way from the Druid's Well, " if ever we shall meet again. I fear 
 that he will think me ungrateful, for I but coldly thanked 
 him." 
 
 It was in this pensive mood that Ethra arrived at Stanfield, On ■ 
 her way the gambols of her faithful companions had been unheeded, 
 or repressed with an impatient word. With a light step, she 
 regained her chamber, and changed her still soiled, damp dress, 
 for fresh attire. Resolving to conceal her adventure from her 
 parents, the excuse for so doing was the fear of distressing them by 
 an account of the danger she had run ; the reason must be sought 
 in those instincts with which love baffles the wisdom of experi- 
 ence. Ethra already contemplated meeting with the preserver of 
 her life again ; the relation of her adventure might prevent it, and 
 hence her silence. I need not inform my readers that already the 
 maiden loved. 
 
 It was not long before the meeting of Ethra and her lover — for 
 such the stranger soon became — was an event of daily occurrence. 
 It were needless to repeat the arguments by which he won from 
 his destined victim the promise of concealment of their passion ; 
 persuasion is sweet from the lips of those we love, and the young 
 heiress was, despite her high birth, but a mere child of nature. 
 What to her were the distinctions of rank or country in the being 
 to whom she had given her affections ? His land became her land, 
 his God became her God. Once, and once only, she had pressed 
 him for his name — the reply struck horror to her heart. 
 
 " Ask it not, dearest ; it is proscribed in the halls of Stanfield. 
 Sooner would thy proud father see thee dead than the bride of 
 thy Norman lover. He hates alike my name and lineage."' 
 
 " You wrong him," exclaimed Ethra, weeping — " I am sure you 
 wrong him. Ulrick hates none but the cruel and depraved. Is 
 not my mother, too, of Norman blood .'' And think you he woidd 
 hate the race from which she springs ? Of all your countrymen, I 
 know but one of whom he speaks with anger or disdain." 
 
 '• And that one ? " demanded the stranger. 
 
 " Is Ralph de Gael, the cruel constable of the king within the 
 Angles. Men say he hath a demon's heart shrined in a glorious 
 form.' His name is famed for cruelties. How many outraged 
 maidens mourn the hour he ever crossed their path ! how many 
 desolated homes hath not his fierce vengeance made ! " •
 
 342 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 "And yet," observed her lover, with a peculiar smile, "you do 
 not seem to fear him." 
 
 " I," replied the maiden, " am too high a mark for his fierce, 
 lawless passion. He fears as well as hates my father, whose 
 influence with the people would raise a storm to overwhelm him, 
 should he dare to lift his eyes to a daughter of his house. Besides," 
 she added, " I have never seen him." 
 
 It were useless to follow the subtle windings by Avhich Ralph de 
 Gael — for the stranger was no other than the dreaded Norman — 
 entwined himself like a venomous snake around the pure heart of 
 the fair girl, whom, from the first moment he beheld her, he 
 destined to become his victim. "With a refinement of Avickedness, 
 he resolved not only that her love should lead her to abandon her 
 home, but that it should be made the means of destruction upon 
 those she left behind. Of all the nobles in the Angles, Ulrick 
 alone had dared to brave his tyranny, and protect the weaker 
 vavasours and merchants from his exactions ; he had even on 
 more than one occasion appealed from his decision to the king, 
 who, anxious to conciliate the support of one so powerful with his 
 nation as our hero, had done prompt justice to his complaint : 
 hence the bitter hatred which the unworthy tyrant felt ; and the 
 triumph of inflicting a d«ath-blow to the happiness of the man he 
 feared was dearer to him than eve«a the gratification of his selfish 
 passion. 
 
 By degrees he led the wretched girl to contemplate the crime, at 
 which at first she shuddered, with a lenient eye, and finally to 
 consent to abandon her home to become his wife ; trusting, as 
 many have trusted, to the honour of a villain, and to time and 
 natural affection, to reconcile her offended parents to her choice. 
 Could she have seen the real aim of the monster's project, she 
 would have shrunk with horror from his words as from a demon's 
 whisper ; but the poison was veiled by flowers, and the unwary 
 victim fell. 
 
 Stanfield, like most of the mansions of the time, was well 
 fortified and guarded — prepared to resist every attack from open 
 force, and only to be taken by treachery or surprise. At sunset, 
 the drawbridge was every evening regularly raised, nor ever 
 permitted to be lowered, except by the command of the lord of the 
 hold himself. The most accessible part of the hall was at the back, 
 near the chapel, where a small postern, which was never fastened 
 till a late hour, gave ingress to the building. Persuaded by the 
 treacherous Ralph, Ethra, whose feelings had been worked on by 
 his tears and despair, whose enthusiastic nature had lent itself to 
 the excitement of the life of love and happiness which in glowing 
 colours his eloquent tongue depicted, consented to secure the keys 
 and fiy with him. The night was fixed for the event ; he promised 
 to come alojae : we shall see how the false craven kept his word.
 
 STANFIELD HALL. '343 
 
 The last light had long disappeared from the towers of the hall, 
 and every inmate save one retired to rest, when a party of men 
 were seen to steal one by one from the neighbouring forest, and 
 approach the moat at the back of the hall. Four of them launched 
 a small boat, which they carried with them, upon the stream ; and 
 their leader, clad no longer in his hunting garb, but cased in 
 knightly steel, entered the frail bark, and directed it towards the 
 fatal postern where the unhappy Ethra had promised to await him. 
 Finding the postern open, he beckoned to two of his followers to 
 pass over before he penetrated into the interior in order to seek his 
 victim. Cautiously he traversed the great hall, attended by his 
 minions, whom he directed to lower the drawbridge and admit the 
 rest of his destroying band. 
 
 Scarcely was the order accomplished, when Ethra, who, with a 
 touch of her better nature, had lingered to kiss her sleeping sister, 
 and breathe a parting prayer at the door which led to her mother's 
 chamber, descended the great staircase and entered the apartment. 
 The villain flew to meet her and enfold her in his serpent embrace. 
 
 " What means these men ? " whispered the trembling girl, terror- 
 struck at the sight of a numerous band in possession of her ancient 
 home. " What do they here ? — hast thou deceived me ? " 
 
 " They are here to protect our flight. Come," urged the 
 impatient tyrant, " time is too precious to be lost. Should thy 
 father wake, blood might be shed — the blood of him thou lovest — 
 and all our hopes destroyed." 
 
 At this moment one of the men who had been stationed at the 
 bridge entered the hall, and addressing Ralph de Gael by his title, 
 told him to decide quickly, for that a light had been seen in one of 
 the turrets, and that doubtless some of the inmates were alarmed. 
 
 " Ralph de Gael ! " shrieked the unhappy girl ; " then I am lost ! 
 Hear me," she added, sinking on her knees : " let me be the only 
 victim — trample on my heart — satiate thy hatred in my tears ; but 
 spare the authors of my being — spare my innocent sister. God ! " 
 she continued, convulsively, " betrayed, and through me ! " 
 
 Without a word the triumphant tyrant seized her in his arms, 
 and giving her to his esquire, told him to remove her from the 
 scene — ^an order which, despite her shrieks and struggles, he was 
 preparing to obey, when the frantic girl burst from him, and 
 seizing the cord which communicated with the alarm-bell, rang a 
 peal which startled the unconscious sleepers from their rest. 
 
 " Monsters ! " she cried, " they shall not be butchered in their 
 sleep. Ho ! Ulrick, to the rescue ! — arm, arm ! — tha foe, the foe ! 
 The Norman is upon us ! " 
 
 " Curses upon her fury ! " exclaimed Ralph, seizing her a second 
 time, and placing her in the hands of a party of his men, who this 
 time succeeded in bearing her over the drawbridge ; " away with 
 her. Now, then," he added to his men, as the sound of their
 
 344 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 ■ horses' hoofs assured him he was obeyed, " fire the castle ; fire it 
 on every side ; let not one escape to tell the tale of Ralph de Gael's 
 Tengeance." 
 
 The alarm which Ethra in her despair had sounded unfortunately 
 came too late. As fast as the men-at-arms descended they were 
 butchered by their cowardly assailants, who from their place of 
 ambush shot them ofE at their ease. Ulrick raged like a lion from 
 tower to tower ; every step of ground his enemies gained upon 
 him was bought with blood. His position was a fearful one. A 
 sea of flames — for the enormous oaken rafters of the hall had taken 
 fire — waved over his head ; and the shrieks of the women, mingled 
 with the groans of the wounded and dying, added to the horror of 
 the scene. Our unhappy hero was fiercely contending with Ralph 
 de Gael and two of his esquires, when the voice of Matilda fell 
 upon his ear. With a cry of agony, which burst from the deepest 
 recess of his heart, he cast away his sword, and rushed up the 
 burning staircase. The father and the husband only lived within 
 him — the warrior was extinct. As he reached the corridor, which 
 led to his mother and Matilda's apartment, a burning mass of wood 
 and stone fell from the ceiling, and barred his further passage. 
 Vainly, with his naked hands, he tossed the blazing beams aside, 
 till the seared flesh fell from his fingers. The barrier was too solid 
 to be removed by his single strength, and the wretched man heard 
 the last shrieks of his adored wife and mother as the crumbling 
 roof fell with the crash of thunder upon that part of the building 
 where they slept. Ulrick, in his despair, would have leaped into 
 the blazing gulf, and shared in the destruction of those most dear 
 to him, had not a new interest in life been suddenly awakened. 
 His youngest child, the lovely Myrra, a girl about eight years old, 
 had, in the first terror of the alarm, hastened from the chamber 
 where she slept, and thus escaped the fearful death of her mother 
 and the Countess Edith. To raise her in his arms, to clasp her to 
 his aching breast, was the impulse of an instant ; he felt that, 
 wretched as he was, life had still one tie for which he wished to 
 live ; and catching up a blazing brand, he directed his steps to the 
 chapel, from whence a vaulted passage, could he but once obtain 
 the entrance to it, conducted to a place of safety. As a son, a 
 parent, and a husband, our hero had been sufficiently tried that 
 night ; and Heaven, which had permitted the crimes of that 
 fearful hour for its own wise purposes, preserved him to avenge 
 them. The fugitive, with his weeping burden, reached the place 
 of concealment in silence and in safety, when the last tower of the 
 once stately hold of Stanfield had fallen a prey to the devouring 
 flames, and nothing remained of the abode of hospitality and virtue 
 but a smouldering mass of ruin. 
 
 Ralph de Gael, attended by his followers loaded with plunder, 
 returned to Norwich. Good men cursed them on their way, and
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 345 
 
 even the lawless and the vicious thanked Heaven that their souls 
 at least were free from such a deed. The rage and indignation of 
 the Saxon nobles was deep and loud ; but, in losing Ulrick, 
 unfortunatelj', they had lost the onl}' leader upon whom they could 
 rely. The triumphant oppressor loudly proclaimed that he had 
 proofs of a meditated rebellion in his hands — called upon the 
 Norman barons to join him with their vassals, provisioned his 
 strong hold, Norwich Castle — a fortress almost impregnable before 
 the invention of artillery — and prepared to act vigorously upon the 
 defensive. Thus weeks and even months passed away, and Ulrick's 
 most ardent friends, who all believed him dead, agreed to await 
 the return of the king from Normandy, whither he had gone to 
 invade the duchy of his gallant but unfortunate brother. 
 
 It was long, very long, ere the unhappy Ethra, w^hose existence 
 her betrayer carefully guarded as a secret from all, recovered from 
 the raging fever into which the events of that fearful night had 
 plunged her. Youth and care ultimately prevailed, and the poor 
 girl, the shadow of her former self, v>'as at last pronounced free 
 fi'om danger ; it is true, that with time her health, and even the 
 beauty for which she had been remarkable, gradually returned, 
 but her mind remained partially obscured, nor was it till years 
 afterwards that it recovered the full vigour and energy of its early 
 tone. Weakened, as she was, in spirit as well as body — friendless, 
 and in the power of an unprincipled villain, whom, despite his 
 crimes, she still loved — those who know the human heart will 
 wonder little that Ethra, won by his prayers and tears, his oaths of 
 penitence and eternal love, consented to become his in the presence 
 of a few friends in whom he could confide. The marriage rites 
 were celebrated. It w^as neither to her birth nor virtues the 
 unhappy girl was indebted for the consideration which made her 
 his wife instead of mistress, but to his thirst for her possessions. 
 The heiress of Stanfield v/as too rich a prize to be permitted to 
 escape him, or to be obtained by other means than marriage. 
 
 The wedding feast was cold and solitary, as Ralph and his chosen 
 friends caroused in the great hall of the castle. The golden cup 
 was in his hands as he was about to pledge his guests. The 
 pride of successful villainy flashed in his eye, and seemed to say, 
 " "World ! I may brave thee now ; " when a herald, wearing the 
 Royal arms upon his vest, entered his presence unannounced, and 
 summoned him in the name of his liege lord to appear before his 
 Court in ten days to answer for the crimes of murder and treason. 
 
 " And who is my accuser ? " he demanded, with a haughty 
 smile. 
 
 " Ulrick of Stanfield," replied the herald in a solemn voice. 
 
 The cup fell from the villain's hand untasted, and the unhappy 
 Ethra was borne senseless to her chamber.
 
 346 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 After the unhappy lord of Stanfield the most powerful chief of 
 the Angles was Arad, a noble whose large possessions and high 
 military reputation gave him a merited intiuence with the warlike 
 and still but half-subdued Saxon race. To him, as to his surest 
 friend, Ulrick fled on the destruction of his once happy home, and 
 was, with his infant Myrra — the only living pledge, as he believed, 
 of his Matilda's love — secretly received and sheltered until the 
 raging fever, brought on by bodily as well as mental suffering, 
 yielded to time and the devoted care by which he was surrounded. 
 All but his host believed him dead. The poor wept for him, the 
 good lamented him, and none but the wicked triumphed in his fall. 
 The generous Arad felt the wrongs of the suffering man as keenly 
 as though the brand of the Norman savage had desolated his own 
 hearth ; and in the indignation of his honest nature would have 
 summoned his countrymen to arms to avenge them, had not the 
 precautions of the tyrant in proclaiming the pretended conspiracy, 
 and calling upon the grout vassals of the Crown for aid, deprived 
 him of every chance of doing so with success. The rough nature 
 of the old franklin frequently melted as he listened to the wild 
 ravings of his guest calling with the most endearing epithets upon 
 his murdered wife and eldest born, and reproaching them for their 
 delay in coming to soothe him in his agony. At such moments 
 his host would bring the little Myrra, and place her in her dis- 
 tracted father's arms. True to nature's instinct, even in the most 
 violent paroxysms of his grief Ulrick recognised his child. Com- 
 parative calmness would gradually succeed to frenzy, and burning 
 tears and passionate kisses relieve his o'erfraught heart. Some- 
 times he would rave of the monk of Croydon, who had predicted 
 his unhappy destiny, and adjure him by the double name of priest 
 and king to revoke his fearful prophecy ; demanding, with almost 
 infantine simplicity, what crime he had committed to merit such a 
 fate. As time, however, rolled on, these outbreaks of excitement 
 became less frequent : a calm deep melancholy succeeded to the 
 fever of his heart and brain, and if his tears unconsciously fell 
 upon his slumbering child, they were tears which soothed, and not 
 inflamed, his sorrows. Well was it for Ralph de Gael that the 
 existence of the unhappy Ethra was unsuspected beyond the limits 
 of his castle ; for the knowledge of her being in the hands of his 
 enemy would have restored to the bereaved father the energy of 
 action which slumbered but was not extinct. His horror and 
 indignation would have been like the volcano's wrath, or the 
 destroying angel's breath. As it was, he decided, before he 
 attempted to rouse his friends to armp, and plunge his beloved 
 country in all the miseries of civil war, to appeal to Henry's justice 
 for redress ; and, not till that should fail, to draw the sword to
 
 STANFIELD HALL, 347 
 
 avenge his private wrongs. As soon, therefore, as the monarch's 
 return from his expedition in Normandy was known, Uh'ick once 
 more directed his pilgrim steps towards London. How different 
 were his feelings from those which animated him on his first 
 journey ! He was then the happy husband of an adoring wife ; full 
 of the confidence of youth — its hopes and bright imaginings — 
 where were they now ? Buried in the ashes of his once peaceful 
 home ; extinct for ever in an unhallowed grave. As the solitary 
 wanderer passed along, bowed and changed by sorrow, friends and 
 foes, as they gazed upon his pale cheek and emaciated form, 
 failed to recognise the once gallant lord of Stanfield. 
 
 The result of his appeal to the king did not belie the opinion 
 which Ulrick had formed of Henry's gratitude to the preserver of 
 his life ; both the monarch and his queen listened with indigna- 
 tion and interest to the story of his sorrows. A herald was 
 instantly despatched to Norwich to summon Ralph de Gael to 
 answer for his crimes before the Royal presence. The citation, as 
 our readers may remember, fell like a thunder-clap upon the 
 assassin at the impious banquet which he gave to celebrate his 
 nuptials with the iinhappy Ethra, whose ill-requited love had been 
 the means of bringing desolation upon the home of her youth and 
 all who loved her, and whose crime was destined to be yet 
 fearfullj' avenged. 
 
 Ralph de Gael was not a man to remain idle under the accu- 
 sation which remained suspended over him ; he was too much 
 accustomed to mix in the political intrigues of the day, too well 
 acquainted with courts and courtiers, not to know that a falling 
 favourite has seldom friends. Many of his countrymen had envied 
 him his influence with Henry, and the almost independent 
 command which the monarch had entrusted to him. He felt that 
 an instant and complete justification of the crimes he had com- 
 mitted could alone prevent his fall, and he resolved to recoil from 
 no means, no matter how odious, to clear himself in the eyes of his 
 sovereign — a point only to be accomplished by forging proofs of 
 the pretended conspiracy of the oppressed Saxons to throw off the 
 yoke of their Norman masters ; for he well knew that to alarm 
 Henry for the security of his crown, and the nobles for the safety 
 of their ill-acquired possessions in England, was to assure himself 
 of oblivion for the past, and full indemnity for the future, for any 
 act of tyranny or spoliation his avarice or licentious passion might 
 lead him to commit. 
 
 Like most of the great religious establishments of the age, the 
 monks of the cathedral were celebrated for the beauty of their 
 illuminated manuscripts and the skill of the laborious writers, 
 who spent their lives in multiplying those precious works of art 
 which at the present day form the pride of collectors and the 
 glory of our libraries. Amongst the brothers the most renowned
 
 348 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 for his skill was a certain Father Onfroy, a man whose time was 
 equally devoted to religion and the exercise of his pencil. 
 Although not many years professed, none knew his name or 
 country', or the reasons which had driven him from the world : 
 the charitable attributed his retirement to sorrows ; those who 
 envied his renown as an illuminator darkly hinted that it was 
 caused by crime — an opinion which his unsocial disposition and 
 reserved manner, to say nothing of the care with which on all 
 o.casions he wore his capuchin over his features, gradually 
 obtained credence. His labours were incessant ; he seemed to fly 
 to them as to a shelter from himself, or as a penance rather than 
 an occupation. His hours were equally divided between prayer 
 and the exercise of his voluntary labour ; the only relaxation 
 which he permitted himself was an occasional evening walk upon 
 the banks of the quiet river which bounded the domain of his 
 convent. 
 
 Two days after the arrival of the herald at the castle the solitary 
 was missing. Great search was made by order of the prior and 
 chapter ; the stream was dragged for miles, rewards offered, but all 
 in vain ; before the iinhappy man again saw the light of heaven 
 years were fated to elapse. 
 
 As my readers have doubtless surmised, Father Onfroy had been 
 secretly carried off, and was a prisoner in the castle, to serve the 
 guilty purposes of Ptalph de Gael, who hesitated at no means, 
 however vile, which were likely to insure his safety. 
 
 Amongst the many spoils of Stanfield Hall which the midnight 
 marauders had carried off, was a chest of deeds, charters, and 
 letters, the latter chiefly in the handwriting of Ulrick, sent by him 
 to his anxious wife during the siege of Pevensey. These were suffi- 
 cient for the tyrant's pm^pose. He doubted not but that by threats 
 and promises he could so work upon the hopes and terrors of his 
 skilful prisoner, that he should forge him proofs of a conspiracy in 
 a writing so like to Ulrick's that even the affectionate wife to 
 whom the models were addressed would have pronounced them 
 genuine. In this, however, he calculated erroneously. Father 
 Onfroy rejected the proposition with indignation ; nor was it till 
 the torture had been twice employed that he consented to lend his 
 assistance to the fraud, which was to be the signal of our hero's 
 further ruin, : 
 
 " It will not thrive with thee, Ralph de Gael ! " exclaimed the 
 monk, as Avith a trembling hand he gave hi"s gaoler a list of the 
 materials necessary to tinge the paper, and give an appearance of 
 age to the forgeries ; " it will not thrive with thee. Like thee, I 
 have been a man of violence and blood ; but Heaven hath smitten 
 me, as it will smite thee in the pride of thy security, the triumph 
 of thy guilt. Repent ere repentance comes too late." 
 
 Under the threat of the torture, which de Gael was even obliged
 
 STANFIELD HALL 
 
 349 
 
 to repeat, the monk at length completed his odious task, and the 
 proofs damning to Ulrick's fame were at last in the hands of his 
 bitter enemy. True, they were forgeries ; but who was to detect 
 them, whilst the only living witness was a captive, consigned, 
 despite his employer's oath to the contrary, to the deepest dungeon 
 of Norwich Castle ? 
 
 The morning at last dawned on which Ralph de Gael was to 
 meet his accuser face to face, in the presence of the king and 
 council. The courtiers frowned or turned their backs upon him as 
 he traversed the court -yard of the Tower, where Henry held his - 
 court. In the certitude of his triumph, the villain met their silent 
 reproach with a brow as haughty as their own, for he well knew 
 that his safety depended not upon their favour. 
 
 " Weather-cocks ! " he muttered to himself ; " in an hour you 
 will fawn upon the man whom now ye affect to despise, and whose 
 favour ye so long have envied. My safety depends upon myself, 
 not on such weak instruments." 
 
 With a firm step he ascended the stairs conducting to the privy 
 chamber, and found himself confronted with his outraged victim 
 and the sovereign whose confidence he had so unAvorthily abused. 
 It required all our hero's firmness to endure the presence of the 
 man whose crimes had widowed his heart of happiness, and made 
 his home a desert. 
 
 Reckless as the Norman nobles generally were in their schemes 
 of oppressing the unhappy Saxons, there was a point at which even 
 their fierce license stopped. The midnight surprise and wholesale 
 slaughter of Stanfield filled even their stern natures with horror ; 
 added to which, Matilda was of their race, the daughter of one of 
 the oldest of their companions in arms, related by blood to many. 
 And it was evident, from the cold greeting with which many 
 returned his salutation to the assembly, that most were disposed 
 against him. 
 
 " We command you, Ralph de Gael," said Henry, " to answer to 
 a charge which, if true, will leave a stain upon the Norman name 
 which not your worthless blood can wipe away — to answer for 
 midnight robbery and murder ; for assailing, like some midnight 
 thief, cowardly and in disguise, the castle of a faithful subject, 
 giving his house to flames, his heart to desolation. Ulrick of 
 Stanfield," he added, turning to the accuser, " produce your charge." 
 
 All eyes wei*e turned upon our hero, who, with a countenance 
 flushed with emotion, and a heart lacerated by memory, related the 
 destruction^of his home and the loss of his wife and child. " Face 
 to face," he added, with an expression of scorn beneath which De 
 Gael writhed, " the villain dared not meet me. His craven heart, 
 like some vile thief's, bold only 'neath the veil of night, shrank at 
 the thought of manly open combat, where knightly swords, and 
 not the assassin's steel, decide men's quarrels. He hated too, as
 
 350 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 well as feared me ; for my voice, as all here know, was ever raised 
 against his exactions and oppressions ; my home the shelter of his 
 victims." 
 
 " Go on," said the accused, with a sarcastic sneer ; " anon I'll 
 answer thee." 
 
 " Not for my home destroyed," resumed Ulrick, with a burst of 
 natural eloquence, " not for the plundered treasiwes of my house ; 
 but for those dearer treasures of the heart — those ties no wealth 
 can purchase or after-life renew, — for my murdered mother, vfife, 
 and child, I call for justice on him ; I demand it in the name of 
 the monarch whose confidence he hath abused, and the blest spirits 
 whose voices long ere this have been raised against him at the bar 
 of Heaven. If he fails to clear himself, I demand judgment, a 
 felon's judgment, on his accursed head ; if he dispute my charge, 
 Ihe knightly combat in the lists against him." 
 
 All were surprised at the cool effrontery with which Ralph de 
 Gael listened to the overwhelming accusation against him, and 
 rose to refute it. Taking a packet of letters from his bosom, he 
 threw them on the council-board, saying, with a haughty tone, ^ 
 " There lies my justification ; let my accuser dispute it, if he can. 
 For the loss of the innocents who were dear to him, I mourn ; but, 
 statesmen and soldiers, you, noble lords, can well understand the 
 stern necessity which, when the kingdom was in peril, led me to 
 draw the sword. Read, and be convinced." 
 
 " What means the traitor ? " demanded Ulrick, whose astonish- 
 ment was only equalled by the king's. 
 
 " Are these" said the wily Norman, pointing to the letters, 
 *' your handwriting ? " 
 
 *" Certainly," answered our hero, slightly glancing over the well 
 imitated superscription, " the hand is mine ; but what wouldst 
 thou infer from that ? " 
 
 " You hear," exclaimed the triumphant villain, " he hath 
 acknowledged them ! Read, noble lords, the proofs of his vile 
 treason ; a plot to sacrifice each Norman noble in his hold — to 
 drive us from the land our swords have won, not by open fight, 
 but by assassination. The means are well contrived, the scheme is 
 deeply laid. Now ask me why I crushed the serpent in its very 
 den ; why I gave to offended Justice's sword the plotting murderers 
 of your wives and children. Those papers are my answer." 
 
 Ulrick, overwhelmed with horror, heard one by one the artful 
 forgeries read. Their author had well calculated on the interests 
 and passions of his judges, the most influential of whom were 
 singled out by name, as the first victims of the intended outbreak. 
 The indignation of Henry was as unbounded as his interest for 
 the injured Saxon had been sincere. 
 
 " What answer," he demanded " makes the lord of Stanfield to 
 these proofs against him ? "
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 351 
 
 " That they are forgeries ! " exclaimed Ulrick, recovering hie 
 self-possession, " mean, cowardly, forgeries. My life disproves 
 them ; and my sword shall wring confession from my accuser's 
 lips, let but the king grant the combat." 
 
 " It may not be," said the chancellor, rising ; *' the Saxon already 
 hath avowed the writing his. What faith can be placed upon his 
 truth who, in the same breath, owns and disowns his acts as 
 interest and his safety prompts him ? The sword only may be 
 appealed to," he added, " where material proofs are wanting ; but 
 we have evidence which leaves no doub't upon the mind of 
 Justice — the traitor's own confession." 
 
 *' Hear me, lords," interrupted Ulrick, " not for my life — 
 sorrows have made it worthless ; but for my honour, that nobler 
 part of man which not the tomb can hold or time destroy. I 
 do protest my innocence. The very frankness with which I 
 owned those letters might have convinced you they were forgeries. 
 Compare my character with my accuser's. Would he who stoops 
 to murder shrink from lying ? Would the midnight thief hesitate 
 at any act, however vile, to screen his worthless life ? My own 
 and my outraged country's cause," he added, " might drive me to 
 draw the sword ; but to become an assassin, never, never. The 
 thought was worthy only of the fiend whose soul conceived it ; 
 mine scorns and rejects the cowardly accusation." 
 
 " You hear him," said his accuser, with a cold, satisfied smile ; 
 " the traitor half -avows his treason. But I have one proof more ; 
 a witness none will venture to dispute — one on v/hose testimony I 
 place my life and honour. Prince," he continued, in well-affected 
 humility, " do thou decide between us ; to thee the writing of this 
 man is known ; thy clerkly knowledge cannot be deceived — do 
 thou decide between us." 
 
 The piece of flattery was well-timed ; for Henry was vain of the 
 title which men already gave him of "Beauclerc," in allusion to his 
 skill in letters. Bending over the papers, the monarch perused 
 them attentively, and a shade of sorrow and regret passed over his 
 brow as the last fell from his hands. 
 
 " On my kingly word," he exclaimed with a sigh, " I do pro- 
 nounce them real." 
 
 " Enough ! " said the chancellor, a haughty Norman, devoted to 
 the interests of his countrymen, and, like most hackneyed statesmen, 
 ever ready to judge the worst of human nature. " We can no longer 
 hesitate ; the constable is fully justified in all that he hath done — 
 the Saxon is the traitor. Sire," he added in an under-tone to his 
 still hesitating sovereign, " no weakness now ; private friendship 
 must not trifle with the safety of a crown, the honour of a nation. 
 The culprit must to prison. Leave him to the council. The rack 
 may wi-ing from him the confession of his crimes, the names of his 
 accomplices,"
 
 352 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 Henry shuddered ; for it was not without a struggle that he 
 resolved to consign the preserver of his life to the tender mercies 
 of his nobles. Despite the apparent proofs, something w^hispered 
 him that our hero might be innocent ; but policy commanded alike 
 the suppression of his feelings and the concealment of his opinion. 
 Bowing his head in token of assent, without bestowing a parting 
 glance upon Ulrick, he quitted the council-chamber to inform the 
 queen of the unexpected turn which the accusation had taken ; for 
 the Saxon princess, whose influence over him was unbounded, felt 
 deeply for the wrongs of her outraged countryman, whose gallant 
 bearing had won her good opinion, and whose treachery it was 
 difficult to persuade, her to believe. 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed the generous woman, when Henry related to 
 her De v^j'ael's charge, and the proofs by which he had supported 
 it ; " let who will pronounce him guilty, I cannot believe it. 
 Truth dwells on the unhappy Ulrick's tongue ; his life belies the 
 deed ; I would almost pledge my own that he is innocent ! " 
 
 '• Matilda," said her husband gravely, " thou judgest warmly. 
 Thou, too, art a Saxon." 
 
 " Have I loved thee less ? " replied his wife, turning her blue 
 eyes upon him reproachfully. 
 
 Not for an instant could the affectionate prince endure the look ; 
 folding his arms around her, he imprinted a kiss on her fair, open 
 brow, and begged, with all a lover's earnestness, to be forgiven. 
 
 " I fain would think like you," he said ; " but proofs ai-e strong 
 against him. Were I convinced of his innocence — nay, had I but 
 a doubt that he is guilty — despite the council and the angry peers, 
 I'd interpose and save him." 
 
 " And you will save him, Henry," said the queen. " You owe 
 him life for lif e : remember, even if guilty, he preserved yours. 
 What would be your remorse — your future agony and shame — if 
 time should prove him guiltless ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," whispered the monarch, " there is a way.to save him. 
 We will think more of this ; and trust me, love, the Saxon Ulrick 
 shall not fare the worse for thy sweet prayer and good opinion of 
 him." 
 
 On the departure of Henry from the council-chamber the 
 unfortunate lord of Stanfield had been removed, by command of 
 the haughty chancellor, to one of the subterranean dungeons 
 beneath the White Tower, close to the water-passage known by the 
 name of the Traitor's Gate. Too proud to descend to i-eproaches 
 or entreaties — too hopeless to offer further vindication, our hero 
 suffered himself to be conveyed to his damp cell in silence. To 
 him death had no terrors ; for his heart v/as already ashes, and, but 
 for the stain upon his name, he could have contemplated his 
 approaching fate, if not with joy, at least with resignation. Even 
 in his prison his heart beat lighter than his accuser's ; for, despite
 
 STAXFIELD HALL
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 355 
 
 his momentary triumph, something whispered to De Gael that 
 truth woiTld yet be heard ; and even while listening to the 
 congratulations of the courtiers who once more flocked' around him, 
 and the compliments of the members of the council, his spirit sank 
 within him. The coldness of the queen during the evening 
 banquet to which he was invited was remarked by all ; she 
 shuddered visibly as his lips pressed her reluctantly extended 
 hand ; and it was clear to all, however the king and nobles might 
 esteem his truth, that Matilda's heart was enlisted in the cause of 
 her unhappy countrjman. 
 
 At an early hour her majesty quitted the circle, and her departure 
 was followed by an encouraging smile from her husband, who 
 remained, however, for some time after her, in deep conversation 
 with William de Neville, the aged Constable of the Tower, a man 
 whose fidelity to his prince was above all suspicion, and on whom 
 Henry looked as on a second father. 
 
 " I'll do it, sire," whispered the old man, hesitatingly ; " but 'tis 
 against my judgment. Heaven grant we both repent not of it ; but 
 be it as you will." 
 
 As the knight concluded his remonstrance, he bowed and left 
 the presence. With his departure a weight seemed to be removed 
 from Henry's soul. Calling for a cup of wine, he drained it to the 
 dregs in honour of his queen, and many a gallant lip and heart 
 responded to the pledge. 
 
 Whilst the banquet in the great hall was at its height — for the 
 Tower, at the period of our tale, was both a fortress and a palace — 
 two persons, closely disguised, were threading the cold, damp 
 passages which conducted to the prison of our hero. One was the 
 aged Constable, to whom alone the clue was confided of the various 
 secret entrances and means of egress from the prison, used more fre- 
 quently for purposes of tyranny and death than freedom to the 
 unfortunate and innocent. His companion was the generous queen, 
 whose prayers and tears had won from Henry the liberty of his 
 prisoner. 
 
 On entering the dungeon, they found our hero sleeping on the 
 ground aa calmly as an infant sleeps upon its mother's breast. The 
 Constable was surprised, for it was not often that his captives 
 slept. 
 
 " And can this man be guilty .' " whispered Matilda to her com- 
 panion, as she gazed upon Ulrick's placid features. Such, believe 
 me, is not the sleep of those whose waking thoughts are of murder 
 and of treason. I should like to compare the Saxon's slumbers with 
 those of his accuser." 
 
 " 'Tis hard to judge," replied the knight ; " for who can read the 
 heart of man ? — it is a mystery even to the angels nearest the 
 throne of God. He who framed alone can comprehend it. But 
 time presses ; morning must not dawn upon our enterprise and see 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 it unaccomplislied. 'Tis strange," he added, with a smile, " that 
 William de Neville, who bore the Conqueror's standard at Hastings, 
 should be aiding a Saxon to escape from Norman justice !— few 
 would believe it." 
 
 " Say, rather," replied his companion, " aiding thy king to pay 
 his debt of gratitude. Ton sleeper saved his life, and all of Rolla's 
 race are not alike ungrateful." 
 
 " Enough, 'tis Henry's will," observed the old man ; " that hath 
 ever been my law. What ho ! " he added, in a louder tone, " Ulrick, 
 sir knight, awake." 
 
 The sleeping man slowly opened his eyes, not with that sudden 
 start with which unquiet guilt springs from its restless couch, but 
 with the composure which a fearless conscience gives. 
 
 " What would you ? " he exclaimed. " Hath the night passed so 
 soon ? Well, I am ready." 
 
 " Ready for what ? " demanded the Constable, with a look of 
 surprise. 
 
 " For aught which pleases Heaven," replied Ulrick ; "for beyond 
 the tortures and the cruelties with which man goads his fellows, I 
 behold the spirit's triumph and the freed soul's emancipation, 
 plains of eternal light and waving palms ; long-silent voices whisper 
 in mine ear, ' Welcome at last to peace.' " 
 
 " To liberty as well ! " exclaimed Matilda, raising her veil. " The 
 path is free, the dungeon door unbarred. Away at once. Use 
 fortune while thou mayst." 
 
 " The queen ! " said the astonished prisoner, gracefully bending 
 his knee ; " what errand brings an angel's presence to this dreary 
 dungeon ? " 
 
 " To pay the debt thy grateful monarch owes — to set thee free," 
 replied the generous woman ; " to preserve a father for his helpless 
 child, an avenger for the outraged Saxon honour." 
 
 Ulrick's natural hesitation to fly and leave a branded name 
 behind him was overruled by the allusion to his infant Myrra, and 
 the hope of one day returning to prove his innocence and avenge 
 his murdered race. He suffered himself, therefore, to be conducted 
 by the aged constable to the boat which by Henry's orders waited 
 at the Tower-stairs to convey him to Normandy, where he soon 
 afterwards joined a band of Crusaders on their march to Palestine ; 
 where, in knightly action under the burning sun of Syria, he 
 endeavoured for a while to forget the wrongs and sorrows which 
 drove him from his native land. 
 
 With Ulrick's disappearance the last barrier to the triumph of the 
 infamous Ralph de Gael was removed ; for whatever might be 
 Henry's secret opinion of his services, and the truth of the con- 
 spiracy which he had alleged against the Saxons, he was too politic 
 to express it ; seeing that it was firmly believed by the great 
 Norman barons, to whom he was chiefly indebted for his crown,
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 357 
 
 and whom (such was their power) it might have been dangerous to 
 
 offend. 
 
 • • * » • « 
 
 Ten years had elapsed since our hero's departure from England, 
 during which period the oppression and tyranny of the worthless 
 governor of the Angles had risen beyond human forbearance. The 
 eyes of the suffering people, vavasours and franklins, were, in the 
 absence of Ulrick, all turned towards Arad, whose watchful 
 prudence had hitherto defeated every attempt to surprise or to 
 subdue him. Men's minds were in this unsettled state when it 
 became gradually whispered that midnight assemblies were being 
 held on Monkshold Heath, and in the Druid's cave at Whitlingham, 
 in which many of the inhabitants of the city joined. These 
 rumours were not long in reaching the ears of the suspicious 
 Ralph, whose spies were everywhere, and he j)rovisioned the 
 stronghold of Norwich Castle in expectation of the approaching 
 outbreak. 
 
 Amongst the few national festivals which the oppressed Saxons 
 still continued to celebrate was the anniversary of St. Edward, on 
 which occasion the elder nobles met to exchange the courtesies of 
 life, and the younger ones and commons to indulge in knightly 
 sports, archery, vvT:'estling, and quarter-staff — exercises in which 
 few peoples could excel them. Arad, attended by a more numerous 
 train than usual, was one of the last to reach the heath where the 
 assembly was held. The spot marked out was an undulating plain 
 broken by hills, now forming part of the inclosed lands of Thorpe, 
 extending from the chapel of St. William in the wood down to the 
 river's bank. The arrival of the man whom the oppressed S>^.;x:ons 
 looked upon as their leader was hailed with shouts of joy, and 
 " Long live the valiant Arad," and " Success to the Lord of Ormsby," 
 echoed far and near. 
 
 The aged chief was attended by his only son and heir Edward, 
 and his nephew Ethwold of the Eath, a young man to whom he 
 had been guardian. 
 
 It was observed that the young men were unremitting in their 
 attentions to a fair girl who rode in the midst of the train, and who 
 was received by the more aged Saxons with tokens of affection and 
 respect. The maiden was no other than Myrra, who, from the 
 period of her father's exile, had shared the home and paternal love 
 of Arad, and whom rumour had long since assigned as the destined 
 bride of either his son or nephew, for both the young men loved 
 her, and hence the looks of jealous rivalry which occasionally 
 passed between them ; but the open-hearted, generous Edward was 
 evidently the favoured lover. A shade of sadness passed over the 
 features of the exile's daughter as she returned the greetings of her 
 friends, for to her the projected outbreak was no secret, and she 
 knew not how soon the home of her adoption might be made a
 
 358 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 desert, and the friends who had protected her reduced, like her 
 gallant father, to misery and exile. 
 
 As the day proceeded, the people noted with great satisfaction 
 that one by one their leaders slowly retired to the depths of the 
 wood which skirted the place of their assembly, to deliberate, they 
 fondly trusted, on the means of redressing the wrongs beneath 
 which they groaned, and throwing off a yoke as humiliating as it 
 was burthensome to them. Let it not be imagined that all the 
 nobles and franklins who were present at what might not inappro- 
 priately be called the council of the Angles were unanimous in 
 their views. Some were restrained by their doubts of success, or 
 the more worldly consideration of personal security ; others were 
 content to live on any terms, however vile or degrading. 
 
 Considerable uneasiness existed amongst the wavering and timid 
 at the presence of a tall war-worn pilgrim, who stood by Arad's 
 side, and to whom alone, of all the assembly, he seemed pei'sonally 
 known. The red cross on his shoulder denoted he had served in 
 Palestine ; and the golden spurs upon his heels vouched for his 
 knightly rank. Some whispered that he was a spy, a supposition 
 instantly rejected by those who gazed upon his gallant bearing, and 
 the evident recognition of him by their brother nobles. 
 
 The business of the day was opened by Arad, who, in a speech 
 replete with energy, drew their attention to the condition of their 
 unhappy country, to the continued oppressions of Ralph de Gael, 
 and the little hope of redress at the hands of the monarch, who, 
 since the death of his Saxon queen, Matilda, had given himself 
 entirely up to his Norman ministers and councillors, "Are we," 
 continued the aged chief, " once more to draw the sword for Saxon 
 independence, or yield our necks, without one further effort, to the 
 debasing yoke our masters place upon us ? Shall we decide to live 
 as freemen, or to die as slaves ? " 
 
 There was a pause. The assembly felt the importance of the 
 reply they were called upon to make, and remained silent. Ethwold 
 of the Rath, the speal:er's nephew, was the first to break it. Though 
 not naturally a coward, he was st^lfish. Hitherto the brand of the 
 Conqueror had not assailed his hearth — added to which, the im- 
 portance which his rival cousin would obtain in Myrra's eyes, 
 should the insurrection prove successful, at once determined him. 
 Briefly and confidently he spoke of the hopelessness, the madness 
 of the attempt, and called upon the meeting to disperse, ere the 
 knowledge of their designs should give their rulers fresh pretext 
 for further spoliation. 
 
 With a triumphant smile Ethwold remarked the effect his speech 
 produced. Many of the vavasours and petty nobles were retiring, 
 when the deep-toned voice of the pilgrim arrested their ignoble 
 purpose. 
 
 " Men I " he exclaimed, dashing into the midst of them. " Can
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 359 
 
 ye be men, and tamely thus resign all chance of freedom ? Are ye 
 so debased, ye cast the sword aside and kiss your chains ? Prove 
 yourselves Avorthy of your fathers' fame, and free your daughters 
 from the Norman's lust. Your future sons, drawing the love of 
 freedom from their mothers' breasts, nobly shall defend the rights 
 their fathers bled to win, the stream of life with "^lobler impulse 
 beat, and one brave deed regenerate our race." 
 
 Few as were the impassioned words of the speaker, they found 
 an echo in the hearts even of those who wavered. Men crowded 
 around him — the young with enthusiasm, the old in admiration. 
 But Ethwold was not a man to be easily silenced : he was one of 
 those who, if not eloquent, at least are plausible. 
 
 " Who is this stranger," he demanded, " who takes upon him to 
 give lessons unto men and nobles ? Beware," he added, " lest this 
 seeming zeal should hide a traitor." 
 
 " Traitor ! " repeated the pilgrim. " England ! my own, my 
 father's land, have I for thee wandered o'er Asia's burning sands, 
 or froze amid the horrors of the North, thus to be branded with 
 traitor's name ? Hear me, Saxons," he continued, " 'tis not the 
 first time ye have hung upon my words, or followed my broad 
 pennon to the field. Exiled for freedom and my country's rights, 
 for years I wandered 'neath a burning sun, yet felt it not — the fire 
 was in my brain ; oft o'er the pathless deserts of the East my steps 
 have strayed — the simoom harmed me not ; in storm, in danger, in 
 the battle's heat, I courted death in vain. Once, when Despair 
 usurped fair Reason's throne, I gained the craggy mountain's top- 
 most height, and would have plunged into the abyss beneath, but at 
 that moment some spirit whispered ' England might be free ! ' My 
 heart, my sword, were all my country's claim, and Ulrick would 
 not rob her of her right." 
 
 The shout of the astonished Saxons at the announcement of their 
 banished hero's name rang far and wide. Many a gallant heart 
 beat with admiration at the sight of him, and eager hands were 
 stretched to welcome him. In the midst of their enthusiasm, 
 however, a voice was heard at whose sound all gave way. The 
 youthful Myrra had heard her father's name. Gliding like a spirit 
 ©f light and beauty through the circle which surrounded him, she 
 sank upon her knees, her voice shaking with emotion : all she could 
 find strength to utter was : 
 
 " Your blessing — your blessing, father — for your long-purted 
 child." 
 
 As the stern warrior gazed upon the kueoliug seraph at his feet, 
 the thoughts of other days and other ties caine over him. Placing 
 his hand upon her head, he answered, while tears coursed each 
 other down his manly cheek : 
 
 " Sweet as the dew which fell on Israel's race vny blessing rest 
 upon thee, thou only blossom of my marriage bed the hand of
 
 360 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 tyranny bath spared me. Look on her, chiefs," he added, addressing 
 the franklins, who had respectfully drawn back not to intrude upon 
 so sacred a meeting ; " say, should a form like this give birth to 
 slaves ? should beauties rare as these become the Norman's prey ? 
 Here, on the hills where free your father's trod, I call upon you, 
 in the sacred name of freedom — call you to burst wide your bonds 
 — cast back to earth the fetters which enthral you — renounce the 
 oppressor's yoke, and rise erect and free as God and nature's 
 chartered laws have made you." 
 
 One wild enthusiastic cry for liberty was the result of the appeal ; 
 men drew their s .vords, and swore no longer to hold their lives 
 at their masters' pleasures ; even Ethwold, carried away by the 
 feelings of the moment, joined in the shout for war. 
 
 " Noble Ulrick," he exclaimed, " forgive me. I knew not the 
 nature my suspicions wronged. Let Myrra's hand become the pledge 
 of amity between us ; my fortune and my friends will then be 
 thine ; my vassals know no other leader, my inexperienced years 
 no other guide," 
 
 It needed not the pale cheek of Myrra, or the ill-suppressed 
 indignation of the j'outhful Edward, whose imploring eyes were 
 fixed on Ulrick, to induce his generous nature how to decide. 
 Drawing the trembling girl yet nearer to his heart, as if to shield 
 her even from the outrage of such a proposition, her father 
 answered with a bitterness and scorn to which in other years his 
 I lips were strangers : 
 
 " Yield her to thee ! Consign her pure and spotless to thy arms ! 
 Rather would I strike her to my feet ! rather behold her perish in 
 i the pile in which her sister fell, than yield her beauties to a willing 
 slave ! Go," he added, with an expression of, if possible, increased 
 contempt, — " go, count thy gold, and view thy hoards increase ! 
 Breed sons to swell thy Norman master's train, and daughters to be 
 victims of their lust ! Go, live securely, but thy nation's scorn ! " 
 
 Slowly, and with a look of unutterable hate, Ethwold withdrew 
 from the assembly, the eyes of which were turned reproachfully 
 upon him. Curses were on his lip, yet he spake them not. Re- 
 venge, like a vulture, was gnawing at his heart ; and he resolved, 
 even at the sacrifice of those who shared his blood, it should be 
 gratified. 
 
 The same day saw him closeted with Ralph de Gael, to whom, 
 however, with the usual cunning of his nature, he only half -con- 
 fided the danger which threatened him : spoke of the meditated 
 rising of the Saxons ; but forbore to name Ulrick as their chief, 
 promising, however, to deliver him into the hands of a party of 
 his men, provided he might retain his daughter as his sole reward. 
 The double traitor was in some degree forced to this ; for, without 
 the aid of the Norman soldiers, he knew it v.^otild be impossible to 
 complete the outrage he meditated, as he well knew no Saxon could
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 361 
 
 be found to lay a hand upon the lord of Stanfield — such was the 
 influence of his name — the love which his gallant fame and devotion 
 to his country had inspired. The compact was accepted, the 
 necessary force placed at his disposal, and Ethwold retired from 
 the castie bound to the bidding of his master like a worthless 
 hound . 
 
 The name of Ulrick, and the shouts which welcomed it, spread 
 far and near amongst the excited Saxons. The games were rapidly 
 broken up, and the serfs and peasants burst in upon the circle 
 hitherto reserved for their masters ; all were eager once more to 
 gaze upon the man whose name had been the watchword of their 
 youth, whose arm the protection of their homes, and whose 
 memory in their grateful hearts had survived even his services. 
 In the enthusiasm of the moment all distinction of rank was for- 
 gotten, and it became necessary, men were so mingled together, for 
 the leaders to retire to mature their plans ere the news of Ulrick's 
 return should be noised abroad — a secret which, after the public 
 recognition of his person, could not be long concealed. In the 
 hurried council which followed, it was decided that the exile 
 should at once proceed to Stanfield to raise the ancient vassals of 
 his house, who, writhing under the exactions of their new master, 
 would rise to a man, and strike for their ancient lord and freedom. 
 
 That very evening, near the old cross where the road divided 
 from Cotessey to Wynmondham, an aged woman, leaning on an 
 oaken staff, might have been seen watching the setting sun, whose 
 last rays kissed the graceful spire of fhe cathedral, and crowned 
 with a flood of golden light its splendid pinnacles ; her quick, 
 restless eye was directed to a copse of stunted beech and brush- 
 wood near, from which a steel-clad Norman man-at-arms might 
 occasionally be seen peeping, casting down the road impatient 
 glances, such as the hungry wolf might cast upon its loitering 
 prey. 
 
 " Ay," muttered the old woman, resuming her occupation of 
 gathering herbs, " wait ; he will not tarry long. The noble stag 
 and timid fawn are both within the toils. First, the mother," she 
 added, counting with her fingers, " then the wife and eldest born, 
 and now the sire, and the last shoot of his doomed, blighted race. 
 Blood will be shed. I feel — I scent it. I saw the corpse-lights 
 flitter in the ruins of Stanfield — a sure token of death in its lordly 
 line. He comes, the victim to the sacrifice — the eagle to the 
 archer's aim." 
 
 At this moment Ethwold and several of his followers left their 
 ambush to secrete themselves behind the cross, in order that they 
 might secure their prey between two nets, and so cut off all chance 
 of escape. 
 
 " What dost thou here, wretched hag ? " exclaimed the haughty 
 Saxon. " Away ! we want no spy upon our deeds. Hence, ere my
 
 3G2 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 archers lash thee with their bow-strings till the flesh falls from thy 
 accursed bones." 
 
 " There needs small wit to guess thew deed," replied the beldame, 
 sharply, "when Saxon joins with Norman to oppress his country. 
 Hell is sure to register it, and Heaven to punish it." 
 
 A laugh from the men-at-arms stung the traitor at whom the 
 bitter sneer was levelled. Striking the speaker with the back of 
 his weapon brutally over the temple, he once more bade her begone. 
 
 "Ethwold," screamed the hag, in a voice rendered painfully 
 sharp by passion, as she wiped the blood which trickled down hei 
 haggard features, " thou art a doomed man ! Saxon and Norman 
 shall alike reject thee ; the gallows-tree shall end thy vile career ; 
 the pie shall chatter on thy fleshless skull, and the winds whistle 
 through thy unburied bones. Craven and traitor, the curse of her 
 whose words ne'er fall to earth be on thee ! Thou hast struck a 
 woman ; by a woman's hand thy fate shall be accomplished." 
 
 Ere the astonished Ethwold could give orders to secure her, the 
 hag had fled into the wood, whose intricate windings forbade all 
 hope of a pursuit. 
 
 It was with bitter, sad reflections that Ulrick and his daughter, 
 whose tears had drawn from her father a reluctant permission to 
 accompany him to Stanfield, approached the once happy home of 
 love and childhood. A thousand recollections rose in the mind of 
 each as they remarked the well remembered cross which divided 
 the two domains. Both, as by a mutual impulse, reined their 
 steeds to repeat an Ave ! for the safe conclusion of their journey. 
 The action was too favourable for the intentions of the ambushed 
 ruffians to escape their notice. In an instant the travellers were 
 surrounded, and the male rider disarmed. 
 
 " What would you, masters ? " he exclaimed, taking them for 
 robbers, " gold ? ' I have but little, and to that ye are freely 
 welcome. What," he added, seeing that they were about to bind 
 his arms, " would ye offer violence to a pilgrim of the Cross ? " 
 
 " Ethwold ! " shrieked Myrra, as the eyes of the triumphant villain 
 encountered heis, " betrayed ! betrayed ! " 
 
 At the name of the perjured Saxon, the fearful truth flashed at 
 once in all its horror upon the mind of the unhappy father. 
 Bursting with a frantic effort from the men-at-arms who held him, 
 he sprang upon the traitor, whose life, unarmed though the 
 indignant Ulrick was, would have fallen a just sacrifice, had not 
 numbers overpowered him. 
 
 " It is accomplished," murmured our hero to himself ; " man 
 may not struggle with his destiny." 
 
 There was something so calm and dignified in the resignation of 
 their captive, so touching in the tears and the affectionate caresses 
 of his fair child, that even the rude Normans felt moved, and 
 conducted them to the city with respect and silence. 
 
 /
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 363 
 
 Ethwold, to avoid being seen with the party, and his treason 
 to his countrymen thereby at once made known, lingered behind, 
 triumphing in the anticipated possession of the high-minded girl 
 who had rejected him, and the despair of his rival cousin, whom 
 he hated. 
 
 " Now, then," he exclaimed, " I can meet scorn with scorn and 
 hate with hate. TJlrick dishonoured ms before my nation ; the 
 scaffold soon will claim him. Myrra preferred the boyish love of 
 a mere stripling to my fervent vows — ha ! ha ! ha ! Soon shall 
 she sue and learn to wait my smiles, come at my beck, and 
 tremble at my frown. I'll break her haughty spirit," he added, 
 " and find more pleasure in the task than e'en her love could yield 
 me." 
 
 " You must be brief, then," whispered a voice near him, " for 
 your courtship will prove but short." 
 
 He started, and found the hag whom he had so brutally treated 
 grinning maliciously at his side. The first impulse of the haughty 
 franklin was to repeat the chastisement ; but on a motion of her 
 hand, he was disarmed by a dozen wretched-looking men, who had 
 crept through the underwood and gradually surrounded him, and 
 who immediately hurried him from the ihigh road into the depth 
 of the forest. 
 
 " Dogs I " he exclaimed, as one of them drew from his vest a 
 rope, " would you bind me ? " 
 
 " Ay," replied the hag ; " bind thee where Satan's hand alone 
 shall loose thee — where thy crimes long since should have con- 
 signed thee — to the gallows-tree ! " 
 
 " Thou darest not, woman," he answered. " Knowest thou who 
 I am ? Slaves ! I will rack ye limb from limb for this. Heax* 
 me," he added, seriously alarmed for his safety, for one of the 
 ruffians had already made a noose at one end of the cord, and ad- 
 vanced with the intention of placing it round his neck, " I am rich ; 
 I'll buy my life with gold — gold, which is the master-key to 
 pleasure — gold, w^hich will purchase wine and beauty — all that 
 men's hearts desire, all that their wishes can frame." '^ y^ 
 
 " All but thy life ! " screamed the woman ; " for couldst thou 
 coin the earth in gold, and count it down before me, I'd trample 
 on thy offer. Do you hesitate ? " continued the fury, observing 
 that some of the outlaws were pondering on the Saxon's offer. 
 " Fools ! would the man who sold his country e'er keep faith with 
 you ? Obey me, or I break all ties between -as — denounce ye to 
 your Norman tyrants' mercies, and leave ye to your fate." 
 
 The outlaws, who were dependent on the hag for the necessary 
 supplies of food, and whose influence over them was still fn;;ther 
 increased by her skill in wounds, not unfrequently called iat© 
 requisition in the hazardous life they led, hesitated no longer. 
 Despite his yells and frantic struggles, EthwoJd was attached io
 
 364 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the fatal tree, x^s soon as the men retired he caught with his 
 unbound hands to the branch to which he was suspended, and for 
 a few moments procrastinated his fate. 
 
 " A priest, a priest ! " he shrieked. " Let me not perish body 
 and soul. Save me, woman, and I will be thy slave, thy hound ; 
 chain me in the deep centre of the earth, feed me on carrion, use 
 me as a footstool, spare my life, but for repentance." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! how the hang-dog howls ! " 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! " 
 
 " The pie shall chatter on thy fleshless skull ! " repeated the fury. 
 
 " But for one hour to pray." 
 
 " The winds shall whistle through thy fleshless bones ! " she 
 added. 
 
 " No hope — no hope ! " 
 
 " None ! " exclaimed the aged woman, sternly. " My word is 
 kept ; thou hast struck a woman, and a woman's hand consigns thee 
 to thy doom." 
 
 Raising her long staff, she struck the struggling wretch upon his 
 hands till the repeated blows forced him to let go his desperate 
 hold, but not till bruised bones and mangled flesh had lost all 
 power of supporting him. He fell with a heavy jerk, and, after a 
 few convulsive struggles, Ethwold, the betrayer of his country, 
 swung a corpse ; cut off in the moment of his triumph by the agency 
 of a weak creature, whom in his strength he could have crushed, 
 and whom in the wantonness of his power he had treated cruelly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Ralph de Gael paced the great hall of the castle, impatiently 
 awaiting the arrival of his prisoners. Had he been aware who the 
 redoubted leader was, he would hardly have entrusted to a 
 subordinate the task of securing his person ; for, despite the niimber 
 of years which had elapsed since the exile of our hero, conscience 
 — that busy monitor — at times whispered in his ear that Ulrick 
 might return to exact fearful retribution for his murdered wife, his 
 desolated home, and outraged honour ; and the thought would 
 poison the wine-cup and arrest the smile upon his lip. Prudence 
 had prevented his ever making public his marriage with the guilty, 
 the unhappy Ethra ; the greater parts of the estates of Stanfield had 
 become his by confiscation, and the knowledge of his union with 
 the child of the man whom he had so cruelly persecuted could have 
 answered no other purpose than to cover his name with additional 
 infamy. The betrayer and betrayed lived still : her remarkable 
 beauty, which even sorrow and remorse had failed to touch, held 
 the tyrant in a bond which habitude had contributed to rivet ; for,
 
 STANFIELD HALL 365 
 
 although his infidelities were frequent, they were carefully 
 concealed from the eyes of his injured wife. 
 
 " Where stay the loiterers ? " he demanded of an esquire who at 
 a respectful distance awaited his commands. " Night hath already 
 fallen. Can the Saxon have escaped me ? Who leads the men ? " 
 
 " Herbert," replied the officer. " A cool head, my lord, and a 
 still better sword." 
 
 " I know his qualities," interrupted the impatient Norman, who 
 loved not to hear the praise even of the instruments most faithful 
 to his crimes. " Let the torturers be summoned. I'll wring 
 confession from the Saxon's lips. No mercy, no weakness now. 
 The cord and axe shall be each rebel's doom. I'll crush the 
 traitors like a nest of vipers 'neath my iron heel." 
 
 The warders, however, cut short his threats by announcing the 
 arrival of his prisoners, who were instantly conducted by their captors 
 to his presence. Ulrick, although heavily chained, still supported 
 the steps of his fair child ; his paternal arm encircled her waist, 
 half -veiling her form in the folds of his dark mantle. Time and 
 the burning sun of Syria had so changed him, that even the eye 
 of hate, whose glance is often keener than that of love, failed to 
 recognise him. His step was erect, in the conscious integrity of 
 his life and the dignity of his nature ; his eye, like that of an 
 imprisoned eagle, shrank not from the gaze of his captor, which, 
 on the contrary, gradually quailed beneath its glance. 
 
 " Who art thou ? " said Ralph de Gael, in a much less haughty 
 tone than he usually assumed towards his victims, for the bearing 
 of the soldier of the Cross had involuntarily awed him. 
 
 " A Saxon," was the reply. 
 
 '• Humph ! I guessed as much," interrupted the Norman, " from 
 thy insolent bearing. What else ? " 
 
 " Thy foe ! " added Ulrick, sternly, " thy deadly foe. Mine is 
 no common hate. I tell thee, Ralph de Gael, were we both 
 struggling on the wave, with but one plank between us and 
 eternity, my hand should dash that plank aside rather than float 
 with thee." 
 
 " Father< father ! " whispered Myrra, alarmed at the effect his 
 words produced upon the astonished tyrant, " patience, patience 
 for mine and for thy country's sake." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed the surprised Norman, for it was not 
 often that such words had fallen upon his ears, more used to 
 prayers and supplications than reproaches from his victims ; and 
 what cause ? " 
 
 " What cause ! " iterated our hero, approaching him ; " have I 
 not told thee that I am a Saxon ; and canst thou ask the cause ? 
 Look well around thee ; view the groaning earth, which once 
 teemed plenty to her children's toil, made wild and barren 'neath 
 the Norman sway ; view well the happy homes, the antique
 
 366 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 towers, in which of old the Saxon lived and ruled, now desolate 
 beneath the Norman brand. Dost thou still ask the cause ?" — ^and 
 here the expression of the captive's eye, as he repeated the question, 
 was like the forked lightning's point, or the concentrated glance of 
 the fierce basilisk. "Again look forth, and view our offspring, 
 children of our blood, fettered like slaves to pamper up your pride, 
 or made the victims of their tyrants' lust. Our country lost, our 
 homes profaned, our trampled liberties, our bro^ en hearts — all, all 
 proclaim the cause." 
 
 For a few moments Ealph de Gael remained pale with rage, and 
 speechless from the mere impotence of passion. There was a tone, 
 too, in the speaker's voice which jarred upon his soul like the 
 return in manhood's years of childhood's half-remembered terror. 
 He felt convinced that he and his prisoner had met before ; but 
 memory, so changed was his victim, failed to whisper where. His 
 pride was galled at the proud glance beneath which his own had 
 quailed. 
 
 " Fool ! " he at last replied ; " ours is the right of conquest ; 
 victory places the yoke upon your necks, and justifies our sway." 
 
 " Nothing can justify a tyrant's sway," answered the prisoner 
 calmly. "Freedom is man's inalienable right, stamped by the 
 Godhead on his form when he went forth creation's chartered lord. 
 Nor conquest's law, nor deed on vellum sealed, nor e'en man's 
 own assent, can ratify its loss. Though ages more than e'er the 
 world has seen had passed since first your fetters bound us down, 
 yet from the moment that we spurned our chain, and felt our 
 rights, humanity's lost charter was restored. Wretch ! " he added, 
 " the measure of thy cruelties is full — a people rise in their 
 indignant strength — despite thy guards, thy crouching slaves, their 
 justice yet shall reach thee ! When thou shalt see this bloodstained 
 hold, the seat of thy dark tyranny and crime, a prey to flames — 
 when frantic fear shall prey upon thy heart, and wild remorse call 
 Heaven in vain for mercy, think on the wrongs of Ulrick, and 
 despair." 
 
 " Ulrick ! " repeated Ralph aloud. His cheek blanched as he 
 beheld the secret terror of his life before him ; then muttering to 
 himself, he uttered, " 'Twas instinct, then, which made me shudder 
 as I looked upon him." 
 
 " Wretch ! " echoed his victim, " where is the home thy sword 
 hath made a desert? — the wife thy bloodhounds hunted to the 
 grave ? — the child that perished in the blazing pile ? Deep in the 
 grave I may forget my wrongs ; but whilst one spark of waking 
 life remains, 'twill be employed in precious, dear revenge. Off, 
 vile chains ! " he added, " more terrible than death. Oh ! for the 
 , lightning's arm to strike thee ! " 
 
 " The unhappy man became so excited by the recollection of his 
 wrongs that, unarmed as he was, he rushed upon the destroyer of
 
 STANB'IELD HALL. 367 
 
 his happiness, and raising his chains as a weapon above his head, 
 doubtless would have inflicted a summary vengeance upon the 
 tjTant, had not his guards restrained him. One more zealous than 
 the rest held the point of his sword at the throat of the fallen 
 Saxon, and waited but a nod or look from his unworthy chief to 
 strike — a sign which would most probably have been given, had 
 not Myrra, alarmed for her father's life, forgot the natural timidity 
 of her nature and the horror which the name of her enemy 
 inspired. Kneeling at the Norman's feet, she even clasped his 
 hand, nay, bathed it with her tears, and implored him by every 
 sentiment of pity and humanity to spare a being whose heart his 
 cruelties had already crushed, whose brain was maddened by the 
 memory of his sorrows. It would have been impossible for any 
 one, even less the slave than Ralph de Gael of beauty, to gaze un- 
 moved upon so fair a suppliant ; — her ripening form, like the 
 swelling bud of the fragrant rose, gave delicious promise of its 
 bursting beauties ; her blue eyes, like sapphires, gemmed in tears, 
 were turned imploringly upon him ; while from her prostrate 
 position his licentious eye caught the rich contour ®f her heaving 
 bosom. It was long since he had gazed on aught so fair, so fresh, 
 so beautiful ; and the heart of the voluptuary throbbed with an 
 emotion to which it had been for years a stranger. 
 
 " Rise ! " exclaimed Ulrick, who beheld with a sickening 
 sensation the looks of lawless admiration which the Norman cast 
 upon the innocent dove trembling within his clutches. " Plead not 
 to him for mercy, lest from the tomb thy mother's shade indignant 
 rise and curse the child who bends to the destroyer of her race. 
 Thinkst thou," he added, " I could value life as that man's 
 loathsome gift ? " 
 
 " Fear not," said the tyrant ; " thou shalt have thy wish — 
 the trial first, and then the headsman's office. Away with him to 
 a dungeon ! Guard him, fellows, as you would your lives ; your 
 heads are on your faith." 
 
 " To a dungeon ! " replied Ulrick ; " even there my spirit still 
 can scorn thee. Come, Myrra," he added, opening his fettered 
 arms to receive his terror-stricken child ; " even in a prison a 
 father's heart can shield thee — a father's breast pillow thy 
 innocent head." 
 
 " Not so ! " exclaimed Ralph, with a sardonic smile ; " it were a 
 stain upon our chivalry to consign so fair a prisoner to so foul a 
 den ; our castle hath a bower more suited to her beauty and her 
 years." 
 
 " No, no ! " shrieked Myrra ; for as he spoke a nameless terror 
 struck upon her heart. " My father's dungeon, the scaffold, or the 
 grave — anywhere with him. I dare not — will not — quit my father's 
 side." 
 
 Despite her tears and entreaties, despite the desperate efforts of
 
 368 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 her distracted father, the unhappy girl was torn from his 
 protecting arms, and placed by the guards in the hands of their 
 chief, whose admiration of her beauty was, if possible, increased 
 by the charm of its sorrows, and who listened to Ulrick's frantic 
 curse with a triumphant laugh. 
 
 At a wave of his hand the captive was dragged by overwhelming 
 numbers to his dungeon, and the helpless Myrra left in the power 
 of the object of her terror. 
 
 It is impossible to say, in the excitement of the moment, to 
 what excess his passions might have hurried him, had not the 
 frightful convulsions into which his victim fell on beholding him 
 approach for awhile proved her protection. Calling to some of the 
 female attendants of Ethra, he ordered them to bear her to a 
 chamber remote from the apartment of his wife, from whom, on 
 peril of his wrath, they were to conceal the knowledge of her 
 being in the castle. 
 
 Ealph de Gael knew how much he was detested, not only by the 
 Saxon franklins and nobles whom he had oppressed, but by the 
 inhabitants of the city generally, whom his exactions had on more 
 than one occasion driven into unsuccessful outbreaks against his 
 authority, the suppression of which had served as pretexts for 
 fresh spoliation. But the jiresent danger was of unusual gravity. 
 Nobles and serfs, peasants and artisans, all seemed leagued against 
 him. In his arrogance he had so offended the neighbouring 
 Norman nobles that even from them he could count on faint 
 support. He despatched, therefore, that very night, a message to 
 the king, then holding his Parliament at Bury St, Edmund's, to 
 demand prompt succour, at the same time informing him that the 
 exiled traitor, Ulrick of Stanfield, was his prisoner. A council of 
 war was afterwards called, and means debated to best provide 
 against the threatened attack ; for the Norman, whatever might 
 have been his crimes, was no carpet knight, but as prompt in 
 battle as in evil deeds. 
 
 Ethra — the neglected, the heartbroken, but still loving Ethra — 
 had on this eventful night remained long after the vesper hymn 
 had ceased, praying in the castle chapel, unheeded and alone : an 
 unusual depression weighed upon her soul, a secret warning of the 
 realisation of those undefined terrors which haunt the predestined 
 and foredoomed. The only light within the sacred place proceeded 
 from the ever-burning lamps before Our Lady's shrine, and as their 
 reflection fell upon the pale but still beautiful features of the 
 penitent, they lit up a picture which a painter might have copied 
 with advantage. 
 
 "Peace!" whispered the suppliant. "Holy Mother, pray that 
 my heart finds peace ! Pour thou the balm of kind oblivion on 
 its bleeding sorrows ! Save me from madness ! save me from 
 myself ! "
 
 STANFIELD HALL.
 
 STANFIBLD HALL. 371 
 
 " Thy prayer -will soon be heard," exclaimed a voice near to her ; 
 indeed, so near that the breath of the speaker bore the words to 
 her very ear. " Soon will my prediction be accomplished." 
 
 Ethra started, and beheld the woman whom ten years before she 
 had saved from the fury of her two hounds on the fatal morning 
 when she first beheld Ralph de Gael. Although so long a period 
 had elapsed, she had not forgotten either the adventure or the 
 strange prediction. 
 
 " It is accomplished, mother," she answered humbly ; " I am 
 indeed outraged — scorned." 
 
 "But not avenged," sternly interrupted her strange visitor. 
 
 *' What meanest thou ? " 
 
 "Art thou so poor in spirit," demanded the hag, " as to ask that 
 question ? While thou art praying, wasting thy hours in solitary 
 tears, thy husband — but no," she added, checking herself, " why 
 should I tell the tale thou hast no wish to hear ? — what is't to thee 
 with whom he wastes his hours, so thou canst weep and pray ? 
 Thou hast thy Norman mother's blood, not the proud spirit of thy 
 Saxon race." 
 
 " What meanest thou ? " replied Ethra, drawing herself up with 
 fearful calmness. " Nay, torture me not with dark surmise or 
 womanish conceits, to raise false jealousy within my heart ; but if 
 thou knowest aught touching my husband's faith, I charge thee 
 tell it me ! " 
 
 He hath a mistress in these very walls — young, beautiful, and 
 good as thou wert once," said the hag. " Soon will thy lord 
 become the slave of her caprice, and know no law but the fair 
 idol's pleasure." 
 
 " Thanks ! " said the unhappy Ethra — " thanks ! Thy words have 
 fallen like coals of fire ujjon my head ; but still I thank thee. 
 Monster ! " she added, with a burst of grief apostrophising her 
 destroyer, " here, in my very home, to trample on my heart ! As 
 yet," she exclaimed, and a fearful expression passed over her 
 excited features, " Ralph but little knows the nature he has 
 wronged : he hath seen it only in the weakness of its love ; let 
 him beware of the strength of its revenge ! " 
 
 " And thy fair rival ? " demanded the woman. 
 
 " Dies," whispered Ethra, sternly ; " this very night my sleeping 
 rival dies. Then will despair rage high in my destroyer's breast — 
 then will he feel, in agonising throes, a portion of that hell which 
 rages here." 
 
 Drawing her veil around her, with a calm step the speaker left 
 the chapel to return to her apartments in the castle. Her 
 informant remained gazing after her a few moments in silence. 
 
 " Now," she exclaimed, " are my years of plotting turned to 
 some account ; mischief is high afloat, and misery rears its pale, 
 still standard o'er us. The jealous wife will not fail to recognise 
 
 BB 2
 
 372 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 her sister — her sister to impart their father's danger ; remorse and 
 jealousy will find a means to save them both. TJlrick once free, 
 these blood-stained towers must fall ; and with them their 
 destroying, heartless tyrant. Curse him ! " she added, sinking on 
 her knees ; " the widow's lonely curse rest on him ! Avenge me. 
 Heaven, on the destroyer of my husband, the seducer of my child, 
 and earth and I will then be quits." 
 
 The speaker, who had twice so strangely crossed the path of 
 Ethra, had indeed no common cause of hatred to the Norman 
 governor, for her husband had been murdered by Ralph de Gael 
 for resisting his violence towards their only child, whom the 
 tyrant, in a fit of caprice, had torn from her humble home ; it was, 
 therefore, with a mother's and a widow's lacerated heart that the 
 Saxon crone had cursed him. 
 
 On reaching her apartment Ethra dismissed her attendants, from 
 whose confusion and evasive manners, when she demanded if any 
 strangers had arrived within the castle, she read the confirmation 
 of her fears. As soon as she was alone she removed the jewels 
 from her neck and arms, and changed her dress for a dark mantle 
 and veil, such as, in the long corridor through which she had to 
 pass, were likely to be least observed. Opening a small cabinet, 
 she drew from it a dagger of highly tempered steel. Despite her 
 resolution a sickening sensation came over her as she grasped the 
 weapon in her hand. 
 
 " What am I about to do ? " she murmured. " Stain my soul 
 with blood ! Better to end my own wretched, blighted existence. 
 
 'Tis but a blow, and No, no," she added, after a pause, " gladly 
 
 as I would welcome death, mine must not be the hand. There 
 still remains a task to be performed. The captive priest, whose 
 dismal dungeon I discovered in my wanderings, assures me he is 
 armed with the means to prove my father's innocence — to crush 
 my vile betrayer. Ulrick ! " she exclaimed, and a flood of tears 
 followed the word, " thy guilty but repentant child shall vindicate 
 thy name, and ask forgiveness only in the tomb." 
 
 In a chamber within the keep of Norv/ich Castle, worn with 
 grief and terror, the innocent Myrra slept. The female attendants 
 to whose care she had been consigned, knowing all escape to be 
 impossible, had withdrawn to their apartments, situated in Bigod's 
 tower ; and thus the helpless girl was deprived of even the feeble 
 protection which their presence would have afforded. The room 
 would have been in utter darkness but for the stream of moon- 
 light which entered through the large grated window and fell 
 upon the couch, lighting the heavy crimson draperies with its 
 silver light. Myrra had always entertained a deep love, and 
 almost superstitious veneration, for the memory of her mother, 
 whose spirit she devoutly believed still watched over the safety of 
 her child with all a mother's affection, with all a guardian angel's
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 373 
 
 care. In all her sorrows she was accustomed to address her 
 prayers to her loved shade ; and her portrait, which she wore 
 suspended from a pomander chain round her neck, was to her fond 
 imagination a relic to which some strange influence was attached. 
 
 Perhaps there is no feeling of the human heart so pure, so 
 unstained by selfishness or passion, as the love which children 
 bear their mother. How often, in after life, when the grave has 
 closed around that tender parent's form, will a word, a look, recall 
 to mind that guardian of our infant years — that confidante of 
 childhood's sorrows ! Again her eyes, beaming with affection, 
 seem to dwell on ours. Again her voice breathes sweet reproof, or 
 whispers consolation in our ears, A mother's name claims from 
 the world respect, and from her children honour. 
 
 Myrra's was not that calm and peaceful sleep which rests upon 
 the brow of those who slumber in the security of home and 
 watchful friends. Her restless dreams were wild and troubled as 
 her fortunes ; dark threatening shadows weighed upon her spirit, 
 and her deep-drawn breathings wei^ interrupted by sighs and 
 moanings, such as might break from an imprisoned cherub's 
 unquiet rest. Her long chestnut hair, nature's own screen to 
 modesty, had escaped from the embroidered veil which bound it, 
 and fell in curling masses over her innocent bosom, which rose 
 and sank with every exhalation of her fragrant breath. Her right 
 hand grasped the chain and portrait, as the protecting aegis beneath 
 whose influence she slept ; and her left arm rested carelessly on 
 her dark robe, contrasting like sculptured ivory upon an ebon 
 ground. It was a picture an angel might have contemplated with 
 pleasure, a fiend should have shuddered to approach. 
 
 Cautiously the arras which covered the entrance to the apart- 
 ment was drawn aside, and Ethra, bearing a lamp and the poniard 
 she had taken from the cabinet, approached. Her step was slow 
 and stealthy as the pace of the midnight murderer ; her breath 
 escaped from her clenched teeth more like the faint hiss of a 
 cautious snake than the free breathings of a human being. 
 Perhaps the strong effort of self-control was more fearful in the 
 still beautiful creature than even the wildest storm of passion 
 would have been. Her cheek was pale with the horror of the 
 resolution which her knit brow conveyed, and her dark eyes 
 flashed with the electric sparks of her contending passions. 
 
 " She sleeps," she murmured to herself — " thank Heaven she 
 sleeps ! Oh ! Avhen shall I know rest ? Calmly she sleeps, as if 
 watchful angels hovered o'er her couch to shield their charge from 
 danger. 'Tis but a blow — a bubbling gush — a moment's struggle — 
 and life's fitful dream is ended ! Let me look on her fair face," 
 she added, " gaze on the charms whose fatal beauty has robbed me 
 of the love bought with so many crimes ; the sight will steel my 
 heart and nerve my hand."
 
 374 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 Twice did the speaker flash the light of the small silver lamp 
 she bore over the features of her sleeping rival. So many years 
 had elapsed since they had met, or jealously had so blinded her, 
 that not one trait recalled the infant sister, whom she had 
 abandoned, to her memory. 
 
 " Young, too," she continued ; " perhaps innocent. No matter, 
 she hath crossed my solitary path ; her fatal beauty disputes with 
 me the only heart I ever prized. Away remorse, and weak 
 blinding pity ! She dies ! " 
 
 The hand of the jealous woman wa,s raised — another instant, 
 and the sleep of the gentle, innocent Myrra would have been 
 eternal, when Heaven, whose wisest purposes so oft seem accident, 
 interposed to save her soul from crime. Despite her resolution, 
 the doubt that her rival might be the victim, and not the accom- 
 plice, of her betrayer, shook her purpose. The chain and portrait 
 which attracted her attention promised to confirm or dissipate her 
 doubts. Gently releasing it from the sleeper's hand, she raised it 
 to the lamp, and saw it was-rher mother's ! Twice did she press 
 her hand upon her care-worn brow, deeming that memory had 
 deceived her, or conscience conjured the accusing shadow to her 
 blasted sight. Her burning eyeballs, incapable of tears, were 
 riveted on the unconscious ivory. Convinced that it was indeed 
 her mother's portrait, her first impulse was to cover it with kisses ; 
 but a blush of shame, which suffused her cheek at the recollection 
 of her crime, restrained her. 
 
 " It is no mockery of my senses," she exclaimed, " but real — my 
 mother, such as in life she looked and smiled upon her child. Who 
 is this sleeper, then ? " she added, fixing her eyes with pitiable 
 terror upon the couch. " Why does she wear my mother's portrait ? 
 Can it be ? — no, no ! " she shudderingly continued, as the fearful 
 suspicion of who Myrra really was flashed upon her ; " God is too 
 merciful for that ; madness were bliss to such a damning thought 
 — yet doubt is worse than madness." 
 
 Rushing to the bed, she grasped the sleeper frantically, calling 
 upon her to awaken, Myrra started at the voice from her uneasy 
 dreams, and beholding a female, whose agitated features were more 
 like those of the inspired pythoness than cold humanity, called in 
 her fear for mercy. 
 
 "Call not to Heaven!" exclaimed Ethra, "in idle adjurations, 
 but answer me. Whose portrait is this ? " 
 
 " My mother's," replied the astonished girl, " Oh, give it back — 
 it is my mother's ! " 
 
 Her request was alike unheard and unheeded, for at the words 
 " my mother's," the unhappy woman fell to the ground with a 
 shriek so piercing, so unearthly, that it sounded like the yell 
 which the departing spirit gives when driven from this world 
 hopeless of the next.
 
 STANFIELD HALL 375 
 
 Despite her terror and astonishment, Myrra sufficiently mastered 
 her emotions to assist the incomprehensible being who had so 
 rudely broken upon her slumbers. Pouring water from the vase of 
 flowers in the window of her chamber into her hands, she bathed 
 her burning brow, and chafed her hands : but it was long ere life, 
 with a deep-drawn sigh, recalled the insensible Ethra back to the 
 sense of misery and guilt. Her first feeling was to end her 
 blighted, lonely existence ; shame and remorse bowed her crushed 
 spirit to the dust, and she feared death less than she feared to meet 
 her innocent sister's eye. 
 
 " Where," she exclaimed, wildly starting to her feet, " where is 
 the poniard — misery's last friend, dishonour's sole resource ? " 
 
 " What ! " said Myrra, misconceiving her intention, " and wouldst 
 thou take my life ? " 
 
 •' Thy life ! " iterated Ethra, her feelings suddenly diverted from 
 their fearful nature by the question. 
 
 '• Am I then quite a monster ? Thy life ! Oh, I would give the 
 wretched remnant of my days to save thy heart one pang — pour 
 the blood freely from my guilty breast, ere harm approached to 
 thee, my guileless, innocent sister ! " 
 
 " Sister ! " repeated Myrra in astonishment. 
 
 " Ay, sister ! thy elder born ! she who taught thy infant lips to 
 utter its first prayer ; whose last kiss within her father's ruined 
 halls was pressed upon thy cheek ! Let me, ere I die," she added, 
 " taste the last happpiness my soul can know — a sister's fond 
 embrace ! Come to this heart, which throbs as it would burst to 
 meet thee — this broken heart, which, crushed by guilt and sorrow, 
 still can spring to thee ! " 
 
 With passionate tenderness the speaker threw her arms around 
 her long-lost sister, pressed her almost with a mother's love to her 
 agitated bosom, and printed a thousand kisses upon her unsullied 
 brow and cheeks. Encircled in the weeping Myrra's arms, she 
 felt as if not quite abandoned by Heaven : it was the first ray of 
 mercy which had fallen upon her soul. Nature had struck the 
 rock, and melted it. 
 
 " Ethra ! dear Ethra ! " whispered her sister, " why this mystery ? 
 Why so long concealed the secret of your escape upon that fearful 
 night, which gave our home to flames, our hearts to desolation ? " 
 
 " Ask me not ; there's crime, there's madness in the fearful tale." 
 
 " And shame .' " added Myrra, mournfully, in an inquiring 
 voice. 
 
 Her sister started from her at the word, and gazed with a 
 haughty but not angry look upon her. 
 
 " No," she answered slowly ; " those who loved me once may 
 curse my memory, but never blush for it. Thinkst I had clasped 
 thee, my pure and innocent sister, to my breast, had I been the 
 polluted thing my cheek would burn to name ? No, though it
 
 376 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 freeze thy ears to hear the damning truth, blister my lips to utter 
 it, still it must be told that Ethra is a ■wife." 
 
 " Whose ? " demanded her sLster, with a look in "which terror 
 and pity were mingled. 
 
 " His," she exclaimed, " whose sword left a desert v/here he 
 found a paradise — who made thee motherless, ar^d me a wretch — 
 the wife of Ealph de Gael." 
 
 " Of Eali^h de Gael ! " repeated Myrra, in a voice of horror, " of 
 him who holds thy father captive, w^hose licentious passion 
 threatens thy sister v/ith far w^orse than death ! Save me from 
 him," she continued, " for our mother's memory, for the honour of 
 our name — save me, or kill me here." 
 
 The agony Vv'ith which the speaker urged her request proved 
 how deeply grounded were her terrors ; and despite the impulse 
 of her better nature, her sister felt a pang of jealousy that another 
 should be preferred by him for whom she had sacrificed her hope 
 of heaven, the world, and self-esteem. The sentiment was but 
 momentary. Throwing her arm around the fair girl, as if to 
 protect her even from imaginary outrage, she reassured her that 
 she possessed the will as well as power to release both her and her 
 parent from their tyrant's hold, and that long ere morning's dawn 
 they should be both at liberty. 
 
 "And thou too, Ethra ?" urged the trembling pleader ; "thou 
 too wilt quit this scene of shame and crime ? " 
 
 " No," replied her sister, sternly ; " I know my fate, and will 
 not shrink from its fulfilment. Fearful hath been my crime ; as 
 fearful shall be my expiation. Let me but obtain my father's 
 pardon ere I die, and I have done with life ; but see," she added, 
 pointing to the evening star, which began to glitter faintly in the 
 heavens, " time presses ; ere the glorious sun shall gladden earth, 
 I have much to do. Come, Myrra, come ; banish all dread from 
 thy pure, guiltless breast ; indulge that hope I never more must 
 know." 
 
 The prison in which Ulrick was confined was a deep sub- 
 terranean cell, lying between the inner and outward moat, and, 
 from the rude, massive character of its architecture, as well as the 
 absence of anything like ornament, w^as evidently of much older 
 date than the castle itself, having most probably formed, with the 
 winding passages which led to it, a part of the ancient fortress 
 erected by Canute, who held his court in Norwich. It was one of 
 those dungeons which tyranny alone could have conceived or the eye 
 of cruelty could have gazed on without a shudder The green, foetid 
 lichen tapestried its unequal walls with its unwholesome vegetation ; 
 and monstrous fungi — the undisturbed growth of years, the home 
 of the bloated toad and slimy reptile — carpeted the cold damp 
 floor. The thick greasy plants Avere crushed beneath the impatient 
 tread of our hero as he paced the cell, and the scared inmates
 
 STAXFIELD HALL. 377 
 
 lazily crawled from his path, trailing their hideous forms to some 
 undisturbed retreat. 
 
 At first his storm of passion had been fearful — perchance its 
 violence had exhausted itself, or the cold heavy air reduced the 
 raging fever of his blood ; for, after a few hours' pacing of his cell, 
 he gradually became calm and collected, his thoughts reverted to 
 the past, and if hope whispered him no promise for the future, it 
 was that a secret monitor assured him that for him time had 
 indeed no future. 
 
 On approaching one corner of his dungeon, he observed an 
 indistinct heap thrown carelessly together, half -hid by the same 
 rank vegetation which everywhere encroached around him ; the 
 indistinct light of the solitary lamp suspended from the ceiling did 
 not at first allow him to examine it distinctly, but as his eyes 
 gradually became habituated to the place, he perceived the object 
 of his attention to be a human skeleton ; doubtless the remains of 
 some former inmate, left to moulder in the den where its last 
 prayer had been raised to Heaven, its last sigh echoed unheeded in 
 its flinty walls. As he reverently raised the skull, a serpent, which 
 had found it a convenient hiding-place, glided through his fingers, 
 and fell upon the ground. The faint hiss of the reptile lacked that 
 acute sound peculiar in those of its species who dwell in sun and 
 light ; it was weak and sickly as the atmosphere of its damp, 
 cheerless home. 
 
 " And this," he mused, " is man ! The noblest temple Deity has 
 reared becomes a reptile's hiding-place ! God -given thought 
 ousted from its shrine, that the foul toad may dwell there ! What 
 lofty thoughts, what noble purposes may have had birth within 
 this hollow skull ! Perchance," he added, after a pause, " what 
 fearful crimes engendered there ! Its dreams, like mine, may have 
 been those of liberty, and this the end on't." 
 
 " The end of all on earth ! "exclaimed ade^p-toned voice, which 
 sounded at a distance. 
 
 Ulrick started, and looked eagerly around his prison. He was 
 alone. 
 
 " Who spoke ? " he demanded, " or have my senses mocked me ? " 
 
 " One who hath counted ten long years of solitude, yet never for 
 one moment doubted justice on earth, or Heaven's absolving mei'cy 
 in a better world." 
 
 " I hear thee," said our hero, " and yet I see thee not. Where 
 art thou, whose voice breathes hope and consolation when hope 
 and consolation seem to fail ? " 
 
 " Art thou alone ? " continued the speaker. 
 
 " Alone, with solitude and death," was the reply. 
 
 '* Wait, then, a moment till I get my tools," resumed the un- 
 known.' " I laboured years to forge them from a fragment of my 
 broken chain — ground them with untiring patience upon my
 
 378 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 dungeon stone, less hard than my obdurate tyrant's heart. Wonder 
 not, then, I prize them," he added, *' and conceal them carefully 
 from my suspicious gaoler's curious eye." 
 
 In a few moments Ulrick heard a noise against the wall which 
 evidently divided the vast vault into two distinct prisons. One by 
 one the huge stones were removed, until an aperture sufficiently 
 large to admit the ingress of a human being was made in the solid 
 masonry. 
 
 " Can I assist you ? " he demanded. 
 
 " No," replied the stranger ; " I am used to the attempt, and 
 require no aid." 
 
 The next moment the speaker stood before him — a tall, emaciated 
 figure, whose beard, straggling and thin, descended to his girdle ; 
 whose haggard features, from long seclusion, were of that death- 
 like waxy hue we see upon the corpse. The tattered robe which 
 enshrouded him, and the torn scapulary, denoted that the wearer 
 was a member of some religious order ; but the fragments were too 
 ragged and too much soiled and worn by time to tell the gazer 
 which. 
 
 " "Welcome, brother in affliction ! " exclaimed Ulrick, extending 
 his hand to the strange phantom ; " doubly welcome if I read aright 
 thy priestly office in these sullied robes. Religion's minister, in 
 such an hour, is more than welcome to the captive's heart." 
 
 " I am, indeed," replied the wretched being, " an unworthy priest 
 of the Most High." 
 
 "And what virtue made thee the prisoner of Ralph de Gael ? " 
 
 " My weakness and his crimes. Like some midnight thief, he 
 stole upon my peaceful path, and tore me from the only shelter sin 
 and the world had left me. Long I refused compliance with his 
 will — refused to aid him in the vile scheme of vengeance he had 
 formed, to crush the foe he had too deeply injured. Torture was 
 used ; I yielded, and am punished." 
 
 " Torture — and a priest ! " repeated his hearer, with horror. 
 
 " Ay," said Father Onfroy ; for our readers have doubtless 
 recognised in the captive thus singularly brought in contact with 
 our hero, the priest whose skill in caligraphy had been so success- 
 fully employed by Ralph de Gael to forge the documents which 
 justified his attack upon Stanfield, and established^ charge of con- 
 spiracy against Ulrick ; " the torture, the burning pincers, and the 
 cruel rack. In my early days I had often gazed upon the victims 
 bound there — counted their groans and shrieks — looked coldly on 
 whilst every limb was stretched in mortal agony — each muscle 
 quivering with pain too exquisite for nature to support. I have 
 felt it since," he added, with a shudder ; "felt all that I saw — all 
 that I inflicted. My punishment hath not been more fearful than 
 my crimes." 
 
 " Who art thou ? " demanded Ulrick, struck by the tone of his
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 370 
 
 voice, which aroused painful recollections in his soul. " We have 
 met before ; for as I hear thee speak the memory of many a year 
 gone by passes in shadowy visions o'er my mind. I know not 
 where or when, but I could swear that we have met before." 
 
 Seizing his visitor by the arm, the speaker led, or rather dragged, 
 him to the centre of the dungeon, directly beneath the lamp, which 
 hung suspended by an iron chain above them. They recognised 
 each other instantly. There was no mistaking, worn and preter- 
 naturally aged as long captivity had made him, the unearthly 
 features, disfigured by a thousand minute scars, of the unhappy 
 monk, who equally traced, amid the ravages of grief and change of 
 clime, the noble countenance of the Saxon. 
 
 " Robert of Artois ! " " Ulrick of Stanfield ! " they mutually 
 exclaimed, and remained gazing on each other, each, from different 
 emotions, unable to pronounce another word. 
 
 The priest was indeed no other than that most unhappy man, 
 who, on the departure of his son Gilbert with his bride for Nor- 
 mandy, had, by the advice and consent of Lanfranc, concealed his 
 crimes and repentance within the cloister, where, under the name 
 of Brother Onfroy, he became remarkable for that fatal skill in 
 caligraphy which had made him the tool and victim of his un- 
 principled persecutor. 
 
 The monk was the first to recover from his surprise. Long 
 suffering had extinguished in him the pride which had rendered 
 his earlier penitence imperfect. The hand of Heaven seemed to 
 have brought about their meeting. Sinking on his knees, he could 
 only utter the indistinctly pronounced words, " Pardon — pardon ! " 
 
 " Rise ! " said our hero. " The knee devoted to the altar should 
 not be bent to sinful man. Whatever thy crimes, long suffering 
 has atoned them ; an angel while on earth pronounced forgiveness 
 — fear not I shall revoke it." 
 
 "Ulrick," faltered the still kneeling suppliant, "in this dark 
 hour I feel the bitterness, the shame of vice, the holiness of virtue. 
 As yet thou knowest not half thy injuries : my first crime failed 
 to deprive thee of thy love ; my second robbed thee of thine 
 honour." 
 
 " What meanest thou ? " his astonished hearer demanded. 
 
 " The letters which Ralph de Gael doubtless produced before the 
 king to justify his outrage ; the details of the Saxon plot to break 
 the Norman yoke — to assassinate, cowardly assassinate each noble 
 in his hold — which gave thy name to infamy, thy memory to scorn 
 — were forged by this degraded hand." 
 
 " Horror ! " exclaimed his victim. " Did that blow come from 
 thee?" 
 
 " From me," continued the guilty man, " whose early crime thou 
 hadst forgiven, whose deserted son thou hadst protected. Loathing 
 existence, yet afraid to die, I yielded to the racks of sharp agony. 

 
 380 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 and stained my knightly honour and my priestly vow by forgery 
 — by a vile felon's weakness and a felon's act." 
 
 For a few moments there was a struggle in the generous Saxon's 
 breast ; but, fearfully as he had been wronged, he felt that Heaven 
 had sufficiently avenged him, and that man had nought to add to 
 its punishment. His own span of life he looked upon as counted, 
 and trembled to appear before the Judgment-seat with the sin of 
 unforgiveness on his soul. 
 
 " Rise ! " he said. '' Where Heaven hath punished man can only 
 pardon. As freely as the creature can forgive its fellow-creature, 
 so do I pardon thee." 
 
 " Thanks," murmured Robert of Artois ; *' armed with thy for- 
 giveness, I may present myself at Heaven's bar, trusting it will not 
 prove less merciful than thou hast. Oh ! " he added, passionately, 
 " but for one moment's liberty, to wash this foul dishonour from 
 my soul — to rend the mask from this detested tyrant — to atone the 
 wrong my unwilling hand hath done thee, and place thy honour, 
 in the minds of men, pure as the angels who record it see it ! " 
 
 " Dreams ! dreams ! " said our hero, mournfully shaking his 
 head ; " this dungeon is a tomb from whence life finds no egress. 
 Behold," he added, pointing to the skeleton, " my history and its 
 moral. Some future inmate of this cell will muse o'er my remains, 
 wondering whose nameless bones moulder here." 
 
 " I'll not believe it," replied his companion ; " such fate might 
 be mine. There v%^ould be justice in it ; but Heaven hath tried thy 
 virtues far too deeply not to reward at last ; its purposes are ne'er 
 so darkly veiled from human eye as when near their fulfilment. 
 It speaks in parables and strikes through clouds. Why," he added, 
 with increased confidence, " hath my worthless being been pre- 
 served ? Why do we both meet here, but that the crime of years 
 should be atoned, and truth made clear at last ? " 
 
 '' Impossible ! " exclaimed TJlrick ; " who would heed thy 
 tale ? " ■ 
 
 " All," answered Robert. " Were I but free, I'd find the means 
 to place thy innocence beyond suspicion's breath." 
 
 At this moment, through the grating of the iron door which 
 barred their path to freedom the rays of a distant light became 
 faintly visible. The monk was the first to observe it. Pointing it 
 out to his companion, he whispered : 
 
 " Have I not prophesied ? " 
 
 " 'Tis but the gaoler, or my executioner." 
 
 " Say rather thy deliverer, and mine ; the hour so long dreamt 
 and prayed for is at hand." 
 
 Hastening to the door, he applied his ej'es to the grating, and 
 saw at a distance, in the long damp passage, a veiled female form 
 bearing a lamp — it was the same figure which had often visited 
 him in his dungeon, consoled his sorrows and lone captivity, and
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 381 
 
 alleYiated his miseries. His heart beat high ^'ith hope and ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 " She conies ! " he cried ; "the avenger comes at last. Farewell, 
 I must retire within my cell : none must know of our communi- 
 cation. If I err not, soon wilt thou have another trial to thy 
 generous heart ; but it will bear thee through it. Say not that we 
 have met. Shouldst thou obtain thy liberty without me, lead on 
 thy friends to the attack : living release, or dead avenge me. If I 
 fall," he added, " dig in the corner of my dungeon nearest the iron 
 ring to which for years my body was enchained, and thou wilt find 
 a scrap of parchment concealed within the skull of some lone 
 victim who preceded me ; guard it as thou wouldst thy life and 
 honour, for it may serve to vindicate them both." 
 
 Scarcely had Robert of Artois time to regain his den, and replace 
 the means of communication between the two cells, than the bar 
 which fastened the iron door of TTlrick's prison on the outside was 
 remioved, and Ethra, the gtiilty and repentant Ethra, her features 
 concealed beneath the long sable veil which enshrouded her 
 trembling form, entered the dungeon. 
 
 For awhile parent and child remained gazing upon each other in 
 silence — Ulrick from surprise, and Ethra from the deep emotion 
 which consumed her. Years had elapsed since she last gazed upon 
 that stately form — since his deep accents had fallen upon her ear ; 
 and yet it seemed as they had met but yesterday — so true to 
 memory are the first characters time traces on its tablets. She 
 feared to speak, lest the cry of her bruised heai't should reach her 
 lips, and nature vindicate her rights in the sweet name of father. 
 
 "Who art thou ? " demanded the captive — "some spirit of con- 
 solation haunting these fearful cells, sent to prepare me for the. 
 parting hour, when life and grief are ended ; shrouding the ministry 
 of Heaven in veils, that thv glad beauty break not too soon upon 
 us ? " 
 
 " Not the bright being of another world," quicklj' answered his 
 despairing visitant ; " but one upon whose brow misery hath set its 
 burning seal, hath come to weep in pity o'er thy woes — to soothe 
 and to relieve them — to open thy dungeon door, and bid thee forth 
 to liberty and vengeance." 
 
 " To liberty ! " exclaimed her astonished listener. " Is that 
 word breathed in these dungeons, which for years have heard no 
 sound but captives' groans and supplicating sighs ? Who, then, 
 art thou ? Thy speech bespeaks thee Saxon, but thy words imply 
 a power which none but damning crimes could purchase thee in 
 Ralph de Gael's halls." 
 
 Although Ethra had addressed her father in the Norman tongue, 
 the accent with which she spoke it to his practised ear betrayed 
 her race. Ulrick's allusion to her country touched her heart^it 
 seemed like the first step towards his recognition of his child ; she
 
 382 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 forgot that for ten years he had deemed her dead — dwelt upon her 
 memory as on a seraph's early called from earth, not as a guilty 
 living thing of shame and sorrow. 
 
 " Thou hast guessed rightly," she faltered ; " I am of Saxon 
 blood." Then hastily added, as if fearful of the consequences of 
 her admission : " But years have passed since I beheld my home 
 — years since the sound of kindred voice hath fallen on my ear, or 
 kindred love gladdened the desolation of my heart. Wonder not, 
 then, that I became its victim — wedded the man stained with a 
 parent's blood — brought foul dishonour on a noble man, unsullied 
 save by me." 
 
 "What ! " interi'upted the horror-stricken Saxon, " wedded with 
 one whose hand was red with the same blood which flows within 
 thy veins ? — perchance a father's or a brother's blood. woman, 
 woman ! aflErighted furies spread thy nuptial couch, and hell and 
 terror drew its curtains round thee." 
 
 His reproving words and lofty indignation fell like a sentence 
 upon her self-accusing soul, and had not a burst of tears relieved 
 her heart, its agony had broken it. 
 
 "Hear me!" she cried; "judge not my crime unheard. No 
 common snares were spread to catch my soul. With mercy and 
 compassion listen to my tale ; weigh my long years of agony and 
 deep remorse, my blighted youth, and outraged heart against my 
 crime. Hear ere thou condemn me." 
 
 Moved by her passionate grief, Ulrick pointed to the rude stone 
 in the centre of his dungeon, on which his trembling visitor sank 
 exhausted by the strength of her emotions. With one of those 
 violent efforts which strong minds only can exert, she, after a few 
 moments' pause, collected her wandering thoughts, and then com- 
 menced her tale of many sorrows. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " I LOVED 1 " said Ethra, " Knowest thou the power those words 
 imply ? They are the key to the soul's mysteries — the ciphers of 
 its passions. I loved, not with the light feeling of a girlish heart, 
 whose smiles and tears, like April's sun-lit showers, succeed ; but 
 with the strength of summer's ardent rage, whose smile consumes, 
 whose burning kiss destroys. We met in secret, but not in sin," 
 she added quickly, as she caught the expression of Ulrick's eye. 
 " Fallen as I am, that stain at least was spared me. I am not of a 
 race that could survive dishonour," 
 
 " So shall thy soul prove lighter by a crime," said her hearer ; 
 " but tell me, woman, why this concealment ? Was thy father 
 cold, insensible, or churlish in his love — one who ruled by fear, 
 and not affection's 'ninistry ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 383 
 
 " No," answered the unhappy Ethra, " my heart hath not even 
 that mean excuse to ease its burden. Oh ! he was good, affection's 
 self, tender, considerate, generous, loving, wise in all but his weak 
 love for his degenerate child," 
 
 " And thou abandoned him ? — left him in his age, perchance, to 
 pass in childless solitude the remnant of his days in his once 
 happy home — fitting return for all his care and fond parental 
 love I " 
 
 *' Worse," added Ethra, with a violent effort at self-command ; 
 " I brought destruction on that happy home ; these guilty hands 
 unbarred the door to the triumphant foe — gave to the fury of the 
 Norman sword parents, kindred, friends — brought desolation on 
 my name and race, and misery on myself." 
 
 " Horror ! " exclaimed our hero, starting from her, for her words 
 brought to his mind the destruction of his own lordly halls, and 
 he recoiled from her as from a loathsome thing. " I had a child — 
 in tears of anguish oft I mourn her loss ; I now thank Heaven she 
 lives not such a wretch as thou art. But why," he added, " why 
 this sad tale of grief and sin to me ? " 
 
 " Thou art my father's friend," replied the penitent. " Chance 
 has revealed to me that still he lives; therefore it is I ope' thy 
 prison door, that thou, in turn, mayst plead for my forgiveness." 
 
 " Avoid that father," sternly answered Ulrick ; " never meet his 
 Bight, lest, recognising thee, his heart-strings break, and, dying, he 
 should curse thee." 
 
 At these fearful words, which seemed like a sentence to her 
 despairing soul, Ethra wrung her hands bitterly ; and the 
 convulsive sobs and deep-drawn sighs which shook her form 
 showed how deep was the remorse and agony of her bruised heart. 
 Little did the returned exile deem the trembling, guilty creature 
 before him was his own child ; the once happy, smiling girl, 
 whose arm a hundred times had been entwined around his neck — 
 whose innocent kisses had so often sealed the words of warning on 
 his lips. 
 
 " I have lived," she at last sobbed forth, " till life has been a 
 curse ; lived to become the scorn of all I loved — of all who ever 
 loved me. Wouldst thou, stern judge," she added, throwing 
 herself upon her knees suddenly before him, " thus harshly judge 
 thy child ? Would not thy iron nature melt while thus in agony 
 she sued to be forgiven — pleaded her girlish years, her fatal 
 passion, her long remorse, and broken heart, for mercy ? Wouldst 
 thou bid her on to her great sacrifice " 
 
 " Sacrifice ! " repeated Ulrick, " what sacrifice ? " 
 
 " One," said Ethra, rising proudly from her knees, " which shall 
 give this blood-stained hold to the avenging Saxon's sword, and 
 hurl the tyrant to the doom he merits — one that shall end this 
 guilty life and the oppressor's reign together."
 
 384 STAXFIELD HALL. 
 
 " Meanest thou," demanded Ulrick, gazing on her with a look of 
 admiration as well as pity, " that " 
 
 " I mean," interrupted Ethra, " that as this guilty hand unbarred 
 the entrance to the Norman foe, and let the wolf upon the 
 slumbering fold of my own kindred, it now shall ope the Norman 
 gates to the avenger's hand. Methinks," she added, glancing 
 wildly round, " the spirits of my slaughtered race are all assembled 
 here, and, sternly pointing to these blood-stained towers, claim the 
 great sacrifice to soothe their shades." 
 
 " This is indeed atonement," said Ulrick — " a deed to win a 
 pardon for a crime like thine ; a deed to gain a father's forfeit 
 love, and crown thy days with penitence and peace." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the unhappy woman ; " thinkest thou so 
 meanly of me that I seek to live, to bear upon my faded brow 
 the brand of double treason ? Oh ! never — never ! To avenge 
 my country, my murdered kindred, and my outraged heart — to 
 save thee, Ulrick, and thy innocent child from Ralph de Gael's 
 rage, I yield him to the doom ; but think not," she added 
 mournfully — '-think not I will survive him." 
 
 " Thy country's gratitude, thy kindred's love " 
 
 " Say rather their pity, their humiliating pity," interrupted 
 Ethra. "I know man's ingrate nature, and vvill not trust it. 
 Thinkst thou I could bear to meet the world's reproving gaze, or 
 hear it whisper, ' Behold the being who betrayed father and 
 husband, duty and country,' forgetful that no choice was left me 
 in my sorrov/ — no loop-hole to escape in my despair ? No ; I can 
 welcome death, slumber in peace within the quiet grave, where 
 passion moves not and the heart is at rest, let but a father's pardon 
 rest upon it." 
 
 " And if he have a heart," said Ulrick, " it will." 
 
 These words fell like balm upon the listener's soul : they were 
 the first rays of hope which pierced through the dark night of her 
 despair. Laying her trembling hand upon his arm, she answered : 
 
 " Thou art his friend ; no voice will touch his heart like thine, 
 no reasoning reach his ear." 
 
 " His name ? " demanded Ulrick, Avith surprise. 
 
 " That," resumed the speaker, " thou wilt know hereafter ; this 
 paper tells the rest of my sad history. Not now," she hastily 
 added, as her father was about to unfold it ; " read it not now. 
 Leading from these dungeons, a passage conducts us to the outer 
 moat. I have secured the skifi — a boat is ready to convey thee on." 
 
 " And my child ? " 
 
 " Already awaits thee there," answered Ethra. " Thinkst thou 
 I would leave thy innocent child within the tiger's fangs ? Once 
 free, summon thy friends, and return by the same means. Like 
 Sin guarding the gates of Death, I will remain and give them 
 enti-ance. But swear," she added, "that the great sacrifice
 
 STANPIELD HALL. 385 
 
 accomplished — my country freed — my kindred blood avenged 
 — swear that my father's pardon shall reward the deed." 
 
 " You tax me past my power," answered the bewildered Ulrick, 
 astonished at the vehemence of her words and the deep passion 
 which shook her soul ; but if my prayers can win the boon, I 
 promise it shall be yours." 
 
 " It can, it can," resumed the agitated Ethra, with a burst of 
 tears which relieved her heart. " He will listen to thy pleading. 
 If thou shouldst find him harsh, if the absolving words should 
 linger on his lips, lead him," she added, "to my grave — paint to 
 him my sorrows and remorse, my blighted years, life's withered 
 hopes — bid him forget my sin in its atonement ; then will the 
 voice of nature speak within him, and his heart melt in precious, 
 dear forgiveness." 
 
 There was something so desolate, so heart-broken and despairing 
 in the speaker's voice, that the firm nature of the soldier melted at 
 its tone. In the agitation of the moment her veil had partially 
 fallen aside, displaying her still beautiful though care-worn 
 features. Perhaps it may be wondered that he failed to recognise 
 them ; but ten years of womanhood and sorrow had so altered 
 their expression from those of the wild, joyous girl his heart so 
 long had mourned as with the dead, and the pale lamp's uncertain 
 light so shadowed them, that the suspicion never crossed his brain. 
 Had it, oh ! with what eager love his arms would have enfolded 
 his lost treasure — with what absolving tears his yearning heart 
 pronounced forgiveness of her crime, oblivion of the past ! But it 
 was not to be ; the sacrifice to conscience was voluntary and 
 accepted. 
 
 "Live," he exclaimed, "to hear the pardon thy repentance 
 merits from a parent's lips ; to feel once more the joy of his 
 paternal kiss ; to rest thy heart, after life's storms and shipwrecks, 
 in the calm haven of a father's love." 
 
 " Never," said his daughter, with an expression of resolution, 
 amounting almost to sternness, upon her brow ; " my heart would 
 wither should I see the blush of shame suffuse my father's cheek 
 if Jfeen but named his child. Thinkst thou I could bear the 
 world's forgiveness, or, far more hateful, its insulting pity ? No," 
 she added, " my life hath been the comet's fearful path — my death 
 be like its end. Time presses : in my father's name, pronounce a 
 blessing anc^ forgiveness on me." 
 
 The speaker sank upon her knees as humbly as a child before 
 the absolving priests ; and Ulrick, with an emotion of pity and 
 admiration, exclaimed, as he raised his hands above her head : 
 
 " In His awful name. Parent of all, and in thy earthly parent's 
 name, I bless and pardon thee ; this deed shall be, in after times, 
 by poets sung, thy virtues only live in our remembrance. But 
 staj-," he added, as his visitor resumed the lamp, and pointed 
 
 CC
 
 J86 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 towards the door of the cell ; " I have a companion, one whose life 
 hath for ten long j-ears been wasted in these dungeons, one whose 
 safety is necessary to clear my honour of the foul stain the tyrant 
 cast upon it ! " 
 
 " The priest," said Ethra ; "I have not forgotten him ; he, too, 
 shall be the companion of thy flight ; the path is open to ye iDoth, 
 for liberty and vengeance !" 
 
 At the summons of our hero the wretched Robert of Artois 
 issued from his den, and gazed for a few moments, with inquiring 
 eyes, upon his two companions. A sign from the female informed 
 him that Ulrick knew not that it was to his repentant child he 
 was about to owe his liberty ; as his own knowledge of the tie 
 between them was obtained only in the confessional, he was 
 bound to silence. The unhappy woman, it would seem, had often 
 sought him in his dungeon to receive consolation from his 
 ministry, as well as to alleviate the horrors of his lone captivity 
 with the sweet solace of sympathy and pity. 
 
 Bearing the lamp, Ethra preceded the liberated captives through 
 the long damp j^assages which led to a small ruined tower beyond 
 the second moat, and not far distant from the water's edge. From 
 the xmequal nature of the ground, they progressed slowly ; in 
 many parts the stone-work had partially fallen, and they had to 
 climb over the obstructing masses. At length they reached a low 
 iron door, firmly imbedded in the solid walls. A figure, ^vTapped 
 in a dark, warm mantle, sprang impulsively to meet them ; it was 
 Myrra, who had been long impatiently expecting them. Throwing 
 herself into her sister's arms, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Arrived — arrived at last ! How fearfully the dreary hour hath 
 passed ! " 
 
 " Silence," whispered Ethra ; " remember your promise. Till 
 safe beyond these walls our father must not know his ^vretehed 
 daughter lives — wedded to him who caused his house's ruin." 
 
 The next moment the still trembling girl was folded to Ulrick's 
 manly breast. A deep pang wrung the heart of the elder sister as 
 she saw the fond paternal kiss — a kiss her blighted cheek was des- 
 tined never more to feel — a kiss which would have been dearer to 
 her heart than the first smile e'en of an angel's love. 
 
 Drawing from her vest the ponderous key, with a firm hand she 
 applied it to the lock ; years had most probably elapsed since last 
 the rusty door had groaned upon its hinges. Lika some surly 
 guardian, it seemed unwilling to give egress to the captives, 
 resisting- all her efforts to force back the ponderous bolt. It 
 required the unite'd strength of Ulrick and his companion to turn 
 the key within the corroded wards. At last it slowly turned upon 
 its axle, and the first breath of morning entered freshly the 
 narrow passage. 
 
 " Free ! " exclaimed Robert of Artois, drinking with delight the
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 387 
 
 ptire air to which for ten long years he had been a stranger. " I 
 have dreamt of this, prayed for this, and it hath come at last. 
 Relenting Heaven hath heard the lonely captive's supplication, and 
 Bent him forth for vengeance and atonement ! " 
 • " We shall meet again," said Myrra, in an under-tone, to her 
 sister. " Promise me that we shall meet again." 
 
 "No tears," murmured Ethra, calmly — "no lamentation now! 
 Yes, we shall meet again ; if not on earth, at least in heaven, if 
 penitence may win my forfeit place there. Ulrick of Stanfield," 
 she added, in a loud, firm tone, " haste to thy friends ; wait not 
 for numbers, lest thy foe escape thee. Here will I station one to 
 give thee ingress to the Norman's hold. Once there, thy sword 
 must do the rest." 
 
 " The second night from this," replied our hero, " thou mayst 
 expect me. Oh every hill the Saxon torch shall gleam, on every 
 breeze the Saxon banner tloat. Yes, Ralph de Gael, a nation rises 
 in its strength to crush thee. These towers, the scene of thy pol- 
 luted sway, shall fall before the cry of liberty." 
 
 " Let it but sound," added his deliverer, " and fearfully my acts 
 shall answer it. Away ! " she exclaimed, impatiently ; " each moment 
 of delay is fraught with danger to thy safety." 
 
 Despite the entreaties of Ulrick and the silent pleadings of her 
 sister, Ethra remained firm in her resolution not to accompany 
 them ; her soul was fixed on the accomplishment of her fearful 
 destiny, and she resolved to meet it calmly and alone. 
 
 " 'Tis past ! " she said, as after repeated efforts she succeeded in 
 rolling back the ponderous door which shut her from liberty and 
 those she loved, for ever — " life's last weakness is past, and the 
 few hours which remain are due to prayer, to penitence, and 
 vengeance. My heart is lighter now that I feel a father's curse 
 will not rest upon his poor girl's grave — armed with his forgiveness, 
 I dare to hope for Heaven's. No weakness," she added, as with an 
 impatient gesture she dashed aside the tears which, despite her 
 resolution, chased each other down her burning cheek ; " no vain 
 regrets, no weak, relenting pity. Here will I wait, and watch the 
 hour whose sound shall strike for freedom and for justice, shall 
 calm the tempests of life's stormy passions, and bring this weary, 
 long-worn, restless spirit peace." 
 
 Seating herself upon a rough fragment of the fallen arch, Ethra 
 passed the first hour of her lonely watch in silent, fervent prayer. 
 
 As soon as the fugitives emerged from the ruined towers in 
 ^vhich the secret passage terminated, Robert of Artois bade adieu 
 to his companions, and directed his steps towards the convent, 
 Avhere, after much difficulty, he succeeded in obtaining an 
 interview with the prior, and making himself known to him. 
 The indignation of the monks was boundless at the outrage offered 
 to their order in the person of their bz-other. In its first burst, 
 
 CC 2
 
 388 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 they threatened nothing less than death and excommunication 
 upon the Norman governor, whose tyranny and exactions they 
 had frequently felt in common with their oppressed and insulted 
 Saxon neighbours. 
 
 Despite the secrecy with which the arrest of Ulrick had been 
 conducted, the news soon reached the ears of the insurgent 
 leaders, and spread dismay amongst them. It required all the 
 influence of Arad and his son Edward to prevent many of the 
 lesser franklins and chiefs from returning to their homes. 
 Without Ulrick to conduct them, they looked upon their cause as 
 hopeless ; so well they knew, not only his skill in war, but the 
 influence his name exercised with the serfs and people. His 
 sudden appearance amongst them, therefore, the morning after 
 his escape, decided their deliberations ; the shout of joy which 
 welcomed him was as sincere as the relief from their uncertainty 
 was great. In an instant Edward was by the side of his loved 
 Myrra, whispering those thousand tender consolations which love 
 so well can utter. 
 
 " Welcome ! " cried Arad, grasping the hand of his recovered 
 friend ; " think not we have been idle in your cause ; this very 
 day we marched to share your fate, or tear you from the tyrant's 
 cruel power ; but say," he added, " how fell you into his hands ? " 
 
 " By Saxon treachery," replied Ulrick ; " the cause so oft of 
 England's weakness in the hour of trial. Ethwold, to revenge my 
 refusal of his proffered union with my child, betrayed me to the 
 Norman." 
 
 The name of his betrayer was received with a shout of 
 execratioti by the assembled chiefs. 
 
 " And how escaped ? " they demanded. 
 
 " By the remorse of one who long hast lived a wretched victim to 
 her wayward passions, but in whose heart all trace of Eden is not 
 yet extinguished. Despite her thrall, she feels her country's 
 wrongs — despite the tie which binds her to its tyrant, will avenge 
 them/' 
 
 " Her name ? her name ? " was demanded on all sides. 
 
 " That," resumed our hero, " have I still to leftrn ; this packet 
 tells the rest of her sad history." 
 
 Ulrick hastily broke the silken thread which bound the 
 parchment Ethra had given to him ere he left the dungeon. It 
 contained a ring, and a tress of her long, dark hair. For a few 
 seconds he gazed upon the trinket with mute surprise, deeming 
 that memory had played him false, or that he had seen the gem 
 before. 
 
 " Surely," he murmured, " I have seen this glittering toy in 
 happier days ! It was Matilda's ! given on the morning that I 
 called her bride. Thou precious bauble, in whose magic circle 
 recollection, with enchanter's power, recalls to mind past scenes of
 
 STANFIELD HALL llH'J 
 
 happiness and joys long fled ! Something," he added wildly, " she 
 told me of her home destroyed — her father, long thought dead. 
 
 Could it ? No, no — I should have known my child ; and yet 
 
 this ring, once the fond pledge of chaste, connubial love, gives 
 token of a dreadful tale to come. Read, Myrra, read, and save me 
 from the rack."' 
 
 With a trembling hand he passed the parchment to his equally 
 agitated child, whose eyes could scarcely decipher the few 
 characters, so blinded were their orbs by tears. In a voice broken 
 by sobs and sighs she read : 
 
 " Father, mourn not for Ethra ; in freedom's cause she dies — 
 happy at last if thy forgiveness rest upon her grave.'' 
 
 The writing fell from her hand as she concluded, and with a 
 burst of grief she threw herself into her father's arms, who 
 remained for several moments as if transfixed to stone — his misery 
 so vast that at first he neither felt nor comprehended its extent. As 
 it gradually broke upon him, the tempest of his soul became 
 terrible, his hand wandered over his burning brow, as if to reseat 
 reason on her tottering throne ; and when at last his words broke 
 forth, they but faintly indicated the agony of his tortured mind. 
 
 "My child," he murmured ; "my lost, suffering child ! left by 
 her father in that den of crime ! Nature, that now canst struggle 
 with convulsive throes, why wert thou silent when in agony she 
 cried to be forgiven ? Earth should have shook, the heavens sent 
 forth iDortentous and prodigious signs, to see a father murder ^ 't? 
 own child ! Yes, chieftains," he added, gazing wildly on the 
 assembled Saxons round him, " unknowing whom 1 judged, I, 
 sternly zealous for my country's good, praised her resolve, and let 
 her stay to die." 
 
 " Horror ! " said Arad ; " thy child ? " 
 
 " Ay," continued the agitated parent, with a burst of passionr.te 
 love ; " my elder born — the first fond pledge of my connubial bliss, 
 is by her father doomed and sacrificed. Friends, these tears I am 
 not used to shed flow from me like a girl's. Bear with me ; Nature 
 will claim her rights, despite the heart's resolve, or cold philo- 
 sophy's stern reasoning. The weakness past, I am once more my 
 country's." 
 
 Drawing his mantle over his visage, the speaker retreated to a 
 short distance from the assembly to commune with his heart, and 
 seek consolation where, in lifejs shipwTecks and the storms of 
 passion, weak, erring man alone can find it — in prayer. Although 
 the blow had been terrible, it had wounded but /iOt crushed his 
 soul ; it rose with the elasticity of faith to meet the last trial Heaven 
 had reserved to test his fortitude and patience. In a short time he 
 returned to his silent, sj'mpathising friends, pale with the fearful 
 struggle he had passed, but calm and self-possessed. Many thought, 
 as they beheld him, they saw the stamp of death upon his face — so
 
 390 STATS'FIELD HALL. 
 
 cold aud colourless, so worn and rigid, his agony of soul had made 
 it. His was indeed tlie majest3- of soitow. The first burst of 
 natural weakness past, and it became far too deep for words, too 
 proud for tears ; like death, it veiled its dignitj- in silence, and only 
 spoke its presence in its impress. 
 
 Calmly he proceeded to give his orders to the different leaders : 
 some were despatched to raise the country round ; others sent into 
 the city to urge the discontented citizens to join them — a task more 
 than half -accomplished to their hands ; as, on their arrival, they 
 found the indignant monks preaching not only in the market- 
 place, but in every spot where a group could be collected, detailing 
 to their horror-stricken hearers the imprisonment and sufferings of 
 the tortiTred and persecuted Father Onfroy. The vast piles of wood 
 collected for the purpose on St. James's Hill and the neighbouring 
 heights, at the first stroke of midnight, were ordered to be fired, as 
 signals for the coming onslaught, which Ulrick, in person, under- 
 took to direct. To Edward and a party of his own retainers, who, 
 on the first news of his return, had marched to the place of meeting, 
 our hero confided the entrance of the secret passage, which Ethra 
 had promised should be opened to their ingress. Had he dreamt 
 that his child would have unbailed the door, her anxious father 
 would himself have conducted the enterprise, and resigned to 
 another the more dangerous post of leading the assault without the 
 vv'alls — but it was not to be ; their last words on earth were spoken. 
 In life the heart-broken parent and his repentant child were 
 doomed never to meet again. When all was arranged, and not till 
 then, Ulrick and the weeping Myrra retired to nioiu-n together. 
 
 Our readers may well imagine the rage and terror of Ralph de 
 Gael when informed not only of the flight of his captives, but of the 
 absence of his scorned and long-neglected wife, whose remorse 
 and jealousy he doubted not had opened their dungeon dooz's. For- 
 tunately, the men who searched the prisons proceeded no farther than 
 the empty cells ; had they done so, they would have found the 
 patient Ethra watching the arrival of the foe, praying for the hour to 
 strike — the signal of her triumph and her death. The tyrant knew 
 too well the energy of his enemy and the danger which threatened 
 him not to prepare to meet it. The garrison were all recalled 
 within the walls of the castle, every tower was manned, the 
 furnaces for heating the boiling lead and oil to pour upon the 
 assailants were got ready ; but his chief reliance was on the arrival 
 of the king, to whom our readers will remember, on the first news 
 of the intended outbreajj, he had despatched a trusty messenger. 
 
 " Let but Henry come^*"' he exclaimed, " within three days, and 
 I will crush this nest of hornets — trample them like mire beneath 
 my feet. Our walls," he added, as he cast a glance around the 
 lofty battlements, and surveyed the preparations for the siege, 
 " may hold the Saxon scum at bay aud mock their idle efforts."
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 391 
 
 The boaster either forgot in his pride, or was ignorant of, the 
 passages which conducted, one to the lonely tower where outraged 
 woman's vengeance watched ; the other to the cloisters of the 
 cathedral, by which, on a previous occasion, Ulrick, guided by 
 Father Oswald, had escaped. 
 
 As the day rolled on, parties of men, variously armed, might be 
 seen entering the city at every gate. The place of rendezvous was 
 the vast plain which surrounded the castle — not as now, partially 
 built upon and occupied by narrow dirty streets, but open and 
 level to the river's edge. Crowds of citizens gradually joined 
 them ; and even before the arrival of the more regular forces of the 
 Saxon chiefs, the insurgents presented a formidable array of un- 
 disciplined numbers. 
 
 The inhabitants of Norwicli had long been dissatisfied with the 
 tyranny and grinding exactions of their worthless governor, whose 
 interest had twice defeated them in their attempts to obtain a 
 charter for their city — a boon frequently promised and as frequently 
 withheld by their vacillating monarch. 
 
 Ralph de Gael was far too experienced a commander to waste the 
 energies of his men before the moment of attack. He permitted, 
 therefore, the assembling of the insurgents without attempting to 
 disperse them. His policy was to rest on the defensive until the 
 arrival of the royal forces which Henry, he doubted not, would 
 despatch to his assistance on the first news of the intended out- 
 break. Doubly did he applaud his own prudence and foresight in 
 sending a messenger to the king when banner after banner of the 
 Saxon nobles appeared upon the ground. He saw that it was no 
 petty feud he had to encounter, but the strength of the Angles 
 arraj'ed against him. Once, and once only, did his cheek turn 
 pale, as the crane-emblazoned pennon of the lord of Stanfield was 
 planted, amidst the enthttsiastic cheers of the enemy, upon a small 
 rising mound almost within bowshot of the walls. Conscience 
 whispered him the contest about to commence was to be one of 
 life and death ; and secretly the tyrant praj'ed that Henry might 
 arrive in time to his assistance. The day rolled on, and still he 
 saw no symptoms of an attack from the tents and huts which the 
 Saxons erected. It was evident that they contemplated reducing 
 him by siege rather than assault. 
 
 " Good ! " he murmitred ; " the fools fall in the snare. Do they 
 think to starve the lion in his den ? Soon shall they find that 
 Norman swords are sharper than their wits ! " 
 
 Turning upon his heel with a shrug of disdain to those about 
 him, to indicate his contempt of the foe, he left the battlements 
 and descended to the banquet-hall, where the evening repast was 
 spread. 
 
 At the midnight hour the assailants divided their forces into 
 three equal parties. The first, under the conduct of Ulrick,
 
 392 STANFIELD HALL, 
 
 advanced towards the drawbridge, where a strong body of archers 
 and billmen were stationed to protect the only approach to the 
 elevated mound on which the castle stood. Their position was 
 further strengtliened by a numerous body of men-at-arms, who, 
 from the summit of the lofty tower which formed the principal 
 entrance to the fortress, were ready to pour down boiling lead, oil, 
 stones, and missiles on all who should approach the gates. So that, 
 in the event of the first attack upon the bridge proving successful, 
 the retreat of the defenders into the interior would be effectually 
 covered. 
 
 The second party, guided by the indignant monks, w^ere. con- 
 ducted, under the command of Arad, to the secret passage which our 
 readers will remember connected the cathedral with the castle 
 chapel, and which would enable the Saxons to attack the building 
 in the rear, where perhaps it was the most assailable. 
 
 The third, guided by Edward, proceeded to the lone, round 
 watch-tower by the water's edge. This was the most dangerous of 
 all to the safety of the garrison, for it conducted to the very heart 
 of the stronghold. Its existence, either forgotten or unsuspected 
 by Ralph de Gael, baffled alike his calculation and his courage. 
 Little did the heartless voluptuary imagine, whilst he gave the 
 necessary orders for the defence, and smiled in the fancied security 
 of his position, that the hand of a weak woman would render his 
 precautions unavailing. In his pride and wantonness he had sown 
 the seed of desolation ; the hour had struck when he must reap the 
 harvest of the whirlwind and the storm. 
 
 At the first signal of the Saxons the ponderous iron door rolled 
 slowly upon its hinges, and Ethra, pale as her destiny, appeared 
 before them. The first glance assured her that Ulrick was not the 
 leader of the host, and her heart beat lighter. In the long lonely 
 hours of her silent watch her fear had been to meet her father's 
 eye — to listen to his voice again — to expose her stern resolve, to 
 perish in the ruins she had caused, to the entreaties of paternal 
 love, or the weak pleadings of her woman's nature. 
 
 " Ascend the passage branching to the left ! " she exclaimed to 
 the foremost of the band ; '• it will conduct ye to your victims. I 
 need not tell you, let your hearts be firm and your good weapons 
 strong." 
 
 A shout from the eager Saxons proved that she was understood. 
 Despite her worn appearance — for she had neither quitted her post 
 nor tasted food since TJlrick's departure — and the simplicity of her 
 dark robe and veil, there was a commanding dignity in her manner 
 which enabled Edward to recognise the unhappy wife of Ralph de 
 Gael. Eager for her safety, he entreated her to allow him to send 
 her, under escort, to the camp, urging that the terrors of so fearful 
 a night were ill suited to a woman's presence. 
 
 " I will not keep one soldier," she impatiently interrupted,
 
 STAXFIELD HALL. 393 
 
 "from the work of vengeance. ' Is this an hour to think of women's 
 safety, wlien knightly blows are to be struck, and freedom to be 
 won ? Away, and leave me here." Turning to the men, she 
 added, with a voice and gesture such as Boadicea might have used 
 when urging her subjects against the Romans, " As ye rush on 
 triumphant through the halls, think of the homes your foes have 
 made a desert I — the blood they shed in mockery and scorn ! Let 
 the remembrance of your country's wrongs nerve well each arm to 
 strike the oppressor dead ! " 
 
 With an eager shout, the Saxons, excited by her words, sprang 
 forward, and Edward, despite his reluctance to leave her unpro- 
 tected, was compelled to follow in the stream. 
 
 " 'Tis well," she exclaimed, as the last flash of their torches 
 disappeared in the windings of the low subterranean passage ; 
 " once more I am alone, and mistress of myself. Triumph, my 
 soul ! — exult, and taste of joy ! My genius rises o'er my foe 
 victorious : and this great deed satiates at once my hate and my 
 revenge. 'Tis worth long years of suffering to live for such an 
 hour as this. Yes, Ralph de Gael," she added, bitterly, " I pay 
 thee now for heartless scorn, neglect, insulted love. The Saxon 
 wife hath set the Saxon bloodhounds on thy track — the outraged 
 child avenged her murdered mother." 
 
 In the excitement of the moment, which partook more of madness 
 than of passion, Ethra continued to pace, with hiirried step, the 
 entrance of the vault, muttering alternately words of reproach, or 
 giving vent to the insane expression of her triumph. Soon the 
 shouts of the Saxons, as they burst upon their astonished foe, 
 reached her, and her pale lips quivered, her dark eyes flashed with 
 redoubled brilliancy at the signal which told her fearful vengeance 
 was accomplished. Catching up a torch which one of the followers 
 of Edward had dropped in his haste, she began to trace her way to 
 the scene of blood and slaughter. 
 
 " The conflict is begun," she cried ; " I go to perish in the storm 
 my breath hath raised." 
 
 Despite the impetuosity with which Ulrick commenced his 
 attack upon the bridge, it would have proved imsuccessful against 
 the compact body of archers stationed there had not the party of 
 Saxons under Edda, whom the monks had guided, burst from the 
 chapel and attacked them in the rear. The Normans, thus doubly 
 assailed, seeing all hope of retreat into the interior of the castle cut 
 off, fought with desperate courage, but in vain ; the conflict became 
 too close to permit them to use their bows, and the missiles which 
 the men-at-arms stationed on the tower continued to hurl down 
 were not more destructive to their enemaes than to themselves. 
 Their light steel barrets proved but an inefficient protection against 
 the heavy clubs with which the Saxon serfs were armed : heads 
 and helmets were alike crushed beneath their blows, and many
 
 394 STANFIBLD HALL. 
 
 chose death by plunging into the deep moat beneath, which soon 
 ran purple with their blood, rather than meet it from the dc sperate 
 Saxons' hands. 
 
 After an hour's hard fighting the bridge was cleared, and the 
 assailants remained masters of the position, which, however, 
 advanced them but little in their general attack, for the iron- 
 studded gates resisted all their efforts, while from the lofty battle- 
 ments directly over them the besieged kept raining down showers 
 of boiling oil and melted lead, and ponderous beams of wood, 
 which crushed by dozens the unhappy multilated wretches upon 
 whom they fell. 
 
 Ralph de Gael, who directed the defence, beheld with pleasure 
 the foe recoil before the destructive missiles. In the insolence of 
 his triumph he addressed their leader with every taunt and insult 
 his malice could suggest. 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, ironically, " retreat so soon ! Strike one 
 blow more ! Or is Saxon courage cooled with its first check ? For 
 the future, women and girls shall guard our walls, and hold them, 
 too, 'gainst such assailants. Ulrick," he added, " had Stanfield 
 towers been kept like mine, my sword had found its task less easy. 
 I almost blush to have crushed so poor an enemy." 
 
 " Coward ! — cool, insulting coward ! " replied our hero, his eyes 
 flashing fire at the allusion to his once happy home, " descend 
 from thy stronghold, and let the sword decide between us. I'll 
 stake my country's wrongs and rights upon the issue." 
 
 " Thinkst thou I am so poor a gamester ? " shouted the tyrant, 
 with an insulting laugh, " to risk that which is mine already ? 
 The gibbet, knave, and not a noble's sword, is the fit doom thy 
 rash presumption merits. Slaves," he continued, addressing the 
 Saxons, who had retreated beyond the reach of the burning shower, 
 " Henry will soon be here ; long ere this the royal banner floats 
 upon the breeze. To your homes — your homes ; wait not the lion's 
 wrath, lest It consume ye." 
 
 The assertion of the expecte i arrival of the king, who was knov/n 
 to be at a day's march from the city, struck a damp on the hearts 
 of many, and might have produced the effect the speaker artfully 
 intended, had not the shouts and cries within the walls informed 
 them that one part at least of their attack had been successful — 
 that Edward and his troop had obtained an entrance to the 
 castle. 
 
 The tyrant's flushed cheek turned pale as the war-cry of the 
 victorious Saxons fell upon his ear. 
 
 The next moment Richard de Montmar, the seneschal, his sword 
 broken, and his gashed brow streaming with blood, appeared upon 
 the walls before his teiTor-stricken master. 
 
 ■' What meant that cry ? " he faltered. 
 
 " The foe are in our walls ; like Cadmus' sons, they rise from
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 395 
 
 earth. Our men, discouraged, murmur treason, and demand their 
 leader. To the hall, or all is lost." 
 
 For a few moments his chief stood as if struck by the destroying 
 angel's hand, so wild, so improbable did the intelligence appear ; 
 nor was it till the rencAved cries of the combatants burst upon the 
 air that he started from his mental palsy. Calling to his men, he 
 rushed from the walls, to stem the tide which Heaven had so 
 mysteriously turned against him. In a few" minutes the battle- 
 ments were deserted, except by the wounded and the dying who 
 had fallen beneath the arrows of the Saxons. 
 
 Ulrick, who judged the cause of the confusion, suffered not the 
 advantage to be lost ; but redoubled his efforts against the no longer 
 well-defended gates, which, from their massive strength, for a time 
 continued to defy his utmost efforts. While the assailants, with 
 renewed vigour, are continuing the attack, let us follow the dis- 
 mayed Norman to the scene which met his gaze within his hitherto . 
 deemed impregnable stronghold. 
 
 A large portion of the garrison were assembled in the great hall 
 of the castle fighting aesperately with the Saxons, w^ho, under the 
 conduct of Edward, occupied the low arched galleries which ran 
 round the apartment, and from which their arrows did fearful 
 execution upon their enemies ; the floor was strewed with the dead 
 and dying, whose mingled groans, yells of agony, and execrations 
 added to the horrors of the scene. In the centre of the hall stood 
 the excited Ethra ; her right hand holding a torch ; her long dark 
 hair, freed from the veil which she had lost in the tumult, 
 streaming like a meteor in the wind. Regardless of her own safety, 
 she urged on her countrymen to the attack, her shrill voice rising 
 above the din of arms as she reminded them of the wrongs and 
 shames their Norman tyrants had inflicted on their hearths and 
 homes. 
 
 " Traitress ! " exclaimed Ralph, as he confronted her, " it is to 
 thee I owe this desolation, this ruin of my hopes. Thine Avas the 
 accursed hand to release my deadly foes, and bring the Saxon 
 hound upon my track." 
 
 Ethra surveyed him with a look of withering scorn and an 
 iinblanched cheek ; the haughty spirit of her race Avas on her, and 
 though a secret instinct told her that the dark thread of her 
 existence in a few moments would be severed, her heart trembled 
 not, neither did her voice falter as she anstvered him : 
 
 " Monster ! thinkst thou I would leave my gallant father in thy 
 grasp, and have the power to save him ? Is't not enough thou 
 hast lured me to foul perdition's brink, but thou Av^ouldst plunge 
 my guileless sister in the dread abj'ss ? Hark to that shout ! " she 
 added, as the triumphant voices of the assailants, Avho had just 
 broken in the outward gates, burst upon her ear ; " 'tis the victorious 
 cry of Liberty rejoicing to behold her children free. The Saxon,
 
 396 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 the despised Saxon, hunts thee now ; the spirits of my slaughtered 
 kindred ride upon the storm ; the furies claim thee as their destined 
 prey. Soon shall they be avenged." 
 
 The passion of her tyrant was too intense for words ; surprise, 
 too, held him chained. His hithei'to submissive victim, whose 
 heart he had trampled on, whose feelings wantonly sported with, 
 had turned like a lioness to rend him. "With a look of concentiated 
 hatred, he twice passed his sword through her defenceless body, 
 and the betrayed, unhappy Ethra fell, without one groan or sigh, a 
 corpse at her destroyer's feet. She had met the fate she sought. 
 Love, honour, happiness were lost ; and as freely as the sea-bird 
 dashed the spray from its soiled wing, she cast her life away, a cold 
 gmile of triumph lighting her features even in death. 
 
 The murderer had not long to exult over his revenge, for the 
 voice of Ulrick urging on his followers, or calling with passionate 
 vehemence upon his child, alarmed him for his own worthless 
 safety. Calling on his esquire and a party of the most determined 
 of his men to folloAV him, he made his way over the mangled and 
 the dying to a corner of the hall, where a narrow staircase led to a 
 solitary turret, the flat roof of which was large enough, perhaps, to 
 hold fifty men, and which one determined sword might defend 
 against a host of enemies. 
 
 " Turn, craven hound ! " shouted our hero to him, as he ascended 
 the steps. The defiance which would have followed Vv-as cut short 
 by a pang such as a father's heart alone could feel. His child — his 
 deeply loved, long-mom-ned, repentant child — lay weltering in her 
 life's blood e'en at his very feet. With a cry like that a breaking 
 heart sends forth, he sank upon his knee beside her. The warrior 
 was extinct — the parent only lived within his breast. 
 
 " Wake ! " he sobbed, as he pressed his lips with passionate 
 tenderness to her cold brow ; " wake to hear the pardon thou hast 
 so dearly won. Ethra — child of my love, first-born of my hope — 
 one look, one little pressure of thy hand ! Dead, dead ! " he mur- 
 mured. " God, my brain is on fire — my heart is broken ! " 
 
 So majestic was the grief of the bereaved parent that even his 
 .enemies respected it. These, however, were soon driven from the 
 hall by the arrival of Ai*ad and the party under his command. 
 The slaughter on both sides had been fearful, for Norman and 
 Saxon fought with all the bitterness of long-garnered hate. The 
 castle, with the exception of the solitary tower into which Falph 
 and his party had retreated, was in possession of the assailants, 
 when an unexpected event entirely changed the fortunes of the 
 night. 
 
 Henry, who had been holding his Parliament at Bury St. 
 Edmund's, was in council when the missive of the governor of 
 the East Angles was presented to him. His indignation, as well 
 as that of his nobles, was extreme. That the man whom he had
 
 stajS'field hall. 397 
 
 snatched from justice should so ungratefully repay his mercy stung 
 him to the quick ; and he swore, by the oath of his race, to proceed 
 at once to Norwich, and execute strict justice on the offenders. 
 Despite the haste of his march, the battle was fought ere he 
 arrived. But the overwhelming force which accompanied him 
 rendered all resistance on the part of the victorious Saxons un- 
 availing ; and they saw the fruits of victory snatched from them 
 even in the moment of success. The larger body of them retired 
 to their homes ; and Ulrick, Arad, Edward, and most of the chiefs 
 remained prisoners in the hands of the Normans. 
 
 At an early hour on the following morning a council was held 
 in the chapter-house of the cathedral, at which the king presided 
 in person. Ralph de Gael, Salisbury, De Warrenne, De Vere of 
 Oxford, and many barons of less note, were seated at the board. 
 "When the chancellor, our hero's old enemy, took his seat, the 
 forgeries, upon which on a previous occasion the lord of Stanfield 
 had been condemned, lay open on the table. At a signal from 
 Henry, Ulrick and his companions in misfortune were introduced. 
 His cheek was pale from loss of blood and the fierce emotions 
 which had so lately wrung his soul. But if his step faltered from 
 weakness, his eye was bright and proud as ever ; it shrank not 
 from the stern gaze of his judges, nor cpailed beneath the trium- 
 phant sneer of his oppressor. Henry was the first to speak. 
 
 "My lords," he exclaimed, "we are here to judge an ingrate and 
 a traitor, whom I confess that, with a weakness unworthy of a 
 king, yielding to an angel's prayer, I saved from your resentment. 
 Of Ralph de Gael's administration, and the oppressions of which 
 he is accused, we will decide hereafter. But however they may 
 palliate," he added, pointing to the other Saxon chiefs, " the out- 
 break of these misguided men, they excuse not the lord of Stan- 
 field — the plotter, the assassin." 
 
 '• The wronged, the slandered ! " exclaimed a deep-toned voice, 
 at whose sound all present started. 
 
 The doors of the chapter-house were thrown open, and Robert of 
 Artois, dressed in his priestly rags, just as Ethra had released him 
 from his dungeon, stood before them. 
 
 " Wretch ! " he cried, fixing a glance of scorn upon the man who 
 had so long held him captive ; " here, within these holy walls — 
 here, in the presence of Heaven and of man, avow your treachery 
 and ririck's wrongs, detested, grovelling, most unknightiy 
 villain ! " 
 
 " Who art thou ? " demanded the chancellor. 
 
 "Ask of 3'on monster," resumed the speaker, pointing to the 
 astonished Ralph de Gael — " of him who for ten years hath held 
 me captive in a loathsome cell, till of humanity its memory only 
 rests — of him who, to conceal his murders, outrages, ^nd crimes, 
 forced me, an unworthy priest of the Most High — by tortures
 
 398 STANPIELD HALL. 
 
 forced me to forge the proofs on which you would condemn the 
 preserver of your monai'ch's life, and crush the noblest heart that 
 tyranny e'er reached." 
 
 " Liar ! " faltered the detected but unabashed miscreant — " what 
 proof ? " 
 
 " What proof ! " iterated his accuser, with a cold smile-, whose 
 serpent-like expression was far more terrible than even his 
 impassioned scorn. " Fear not, thou shalt hear proof enough to 
 satisfy the doubt of incredulity itself — to brand the festering lie 
 upon thy brow — to show thee to the world the monster tkat thou 
 art, and strip thee of the last defence falsehood and infamy have 
 left thee." 
 
 " Assertion is not evidence," interrupted the chancellor, rising 
 uneasily from his seat. 
 
 " True," said the repentant man ; " and an angel's oath would 
 lack conviction to a heart like thine, seared in the subtle trickeries 
 of office, and dead to every generous, natural impulse. Behold 
 the proof ! " 
 
 Hastily taking up the forged letters one by one, he laid them 
 before the king. Passing over them, at the same time, a sponge 
 dipped in some aromatic essence which he drew from his breast, to 
 the surprise of the monarch and his councillorsand the confusion of 
 Ralph, a second inscription appeared beneath the first. 
 Henry seized the paper, and eagerly read as follows : 
 " I, Onfroy, caligrapher, and priest of the cathedral church of 
 Norwich, trusting that Heaven will one day bring my weakness 
 and the cruelty of Ralph de Gael to light, declare that, having been 
 twice put to the torture, I have reluctantly consented to forge 
 these letters, being prisoner the while to the aforesaid Ralph de Gael." 
 Our readers need scarcely be reminded that the composition of 
 the sympathetic ink was, in the age of which we write, a secret 
 8 confined chiefly to the cloister. 
 
 " Monster ! unknightly felon ! " exclaimed the king, as the last 
 
 letter fell from his indignant hand, " vv"hat answer for thy worthless 
 
 life — what subterfuge or subtle turn can serve thee now ? " 
 
 i " Sorcery," replied Ralph, desperately resolved to brave it to the 
 
 s last. "Relying on my innocence and Heaven's assistance, I 
 
 i demand the knightly combat." 
 
 I Henry, surnamed " Beauclerk," was not to be deceived by an 
 a excuse which the more superstitious of his council took into their 
 i serious consideration. Whilst they clustered round the council- 
 5 table to consult on the demand, the king approached the prisoner, 
 I whose cheek had proudly flushed on hearing the proofs of his 
 I innocence, but in a few seconds became paler than before. 
 1 "Lord of Stanfield," demanded the agitated monarch, "canst 
 I! thou forgive the involuntary wrong I most unwittingly have done 
 thee ? "
 
 STANFIELD HALL. 399 
 
 " Pi'otect my child — redress my country's wrongs," sighed our 
 hero, " and all is well." 
 
 " Heaven ! " exclaimed the king, " he is dying ! " 
 
 His fears were but too true. Worn by loss of blood, and the 
 many bitter trials he had undergone, the tired spirit of our hero 
 was rapidly passing away to rejoin those he had loved, but 
 failed to avenge, on earth. His eye-lids were half -closed in death 
 when the voice of the chancellor for a few moments recalled him 
 to the world. 
 
 " The battle is accorded," he coldly pronounced ; " let the sword 
 decide between the accused and the accuser." 
 
 The usages of chivalry with the Normans were sacred. 
 Monarchs and nobles alike were bound by them ; and the 
 chancellor and his party thought by their decision to avoid the 
 odium of so foul an accusation being proved against a member of 
 their own order. Henry heard their decision with indignation, 
 anger, and contempt. 
 
 " Tlae combat ! " he repeated ; " and with a dying man ! " 
 
 " I am ready ! " faintly exclaimed Ulrick, like some wounded 
 lion rearing his form erect to meet the hunter's last attack ; " Avhere 
 is my sword ? " and weakened by the effort, he fell back into the 
 arms of Ai-ad. Henry pointed to his feeble state in silence 
 
 " Let him appear by champion ! " exclaimed the council, in 
 answer to his mute appeal. 
 
 " Be it so ! " said Henry, with a burst of wrath, which told the 
 presuming barons they had gone too far. " I'll be his champion. 
 Ulrick of Stanfield," he continued, taking the dying hero's hand, 
 " I here proclaim thee innocent — the soul of honoiir and the light 
 of truth. Most foully hath thy vile accuser lied. There lies mj- 
 glove — a monaich's glove shall be thy gage of battle." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, the excited king threw his 
 embroidered glove upon the ground. None presumed to raise it. 
 The Norman nobles would have gone far to save one of their order, 
 but not one felt disposed to brave a Avrath which, once roused, 
 might consume them. Even the chancellor was silenced, for he 
 knew that Henry, when really excited, was capable of daring every- 
 thing. There was a solemn silence in the hall, which the monarch 
 v\-as the first to break. 
 
 " No answer ! " he exclaimed. " Away with him, then ! De 
 Vere, \o\x act as marshal. In ten minutes let the trumpet's breath 
 proclaim that he hath met a felon's doom." 
 
 Despite his protestations, Ralph de Gael was dragged from the 
 assembly, and in a less space of time than even the king had 
 announced, the fearful signal was heard, and his last sigh passed 
 from him on the gibbet. 
 
 " Uh'ick," said his champion, " preserver of my life, I have 
 avenged thcc."
 
 400 STANFIELD HALL. 
 
 •• More," answered our hero, with a last effort : " thou hast 
 preserved my honour. All is over, and the prediction of the 
 prophet priest of Croydon is accomplished." 
 
 " I remember," added Henry ; " a life of honour, a soldier's 
 triumph, but a broken heart." 
 
 A smile of gratitude passed, over the features of the dying man, 
 as he fixed his last look upon the speaker. That smile remained 
 after the spirit of Ulrick had passed awa^-. 
 
 Most of the Saxon chiefs were pardoned, Henry kept his 
 Christmas at Norwich, aud granted the citizens their first charter, 
 in compensation for the exactions which they had suffered from 
 their unprincipled governor, who was found to have amassed 
 enormous wealth by his oppression. Before the monarch left the 
 city, the marriage of Myrra and Edward was solemnised in the 
 presence of the Court by Robert of Artois, who did not long 
 survive his restoration to liberty, but was found dead at the tomb 
 of Ulrick, whither he went daily to ofCer up his ])rayers. 
 
 End of vol. l
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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