"L I B R^AFIY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVLR5ITY 
 Of ILLI NOIS 
 
 823 
 v.|
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/talesoflaybrothe01lond
 
 TALES OF A LAY- BROTHER 
 
 dTtot Series 
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 1844.
 
 
 INTRODUCTORY PEEFACE. 
 
 Some few years ago, after having sauntered, 
 for the better part of a bahny May-day, by 
 the banks of the river Brownie, not far 
 from the lonely manor-house of Cornsey, in 
 the county of Durham, now and then 
 making a cast with my line in such pools 
 and streamlets as wore a trout-like aspect 
 of temptation, I drew up in a sequestered 
 spot, as the slanting shadows admonished 
 me that sunset was nigh, reeled my line, 
 unshipped my rod, and tucking it under 
 my arm, set off at a smart pace for the 
 proud city of Durham, anxious to be housed 
 before the " sera crepuscida^^ should coax 
 on the nio'ht. 
 
 o 
 
 But the fates ordained otherwise. I had 
 not proceeded more than half a mile across 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 country, (for I always disdained the " via 
 trita^'' although experience, in the shape of 
 impervious woods, unfordable rivers, and 
 impassable swamps, has since taught me 
 that, in the long run, it is the " via tuta,^^) 
 when a rustling sound at a short distance 
 from me arrested my step. 
 
 Why such a trifling circumstance should 
 so far engage my notice as to draw me out 
 of my direct course to ascertain its cause, 
 I cannot, at this distance of time, tell. It 
 may l3e that I was composing a sonn'et to a 
 minnow, which tantalizing little torment of 
 the angler had driven me even to the pro- 
 fane extremity of swearing many times in 
 the course of that day ; or it may be that I 
 was thinking over my last interview with 
 one who shall be nameless, — sacred be every 
 reminiscence of her ! — or it may be that I 
 was simply oblivious ; but, be it as it would, 
 in the abstraction of the moment I did turn 
 to ascertain the cause. 
 
 The sound proceeded from a singular and, 
 to my fancy, a most beautiful and romantic 
 spot. If the reader can conceive an em- 
 bowered rock, it will convey to his mind a 
 good idea of the external seeming of the
 
 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 3 
 
 place. The aspect of the far-off scenery, in 
 every direction around, was of a character 
 to give the immediate neighbourhood an 
 air of seclusion from all the world; and 
 although the scenery of tlie near acclivity, 
 which I was contemplating, was wild and 
 irregular, as nature's fanciful productions 
 generally are, yet was there something about 
 it which told that the ]nisy liand of man 
 had been there. 
 
 The plants that grew in the vicinity were 
 not such as nature usually scatters about of 
 her own accord in this our island nook. 
 Up the southern aspect of the rock, for 
 example, climbed a vine, the main trunk of 
 which was knotted and gnarled with the 
 growth of many years. To my eyes it bore 
 the appearance of having undergone many 
 a pruning; but what struck me as more 
 remarkable than anything else about it was, 
 that it was unapproachable, through the 
 thick tangled underwood which grew be- 
 tween me and the face of the acclivity, nor 
 could I ascertain how otherwise it was to 
 be approached. In a grassy little hollow, 
 or recess of the rock, some few feet above 
 the level on which I stood, a warm and 
 b2
 
 4 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 sunny spot, grew a white camellia. This 
 surprised me the more, as I had been taught 
 to believe that this elegant plant was never 
 known to develop its wax-like beauties in 
 this inhospitable clime, save under the pro- 
 tection of the greenhouse. Amongst other 
 rare productions of nature, considered exotic 
 in these latitudes, I also observed manv 
 varieties of the clematis and passion-flower, 
 which in their exuberance almost hid the 
 rugged surface of the rock from view. 
 
 " Xot only has the hand of man been 
 here,'' mused I, " but refinement and taste 
 have adorned the mind which directed that 
 hand." 
 
 My curiosity was excited beyond restraint, 
 and again and again did I perambulate the 
 bowery precinct, persuaded that there must 
 be an entrance somewhere. At length, by 
 removing some overhanging branches of 
 wild rose and honeysuckle, I discovered a 
 narrow wicket, which, yielding to the pres- 
 sure applied to it, introduced me into an 
 arbour of creeping plants, which led, a few 
 paces farther, to a neat and well-kept garden 
 walk. 
 
 Though I felt myself an intruder, I was
 
 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 5 
 
 irresistibly impelled onwards. Zig-zag went 
 the path, with its trim box edgings, and so 
 serpentine was its course, that although the 
 face of the rock seemed close upon me, I 
 thought I should never reach it. In no 
 part could I descry my route more than a 
 few feet before me. There was, however, 
 an end to it, and that end I reached at last, 
 confronting, in a door-way, hewn out of 
 the solid rock, " an old man gray," whose 
 aspect rivetted me to the spot. 
 
 As soon as my senses could for a moment 
 escape from the absorption into which they 
 had been plunged by the sudden apparition 
 of the recluse, I took in at a glance the 
 scene before me. Two stunted yew-trees, 
 almost black with age, flanked the entrance 
 to what seemed a subterranean dwelling. 
 Over that entrance, where the rock had 
 manifestly been smoothed for the piu'pose, 
 was rudely chiselled : — 
 
 Heu ! 
 Vita — quam brevis ! 
 Mors — quam certa ! 
 
 ^EtERNITAS — QUAM PERPETUA ! 
 
 Though I had always piqued myself on 
 being pretty well read in Latin, I could not
 
 6 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 call to mind that I had ever met with this 
 particular passage in any author. 
 
 " My stern-looking friend," thought I, 
 " is surely a scholar." And now I ventui^ed 
 to gaze him o'er and o'er; and well was he 
 worth perusal. His stature was rather under 
 the usual standard of man, and his form was 
 spare in proportion. Though stricken in 
 years, he stood erect and firm ; his furrowed 
 visage seemed anything but the index to a 
 heart which might be considered the grave 
 of human passion, as is usually the case 
 when age and peace of mind are found to- 
 gether. On the contrary, an indescribable 
 something in his countenance told of pent- 
 up troubles. Sorrow was there, and sad- 
 ness, and remorse; but mingled with them 
 was seen a determination to curb, and con- 
 trol, and crush them all. His age had evi- 
 dently not brought to him that peaceful, 
 subdued state of mind which ordinarily 
 blesses man's decline; it had brought, you 
 would say, that perpetual warfare of the 
 soul which struggles on to the last, never 
 ceasing till that soul and its tenement are 
 strangers to each other. A beard of unusual 
 leno^th was tossed from side to side over his
 
 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 7 
 
 breast, as the evening breeze, baffled by the 
 intricacies of the approaches to his dwelling, 
 played about his person. He wore a frock, 
 or cassock, of black serge, girded round the 
 loins with a leathern belt, from which hung 
 suspended a rosary and cross. 
 
 "Well," thought I, '^ forbidding as he 
 looks, when he comes to know that I too am 
 a member of the good old catholic and apos- 
 tolic faith, perhaps he may relax a little, 
 and invite me over his threshold," for by 
 this time, I confess, I was suffering literal 
 martyrdom from the itch of inquisitive- 
 ness. 
 
 To wait for his addressing me was hope- 
 less ; his look distinctly reprimanded me for 
 impertinent intrusion, and he seemed deter- 
 mined to maintain that look unchanged, 
 until I should be fairly cowed into a retreat. 
 In this, however, he reckoned without his 
 host ; though I am by no means free to deny 
 that I considered it a great effort of moral 
 courage to break the ice. 
 
 "Pardon me, reverend father," I observed, 
 " when I own that the singularity of your 
 dwelling and its precincts first tempted me 
 to this intrusion ; and now that I am here,
 
 8 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 I am wholly lost in contemplating the sin- 
 gularity of its inhabitant." 
 
 " Stripling," replied the old man, seriously, 
 " if my reverence were equal to thy audacity 
 and assurance, I should be reverend indeed ; 
 but know, and may the admonition not be 
 thrown away on thee, as it is like to be, 
 that I am no more reverend than thou art 
 modest. My singidarity is mine own; go 
 thy ways, and seek not to learn too much 
 of it." 
 
 There were many things in this harsh 
 speech which I found difficult of digestion. 
 I was not half pleased with being called a 
 stripling, seeing that I had attained my 
 twenty-seventh year. As to my assurance, 
 I had been admonished of that many times 
 in my life before, but it arose more from my 
 manner than from any real existence in my 
 breast. I was vexed, however, that in the 
 very outset I should have prepossessed the 
 severe old man against me, and thus consi- 
 derably diminished the chances of having 
 my curiosity gratified. Determined, never- 
 theless, to push my point, and my usual 
 forward manner of speech keeping the upper- 
 hand of me, —
 
 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. \) 
 
 " So old, and so churlish !" I exclaimed. 
 " The hermits of old are handed down to us 
 as men whose hospitality yied with their 
 humility. Now-a-days, it would seem, the 
 knitted brow and the empty hand are sub- 
 stituted for the exterior emblems of those 
 good old virtues, unless I have met with a 
 very indifferent sample." 
 
 " Young man," rejoined the patriarch, 
 casting on me a look of reproach and sorrow 
 mingled, which I shall never forget, " thy 
 forward tongue will one day do thee mis- 
 chief. Take an old man's advice, and curb 
 it in time. Why shouldst thou inflict pain 
 on me, who never injured thee, in very wan- 
 tonness ? As for my hospitality, if the old 
 man's evening meal will serve thee, take it, 
 in God's name! and begone." 
 
 And he pointed to a wooden bowl of milk, 
 and a small platter of fresh vegetables, which 
 had been placed on a jutting slab of the 
 sandstone rock which formed the interior 
 wall of the chamber. *' As to my humility," 
 continued he, after a pause, " a greater than 
 thou will one day demand an account of it ; 
 to no other will I render it." 
 
 He turned into his dwelling, more in sor- 
 b3
 
 10 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 row than in anger, and seated himself on a 
 stone seat in the most gloomy corner. Fain 
 would I have justified myself even to myself, 
 but I found it impossible. I followed the 
 old man, with atonement in my heart, and 
 an apology on my lips. He did not seem 
 to notice me. I felt rebuked. 
 
 " Venerable father," said I, " excuse the 
 petulance of youth and inexperience flushed 
 with hope, and bear 
 
 *' Young man," interrupted he, " learn to 
 respect gray hairs in sorrow, albeit thou 
 mightst chance to know that sorrow to arise 
 from sin, for penitence may have hallowed 
 it. Be tender of hurting the bosom where 
 worldly hope is dead." 
 
 I saw something trickle down his beard; 
 could it be a tear ? 
 
 '^ Old man," I resumed, for I could not 
 resist addi-essing him — " I feel myself in a 
 presence which overawes me. Reverend 
 thou sayest thou art not, but by those em- 
 blems I judge thee devoted to the service of 
 our holy Mother, the Church." 
 
 " Even so, my son, voluntarily devoted. 
 There was a time when I was one of a holy 
 fraternity; but why name the passages of
 
 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 11 
 
 my youth to one who would, peradventure, 
 turn them into ridicule?" 
 
 " Believe me, mysterious man," I replied, 
 " thou art in error. I have seen that on 
 thy brows of grief which would wring sym- 
 pathy and respect from the most hardened ; 
 but I am not of that mould. Though an 
 untroubled life and boundless liberty of 
 thought and action have given me a self- 
 assurance, at times to be censured and re- 
 strained, 1 have yet a sigh and a tear for 
 the sorrows of others; and may the blood 
 run cold at my heart before that sigh is 
 quelled, before the sluice that supplies that 
 tear is dry." 
 
 I spoke this with a warmth which sur- 
 prised even myself. He uttered no reply, 
 but seemed ill at ease. His grief I could 
 not but respect, and we sat some time in 
 silence. At length, as he seemed inclined 
 to indulge his own meditations, I employed 
 myself in examining the contents of a neat 
 book-shelf which hung above the hermit's 
 devotional chair. 
 
 Surprised, indeed, was I to find, amongst 
 a heterogeneous mass of religious works, 
 principally by Catholic writers, in almost
 
 12 INTUODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 every language, doctrinal, practical, and 
 polemical, the prose and poetical works of 
 Sir Walter Scott, well thumbed, and co- 
 piously annotated in what I judged to be 
 the handwriting of my singular host. Side 
 by side with these ranged that wonder of 
 the present age, Dighifs Mores CathoHci; 
 or^ Ages of Faith. This work seemed 
 almost defaced by frequent use ; and sub- 
 lime, indeed, must have been the concep- 
 tions of that mind which gave birth to the 
 bright and soul-stirring commentaries which 
 embellished and adorned tlie margin of 
 almost every page. 
 
 The recluse at length recovered from his 
 abstraction, and turning towards me, re- 
 marked, when he saw how I was employed — 
 
 " If thou w^ouldst learn to love and look 
 up to the only true faith, my son — to vene- 
 rate its antiquity, to bow down to its unity, 
 to revere its holiness, to admire its univer- 
 sality, and to marvel at its apostolicity — 
 con over well and warily every page of that 
 treasure of literature. The name of Kenelm 
 Digby will live in the memories of children 
 whose fathers have forofotten thousands of
 
 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 13 
 
 his contemporary aspirants to literary fame ; 
 his theme — his theme, my son — will give 
 him its own immortality !" 
 
 The countenance of the hermit grew 
 flushed, and his eye flashed with enthusiasm, 
 as he wound up his panegyric of a name as 
 yet only familiar in the highest circles of 
 literature. I was wonderstruck, and my 
 wonder did but increase as I reflected how 
 a man like the recluse, whose literary amuse- 
 ments seemed to take so lofty and serious a 
 flight, could descend to the perusal of the 
 Waverley novels, unrivalled as they are. 
 Having expressed myself somewhat to this 
 eflect — 
 
 " Thy years are yet green, young man," 
 said he, " or thou wouldsthave learned that 
 exterior appearances are a bad guide to the 
 heart of man. Years ago did I — even I, 
 cloudy and forbidding as is all around and 
 about me now — indite tales and romances, 
 and passages of love and revenge, and stories 
 illustrative of every human passion — some 
 drawn from imagination alone, others tran- 
 scribed from the recollection of traditionary 
 tales told me by the old and garrulous monks
 
 14 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 of the convent where, in former years, I spent 
 many happy days, in the humble capacity 
 of a lay -hr other, ''^ 
 
 This second allusion to his early career 
 tempted me to sound him further on the 
 subject of his history, for that it was a 
 chequered and interesting one I could not 
 doubt. But I soon found myself attempt- 
 ing to open a sealed and sacred volume. 
 He was deaf to every inquiry, though he 
 did not leave me without hope that I might 
 one day learn all. Accordingly I changed 
 the subject, and ventured to ask whether he 
 had preserved any of the manuscripts of his 
 early productions. 
 
 " Dulce est desipere in locOj my son," 
 he smiled and replied; " but it becomes not 
 the young to seek amusement at the ex- 
 pense of the old. Should I admit to thee 
 that I had preserved and cherished any of 
 my early lucubrations, thou wouldst set it 
 down to the old man's vanity ; should I in- 
 vite thee to the perusal of any of them, thou 
 mightst, per ad venture, lend thy attention, 
 but laugh in thy heart at the old man's 
 follies. Nevertheless, methinks I read a 
 candour and honesty about thee which thy
 
 introductohy preface. 15 
 
 assurance and sell-love would hide from less 
 scrutinizing eyes. I will venture to trust 
 thee." 
 
 He rose and withdrew into a small closet, 
 hewn, like the main apartment, out of the 
 solid rock. As he did not attempt to con- 
 ceal his operations, I watched him open an 
 iron chest, and take thereout a large bundle 
 of manuscripts, as I supposed, enveloped in 
 an oil-skin bag. This proved, at once, how 
 he had treasured them. 
 
 " My son," said he, advancing towards 
 me with his burthen, " I must plead guilty 
 to the frailties of my race ; — seinel insani- 
 vimus omnes. Thou seest here collected 
 the fruit of many a midnight ramble, many 
 a moonlight watch — many an hour when 
 the spirit was light and free, and many 
 another when it was dark and self-accusing. 
 When I am gone — and the day cannot be 
 far distant, for, believe me, young man, 
 little likely as it appears, the frosts of ninety 
 winters are on these hoary brows — these 
 manuscripts shall be thine, to do with as thou 
 wilt. They cannot then harm me," he 
 musingly continued, " they may advantage 
 the holy religion I have so long loved — not
 
 16 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 by making it better, but by making it 
 better understood, — and the old man's hours 
 of purgatorial suffering may be thereby 
 shortened." 
 
 His language and look were solemn. I 
 was affected as much by his manner as by 
 the theme of his discourse, and promised to 
 dispose of his bequest in any way he might 
 be pleased thereafter to instruct me, in the 
 meantime imploring him to indulge me 
 with the perusal of one of his stories. He 
 looked earnestly at me, till I almost shrunk 
 from his gaze. At length he exclaimed — 
 " I never was a niggard of my trust, 
 much to my after sorrow, nor will I be so 
 now." And he untied the mouth of the 
 bag, and offered to me the first roll which 
 presented itself. 
 
 " There," said he, " that is a tale of 
 Neville's Cross. The principal scene is 
 v\4thin a few miles of this spot. It is a 
 traditionarv les^end handed down from the 
 monks of the Priory of Finchale, intimately 
 relating to two of the first families in this 
 north country. I have seen, in my early 
 days, the counterpart of the " Prophetess," 
 who makes so prominent a figure in the
 
 JNTRODUCTOEY PREFACE. 17 
 
 legend, and my ears liave long been fami- 
 liar, in these border countries, with the 
 dialectic language used by her and most of 
 the subordinate characters of the tale. 
 Take it, peruse it ; and may the perusal 
 of it teacli thee never to murmur at the 
 ways of Providence, for right, though op- 
 pressed by might, will be righted in God's 
 good time." 
 
 I took the manuscript. 
 
 " Yonder moon is barely six days old," 
 he resumed, and pointed to her crescent in 
 the evening sky; "when the sixth moon 
 from this present date shall wax seven days 
 old, I shall look for thee again." 
 
 I was about to speak. 
 
 " Begone !" he exclaimed, peremptorily, 
 but not in anger. I saw he was not in a 
 mood to be questioned, and took my depar- 
 ture. 
 
 Alas ! I had seen the last in life of that 
 mysterious and sorrow-stricken old man. 
 Sunset of the seventh day of the sixth moon 
 found me again seeking admission at the 
 little wicket. An indescribably solitary 
 sensation came over me as I sauntered 
 towards the rocky dwelling. The bleak
 
 18 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE* 
 
 November blast whistled past me icy cold, 
 and all was desolation within and around 
 me. The leafless vine was no longer care- 
 fully trained up the face of the rock ; the 
 beauty of the camellia had passed away, 
 presenting nothing to the view but a 
 withered and sapless bush ; the trim garden 
 walk was slippery with moss, and its sides 
 overrun with weeds. 
 
 " My mysterious friend has left his rocky 
 tenement for more comfortable winter 
 quarters," thought I ; " but what am I to 
 do with his manuscript, and all my budget 
 of criticisms ?" 
 
 Though I could commune thus gaily with 
 myself, I was very sad at heart. At length 
 I reached the entrance of the cave. My 
 footfall startled an owl from one of the old 
 yew-trees as I bustled about the door to arouse 
 its inmate, if he were there, to a conscious- 
 ness of my presence. All was still, and I felt 
 as if it would have been sacrilege to have 
 forced an entrance. While standing, unde- 
 termined how to proceed, my eye caught 
 the soul-stirring inscription which had 
 struck me so forcibly on my former visit : —
 
 LNTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 19 
 
 Heu! 
 
 Vita — quam brevis ! 
 
 Mobs — quam certa! 
 
 ^ternitas quam perpetua ! 
 
 " Surely I am not in the vicinity of 
 death!" was the first thought that came 
 over me, with a cold, involuntary shudder. 
 In my agitation, I burst open the door, and 
 found myself in his very presence. 
 
 There lay that " old man gray" in all the 
 comeliness of a well-tended corpse, though 
 it soon became evident to me, that in his 
 last moments he had been alone with his 
 God. His form, ever spare and small, 
 was now attenuated to almost skeleton 
 thinness. He could not have been dead 
 many hours, for had I not felt the fearful 
 coldness and rigidity of his limbs and fea- 
 tures, I could have persuaded myself he 
 yet breathed. His countenance bore an 
 aspect of tranquillity which I should scarcely 
 have expected to have seen it exhibit. It 
 satisfied me, however, that his last moments 
 had been peaceful, and I rejoiced accord- 
 ingly. His long beard was neatly arranged 
 over his breast, and almost buried in its 
 clusters lay an ivory crucifix, over the
 
 20 INTRODUCTORY PREFACE. 
 
 longitudinal pole of which his hands were 
 meekly clasped. 
 
 I turned with a sigh from the melan- 
 choly, but pleasing picture, and sorrow- 
 fully searched for some document, or token, 
 which might convey to me the last wishes 
 of the deceased ; for I felt convinced that 
 amongst the living there was none but my- 
 self to be his executor. My search proved 
 vain, and I sat myself down again by the 
 side of him who had become dear to me in 
 death. My rambling eye caught something 
 like written characters on the stone wall 
 against which his pallet stood. It was so ; 
 for, on leaning over the corpse, I read — 
 scratched there apparently with some sharp 
 but rude instrument — the following testa- 
 ment : 
 
 " If the stranger who was bidden hither 
 on the seventh day of the sixth moon should 
 wander again to the recluse's cave, he will 
 see outstretched below this scrawl, which 
 the old man's hand is almost too weak to 
 trace, his eye almost too dim to see — a cold 
 and untroubled corpse. As he values the 
 benison of one who feels that he is dying 
 at peace with his God, let him gather
 
 INTRODUCTOHY PREFACE. 21 
 
 together the hermit's bones, and see them 
 decently interred in consecrated ground. 
 In requital of this act of Christian charity, 
 the contents of the iron chest in the inner 
 chamber are his, to do with as he list. 
 He will find the key in the niche of the 
 rock, behind the trunk of the yew-tree, on 
 the right of the threshold. May all good 
 angels watch over him, and secure to him, 
 by their intercession, the old man's blessing ! 
 
 "Vale! Yale!" 
 
 My readers will give me credit for a 
 sacred compliance with the last wishes of 
 the recluse. I perused his manuscripts with 
 deep and absorbing interest, and now ven- 
 ture to submit to the public taste one of 
 the Tales of the Lay-brother. 
 
 The Lay-brother's Executor.
 
 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER, 
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I counted every drop — they number'd six — 
 But each was rmged, and splash' d with many more. 
 Look how the tears have channell'd this old cheek, 
 Through countless years, since I 'gan weep for her. 
 Tve periird, wasted, worn my shred of life, 
 And spilt my blood to save her, o'er and o'er. 
 Than that which I so oft have shed for her, 
 And would again most freely, gladly shed, 
 The callow nestling of the pelican drinks 
 No fonder life." — The Lay-Brother's Manuscript. 
 
 A MOONLIT, starry, serene, and cloudless 
 niglit, when nature seems weary of her own 
 repose, yet fearful to break it, is one of the 
 most magnificent spectacles the God of the 
 Universe has vouchsafed to man. 
 
 On such a night, early in the autumn of 
 1345, the blast of a horn broke the midnight
 
 24 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 stillness, as it was winded loud and slirill 
 at the gate of Hepburn Tower — a dark, 
 castellated pile, situated about midway be- 
 tween the fortified town of Hartlepool and 
 the city of Durham. The warder answered 
 sullenly from the court-yard, and after the 
 creaking and sliding of many a huge and 
 ponderous bolt, the massy foldings of the 
 outer gate were flung open. Two horse- 
 men, with visors closed, pranced into the 
 court of the castle, and dismounted, in evident 
 agitation, muttering broken and menacing 
 sentences, which, from the gestures of the 
 parties and their mutual avoidance of each 
 other, seemed indicative of previous alter- 
 cation. The warder discovered, in the 
 bluif, gigantic form of one. Sir William 
 Hepburn, the owner of the Tower; the 
 venerable stranger was Lord Ralph de 
 Neville. 
 
 The chieftains strode through the ves- 
 tibule, apparently smothering their resent- 
 ment till they should reach a more private 
 and fitting place for its indulgence, but were 
 unconsciously followed by the seneschal, 
 " auld doited Leslie," as the lads of the 
 village of Chester-le- Street were wont to call
 
 Neville's cross. 25 
 
 him, from his frequent, though harmless 
 fits of insanity. On entering the great hall, 
 Sir William grasped the sword-hilt of De 
 Neville, and led, or rather dragged him to 
 the recess of an old gothic window looking 
 towards the east. The moon gleamed full 
 upon them. 
 
 After some moments of portentous silence, 
 Sir William raised his visor, and looking 
 fixedly at De Neville, addressed him in an 
 inquiring, but scarcely audible tone of 
 voice. 
 
 " The Lady Helen," he began, but startled 
 at a shuffling noise about the hall door, 
 stopped short. In another moment, the 
 walls thundered back ten thousand echoes 
 to the deep-toned challenge, — '' Who goes 
 there?" 
 
 Leslie, knowing by experience the disas- 
 trous consequences of his master's sullen 
 and vindictive moods, and anticipating from 
 the resentful bearing of the parties that 
 bloodshed was likely to ensue, had ventured 
 to intrude his long spare form within the 
 doors of the hall. Though little regardful 
 of his own safety, he had nevertheless 
 thought it prudent to skulk into the shade, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 and to compress his gaunt figure as nearly 
 into a superficies as possible, so that he 
 literally appeared to form one of a group 
 in the tapestry, which he so closely resem- 
 bled in shape and habiliment, that it would 
 have shown a confessed want of judgment, 
 and a decided acknowledgment of ignorance 
 in antiquity, to have disputed his right of 
 companionship. Terrified by the savage 
 tone of his master's voice, he all but shrunk 
 into the panel ; but recovering by degrees, 
 he at length mustered something like his 
 usual freedom, and thus began what was 
 intended to be an expostulation. 
 
 *' I was thinkin' an' if " 
 
 " Hence! old dotard!" exclaimed Sir 
 William, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 " Would your honour be ganging to- " 
 
 " Begone, thou limb of vexation !" again 
 vociferated his enraged master. 
 
 " Aweel, aweel, ae minute, an' " 
 
 Exasperated to madness, Hepburn struck 
 his mailed glove on the hilt, of his sword, 
 and strode towards the object of his wrath. 
 At this precise moment the officious senes- 
 chal thought fit to decamp, and stalked out 
 of the tapestry, ejaculating, " Siccan a
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 27 
 
 temper ! siccan a temper !" and as he largely- 
 measured the stone floor on his way to the 
 servants' hall, muttered many a select apho- 
 rism, which his master might have heard 
 with profit and advantage: — "He wha 
 gangs his ain gate, aye gangs wrang ;" 
 — "Fearfu' doin', waefu' ruin," and such 
 like. 
 
 Listening till the voice and footstep of 
 the old seneschal were no longer audible. 
 Sir William closed the hall door, and again 
 advanced to the recess. De Neville raised 
 his visor, and took off his helmet, as he 
 approached. The moonbeams glancing 
 athwart the veteran's silver locks and 
 wrinkled brows, fell full on the pale fea- 
 tures of his guilty companion, the awful 
 fla'shing of whose eye, and the dark outline 
 of whose curled and revengeful lip, as he 
 turned from the too intrusive light, bespoke 
 a soul at once designing, daring, and un- 
 governable. For a few moments the gaze 
 was steadfast and mutual. At length Sir 
 William broke silence, and in an undecided 
 tone, between conviction and inquiry, said — 
 
 " It struck me the Lady Helen avoided 
 me at the lists." 
 
 c2
 
 28 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " Ay ! as the traveller sliuns the snake," 
 was the reply. 
 
 " She scorned me, too." 
 
 " As truth ever scorns deception," re- 
 turned De Neville, with a contemptuous 
 sneer. 
 
 " And yet she trembled in my presence." 
 
 " Even so. Sir William, as the wounded 
 dove cringes from the kite. It is not for 
 the maid of seventeen to meet unawed the 
 savage scowls you bent on Lady Helen. 
 Had you the soul of a man, or the spirit of 
 a knight, the timid glance of Helen Lumley 
 would have disarmed you. Well does it 
 become a mailed warrior to frown on a 
 shrinking maid. Sir William, I tell you, 
 once for all, the Lady Helen despises you." 
 
 At these words, Hepburn, glancing ire- 
 fully at the hoary chief, whom he had ever 
 regarded with impatient dislike, laid his 
 hand on his sword, and half unsheathing it, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Eepeat, old man — — " 
 
 " Eepeat ! Shame on the cowardly steel 
 that thirsts for an old man's blood ! I tell 
 thee, Sir Knight, that Helen Lumley, rather 
 than wed with thee, would fondle o'er the
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 29 
 
 grey hairs and withered brows of age, or 
 hug a carcase fresh from the charnel-house; 
 and though this arm be shrivelled and sap- 
 less, it has yet a sinew that will never shrink, 
 while a protectionless maid, with a misguided 
 sire and a deluded mother, ready to affiance 
 her to a craven, and a reputed murderer, 
 looks up to it for succour. Sir Knight, in 
 the hearing of the walls of thy fathers, I 
 defy thee !" 
 
 The challenge was uttered in a tone of 
 voice so loud and deep, that it recoiled, in 
 solemn echoes, from every recess, niche, and 
 corner in the hall, as if the very walls bade 
 defiance to the heir of Hepburn, and every 
 stone cried, " I defy thee !" The chieftains 
 stood scowling at each other, when Leslie 
 again burst in upon them. 
 
 " Gude guide us !" cried he, "there's gang- 
 ing to be mair bluidshed." 
 
 Sir William ill brooked this second intru- 
 sion of his seneschal, but fearful of provoking 
 further disclosures by openly thwarting him, 
 he stood in the moonlight, and pressed his 
 finger to his lip, in token of silence. 
 
 " Dinna fash yoursel', my laird," resumed 
 the refractory intruder, taking the hint, but
 
 30 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 not acting upon it; " clinna fash yoursel'. 
 I'm no ganging to be telling strangers a' 
 that comes and gaes within thae wa's. It's 
 na canny that ilka pratin' loon suld ken sic 
 awsome doin's." 
 
 Hepburn, no longer able to conceal his 
 agitation, alternately fixed his eyes on De 
 Neville, who was appalled, but not wonder- 
 struck at what he had already heard; and 
 Leslie, who, with his long wan finger, seemed 
 to be tracing something on the hall floor. 
 Trembling lest the old dotard should again 
 speak, he addressed a few words of concilia- 
 tion to De Neville. They were lost, for the 
 veteran's attention was too intensely fixed 
 on the incomprehensible conduct of the 
 seneschal, who, at that moment, uttered an 
 exclamation, indicative of having made some 
 discovery, and at length was very distinctly 
 heard to mutter, as he pointed to the floor, 
 " Ane— twa." 
 
 "What are you looking for, Leslie?" asked 
 his master, in a soothing tone, hopeful, by 
 that means, to wean his attention. 
 
 " The bluid — the bluid; dinna speak, my 
 laird, dinna speak. Ane, twa ; there's mair, 
 an' I could turn the mune's horn this gate."
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 31 
 
 Sir William had planted himself in the 
 light, which Leslie did not discover. Shift- 
 ing his posture, therefore, the seneschal 
 seated himself on the marble floor, and with 
 an idiotic stare, looked up at the eastern 
 window, muttering — 
 
 *' The mune shines unco' bright, the night; 
 she'll na be lang, I ken, afore she peeps 
 through ane o' th' tapmost neuks. There ! 
 she blinks abune — there's ane horn abune." 
 Then, turning to the floor — "there should be 
 anither drap, now," said he, and resumed 
 his search. Apparently still unsuccessful, 
 he looked upbraidingly towards heaven. 
 
 *' Gae on, gae on !" cried he. " I ken the 
 spot ; ye'll na be lang, now. There ! — oh ! 
 'tis awfu' red." 
 
 Hepburn dared not again to interpose 
 himself between the beam and the floor, for 
 detection, on the part of Leslie, in his then 
 mood, would probably have led to a prema- 
 ture disclosure of much which the chieftain 
 hoped might remain eternally concealed; 
 and as nothing definite had yet been uttered, 
 likely to lead to exposure, he satisfied him- 
 self that the suspicions of De Neville might 
 be easily allayed, and concluded, though
 
 32 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 liis agitation was excessive, on observing 
 silence. 
 
 Leslie remained rooted to the spot, and, 
 as if the coldness of the marble communicated 
 to him ideas, resumed in broken sentences 
 snatches of a tale, which De Neville longed 
 but dreaded to hear to a close. 
 
 "Puir thing! she's cauld enough now; 
 the winter's wind ne'er blawed sae icy cauld. 
 The mune hersel' looks cauld, but she's na 
 sae cauld as my bonnie leddy. What an 
 awfu' night was that ! The thunner roared 
 o'er the path o' heav'n ; the lightnin' speered 
 through the drippin' clouds ; the hail pelted 
 again' the ha' window. Puir thing! I 
 mind it weel, she sat i' yonder neuk. 
 Whiles, I think I see her ain blue e'e, 'twas 
 aye sae saft, but alway' tearfu'. ' Guid my 
 leddy, dinna greet,' said I. ' Let me greet, 
 guid Leslie, — when will my laird come 
 hame?' ' I dinna ken,' said I, an' left her 
 weeping. My auld brain minds it a' ower 
 weel." 
 
 At this part of his broken tale there was 
 manifestly something heavy at the heart of 
 Leslie. He struck his hand against his 
 forehead, and sobbed audibly for some
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 33 
 
 moments. At length, with a voice of piteous 
 cadence, he continued — 
 
 " The clock — struck — ane. I heard — a 
 skirl ; it was my leddy : sae lang — sae lang, 
 — an' waefu'. I flew to th' ha' ; she wasna 
 there ; an' then, God o' mercy ! siccan a 
 bleeze o' lightnin'. Oh ! my puir brain ! 
 I ken it a' too weel; an' he says I maunna 
 tell it. An awfu' figure sped past that ha' 
 window. I' ane o' his arms he carried my 
 leddy." 
 
 The train was again lost. After a long 
 pause, during which the chieftains looked 
 on in silence, the old man rose, and mutter- 
 ing to himself, " There's mony mair beside 
 these," stalked towards the window. Dis- 
 cerning the hoary locks of De Neville, he 
 exclaimed in a voice of pity — 
 
 " Puir auld man !" Then turning towards 
 his master, he feelingly remonstrated, " Ye 
 wadna spill an auld man's bluid !" 
 
 But Hepburn was not there. 
 
 '' Ye'll be gangin frae the castle, the 
 night," resumed Leslie; "there's mony a 
 ghaist wad shake your auld limbs afore the 
 morn's mornin'." 
 
 " My good old man,'' replied De Neville, 
 c3
 
 34 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " I would not spend a night in Castle Hep- 
 burn for all its boundless domains." 
 
 With this declaration, De Neville moved 
 towards the court-yard, but soon discovered 
 the motive of Hepburn's sudden disappear- 
 ance. He was a prisoner. 
 
 As soon as Leslie detected his master's 
 treachery, he fixed on De Neville a look of 
 ineffable pity, and at length ejaculated — 
 
 "Wae! wae! auld man; there's mair 
 helpless bluid to be shed." 
 
 'Tear not, Leslie," spoke his lordship, 
 drawing his sword, '' there is here a blade 
 thirsty enough for the life of a Hepburn; 
 and though my arm is well nigh dried up to 
 all its other foes, the last of that race shall 
 never find it withered." 
 
 " Aweel, aweel !" responded the seneschal, 
 with a deep-drawn sigh. 
 
 Their attention was now suddenly arrested 
 by a faint sound, similar to the creaking of 
 a hinge, and De Neville, fixing his eyes on 
 the spot whence it proceeded, saw, or thought 
 he saw, the tapestry gently waving, and at 
 the same moment his companion, with a 
 tremulous grasp, caught him by the hand, 
 and whispered in his ear —
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 35 
 
 " Thy hour is come, auld man !'* 
 
 The chieftain placed himself in an atti- 
 tude of defence, observing, by the shadow, a 
 figure advancing towards him, with a slow 
 but natural motion. To his astonishment, 
 as it passed the moonbeam, he discerned the 
 outline of a tall and portly female form. 
 
 " It is my leddy's ghaist !" cried Leslie, 
 falling back against the tapestry. The 
 figure still advanced, but seeming not to 
 notice the chieftain, proceeded, as if mecha- 
 nically, to the spot where the panic-struck 
 seneschal was gasping for breath. Placing 
 the palm of her hand on his brow, and 
 bending her stately form, she whispered 
 something in his ear. De Neville was 
 riveted to the spot. He saw her long black 
 ringlets wave in wild profusion among the 
 silvered locks of the seneschal ; he heard her 
 voice, but it passed as a sound from a slum- 
 bering ear; he watched her motions as she 
 retired, and beckoned the old retainer of 
 Hepburn to follow her; and heard her 
 check his officious tongue, when about to 
 speak, with a whispered " Silence !" 
 
 Satisfied of the substantiality of the ap- 
 parition, De Neville followed with his eye
 
 36 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 her receding form, and from her attitude 
 and gesture, gathered that she was fearful 
 lest he should follow. She paused, — he 
 listened. The stillness of a chamber of 
 death was in tliat hall. At length, Leslie, 
 in a voice akin to silence itself, but which 
 was nevertheless distinctly overheard by De 
 Neville, whispered his guide — 
 
 " How cam' ye here, my leddy ?" 
 
 She seemed not to hear the question — at 
 least, deigned no reply ; but after some 
 moments' pause, asked, in an undervoice, 
 still less distinctly overheard — 
 
 " Who is that stranger, Leslie?" 
 
 *' I dinna ken, my leddy. A' that I ken 
 is, that he's an auld man clad i' steel." 
 
 '' What does he here ?" 
 
 " It's na' for me to tell that, my leddy," 
 answered he, with a deep sigh. " There's 
 been sorry wark the night, an' muckle con- 
 tention atween Sir William and this auld 
 stranger, a' alang wi' your leddyship's 
 daughter." 
 
 De Neville started, and at once recognised, 
 in the midnight apparition before him, the 
 sumptuous figure of Lady Lumley. Never- 
 theless did he deem it prudent to remain
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 37 
 
 silent ; and as soon as the echo of his ring- 
 ing mail died along the mouldings of the 
 hall, her ladyship again addressed the sene- 
 schal. 
 
 " Where's your master, Leslie?" 
 
 " Ae minute syne, an' he was here, my 
 leddy; ae minute mair, an' he'll be back 
 again, an' then — that puir auld man " 
 
 " What of him?" impatiently inquired 
 her ladyship. 
 
 " He'll mix his bluid wi' that o' the puir 
 murdered bairn upo' the ha' floor — that's 
 a', my leddy." 
 
 " Of whom speak ye, Leslie ?" again she 
 anxiously interrogated. " Has your brain 
 been disordered to-night?" 
 
 " Sairly, sairly," answered the old man; 
 " when yon auld chief, wrinkled as he is, 
 reminded me sae muckle o' the puir Leddy 
 Letitia, how could it help frae being sair 
 disordered?" 
 
 '' Alas, poor Letitia ! — her death was un^ 
 accountably sudden." 
 
 " Sudden I" echoed Leslie, laying his 
 cold hand on her ladyship's arm — " did ye 
 never ken she was murthered?" 
 
 Lady Lumley started at this appalling
 
 38 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 query, and would have inquired further, but 
 a voice of pitiful despair, crying, " My 
 sister ! my sister !" as the horror-struck De 
 Neville fell to the hall floor, thrilled through 
 her blood, and struck her dumb with appre- 
 hension. 
 
 Leslie instantly flew to the old chieftain's 
 aid, and conducted him to a couch in the 
 recess of the eastern window, where he soon 
 recovered, only to be conscious that his 
 wretchedness had received its master-stroke 
 by this last wild revelation that his youngest 
 and favourite sister, whom he had fostered 
 and reared under his own eye, and whom he 
 had himself afiianced to Hepburn, had been 
 foully murdered. So far from soothing his 
 sorrows, the well-meaning but soft-hearted 
 seneschal did but add to them, by his inco- 
 herent observations. 
 
 " An' ye be aught o' kin to the Leddy 
 Letty, ye'll be auld De Neville, I ken," said 
 he ; and with yet colder comfort proceeded, 
 " Mony a scau'ding tear will ye hae to shed, 
 auld man, afore ye'll wash away the bluid 
 frae that ha' floor." 
 
 " Lead me to the spot, good Leslie," in- 
 treated the chieftain.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 39 
 
 " Ye'U na fin' muckle o't, Fm thinkin'," 
 again observed his officious companion, lead- 
 ing him by the arm; " but what little there 
 is ye may as weel see. It clicked, drap by 
 di^ap, frae her bonny white breast, as if ilka 
 drap were loth to follow its foreganger ; and 
 then her saft blue e'e shed siccan a sea o' 
 tears that night, auld man. Now, bend ye 
 doun; we'll na be lang o' findin' what'll 
 mak' your heart sairer than need be." 
 
 While thus piteously engaged, an ap- 
 proaching footstep echoed along the passages. 
 De Neville, deaf to everything but the 
 imagined cry of his murdered sister, still 
 lingered over the spot that fed his sorrows 
 — no danger could rouse him from his 
 painful reverie. Trembling with fear, Leslie 
 looked round for the Lady of Lumley, but 
 she was not to be seen. Hopeful that she 
 might lead them thence by the passage that 
 gave her entrance, and presuming that she 
 could not have left the hall, he sought in 
 the shade for her ladyship's hiding-place. 
 She was nowhere to be found; but for- 
 tunately, in the search, old Leslie struck 
 his head against the framework of a light 
 and tapestried door, which, in the hurry of
 
 40 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 her departure, her ladyship had apparently 
 left unclosed. Overjoyed at the prospect of 
 escape, (for that the approaching footstep 
 was his master's, and that he was bent on 
 a murderous errand, the seneschal never 
 stopped to doubt,) he returned to the dis- 
 tracted De Neville, and communicated to 
 him his discovery. 
 
 " Then fly, good Leslie!" cried the chief- 
 tain, " and leave me to meet and brave the 
 monster.'' 
 
 " Na, na, auld man," v\ras the remonstrance 
 of Leslie ; " revenge is sweet, but this is no' 
 the time and place for 't." 
 
 The words struck on De Neville's ear ; he 
 felt their truth, rose from his recumbent 
 posture, and faltered after the seneschal to 
 the secret door. Threading their way along 
 a labyrinth of branching subterraneous pas- 
 sages, they at length emerged from a wind- 
 ing cave on the beach of the German Ocean.
 
 NEVILLE'S CKOSS. 41 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Her robes, light wanng in the breeze, 
 Her tender limbs embrace ; 
 Her lovely form, her native ease. 
 
 All harmony and grace. 
 Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
 
 An ardent kiss he would have stole ; 
 He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed. 
 And sighed his very soul." 
 
 Burks. 
 
 LuMLEY Castle, in the county of Durham, 
 or, as the neighbouring peasantry Tvere "wont, 
 in early times, to call the family mansion of 
 their lord, Liulph's Tower, now one of the 
 seats of the Earls of Scarborough, is an ex- 
 tensive and massy edifice, seated on a gently 
 rising eminence, laved at its foot by the 
 waters of the beautiful Wear, which sweeps 
 in a picturesque curve round the southern
 
 42 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 and western fronts of the pile. On the 
 east, it might be that the foundation-stones 
 of the tower were laid bare, so sudden is 
 the slope leading down to the Beck, in the 
 glen below. Till the beginning of the last 
 century, there remained the vestige of a 
 path at that side of the castle, curving itself 
 by a zig-zag route into the valley, then, 
 and for long before, choked with brambles 
 and underwood, apparently in disuse, and 
 scarcely known to the inmates of Lumley. 
 
 Many were the legends, at the period of 
 our tale, which went the round of the country 
 side, concerning the " haunted pathway,'' 
 for as such it was then known. Scarcely a 
 child in the neighbouring village of Chester- 
 le- Street but had seen figures passing and 
 repassing at the still hour of midnight, and 
 yet the dawn of morning ever gave it to 
 their view impassable as ever. Some would 
 have it they were the flitting ghosts of those 
 whom the founder of the castle, Liulph of 
 the " Bloody Brow," hurled with his single 
 arm, from the impending turret, on to the 
 peaks of rock below, when the clan of Hep- 
 burn, in days of yore, having been treach- 
 erously introduced into the tower, burst,
 
 NEVILLE^S CROSS. 43 
 
 with their young laird at their head, into 
 the dining hall of the castle, and intruded 
 among the bridal guests of the daughter of 
 that high house. Others, again, maintained 
 that they had seen their ancient founder 
 stalking along the castle parapets, and tread- 
 ing upon nothing, and that they knew him 
 by the gash on his brow, which the stripling 
 laird of Hepburn dealt him on that eventful 
 night, in the hall of Lumley, " lang syne." 
 Others still more pertinaciously asserted 
 that they had seen a female figure, in long 
 white robes, raise her outstretched arm 
 against the castle, as if threatening it with 
 a downfall. All agreed, however, that they 
 had never seen more than one spectre on 
 the haunted pathway at the same time, and 
 all felt a scHsation of danger in mentioning 
 the subject at all, as one sullen hind, hated 
 by his fellow-villagers for his hostility to 
 the ancient family, had, on a late occasion, 
 been daring enough to mutter, as he walked 
 off— 
 
 " Talk o' ghaists, ye doited fules ! I niver 
 seed ony but ane, an' that was nae ither 
 than my Leddy o' Lumley, in fu' flesh and 
 bluid."
 
 44 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 As is usual in most similar cases, though 
 each ventured an opinion, in his own esti- 
 mation entitled to implicit credit, none had 
 been found courageous enough to tempt the 
 haunted pathway at the hour most likely to 
 satisfy their doubts. At the dawn of morn- 
 ing, they often in groups approached its 
 foot, on the borders of the Beck, but every 
 attempt to penetrate its labyrinthian wind- 
 ings towards the castle was unavailing. 
 Still did the entrance to the dark cave at 
 the base of the declivity frequently bear 
 vestiges of lately trodden footsteps, and 
 though crossed by a narrow path at the foot 
 of the descent, it never could be traced 
 whether the figures had turned to the right 
 or to the left. Southward, the cross road 
 led round the base of the hill on which the 
 castle stood, to the rear, and thence, by the 
 river side, to a ford, which led, by stepping- 
 stones, to the Priory of Finchale, on the 
 west bank of the stream ; northward, through 
 the glen, along the side of a rivulet to the 
 ferry and drawbridge opposite the main 
 front of the castle. 
 
 The romantic Priory of Finchale, as its 
 remains now-a-days may well testify, was a
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 45 
 
 large and capacious pile, situated in a lonely 
 and sequestered dell on the western banks of 
 the Wear — a spot unrivalled for rural beauty 
 and the characteristic allurements of its 
 scenery to monastic seclusion. To a distant 
 observer, the humble height of the ruin ren- 
 ders it apparently insignificant, but on a 
 nearer approach, its unassuming beauties 
 begin to develop themselves. The river, 
 streaming under a fringe of weeping willows, 
 frowned over by groves of towering beach and 
 branching oak, bursting from the fissures of 
 the Cocken cliffs, (as the opposite acclivities 
 are named, ) seems loth to leave the melan- 
 choly spot, and flows with solemn smoothness 
 round the mossy bank on which the ruin 
 stands. So venerable with age was the Priory 
 of Finchale, even in the fourteenth century, 
 that the buttresses of the cloisters scarcely 
 broke through the thick ivy which clothed 
 the southern side of the building, allowed as 
 it was by the monks to flourish in all its 
 unrestricted wildness, save where it threat- 
 ened too great a barrier to the little light 
 admitted through small grated windows 
 into the dormitory. On the sunny slope 
 of the opposite cliffs, where time had gathered
 
 46 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 beds of soil, it was a recreation of its pious 
 inhabitants to plant and cultivate the vine, 
 which grew and flourished in beautiful and 
 prolific wildness. 
 
 The interior of the building was ample, 
 and though portions of its walls early fell 
 to dust, so as to leave it in part dismembered 
 in the times of Edward the Third, the range 
 occupied by the monks betrayed none of 
 that comfortless gloom, which, day and night, 
 sat on the northern wing in ruins. 
 
 A little to the west of the monastery 
 stood a grotesque pile of stones, surmounted 
 by a cross. That this had been the work 
 of some of the brotherhood no doubt could 
 be entertained, from its rude and uncouth 
 appearance. Tradition said it had been 
 raised by the piety of Godric, the celebrated 
 hermit of Finchale, who survived the work 
 of his hands the greater part of a century. 
 Around this monument of votive gratitude, 
 filling the space between it and the river 
 banks, where the hermitage of the saint was 
 then fast falling to decay, grew a profusion 
 of rank grass, and between the interstices of 
 the abbey fragments, of which the grotto 
 was entirely composed, bloomed many a wild
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 47 
 
 flower, enriching yet more the naturally 
 romantic beauty of the spot. Owing to the 
 decay of the northern wing, the passage 
 from the cloisters in that direction was com- 
 pletely interrupted, except at the north- 
 eastern angle of the Priory, where, so un- 
 sparing had been the hand of time, the 
 interior was accessible from the lawn with- 
 out. 
 
 The brotherhood who occupied and adorned 
 this abode of religious peace were distin- 
 guished for their exemplary piety and the 
 extraordinary austerity of their lives. The 
 serenity of aspect which marked the senior 
 members seemed to indicate tranquillity of 
 conscience, joined with a striking self-denial 
 and resignation ; and liowever misrepresent- 
 ation might attempt to taint their actions 
 with bigotry, it was no failing of the gene- 
 rality, — their strongest characteristics being 
 purity of life, and charity and integrity in 
 all their dealings with their fellow men. 
 The junior part of the community, as is 
 usually the case in all such establishments, 
 being yet unfettered by oath or vow, had 
 about them too much of the alloy of human 
 passions to be portrayed with one stroke of
 
 48 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 the pencil. Each one had what the superior 
 of a monastery would call, his predominant 
 passion; but there was among them one, 
 whose very failings provoked admiration, 
 even from the tainted few who had the will 
 to allure and betray his too generous and 
 too confiding heart to its ruin,— the youth- 
 ful Edgar Rosallin. 
 
 It was early on a fine serene autumnal 
 morning, when Prior John appeared at the 
 gate of the convent, with staif in hand, ap- 
 parently accoutred for an early Avalk. His 
 old illuminated breviary, or vade mecum, 
 was under his arm. For some moments he 
 stood musing, with his eyes cast on the 
 ground ; but ere long, recovering from his 
 fit of absence, proceeded, with the slow, 
 faltering step of age, towards the bank of 
 the river. Here, seated on a ledge of rock 
 which jutted from the uneven bank, and 
 laying down his stafi" on the grass by his 
 side, with a look of heavenly piety, he ad- 
 dressed the throne of God, and proceeded to 
 the recitation of matins. It was a picture 
 for Eaphael. Prior John had reached that 
 period of life when the twilight of old age 
 is but a shade from the darkness of the
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 49 
 
 tomb ; he was nevertheless healthy, and, for 
 his weight of years, vigorous; and when 
 you gazed on his florid though wrinkled 
 features, the outline of youthful beauty was 
 still there. A profusion of snow-white locks 
 played about his shoulders, as the wanton 
 breeze lingered among them. At his feet, 
 the waters cuiied round the stones with a 
 melancholy murmur, and flowed rippling on, 
 receiving as they passed, the stream of a 
 miniature waterfall below the willows, which, 
 with an easy, whimpering dash, kept echo on 
 the rocky banks unceasingly complaining. 
 
 As his orisons drcAV to a close, the old 
 man clasped his breviary, rose from his 
 stony seat, and, in deep meditation, leaned 
 upon his staff", gazing on the breast of the 
 river. Well might he have personated the 
 genius of the spot, so tall his stature, so 
 venerable his mien, so serene his aspect. A 
 slight rustling on the opposite bank dis- 
 turbed his ruminations, and startled him 
 from his musing posture. The career of the 
 sun, as he raised his eyes, and the tripping 
 step of the Maid of Lumley, (as the heiress 
 of that house was called, in tribute to her 
 beauty,) advancing on her way from the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 castle to hear the convent mass, admonished 
 him that the hour of its celebration was 
 nigh. When the Lady Helen espied the 
 reverend father, she bounded forward with 
 the step of a gazelle, flew to the ford, crossed 
 the stepping-stones, and throwing herself at 
 his feet, asked his morning's blessing. 
 
 " Salve ^ filia I — henedicat te Deus F 
 muttered the old man, as he raised her. 
 " The convent bell is ringing, daughter." 
 
 At that moment its solemn tone was 
 heard in echoes far and near. 
 
 " It summons the brotherhood from their 
 cells, father." 
 
 " It does, my child, and calls us to the 
 adoration of our God," replied he, leaning 
 on the arm of her ladyship, and turning 
 towards the Priory. 
 
 They had not proceeded many steps, 
 when the attention of the giddy Helen was 
 attracted by a little wild flower of cerulean 
 tint, which grew in the middle of a tuft of 
 grass on the verge of the bank. She stooped 
 to gather it. Light as was her agile form, 
 the undermined earth gave way, nor bush 
 nor underwood was there to stay her fall, 
 and she was precipitated down the rocky
 
 51 
 
 declivity into the broadest and deepest part 
 of the river. Scarcely had the aged Prior 
 missed her from his side, when he heard the 
 splash. Like a petrifaction did he stand 
 on the brink, and every limb was paralysed 
 as he watched the eddy of the waters. Re- 
 covering at length presence of mind to call 
 for assistance, one of the brotherhood, of tall 
 and athletic appearance, reached the spot, 
 and inquired into the cause of alarm. 
 
 " The child of Lumley is deep in the 
 waters !" cried the old man, in an agony of 
 excitement. 
 
 Brother Lawrence (for such was the 
 name of the monk who had approached) 
 looked on the river, and saw the still eddying 
 waters, but without an effort to save. The 
 stream was fast recovering its calm and un- 
 ruffled appearance when, heaving a swell, 
 its victim rose to the surface in a state of 
 absolute exhaustion, and feeble as a babe, 
 sunk again into the deep. A stupid stare 
 was all the scene elicited from Lawrence, 
 young and able as his external seeming be- 
 spoke him ; and when his Prior insisted on 
 his endeavouring to save the life of the 
 young and lovely heiress of their convent's 
 d2
 
 52 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 benefactor, his lip shook, his cheek turned 
 pale as a dying maid's, his soul shrunk 
 within him, and he sickened to look on the 
 settling wave. Scarcely did his cowardly 
 arm avail to restrain his aged superior from 
 launching into a deep and yawning grave, 
 for the salvation of the hope of Lumley. 
 
 Again the Lady Helen rose, and tossed 
 her snowy arms about her with the wild 
 rapidity of a despairing convulsion, till, 
 weak and powerless, the motion grew fainter 
 and fainter, her head fell back on the matted 
 pillow of her own raven locks, her appealing 
 glance was on the bank, and she again dis- 
 appeared. Prior John, as he saw the last 
 fold of her drapery sink, made a feeble 
 effort to fling his tottering frame after her, 
 trusting in God that he might have strength 
 to save ; but he had calculated too much on 
 the fire of his youth, for ere he sprung, his 
 limbs failed him, and he sunk overpowered 
 on the rock. 
 
 While the craven-hearted Lawrence gazed 
 with a look of stupefaction on the again 
 subsiding waters, a rude but powerful arm 
 hurled him from the spot on which he stood, 
 and a stern deep voice exclaimed, " Caitiff! 
 to thy mass !" The youthful stranger flew to
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 53 
 
 the rock, flung himself from its peak, and 
 in a few moments was seen on the opposite 
 bank, with the Lady Helen in his arms. 
 
 It was the stripling Edgar Eosallin. 
 Fearless of the consequences of being dis- 
 covered there, when the discipline of the 
 monastery required him to be in his cell — 
 regardless of the resentment of the brother- 
 hood and the animadversions of his Prior — 
 and following his natural love of liberty, he 
 had escaped from the cloisters, by the outlet 
 at the north-eastern ruin, and wandered to 
 within a few yards of the spot where the 
 scene we have described was exhibiting. A 
 glimpse of his Prior and Brother Lawrence, 
 from among the trees, admonished him that 
 it might be as well to avoid detection while 
 in the act of committing so flagrant a breach 
 of discipline. He at first thought to steal 
 away unobserved; but finding it impracti- 
 cable to do so, concealed himself behind an 
 angle of the rock, and fortunately saw his 
 venerable superior's efibrt to plunge into the 
 river, and heard him exclaim, as he sunk 
 on the bank, " Woe! woe to the house of 
 Lumley !" His apprehensions were imme- 
 diately awakened ; for, knowing the Lady 
 Helen to be in the habit of attending mass
 
 54 TALES OF A LAY-BPwOTHEE. 
 
 at tlie Priory, and that slie had to cross the 
 stepping-stones, it struck him that she might 
 have missed her footing, and been carried by 
 the force of the torrent into the deep part 
 of the stream, and, encumbered though he 
 was with his religious garb, he rushed like 
 an arrow to the spot, pushed by the coward 
 Lawrence, and took the leap. 
 
 He rescued the maid from the watery 
 abyss — but had he rescued in time to save 
 her? He tried to read life on her inanimate 
 features, but it was not there. As she hung 
 over his arm, he cleared away her dishevelled 
 hair from her pale but still lovely features, 
 and gently drained the water from the thick 
 and matted tresses. Her blue eyelids were 
 closed, as if in death, her wan lips apart, 
 her lily neck and breast bared to his view — 
 for the covering that had screened them 
 from the envious sunbeam had been washed 
 away. 
 
 Seldom had he gazed on woman's features 
 — never clasped her growing beauties, — and 
 even now, with one of the loveliest of her 
 sex pillowing her helpless head upon his 
 breast, he owned no rebellious passion. Her 
 skin of the most delicate texture, her form
 
 NEVILLE^S CROSS. 55 
 
 of exquisite mould, were lost to him — the 
 preservation of his charge was his fct, his 
 only thought. Bending over her marble 
 features, his clustering and yet diipping 
 locks of auburn, which had not yet been 
 sacrificed to the tonsure, mingled with her 
 raven black hair ; — his cheek pressed hers, as 
 if to warm it into life, — his soul kindled 
 into more than sympathy over the swelling 
 exuberance of her bosom, as he laid his 
 hand on her heart, and started at the throb 
 of pulsation. The mother of Sarepta hailed 
 the smile of her reviving babe with no 
 greater joy than Edgar hailed the return to 
 life of the lovely Helen. The feeble beat 
 of returning animation reminded him that 
 prompt assistance must be sought — but 
 where? The Castle was distant, and he 
 knew no path ; the Priory was within a few 
 yards, but there, no female hand could 
 minister to her necessities ; and to place her, 
 in such a condition, under the care of the 
 infirmarian of the monastery, was but to 
 retard what must be immediate. 
 
 He resolved, at length, on the Castle; and 
 the resolve once formed — no difficulty likely 
 to beset his path, no hazardous consequences
 
 56 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 likely to ensue on such an act of temerity, 
 as it was sure to be construed in the quarter 
 most likely to misinterpret his conduct — 
 could scare him from its execution. Hailing 
 across the stream to the yet shivering Law- 
 rence, and commending their Prior to his 
 care, he tore his way up the steep cliffs of 
 Cocken, and at length, almost fainting under 
 the weight of his burthen and the distance 
 he had borne her, arrived, breathless and 
 panting, at the gate of Lumley Castle. 
 
 The maids received their young lady in 
 their arms, and as they bore her across the 
 court-yard. Sir Marmaduke Lord Lumley 
 met them, about to enter the hall. The 
 sight of his daughter spoke volumes to the 
 heart of the distracted father. Statue-like, 
 and without uttering a syllable, did he watch 
 the procession into an inner chamber, nor 
 change his posture till one of the attendants 
 returning, assured him, on inquiry, that her 
 ladyship's symptoms were favourable. He 
 had yet asked no question as to the cause of 
 his daughter's condition, but casting his 
 eyes wildly around him, his attention was 
 arrested by the figure of Kosallin, whose 
 anxiety for the welfare of his charge had led
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 57 
 
 liim into the hall, iii spite of his drenched 
 condition. Misconstruing his appearance 
 there, and, in his confusion, connecting it 
 with the danger of his child — 
 
 "Who is this stranger?" asked SirMarma- 
 duke, of his domestics, somewhat haughtily. 
 None appeared to know him. 
 
 "Whence come you, young man?" again 
 interrogated his lordship. 
 
 " From the Priory of Finchale." 
 
 " Your name?" 
 
 " Edgar RosaUin." 
 
 " And to what may I owe the honour of 
 this intrusion?" interrogated his lordship, 
 with a somewhat imperious air. 
 
 The blood of the youth boiled in his veins, 
 both at the uncourtly question and the 
 haughty manner in which it was put. He, 
 however, calmly answered — 
 
 " I wait for tidings of the Lady Helen." 
 
 "Indeed!" observed his lordship, ironi- 
 cally. " Probably you have been an actor 
 in this morning's adventure." 
 
 " I have saved the daughter of an ungrate- 
 ful sire. If this gives me no claim to inquire 
 after her welfare, then have I none; but I 
 urge it not, if a father cannot appreciate it."
 
 58 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 At the conclusion of these words, which 
 were uttered with stern indignation, he 
 rushed from the hall. Two domestics were 
 instantly dispatched to overtake and invite 
 back the fugitive stranger, for Lord Lumley 
 was not more struck at his sudden retreat 
 than at the firmness of his reply and the 
 intelligence it conveyed. A few moments 
 brought the young student back to the hall, 
 where he stood with folded arms, awaiting in 
 silence the pleasure of Lord Lumley. 
 
 " Pardon, spirited youth," exclaimed his 
 lordship with emotion, extending his hand, 
 *' a rash man's error. I thought you had 
 intruded among others, for the mere gratifi- 
 cation of your curiosity. Had I known of 
 the danger of my child — had I heard of her 
 preservation — I needed but to have looked 
 into that generous eye to have singled out 
 her preserver." 
 
 He seized the hand of Edgar, and met 
 with a warm and forgiving grasp. Thus 
 amicably reconciled, his lordship asked a 
 circumstantial account of the whole adven- 
 ture. The stripling replied, that he could 
 not fully satisfy his lordship, as he only 
 reached the spot in time to save, referring
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 59 
 
 him to Prior John for the particulars. To 
 his lordship's inquiry of the attendants how 
 it now fared with their young mistress, it 
 was announced, that she was so far restored, 
 as to have recovered her speech; that she 
 had uttered many incoherent sentences, fre- 
 quently demanding, in a peremptory and 
 affrighted tone, how she had been rescued, 
 and expressing an impatient wish to thank 
 her preserver. 
 
 Lord Lumley, deeming it nothing objec- 
 tionable to indulge her anxiety, under such 
 painful circumstances, immediately rose, and 
 led Rosallin to her chamber. She was deli- 
 rious. Her father approached, — she waved 
 him aside — half arose on her couch — pressed 
 her hand to her brow, as if to collect her 
 scattered senses, and bent her bewildered 
 looks on Edgar. His lordship led him 
 towards her. To the surprise of all around, 
 she shrunk from his approach, as if he 
 brought contagion, gave a piercing shriek, 
 and fell back on her cushions. Rosallin, 
 considering himself the cause of her pain, 
 thought it prudent to retire ; but as he re- 
 treated from the chamber, she started at 
 the sound of his footfall, and with an ex-
 
 60 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 hausted voice, in wliicli, however, entreaty 
 and command were mingled, cried, " Stay !" 
 Again raising herself, she gazed the student 
 o'er and o'er, smiled graciously upon him, 
 and by incoherent gestures sufficiently in- 
 dicated that it was the sight of his yet drip- 
 ping drapery that had alarmed her, by 
 recalling tlie horrors she had undergone. 
 Again and again did she endeavour to 
 address him, but her voice faltered; and 
 at length, exhausted with repeated eiforts, 
 she gradually let go his hand, which she had 
 seized in her delirium, and sunk into a deep 
 and refreshing sleep. Lord Lumley, rejoiced 
 at so favourable a symptom, bade all but her 
 own maids retire, and leaning on the arm of 
 the young stranger, returned to the hall. 
 AVhen his lordship, after a long interval, 
 broke silence, it was evident on what he 
 had been ruminating. 
 
 " Speak, intrepid youth !" cried he, " in 
 what can the grateful father of a restored 
 child oblige her preserver?" 
 
 " I merit no favour, my lord," was the 
 answer; "the greatest Lord Lumley can 
 confer on the humble Eosallin is, to be silent 
 on the score of gratitude for an action die-
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 61 
 
 tated by common humanity. If his personal 
 merits should ever entitle him to the esteem 
 of a Lumley, he may in future look back 
 to this hour with pride, but nought adven- 
 titious shall ever purchase for him the favour 
 even of a monarch." 
 
 His lordship stepped back to survey the 
 kindling animation of the speaker's features, 
 as these last words broke from his lips. The 
 air of independence with which he spoke — 
 the magnanimity of soul displayed in his 
 language — the fire that played in his expres- 
 sive eye — the pride that sat on his open 
 brow — the ingenuous blush that mantled on 
 his cheek — the expression of wounded feel- 
 ing that dwelt on his lip — the dignity of 
 his mien — and the enthusiasm of his gesture, 
 — might have characterized the hero, but 
 such to be the characteristics of a young 
 and secluded student, — it was impossible. 
 Lost in reflection, his lordship continued to 
 peruse the figure before him, without an 
 attempt to speak. Alive to what was pass- 
 ing in his lordship's mind, the youth again 
 addressed him — 
 
 "It may strike your lordship, that one 
 whose brows, if the monks of Finchale are to
 
 62 TALES OF A LAY-BKOTHER. 
 
 rule his destiny, must one day be wrapped 
 in the cowl, should demean himself more 
 humbly. It were well, I confess ; but mine 
 is not submissive blood. Whence this spirit 
 of insubordination was inherited I know not, 
 and likely never shall." 
 
 A depression of countenance followed 
 these last words, which seemed the index of 
 a secret that would not be pried into. With 
 a respectful obeisance, the stripling turned 
 on his heel, and was about departing, when 
 Lord Lumley, struck by his manner, arrested 
 him, and with a real or assumed warmth of 
 feeling, sought to know his history. 
 
 "Young man," said he, "I would not 
 offend, but, though you decline any favour 
 I might offer, in token of my gratitude, at 
 least accept the promise of my patronage ; 
 it may " 
 
 " It cannot avail, my lord." 
 
 "Wherefore not?" 
 
 " In what," was the counter demand, 
 " can the buried victim, who never should 
 pass a step beyond his cloistered home, ex- 
 perience the friendship of the great and the 
 powerful ?" 
 
 " I would use it to procure you greater 
 liberty," observed his lordship.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 63 
 
 " That, my lord, I take unprocured, or 
 your daughter must have perished," was the 
 indifferent reply. 
 
 " Young man," again observed his lord- 
 ship, " your speech and bearing would belie 
 your seeming. How long may it have taken 
 to teach so young a heart so much spirit and 
 independence?" 
 
 " Twenty summers, my lord. An infancy, 
 I know not how spent ; a boyhood of bond- 
 age; and so far," heaving a deep sigh, "a 
 manhood of obscurity." 
 
 " How long may you have been immured 
 in the Priory?" 
 
 " So long, my lord, that I recollect nought 
 before my confinement." 
 
 "You like not monastic discipline?" in- 
 quired his lordship. 
 
 "Wherefore the supposition, my lord?" 
 
 " You speak of the irksomeness of con- 
 finement — of being a victim to obscurity. 
 What am I to understand? Is not my in- 
 quiry natural?" 
 
 "True, my lord, it is; but these are 
 things I tell my ghostly father. To no 
 other will I explain my feelings and conduct. 
 At present my career of life is fijxed for me. 
 It is for me to take the consequences, serious
 
 64 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 or otherwise. Should circumstances change, 
 as I am pledged to none, I shall forfeit no 
 pledge by changing with them." 
 
 Thus speaking, he departed, leaving Lord 
 Lumlej to his own reflections. Slowly and 
 thoughtfully did he wend homewards, along 
 the banks of the river, till he reached the 
 spot where he had supported Lady Helen 
 in his arms. With agony did he recall the 
 painful scene, yet could he not account for 
 his internal misgivings. She had wished to 
 see him, but that wish was uttered in the 
 incoherency of delirium — she had bent her 
 looks on him, as if her soul had fixed them 
 there, but she shrunk from his approach, as 
 from an uncoiling snake — she had clasped 
 his hand, but was she conscious of the action ? 
 —she attempted to speak to him, but he 
 knew not what she might have said. "Why 
 these dangerous reflections? He could in- 
 dulge no tender passion ; it were incompa- 
 tible with the vows intended for him. The 
 emotion he felt was strange, nor could he 
 analyse it. The broad deep gulf from which 
 he had rescued the Lady Helen lay before 
 him, clear and still; not a ripple agitated 
 its smooth and placid breast. In imagina-
 
 Neville's cross. 6 
 
 tioD, lie compared it with tlie tumult of his 
 own; an involuntary sigh escaped him, and, 
 no longer able to combat his emotions, while 
 musing over the objects that excited them, 
 he rushed from the spot, hurried through 
 the cloisters to his cell, and threw himself 
 on his pallet, in a state of excitement to 
 which his monastic life had been hitherto a 
 stranger.
 
 66 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHEE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A lip of lies, a face formed to conceal, 
 And without feeling, mock at all who feel ; 
 With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown, 
 A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Scarcely had our hero (for with that title 
 we must now invest him) been left a mo- 
 ment to reflect on the eventful scenes of 
 the morning, — to collect his scattered senses, 
 — to think of his conventual duties, which 
 he must now resume, as if his eyes had 
 never looked on woman's beauty, as if his 
 heart had never felt more than its clois- 
 tered throb, — to call to mind the resent- 
 ment of his Prior, which was sure to pm^sue 
 his breach of discipline, though it saved 
 the life of the heiress of their convent's 
 greatest benefactor, — to ruminate on the
 
 NEVILLE^S CROSS. 67 
 
 serious consequences of having so rudely 
 struck Brother Lawrence, one invested with 
 holy orders, and whose person was there- 
 fore sacred, — to repent of the language he 
 had used to him, which was little less than 
 high treason against the whole community, 
 " Caitiff ! to thy mass !" — to dwell upon the 
 yet inexplicable conduct of Lady Helen, 
 and his bearing towards her sire, — when a 
 gentle tap at the door of his cell startled 
 him into a consciousness of his actual posi- 
 tion. The latch was uplifted, and Lawrence, 
 with a stranger monk, entered, and made 
 known their commission. 
 
 Prior John summoned the untoward strip- 
 ling, yclept Edgar Eosallin, to attend his 
 presence, with the two deputed monks, in 
 the judgment-cell. The place of audience 
 was no sooner named, than our hero was 
 alive to all that had been passing in his 
 absence. Too well he knew the ungenerous 
 spirit of Lawrence, to doubt that he had 
 preferred an accusation against him for his 
 sacrilegious assault and indecorous language 
 in the morning. With a glance of inex- 
 pressible scorn, he pointed to the door, and 
 following the two monks into the presence
 
 68 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 of the Prior, stood with an unchanged 
 aspect awaiting his doom. The stranger 
 and Brother Lawrence arranged themselves 
 at either side of the culprit. 
 
 Prior John, as they entered, arose. A 
 wandering sunbeam, which found its way 
 through a loophole in the Avail, fell full on 
 his wrinkled brows. His form, but par- 
 tially disclosed in the gloom, seemed of a 
 stature truly awful, as he elevated himself 
 on the step which mounted to his tribunal. 
 Brother Lawrence, who stood opposite him, 
 on the right, was scarcely less tall, but of 
 an ungainly and heavy appearance, there 
 being a total absence of dignity in his de- 
 meanour, and in his features an expression 
 truly simple, with just points enough to 
 screen them from the epithet of idiotic. His 
 colour was florid; his hair and eyebrows 
 nearly white ; his lips thick and ill-defined. 
 Xor was his mind a whit better than its 
 external covering. When fault was to be 
 found with any of the community, he was 
 ever a parasite in the train of Prior John, 
 not only in his capacity of deputy-pro- 
 curator to the Priory, but as the tool and 
 go-between of ofiice; who had a soul mean
 
 Neville's cross. 69 
 
 and despicable enough to act as general 
 tale-bearer to the fraternity, — to assume 
 a face of freedom and confidence among 
 the younger members of the brotherhood, 
 thereby the more easily to betray them, 
 — and to seek favour, by every unworthy 
 artifice, in the eyes of the Prior, who was 
 not only weak enougli to listen to, and 
 act upon his reports, but to reward the 
 bearer of them witli the wretched title 
 of Deputy-Procurator to the Priory of 
 Finchale. 
 
 Brother Andrew, who stood on the Prior's 
 left, was of another, and a very dissimilar 
 character. In reality he was the creature 
 of Sir William Hepburn, and had simulated 
 the character of a priest, the better to cloak 
 his master's ill deeds, and his own. He 
 reported himself to have been an eminent 
 wrangler and logician at the convent of 
 Eouncevaux, where he had received his edu- 
 cation, and whence he had been taken to act 
 in the capacity of chaplain to Sir William. 
 So much, and no more, was known of him, 
 and that only from his own and his master's 
 report. His thick black hair, dark, morose, 
 and forbidding features, glaring and diminu-
 
 70 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 tive eye, and high, broad-set shoulders, be- 
 spoke rather the desperado than the man of 
 God. 
 
 At a sign from the Prior, Lawrence ac- 
 cused our hero of what he termed three 
 grave offences : namely, absence from his 
 cell, when, by the rules of the Priory, he 
 ought to have been there ; a deliberate vio- 
 lation of the sacred character and person of 
 a consecrated priest; and an unwarrantable 
 breach of the rules of their order, in trans- 
 porting a female in his arms, from the step- 
 ping-stones at the ford, to Lumley Castle. 
 This barefaced charge he closed with a string 
 of inuendoes as to the general character of 
 the accused, which he affirmed to be loose, 
 unbridled, dangerous, and ungovernable. 
 
 While he yet spoke, the object of his ma- 
 lignant attack turned upon him a glance of 
 withering scorn, and when his harangue was 
 ended, in a firm and decided tone, Eosallin 
 exclaimed, " Father, I am guilty !" 
 
 The sincere affection of the Prior for the 
 stripling on whom he sat in judgment, broke 
 its bonds, on seeing him thus hardly pressed, 
 and descending from his tribunal, he leaned 
 upon the shoulders of the culprit, and wept.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 71 
 
 Edgar was affected, but chose rather to 
 suffer the penalty of unqualified guilt, than 
 to afford Lawrence the satisfaction of hear- 
 ing his justification. 
 
 " Father," said he, addressing his aged 
 superior, " let Lawrence tell the tale of his 
 cowardice in his own words, let him Llacken 
 my guilt with his own embellishments, let 
 his paltry soul descend to its habitual equi- 
 vocation; I will not interrupt him till I 
 detect a glaring falsehood. And let this 
 monk," pointing to Brother Andrew, " who 
 I conceive is yet ignorant of the facts, de- 
 cide between us." 
 
 With the aid of his staff, the venerable 
 Prior John re-ascended his judgment-seat, 
 and after cautioning our hero against any 
 indulgence of his usual freedom of speecli 
 towards his accuser, and offering a few 
 observations on the justice of the proposi- 
 tion, allowed the affair to proceed. 
 
 Lawrence, overjoyed at such an opportu- 
 nity of venting liis spleen, began another 
 declamatory oration, and proceeded for some 
 time, with little deviation from the truth, 
 entirely omitting, however, that part of the 
 story which liad a certain tendency to sink
 
 72 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 him in his own estimation, as well as in the 
 estimation of those around him, till he came 
 to accuse Eosallin of assaulting his person, 
 which he chose to embellish with a sounding 
 aifirmation that he w^as on the very point of 
 plunging into the river, to rescue the Lady- 
 Helen, when the frantic youth struck him 
 down on the bank. 
 
 " Unsay that, thou incorrigible liar!" 
 cried Edgar, in a voice that startled his 
 prosecutor. 
 
 Aware, from the temper of the delinquent, 
 that he would thus commit himself, Law- 
 rence, at once ashamed and gratified, glanced 
 an appealing look towards his Prior, for a 
 new charge of guilt against the accused. 
 But the mana3uvre failed either farther to 
 criminate Eosallin, or to screen himself; for, 
 to his unspeakable astonishment, the reverend 
 father rose, and evidently much affected, thus 
 addressed him : — 
 
 " Brother, it behoveth that all should be 
 weighed in the scales of the sanctuary. 
 Thou hast lied before God; and I, thy 
 Prior, will prove this before liim thou 
 wouldst falsely accuse. When the child of 
 Lumley sank for a third time, below the sur-
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 73 
 
 face of the waters, I tliouglit the hand of 
 God was upon her. Fain would I have 
 rescued her, old and shaken as I am ; my 
 spirit felt what my aged limbs could not 
 perform. I prayed for the energy of my 
 youth ; I tried to exert it, but, overpowered 
 with years, a dizziness came over me, my legs 
 tottered beneath me, and I fell on the bank. 
 Powerless, but not senseless, I saw thee shrink 
 from the subsiding waters; I saw the child 
 Edgar hurl thee from the spot, precipitate 
 himself from the rock, and rescue the victim 
 of thy heartlessness. Brother, it is not for 
 this I condemn thee — God has made thee 
 with a timid heart. It is that thou hast 
 dared to conclude I saw thee not ; and because 
 thou thoughtest thyself without a witness, 
 thou hast looked on heaven, and lied ! 
 Twenty suns shall the cell be tliy prison- 
 house; there, with fasting, prayer, and peni- 
 tential tears, thou mayst purge away thy 
 guilt, and appear again regenerated among 
 the brotherhood." 
 
 Having thus disposed of the deputy-pro- 
 curator, the old man turned to Brother 
 Andrew, who stood aghast at this unlooked 
 for judgment, and said, — 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " As for the youth Edgar, reverend bro- 
 ther, he standeth in part acquitted in our 
 eyes ; and yet methinks his freedom of speech, 
 and his morning breach of discipline, be- 
 speak an unmanageable spirit." 
 
 Andrew nodding assent to this observa- 
 tion, the holy father turned to Edgar, and 
 resumed : — 
 
 "It is for thee, my child, to prune the 
 passions of thy restless spirit, to meditate 
 thy language, to reflect, often and seriously, 
 on the future dignity to which the abilities 
 thy God has given thee, may raise thee in 
 his holy church ; and, above all, to obey thy 
 superiors. For thy breach of discipline, and 
 thy untoward speech, I confine thee to the 
 walls of the Priory for three moons; thy 
 imprisonment to commence from the time 
 when our brother Lawrence shall be restored 
 to us, once more acceptable in the sight of 
 God." 
 
 The reverend judge descended from his 
 tribunal, leaned on the arm of Andrew, and 
 motioned Lawrence and Eosallin to retire. 
 Lawrence, hastily catching the sign, helped his 
 ungainly figure out of the doorway as quickly 
 as possible, and skulked along the passages.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 75 
 
 in disgrace, to his confinement. Edgar, 
 folding his arms, proceeded, with a firm step, 
 along the ambulachra, to the northern ruin, 
 climbed up its ivied side, and leaning against 
 the mossy arch of an ancient window's 
 mouldering framework, read to his melan- 
 choly soul a lesson from the page of nature. 
 
 It wanted yet a lovely hour of sunset. 
 The shadows lengthened on the breast of 
 the river, and where the envious monastery 
 walls left an unshaded part, there the freckled 
 canopy of heaven reflected its golden and 
 azure hues. An unnatural stillness per- 
 vaded the air, as if it preluded the birth- 
 pang of a storm. 
 
 Kosallin loved to gaze on the setting sun, 
 and in order to do so more freely, left the 
 ruin. Almost unconscious of Avhat he was 
 about, and reckless, even if reflection had 
 come to his aid, of every consequence, he 
 wandered from the Priory, along the bank 
 of the river. Many a mossy, rough-hewn 
 stone, once claiming fellowship with those 
 which had better stood the unceasing brunt 
 of time, and yet formed part of the convent 
 walls, diverted him from the line of his 
 path, through the thick grass that waved 
 e2
 
 76 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 under liis feet, in the rank luxuriance of 
 years. 
 
 By a fatality common to the distracted 
 mind, his footsteps led him to the very spot 
 where he had been the preserver of Lady 
 Helen. Again did his eye dwell on that 
 cruel wave ; again did his youthful soul feel 
 all on lire, till, like the fretful dreamer, he 
 found himself again on the point of plung- 
 ing into the stream. Startled as one out of 
 a fitful sleep, with a wild and distracted air 
 he shrunk from the half-attempted leap, and 
 seating himself on a step of earth, pressed 
 his burning brows with both his hands, and 
 nursed his mind's distraction. 
 
 But not long did he thus remain wrapt, 
 for starting on his feet, he struck his breast 
 with a rallying effort, as if ashamed of what 
 he deemed effeminacy, in nourishing a yet 
 initiate, but already, though unknown to 
 himself, uncjuenchable passion ; because that 
 passion was the bane of conventual disci- 
 pline, and the butt of the monastic bigot's 
 scoff. His look was that of one who, thouG:h 
 writliing under the agony of a deep and in- 
 curable wound, is still determined to keep 
 it unclosed and bleeding.
 
 NEVILLES CROSS. 77 
 
 He turned to retire from the scene of so 
 much internal misgiving, when he heard 
 himself approached. Surprised, but not 
 confounded, he looked on the intruder with 
 cold and careless indifference. It was 
 Brother Andrew, though scarcely like him- 
 self, so bland and engaging a smile played 
 on his habitually morose and callous features. 
 The unexpected cordiality with which he 
 grasped our hero's hand, entirely won his 
 confidence, and smothered in their birth all 
 the disagreeable suspicions so unlooked-for 
 an intrusion was calculated to give rise to. 
 
 Thougli Brother Andrew's appearance 
 was rather uninviting than otherwise, when 
 tlie smile had left his features, his companion 
 drew no ill omen from it, remembering how 
 little he had promised himself from that for- 
 bidding aspect in the judgment-cell, and 
 how agreeably he had been deceived. Con- 
 sidering the present rencontre, and the 
 marks of confidence and good-will which 
 accompanied it, on the part of Brother An- 
 drew, as evincing some degree of partiality, 
 his heart was won, and feeling, in that hour 
 of mental affliction, how dear a friend would 
 be to him, he knew not how, in gratitude, to
 
 78 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 unravel its affections. So little was lie 
 versed in the art of duplicity, that he could 
 not suspect it in others ; a child might have 
 betrayed him, but when once betrayed, there 
 was that in his look which told that a world 
 of repentance would never win from him a 
 smile on his betrayer. 
 
 When the reputed monk had satiated his 
 eyes on the manly form and attitude of his 
 companion, he at length thought proper to 
 address him. 
 
 *' My young friend," said he, renewing 
 his grasp, " you are not happy." 
 
 Seeing his heart read, our hero with dif- 
 ficulty suppressed a sigh. The effort Avas 
 observed, and Andrew again plied him. 
 
 " Is there aught," asked he, " could wean 
 that troubled soul from the tumults of its 
 own creation. Is there aught could restore 
 the being it animates to the fellowship of 
 his brotherhood ? Speak, Edgar ; confide in 
 one who would be a slave to all your sorrows, 
 — who will cheerfully share the burthen of 
 all your anxieties, but to relieve them." 
 
 During the first part of this speech, which 
 trenched too roughly on a festered part, the 
 features of the listener darkened into a
 
 79 
 
 frown, which gradually faded, and gave 
 place to a self-accusing blush, as the kind 
 entreaties of his companion fell upon his ear. 
 In a tone of inquiry, he, in turn, addressed 
 the monk of Hepburn. 
 
 " You know the Lady Helen, brother ?" 
 
 " Yes, Edgar, well." 
 
 " You have seen her?" 
 
 " Oftentimes." 
 
 " Would to God I never had!" 
 
 " And why, my young friend ? The dew- 
 drop on the lip of the lily's cup is scarcely 
 a fitting emblem of purity clothed in beauty, 
 like that of Lady Helen. Did you not save 
 her precious life? Should you not think of 
 her preservation with delight ? If you saw 
 her features " 
 
 " I held her in these arms !" cried Rosallin. 
 
 " And should you not look back to that 
 hour with pride? Should you not deem it 
 one of the happiest of your life, to save a 
 fellow-creature?" 
 
 " Happiest !" echoed Edgar; " say, rather, 
 the most — but no! it was — it was one of 
 the happiest." 
 
 " Then why lament it ?" still closely in- 
 terrogated Andi'ew.
 
 80 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " On account of its consequences, brother. 
 Had she perished ! Heaven forbid the 
 thought ! Leave me, Andrew, leave me !" 
 
 "Not so, young man!" exclaimed the 
 pertinacious monk, his countenance darken- 
 ing into a suspicious frown; "you have a 
 secret attachment for the Lady Helen, and 
 you fear to confess it." 
 
 " Are you, then, the keeper of my con- 
 science ?" cried our hero, with impatient 
 indignation ; "or came you to taunt and 
 betray me, that you so triumph in your ill- 
 timed discovery?" 
 
 " You mistake me," spoke tlie monk, as- 
 suming an oifended air. " I guessed at the 
 cause of your internal pain, before I met 
 you here ; and knowing, that as I am not 
 fettered by the convent discipline, though I 
 have free access within its walls, I might be 
 of invaluable service to you, I came to make 
 a tender of my good-will. Acquainted with 
 your contempt of danger, your ardent love 
 of liberty, and your dislike of the constant 
 discipline of the monastery, I concluded, 
 from your extreme youth, and carelessness 
 of exposure, that the open manifestation of 
 this disposition would naturally have pro-
 
 Neville's cross. 81 
 
 yoked the ill-^vill of the community. Judge 
 of my surprise, when, learning from the 
 assembled monks their respective opinions 
 in your regard, I found you the cherished 
 object of every heart, with one or two value- 
 less exceptions. These are the men you 
 have rejected. My presence, too, it would 
 appear, is obnoxious; my offers of friend- 
 ship, considered intrusive ; but, bear with 
 me one single moment, and I promise never 
 again to interfere in your affairs. Having 
 casually discovered your secret sorrow, I am 
 bound by no rules of confidence or honour 
 to withhold it from others. With me, how- 
 ever, it remains unrevealed ; but, mark me ! 
 nothing yet gives me to understand that 
 you have taken any resolution to desert 
 your monastic life, and enter into tlie world. 
 It does not necessarily follovf, that if you 
 feel an attachment for the Lady Helen, you 
 relinquish your studies for the church. 
 Give not way to a passion, my young friend, 
 which never can be returned; for the object 
 of it will look upon you as one dedicated to 
 the church, even allowing that she should 
 ever feel a tender emotion in your regard. 
 It has reached me from a private source,
 
 82 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 though you little think it known, that you 
 have, each morning for some time back, 
 been in the habit of watching, unobserved, 
 the Lady Helen on her way to the convent 
 mass. If this be true — and by your sur- 
 prise it is corroborated, — you have loved the 
 danger, and it is much if you do not perish 
 in it. Eouse yourself, then, to the exercise 
 of your monastic duties; render not your 
 youthful days miserable by vain hopes and 
 fears ; let your affection at least be consistent 
 with your duty. Take this jewelled cross, 
 Edgar. Should circumstances ever afford 
 the opportunity, present it to the object of 
 your regard, and let the token witness the 
 renunciation of your love, but the founda- 
 tion of your mutual friendship. Imitate 
 her example. The meekness of her spirit 
 may serve to temper the fire of yours; iier 
 mild and gentle bearing may read a profit- 
 able lesson to an untameable and impetuous 
 temperament like yours. But, what do I 
 say ? I speak as if it were in the stars that 
 you should meet. Edgar, beware ! It will 
 be for you a dangerous and eventful hour. 
 Let not your warm and confiding heart 
 betray you into inconsistencies^ You may.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 83 
 
 in some future hour, turn to the world, and 
 desert your monastic life. For this I shall 
 never blame you ; but think of the pain of 
 heart to which you consign yourself and the 
 Lady Helen, in case your impetuosity should 
 now tempt you to the premature and incon- 
 siderate step of abandoning your religious 
 life. Think of the opprobrium you must 
 bear with from the Lumleys ; and, if your 
 heart has a quailing part about it, let it 
 shudder at the bare thought of the hellisli 
 resorts and fiendlike machinations of the 
 vindictive Hepburn, to whom the mother 
 of Lady Helen has inconsiderately affianced 
 her young and unsuspecting child. Fare- 
 well! Again, I say, beware! You know 
 the consequences of a clandestine meeting, 
 be your designs ever so immaculate. Fare- 
 well! I shall Avatch over your destiny, 
 and, though you have rejected me, I may 
 yet be your warning angel in the hour of 
 danger." 
 
 Thus did the wily impostor, by every 
 appalling and intimidating resource, endea- 
 vour to crush the rising passion in the 
 breast of the young Eosallin, not because 
 there was evil in its indulgence, or that its
 
 84 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 abandonment would render him a fitter ob- 
 ject for the society of the brotherhood ; but, 
 to secure the Lady Helen to his infamous 
 employer, in spite of her unconquerable 
 hate, and thereby to make sure of the pro- 
 mised reward of success. Little did he 
 care what effect his representations might 
 produce, for, if they failed, he had other 
 and more effectual means of ridding himself 
 of every impediment that threatened to ob- 
 struct him in his base pursuit of the prof- 
 fered bribe.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 
 
 CHAPTER lY 
 
 " 'Tis not the first time all- dissolving love 
 Has melted stone, and crept into a cloister." ^ 
 The Lat-Brother's MAKuscRirx. 
 
 While our hero was meditating how to re- 
 concile the inconsistencies of this singular 
 speech of the stranger monk, and how to 
 reply to it, without committing himself, the 
 speaker retreated unobserved. 
 
 A golden cross and chain, of elegant but 
 fragile workmanship, hanging over his arm, 
 was the first object which attracted the 
 attention of Eosallin. With a nicety, to 
 which he was characteristically a stranger, 
 he raised and inspected it. At the inter- 
 section of the longitudinal and transverse 
 poles of the cross, his eye soon caught the 
 device of a ^' forget me not," in burnished
 
 86 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 gold. This perplexed him, and left the 
 conduct of Brother Andrew more inexpli- 
 cable than ever. Was he friend or foe ? How 
 much at variance were his speech and 
 actions ! Had he not deprecated an inter- 
 view with the Lady Helen, and yet fur- 
 nished the means of rendering that interview 
 doubly dangerous? Why a gift of such a 
 nature? Was there not an allurement in 
 the very device it bore ? Was not the very 
 contemplation of it a breach of the monastic 
 vows, with which they persuaded him he 
 was shortly to bind himself for ever ? 
 
 Thus communing with himself, and men- 
 tally expostulating on the conduct of An- 
 drew, did he work his mind into a firm and 
 rooted suspicion of the motives of the giver 
 of such a dangerous gift. Still his looks 
 were kind and conciliating, his promises 
 fair — why, then, entertain an uncharitable 
 judgment of him, without better grounds? 
 In any event, however, it was our hero's 
 iixed determination never to present the 
 cross to Lady Helen, while apparently pur- 
 suing the monastic profession. Fortified 
 with this resolution, he flung the trinket 
 about his neck, concealing it, however, be-
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 87 
 
 neatli his vest. His spirit subsided into 
 more than its usual calm; still did he not 
 retrace his steps to the Priory, but hurried 
 up the slope of the hill, which rose between 
 him and the setting sun. 
 
 His head was without covering, and the 
 rising breeze wantoned in his floating locks. 
 Invigorated by the bracing air, and animated 
 with the elevation on which he stood, the 
 false calm he had felt again gave way to 
 tumultuous passion, as his roving eye caught, 
 in the distance, the grey turrets of Lumley. 
 
 Nature, too, did but serve to increase the 
 turmoil of his breast. The sun sate on a 
 stupendous pile of slate-coloured clouds, and 
 splashed their scalps with gold, like an 
 insulted monarch casting the chains of 
 dominion over the prisoned limbs of rebel- 
 lion. Not long, however, did his refulgent 
 orb hold undisputed empire. Clouds climbed 
 o'er clouds, but dared not, for long, come 
 within the glare of the blazing disk, till, 
 like congregated cowards round the single 
 brave, they gathered over him, thrust him 
 from his throne, and clad the world in 
 gloom. 
 
 It was a sight that such as Kosallin loved
 
 88 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 to gaze on ; his mind was in unison ; his 
 feelings harmonized with the swelling blast. 
 Large globules of rain at length began to 
 descend, thinly, but heavily, from the lower- 
 ing heavens, and crackled through the trees, 
 amidst the rumbling of hoarse and distant 
 thunder. Yet sought he no shelter: his 
 heart grew riotous with wild delight in the 
 confusion around him. 
 
 The night- owl screeched from the north- 
 ern ruin, as if warning him to return. He 
 felt it, for the moment, as an admonition, 
 but soon his ear forgot the sound. The 
 night-bell of Lumley Castle tolled. Calmly, 
 as if it had been the usual vesper summons 
 from the Priory, he turned to obey it, and 
 uncovered as he was, amid the splashing 
 and fury of contending elements, set forth 
 to Lumley. 
 
 Unconscious of the route he was pursuing, 
 he proceeded slowly till he reached the sum- 
 mit of the Cocken Cliffs, when, rapidly as 
 tlie lightning that played around him, he 
 bounded down the slope, and forced his way 
 along the rugged and overgrown bank of 
 the river, to the intersection of the haunted 
 pathway. Another moment, and he had
 
 Neville's cross. hd 
 
 climbed the acclivity of the Luniley Beck; 
 another, and he stood panting Avithin the 
 battlemented curtain at the eastern front of 
 the castle. 
 
 So loud and raging was the storm, that 
 the warder had deserted his post, and the 
 court, within the curtain, was cleared of its 
 guards. 
 
 The comfortable and inviting reflection of 
 the blaze of a cheerful fire danced on the 
 great window of the servants' hall, as he 
 hurried across the pavement to seek admis- 
 sion. The sound of voices, however, in loud 
 discussion, arrested him ; and, to his un- 
 speakable astonishment, his own name, 
 repeatedly pronounced, seemed to furnish 
 the subject of conversation. He would 
 have retired, had he not heard enough to 
 make his listening a duty. 
 
 More cautiously, therefore, did he ap- 
 proach the lattice adjoining the great win- 
 dow, which fortunately stood ajar. Through 
 the crevice, he plainly discerned two figures, 
 both of which, at first, seemed strange to 
 him. One, evidently an old man, was seated 
 by the blazing hearth ; the other, apparently 
 rising into manhood, stood with his back to
 
 90 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 the window, as if taking leave of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 The noisy blast, the muttering thunder, 
 and the pelting rain, prevented our hero 
 from hearing an unbroken conversation, 
 and yet, at intervals, when nature rested 
 between each blustering squall, the few de- 
 tached sentences that reached him did but 
 serve to lieighten his curiosity and increase 
 his agitation. 
 
 " I fear we suld hae muckle strife the 
 night, an' we had the striplin' monk amang 
 us, wha rins i' the young leddy's head sae, 
 i' a' her fits. He wadna bide to hear her 
 skirl sae waefully, I'se warrant." 
 
 This was said by Leslie, the old Hep- 
 burn seneschal, — master and man being at 
 Lumley for a purpose the latter much disap- 
 proved of, and that was no other than the 
 abduction of Lady Helen, — Hepburn having 
 succeeded in persuading her infatuated 
 mother that he was not chargeable with 
 the death of Lady Letitia, his former 
 bride, as rumour, where it dared to speak, 
 currently reported, but that the event 
 which so prematui'ely and suddenly de- 
 prived her of life was the result of accident.
 
 Neville's cross. 91 
 
 " Why think you so, Leslie?" asked 
 Kodolph, the 'squire of Lord de Neville, 
 then also, by one of those singular co- 
 incidences which bring men together when 
 they most wish to avoid each other, a guest 
 at Lumley. 
 
 " There's alway' fearfu' doin'," replied 
 the seneschal, " when the Laird o' Hepburn 
 rides to Lumley, Rodolph ! an' din ye think, 
 for ae moment, that ane wha dared to loup 
 into th' auld river, an' fetch the drowning 
 bairn frae the deep, wad bide an' see the loon 
 o' the Black Castle, (for I can ca' him nae 
 ither, tho' I eat o' his bread,) an' the mis- 
 guidit mither o' siccan a gentle creature, 
 pitting their heads thegither to tak' advan- 
 tage o' her weakness, an' carry her awa' to 
 the Black Tower upo' the beach?" 
 
 Scarcely had the seneschal ceased to 
 speak, when a long, loud, and awful peal of 
 thunder rolled over the castle, and shook 
 its foundation to the nethermost stone. By 
 our hero it passed unnoticed. His thoughts, 
 from the snatches of the conversation which 
 had reached him, dwelt on the striking cor- 
 roboration they gave to the assurances of 
 Brother Andrew, relative to the vindictive
 
 92 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 heir of Hepburn. As the thunder travelled 
 off in distance, the Yoice of the old man 
 was again overheard, and he was still harp- 
 ing, with the garrulity of age, and the in- 
 caution of mental imhecility, on the sub- 
 ject nearest his heart. 
 
 '- Mony's the time," resumed he, " I've 
 heard the young leddy say she wadna wed 
 wi' Hepburn's heir, for a' this warld could 
 gie in gowd and precious stanes; — but I 
 suldna be telling thae tales to sic chiels as 
 you, Eodolph." 
 
 Here he paused, and assumed a ponder- 
 ing attitude. The Neville 'squire, little re- 
 garding the hint given him, and anxious to 
 excite the old man to further disclosures, 
 roundly declared that he had heard, in 
 every quarter of the castle, how the Lady 
 Helen had been raving of the young 
 religious, Vv^lio preserved her life in the 
 morning ; — but not a single word more, nor 
 even a sign of refusal to gratify his curiosity, 
 could he wring from the thoughtful seneschal, 
 w^ho, as if repenting of his previous loqua- 
 city, returned a dogged and vexatious 
 silence to all the questions of his companion. 
 The disappointed 'squire, at length, finding
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 93 
 
 it vain to persist, turned on his heel, and 
 disappeared along one of the passages. 
 
 Our hero now seized the opportunity to 
 parley with Leslie, and leaving his post at 
 the lattice, tapped gently at the door. The 
 half-witted seneschal started up at the 
 summons, thrust his head through the 
 lattice, and at the pitch of his voice, called 
 out to his unseasonable visitor — 
 
 " Wha wad ye he, that's brave eneugh, or 
 fule eneugh, to face the skirlin o' the storm 
 the night? Gude guide us ! an' ye be 
 mortal man, ye'll be drippin' wi' rain — an' 
 ye be the de'il, ye maun e'en gang an' dry 
 ye by your ain fire. He maun be stark mad, 
 indeed !" continued he, muttering to him- 
 self, as he half closed the lattice. " He canna 
 be the monk they talk o' ; an' it be na, wha 
 else can it be ? for nane but siccan as he wad 
 stare sae skelpin' a night i' th' face." 
 
 " Silence, old man! — for God's sake, 
 speak lower!" cried Eosallin, in a forced 
 whisper, fearful that the domestics might be 
 roused. 
 
 " An' what for wad ye liae me silent, 
 wi' a' your smooth voice, an' usin' o' God's 
 name ? An' I let the de'il into the castle,
 
 94 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 or aue o' the roysterin' robbers o' the muir, 
 which wad be ane an'^ the same, ye ken, 
 we suld hae mair wark than it's clean com- 
 fortable to think o' ! I'll be wi' ye anon." 
 
 With these words, he withdrew from the 
 lattice, but not, as might be supposed, to 
 let the "stranger in. Through the window, 
 fortunately, his proceedings were over- 
 looked. With a characteristic sliness, he 
 made a feint to withdraw the bolt of the 
 door, and, as if overshooting his mark, slid 
 ]iis hand on to the turret bell-rope. In one 
 instant the castle would have been roused, 
 and our hero might not have escaped with- 
 out broken bones, certainly not without 
 painful exposure. 
 
 " 'Tis Eosallin !" he cried, little expecting 
 that the pronunciation of his name would 
 avert the threatened calamity, but hoping 
 that, at least, it might protect him from 
 the rough hand, and expose him to no 
 further inconvenience than the disclosure 
 itself involved. The sound, however, might 
 have been electric — the bolt was instantly 
 withdrawn, the door thrown open, and the 
 stranger welcomed. Like a desperate man, 
 he strode over the threshold, and con-
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 95 
 
 fronted the astonished seneschal — his gar- 
 ments soaked with rain, his head un- 
 bonneted, his long hair matted down his 
 brows, his eyes wild and wandering, his air 
 disordered, and yet his attitude and gesture 
 calm and undisturbed. 
 
 " Puir thing!" stammered the good- 
 hearted old man, in a soothing tone, as, 
 somewhat recovered from his surprise, he 
 set himself to wring the water out of his 
 visitor's locks — " ye'll be perishin' wi' the 
 cauld an' the wet — but an' ye be him they 
 ca' Eosallin, ye'll na mind that." 
 
 " Give me a disguise, old man, for 
 Heaven's sake!" cried Edgar, tearmg his 
 cloak violently from his shoulders, and 
 flino^ins: it aside. Anxious to screen from 
 detection the " braw gallant wha saved the 
 leddy," Leslie, without any inquiry, hied to 
 the warder's keep, which was close at hand, 
 and selecting therefrom an old, thick, and 
 moth-eaten cloak and cap, returned with 
 all the celerity his age would permit. The 
 heavy garment was immediately substituted 
 for the monastic mantle, and Eosallin, now 
 more at his ease, gathered its folds closely 
 about him, and seated liimself at some dis-
 
 96 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 tance from the blazing hearth, for his limbs 
 were young and vigorous, and his mental 
 agitation kept them in a glow. The 
 thoughtful old seneschal, still fearful of the 
 consequences of discovery, stuffed a pair of 
 rudely-wrought iron pistols into the side- 
 pocket of our hero's disguise, and thrust an 
 old mace or truncheon into his hand, ob- 
 serving — ^' Ye'll tak' thae twa pistolets, 
 young man ; but as they be new gear, and 
 no that wesl kenn'd, ye'll maybe mak' mair 
 speed than wark in usin' o' them." Edgar 
 assured him they were not the first he had 
 seen, an itinerant pedlar having exhibited 
 one at the Priory, and shewn the manner of 
 using it, much to the wonder and admiration 
 of the brotherhood. 
 
 " Aweel, " resumed Leslie, " tent 'em 
 weel ; they may be needfu' afore the morn's 
 mornin'— and ye'll e'en mak' the maist ye 
 can of this bit mace, an' ye should come i' 
 ony danger." 
 
 His young charge thus equipped to his 
 satisfaction, the old man drew a seat close 
 to the fire, and with his hands on his knees, 
 and his eyes keenly fixed on his guest, thus 
 addressed him:—
 
 NEVILLE'S CKOSS. 97 
 
 ^' An' ye be, i' truth, the young Eosallin, 
 ye'U come frae the Priory, an' what, i' God's 
 name, could bring ye doun here on sic a 
 thunnersome night, an' a' without a bonnet, 
 an' the blustrin' hail, an' rain, an' sleet, 
 pelting i' your e'en?" 
 
 Rosallin eyed the seneschal with a firm 
 and penetrating gaze, and entertaining, 
 from what he had heard of his communi- 
 cative loquacity to Rodolph, no very exalted 
 idea of his secrecy, deemed it prudent to 
 proceed with caution. 
 
 '' They call you Leslie?" said he. 
 
 ^^ An' if they do?" 
 
 " May I rely on your secrecy?" 
 
 " I dinna ken," answered the old man — 
 ^^ it's na for siccan as me to tell that ; 
 but mony's the secret I hae kenn'd i' my 
 lang life, an' I niver tell'd ony but ane o' 
 muckle importance," alluding, probably, to 
 his disclosui'es in the hall of Hepburn Castle, 
 to Lord Ralph de Neville. 
 
 At this moment, a flash of lightning of 
 intense lustre played on the great window. 
 
 ^' Puir leddy!" continued the seneschal, 
 his thoughts again wanderhig on the 
 murdered Letitia, and pursuing the associ- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 ation of ideas furnished by the flickering 
 light — " it was by the sheen o' siccan a 
 bleezin' flash I first telFd ower the draps o' 
 bhiid upo' the ha' floor ! Did ye talk o' 
 secrets, young man ? — I ken ane wad mak' 
 your young bluid curdle an' stan' still i' 
 your stretchit veins! Ken ye the Black 
 Tower upo' the beach ?" 
 
 Edgar answered in the negative. 
 
 *^ It Stan's upo' an awfu' rock, an' glow'rs 
 ower the waters o' the German Ocean," re- 
 sumed Leslie; " the froth an' foam o' mony 
 a lashin' billow frets again' its rocky side, — 
 the wild birds o' the ocean sit skirlin', day 
 an' night, upo' its lofty battlements, an' 
 when they gang awa', hungered or scared, 
 across the roarin' breakers, mak' the welkin 
 ring wi' their frightfu' an' unearthly din! 
 Mony's the lang an secret passage that 
 wanders frae its dungeons. There's ane to 
 the tower o' Hepburn, an' anither to the ha' 
 o' this very castle. Aweel, it's thro' ane 
 o' these the Laird o' Hepburn's gangin' to 
 carry awa' the young Leddy Helen o' 
 Lumley, i' the dead o' this very night, an' 
 her ain mither's to gang at her side, to keep 
 her frae skirlin'. Puir thing! How I
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 99 
 
 cam' to ken a', — I was stannin', ye ken, a 
 wee after sunset, i' the passage that leads to 
 her chammer, watchin' the thnnner-clouds 
 gae o'er the heavens, frae ane o' the loop- 
 holes, an' heard her bid little Kosie — that's 
 my bairn, ye maun ken, an' ane o' her 
 maids — tell auld Leslie — that's me, ye ken 
 — to come in til' her. Aweel, young man, 
 I gaed wi' a fu' heart, for I loved her weel, 
 e'en as I love my ain bairn. ' How is it 
 wi' ye, my guid auld Leslie?' said she, wi' 
 her ain sweet voice, — an' there's ne'er anither 
 like it, — an' she streekit my han', an' looked 
 up i' my face wi' her bonny black een — 
 * Ye'U Stan' my frien', guid Leslie ?' I 
 greeted sair — an auld man canna guide his 
 tears ! * An' what for,' said I, ' wad ye be 
 wantin' a frien' just now, guid my leddy ?' 
 She said nae mair, but wi' her han' upo' 
 her sobbin' breast, heaved siccan a gaspin' 
 sigh, I verily thought her heart was bursten. 
 She gar'd me see an' the Laird o' Hepburn 
 wad leave the castle afore the dawnin'. I 
 went an' learnt it a' frae ane that kenn'd it 
 ower weel, an' then I wended back again, 
 wi' a heavy heart, an' tauld my leddy he 
 wadna gan' afore the dawnin'. Aweel, she 
 f2
 
 100 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 fixed her een iipo' the wa', an' I watched 
 the tears drap, ane after anither, frae aff 
 her bonny lids. I couldna bear to see her 
 greet sae, an' i' ane o' my doited fits, as 
 Kosie since tell'd me, I gaed thro' wi' ower 
 muckle o' a sad tale, anent a fair leddy 
 pining, lang syne, i' the Black Tower, an' 
 then, fule like, I tauld her that the Laird 
 o' Hepburn was gangin' to tear her frae her 
 father's house, an' lodge her i' the same 
 ruefu' dungeon. She didna speak, but the 
 fire o' a' her forbears was in her sparklin' 
 ee. She's ta'en some fearfu' resolution, an' 
 may the God that mak's the welkin bleeze, 
 an' the clouds to roar wi' thunner, hand her 
 frae the keepin' o' the Laird o' Hepburn !" 
 
 Scarcely had the seneschal paused, when 
 a noise was heard at the door of the 
 passage leading from the hall to the kitchen, 
 as if of retreating footsteps. 
 
 The first impression on the minds of both 
 was, that some spy of Hepburn's had over- 
 heard their conversation. Eosallin grasped 
 one of his pistols, while the terror-fraught 
 Leslie listened at the door — but the sound 
 had ceased. 
 
 How to proceed our hero knew not, A
 
 NEVlLLE^S CROSS. 101 
 
 rash step might be his ruin; for if the 
 listener had been a spy of Sir William's, he 
 knew sufficient of the vindictive character 
 of that chieftain, to assure himself that his 
 danger was imminent. While thus unde- 
 cided, Leslie picked up something from the 
 floor which had, apparently, been pushed 
 under the door, and approached with it to 
 the light. It was a small scroll, neatly 
 enveloped, and, to the utter surprise of our 
 hero, bore the superscription, " To Edgar 
 Kosallin, these." Tearing it open, his 
 countenenance changed again and again as 
 he read — 
 
 "The Lady Helen has swallowed a sleep- 
 ing draught, administered to her by her 
 mother, at the instigation of Sir William 
 Hepburn. She is to be borne away, along 
 a subterranean passage, to the Black Tower. 
 The litter will start as the castle-bell tolls 
 twelve. Two of the bondsmen of Hepburn 
 will bear it, and it will be accompanied by 
 the knight himself and Lady Lumley. Fly 
 to the great hall. Through the tapestry of 
 the third panel, on the left of the southern 
 window, behind the equestrian statue of
 
 102 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Liiilph of tlie Bloody Brow, by a cautious 
 pressure, you will discover a spring — push 
 it gently to the right, and the panel will 
 unclose. For God's sake, and the sake of 
 Helen of Lumley, be speedy — ^be sure! 
 secrete yourself in the vault, and rescue the 
 heiress of Lumley from a seducer and a 
 murderer. You have already saved her 
 life, — make it valuable by saving her honour. 
 Her preservation will be dear to her, 
 effected by Edgar Rosallin. 
 
 " Blanche." 
 
 Stung to desperation, Kosallin tore the 
 packet to shreds, cast it into the flames, and 
 as it consumed before him, exclaimed — 
 
 " Thus perish thy designs, malignant 
 Hepburn, and the curse of a slighted God 
 be on their treacherous projector ! Old 
 man, I go to the protection of injured inno- 
 cence. Pray Heaven to nerve my untried 
 arm, that it may strike the monster in the 
 presence of his victim !"
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 103 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Hark ! — to the hurried question of despair — 
 ' Where is my child ?' — an echo answers * Where ?' " 
 
 Byron. 
 
 A CONFUSED sound of wliispering voices and 
 bustling feet, proceeding from that part of 
 the galleries where the Lady Helen's chamber 
 was situated, apprized our hero that the 
 litter was already in motion. Excited 
 almost beyond his powers of endurance — 
 
 " Fly, Leslie!" cried he; " lead me to 
 thehaUr 
 
 It was the work of a moment. The 
 secret spring was found, and entering the 
 dark descending vault, Eosallin had scarcely 
 closed the panel behind him, when the 
 heavy toll of the castle-bell, as it slowly
 
 104 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 swung to tlie twelfth stroke, gradually 
 swelled and died on liis ear. 
 
 No terror shook his enterprising spirit 
 as he paced alone along the damp and 
 gloomy passages, though the cadaverous 
 smell, which exhaled from the oozing brick- 
 work, satisfied him, before he had gone far, 
 that he was passing through an avenue of 
 the mighty dead — through the coffined dust 
 of the heroes of Lumley. The last of tlieir 
 line he was sworn to save from a dark and 
 desperate doom, or perish in the attempt. 
 
 Involuntarily did he shudder at the re- 
 flection, that a mother, deluded by the pro- 
 spect of a high alliance, should be so far 
 blinded to the welfare of her child and the 
 vices of her suitor, as to follow the one, and 
 accompany the other, through the moulder- 
 ing ashes of her house, and under the in- 
 fluence of a treacherous draught, to a dismal 
 confinement, where her eye could dwell on 
 nought but the boundless ocean and its 
 eternal canopy — where her heart must nurse 
 perpetual sorrow, without a hope of human 
 sympathy. Still less could he account for 
 so sudden and desperate a step at such an 
 unhallowed time.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 105 
 
 Thus pondering, as lie felt his way through 
 the darksome vault, he found at length what 
 he anxiously sought for — a recess, which 
 might well serve for a hiding-place. In- 
 stead of a recess, however, he soon disco- 
 vered that the opening into which he had 
 turned was a branching passage, of an ex- 
 tent which he could not ascertain. 
 
 A hollow sound of cautiously treading 
 feet, and the gleam of a half-sleeping taper, 
 which shot its blunted rays through the 
 dense atmosphere of the vaults, announced 
 to him the approach of the litter. As it 
 advanced, he placed himself in an attitude 
 to spring on the first bearer .that passed the 
 angle of the passage. While the procession 
 was yet some distance from his place of con- 
 cealment, a murmuring sound of voices 
 reached him, and as the group approached, 
 he distinctly overheard Lady Lumley and 
 Hepburn in conversation. 
 
 " Bid the litter move on, Sir William," 
 desired Lady Lumley ; " the child will awake 
 before we are half way to the Black Castle." 
 
 " It matters little now, my lady — she is 
 far beyond all human hearing and pro- 
 tection," was the sullen reply. 
 f3
 
 106 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " Say you so, and her mother so near 
 her?" asked her ladyship, haughtily, cha- 
 grined, and somewhat surprised that her 
 maternal feelings should have been so in- 
 sulted. 
 
 " In such a mother as Lady Lumley," 
 observed Hepburn, with sarcastic indiffer- 
 ence, " were her child a helpless babe, it 
 would find no protection. She may have 
 felt maternal pains, but never knew maternal 
 fondness." 
 
 " Sir Knight, you may have occasion to 
 remember and repent this language," threat- 
 ened her ladyship. 
 
 " I need but hear that proud and scornful 
 voice," replied he, " to read the vindictive 
 temper of the companion with whom my 
 fate is leagued." 
 
 " Leagued!" echoed her ladyship, with 
 indignation. But her feelings were too 
 strong for utterance, and throwing her eyes 
 on the stony roof, "Great God!" she ex- 
 claimed, " I deserve no better at thy hands !" 
 
 " Even so, my lady. Know you not that 
 this is your own work?" 
 
 There was a pause for some moments, as 
 if the last observation had checked her
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 107 
 
 ladyship's pride. At length, elevating her 
 voice, she exclaimed, " Stand, ye with the 
 litter!" And then, turning to her com- 
 panion — " Sir Ejiight," said she, with a voice 
 of agitation, ^' I will be understood. I 
 sought for my daughter a noble and honour- 
 able alliance — what mean these reiterated 
 insults from one who, by the assumption of 
 every external qualification, has won her at 
 my hands ? Sir William, I will return with 
 my child, till this conduct be explained. It 
 was your wish, hastily expressed, as impru- 
 dently acceded to, to conduct her to the 
 Black Castle, as well to avoid any inter- 
 ference on the part of Lord Lumley as to 
 remove her Yrom the neighbourhood of the 
 young religious, whose preservation of her 
 life seems to have won her heart and brain. 
 I consented to conduct the heiress of Lum- 
 ley thither as the bride of Sir William Hep- 
 burn, as he appeared to be." 
 
 " And I, madam," replied the knight, 
 with a sneer, " conduct the heiress of Lumley 
 to the Black Castle to be the bride of Sir 
 William Hepburn as he is, or to choose the 
 more melancholy alternative of pining in 
 solitary and uni'egarded misery within four
 
 108 TALES OF A LAY-BPtOTHER. 
 
 stone walls, and spending lier cries for the 
 pity of humanity on the fretful billows. 
 None will ever answer such appeals, I can 
 assure your ladyship, except, perhaps, the 
 passing wild bird they may chance to scare. 
 Kemember, proud woman, to whom you 
 have affianced the heiress of your house. 
 Affianced ! — ha — ha — ha !" 
 
 The demoniacal laugh of the deceiver, as 
 its hollow echoes multiplied themselves along 
 the vaults, appalled the unhappy mother, 
 who now looked with terror down the chaotic 
 gulf to the brink of which she had impru- 
 dently hurried her unsuspecting child. 
 
 Frantic with rage and disappointment, 
 she raised her voice to its utmost pitch, and 
 screamed — " Helen !" 
 
 As if the ghosts of her fathers called upon 
 the last of their line, every niche and re- 
 cess returned an echo. '' Helen!" rever- 
 berated from side to side, till, subsiding 
 into a half-distinguished murmur, it sounded 
 as if the patriarch of his race, Liulph of the 
 Bloody Brow, sent his deep, hoarse voice 
 from afar, through the mist of ages, to warn 
 his last child of her danger. 
 
 The pallid victim rose, and cast a wild,
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 109 
 
 disordered glance around her, which at 
 length fastened on her mother. In a calm 
 voice, bespeaking her bewildered state of 
 mind, — " Mother," said she, " why did 
 you awake me? I was dreaming such a 
 dream !" 
 
 Between wakefulness and sleep, her eye 
 seemed for a time fixed on vacancy; but 
 the lethargic influence of the draught admi- 
 nistered to her, soon overpowered her weak- 
 ened faculties, and she sunk again upon the 
 litter. Our hero had been a sad witness of 
 the latter part of this melancholy scene. 
 His heart bled, as he looked on — so sweet a 
 mind, even for a time undone. Painfully 
 did he watch the object of his solicitude 
 again recline her head, insensible of danger ; 
 not less painfully did he behold the af- 
 flicted and repentant mother drowned in 
 deep but unavailing sorrow. 
 
 The litter suddenly stopped within a few 
 paces of his hiding-place, and his blood 
 gathered chill round his heart, as he saw 
 the savage Hepburn approach the bearers, 
 and heard him roar, as he presented a 
 pistol to the breast of each, "Lead on, 
 slaves !"
 
 110 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Scarcely had the first bearer advanced a 
 pace, when, like an angel of vengeance, 
 Rosailin burst from his concealment. 
 
 " Stand!" he cried, with a voice of 
 thunder, and the same wild echoes repeated, 
 "Stand!" 
 
 The warder's truncheon, with which 
 Leslie had furnished him, had already struck 
 the leader low, and while catching the Lady 
 Helen in his arms, as she glided from the 
 falling litter, his glance detected the arm of 
 Hepburn aiming at his heart. The weapon 
 hung fire, nor did it explode till it struck 
 the stonework of the vault against which 
 Hepburn had hurled it in his rage. While 
 the second bearer of the litter was unsheath- 
 ing his sword, the avenger sprung forward, 
 with his lifeless charge hanging over his 
 left arm, and struck him dead to the ground. 
 Meanwhile, Hepburn, watching his oppor- 
 tunity, and while the attention of Rosailin 
 was for the moment fixed on his precious 
 burthen, rushed behind him, and plunged a 
 dagger through his arm, evidently aimed at 
 the back of Lady Helen. Edgar suddenly 
 turned, and, catching a glimpse of the 
 coward as he flew along the passage, levelled
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. Ill 
 
 liis aim, exclaiming, " Take thy fate from 
 Edgar Eosallin !" and filled after him. 
 
 A few staggering footsteps were distinctly 
 heard, and then a heavy fall. The Lady 
 Helen, startled by the report of the pistol, 
 unconsciously clung round the neck of her 
 defender, and her head fell on his breast. 
 He gently replaced her in her original posi- 
 tion across his arm, disabled as it was, for 
 he saw the bondsman who had been first 
 struck down raise himself on his elbow, as if 
 recovering from the effects of the stunning 
 blow. The truncheon vv^as again upraised, 
 and held in a threatening manner over the 
 miscreant, while the intrepid Eosallin wrung 
 from him the disclosui^e, that the passage 
 along which his master had fled, led to the 
 hall of Castle Hepburn. He was then dis- 
 armed, and dangerous as it was, our hero 
 was so unused to blood, that he thought it 
 his best alternative to dismiss him. The 
 alacrity, however, with which he obeyed the 
 hint to depart, assured RosaUin at least of 
 present safety. Lady Lumley, conscience- 
 struck at her unhallowed employment, had 
 fled in alarm, or with a view to summon 
 assistance, at the fii'st sound of the warning 
 voice.
 
 112 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Eosallin consigned his still sleeping charge 
 again to the litter, and seated himself beside 
 her. One expiring torch, which had been 
 thrust into a socket at its foot, still cast its 
 blunted rays along the velvet covering. 
 
 There lay the Maid of Lumley, and at 
 her feet sat a young religious, hurried by fate 
 into the thick of a scene, at the mere con- 
 templation of which he would have shud- 
 dered, and not more astonished at the deeds 
 his own arm had wrought than perplexed at 
 the situation in which the result had placed 
 him. 
 
 A few paces from the spot was stretched 
 the dead body of the bondsman last struck 
 down by the ponderous mace, with the short 
 sword, which had slipped from his grasp as 
 the thick sweat of death came over him, 
 gleaming at his side. A fitful beam played 
 on his ghastly features ; his brow was knit 
 into contracted wrinkles ; his half-closed eye 
 was dim and glassy ; his lips contorted with 
 death's last agony, as if internal pain con- 
 vulsed them still. 
 
 Rosallin looked on, and trembled. Had 
 his arm, then, sent a fellow-creature to the 
 judgment-seat of God ? — but if so, was it not
 
 Neville's cross. 113 
 
 in a just and sacred cause? Soothed with 
 this latter reflection, he turned from the 
 frightful object, and fixed a more interesting 
 but not less melancholy gaze on the marble 
 features of Lady Helen. His soul was 
 calmed into an emotion of peaceful joy, par- 
 taking less of earth than heaven ; his ecstatic 
 eye flew towards the vaulted roof; his whole 
 spirit was, for the moment, centred in the 
 completion of the Almighty will. 
 
 " God sped the innocent," said he, again 
 looking wistfully on the placid beauty of his 
 charge. She lay like the reposing angel of 
 mercy, smiling peace and benignity around 
 her; and yet her lovely brows would some- 
 times knit, her parted lips would quiver, her 
 swelling bosom, heave, as if the heart within 
 were troubled. Her cheek rested on one of 
 her snow-white arms, and her raven locks 
 floated in wild disorder down her vein- 
 streaked neck. The lomjr black frinire of 
 her glossy eyelid ever and anon sparkled, as 
 the light of the torch gleamed upon it. 
 
 Was he watching sleep or death? He 
 pressed his hand against the heart of the 
 sleeper. She started, and indistinctly 
 uttered, *' Save me !" A violent trembling,
 
 114 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 followed by an apparently ineffectual strug- 
 gle, convulsed her frame as she again faltered, 
 " Save me ! — save me !" The struggling 
 became more violent; she tossed her arms 
 about her, and, gasping for breath, cried, 
 " You will not save me !" Pacified, at length, 
 though unconsciously, by the endeavours of 
 her protector to lull her dreaming spirit, a 
 sweet smile took possession of her parted 
 lips, and she calmly motioned with her 
 hand, as if bidding some one to stand back. 
 '* Did you say he saved me?" she hurriedly 
 asked — " let him come." She beckoned, 
 and, as was evident from her speaking 
 featui^es, waited in fancy the approach of 
 some one. After the lapse of a few silent 
 moments, — " Was it you," said she, " that 
 saved poor Helen?" Eosallin shook from 
 his eyelid a starting tear, and with his 
 heart in his faltering voice, whisperingly 
 echoed, " Poor Helen !" Starting at the 
 sound from her recumbent posture, she 
 pressed her fingers to her lip, seemed to listen 
 for a moment, and exclaimed, " It was his 
 voice !" — then reaching anxiously forward, 
 she asked, in an inviting whisper, ''Don't 
 they call you Edgar?" Still she di^eamed,
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 115 
 
 for still her voice, in mild and gentle mur- 
 murs, incoherently tried to express the gra- 
 titude of her heart. " Did you then save 
 me, pretty youth?" she indistinctly asked. 
 " What will repay you? I have a link of 
 precious beads, a relic, and a cross, on which 
 the brave religious shall say rosaries for 
 Helen Lumley. He might have won her 
 
 neglected affections, but " She suddenly 
 
 rose on her couch, and cried with a look of 
 terror, " Kemove that cowl ! Oh ! do not 
 violate his pretty hair! Away with ye! 
 Spare him ! For the sake of Helen Lumley, 
 spare him ! I will endow your monastery ; 
 I will find ye store of religious ; but do not 
 profess that youth. Father, father ! stay 
 your hand! Edgar! 'tis Helen Lumley 
 calls you. Great God ! I thank thee !" 
 The bewildered Rosallin broke her fall, as 
 she wildly threw herself back, panting and 
 almost breatliless. Her dreaming emotions 
 soon subsided, and she sunk again into a 
 profound sleep. 
 
 Thunderstruck at what he had heard, the 
 thoughts of our hero wandered to the Priory, 
 for the first time since he had quitted it. 
 The rehearsal of his profession, so incohe-
 
 116 TALES OF A LAY-BHOTHER. 
 
 rently exhibited before him, struck him into 
 a train of deep reasoning with himself. Not 
 long had he been thus absorbed, when the 
 exhausting light, now beginning to dance in 
 fitful and expiring flashes, admonished him 
 they should soon be left in darkness; but 
 whither was he to flee ? — what refuge seek 
 for his charge? Should he leave her, to 
 explore the branching passages, she might 
 awake during his absence, and the conse- 
 quences could not be otherwise than serious. 
 He determined, at length, to search for an 
 outlet so far, at least, every way, as to keep 
 the litter in sight. Nor was he entirely 
 unsuccessful, for, on advancing a few paces 
 along the vault, a strong current of air 
 flowing in upon his right inspirited him with 
 the hope that there might be a means of 
 escape in that direction. 
 
 Eejoiced at the discovery, he retraced his 
 steps, and turning the angle again into the 
 main passage, found it in total darkness. 
 "With such speed as he could best make did 
 he hurry towards the spot, as well as his 
 calculation could guide him, where he had 
 left the litter. Alarmed at not finding it on 
 the very instant, he sent along the echoing
 
 NEVILLE^S CROSS. 117 
 
 vaults the name of Helen, hopeful that if 
 she had been torn away by some daring 
 desperado, whom his apprehensions prompted 
 him to conclude Hepburn might have con- 
 cealed or sent there for the purpose, she 
 might awake, and call for succour. He 
 listened; but, no reply. Echo at length 
 subsided, and he leaned against the rocky 
 wall of the vault, in a state of mind border- 
 ing on despair. How elated was his heart 
 when, amidst the stillness again prevailing, 
 the gentle breathing of his still sleeping 
 charge, a few paces farther up the passage, 
 reached his ear ! It was so — she was yet 
 there. A burning, but almost unconscious 
 kiss, impi'inted on her cheek, spoke his heart- 
 felt rapture at the discovery. Resolved to 
 risk no more, he raised her in his arms, and 
 carried her, as far as his strength would 
 permit, along the dark subterranean vaults, 
 till, resting at length, he waited in silence 
 till her deep sleep was over. Then by every 
 soothing explanation and entreaty did he 
 quiet her alarms, and so work upon her 
 mind, as to make her sensible that their 
 safety depended on themselves, but that the 
 utmost exertion would be necessary to place
 
 118 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 them beyond the reach of danger. Fortified 
 by the assurance, that if they once attained 
 an outlet from the vaults she might consider 
 herself beyond the pursuit of the malignant 
 Hepburn, she rallied her remaining strength, 
 and supported by Eosallin, emerged, at 
 length, from the abode of darkness, at the 
 cave we have already mentioned to our 
 readers, on the beach of the German Ocean.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " He lived, he breathed, he moved, he felt ; 
 He raised the maid from where she knelt, 
 His trance was gone — his keen eye shone 
 With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt. 
 With thoughts that burn — in rays that melt." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Scarcely had they found a resting-place, 
 when the Lady Helen, overcome by fatigue, 
 and still feeling the influence of the sleeping 
 draught, reclined herself on a ledge of rock, 
 and sunk again into a profound slumber. 
 The air being crisp and chilly, Kosallin 
 screened her, with the folds of his warder's 
 cloak, from the cutting breezes which ga- 
 thered over the breast of the deep. The 
 opening of a lovely day already appeared in 
 the east, the fresh twilight which follows 
 a thunderstorm sparkled on the dancing 
 waters.
 
 120 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 At length the glorious sun peered above 
 the horizon, fresh as on the morning of his 
 birth. Proudly did he ride over the clouds 
 subdued, and spread his broad, refulgent 
 disk over the face of ocean, as if to vindicate 
 his slighted majesty. Every roving beam 
 playfully kissed the wanton waves, and by 
 its gilded gaiety proved that the storm of 
 yester-e'en had left it still unshorn. The 
 sea-mew revelled in lonely glee, above the 
 glassy billows, and wheeling her flight in 
 wild, fantastic circles, dipped anon into the 
 tiny breakers, and flapped her snow-white 
 wing in the infant sunbeam. At times, 
 steering towards the dazzling orb, she ap- 
 peared a speck on his disk; again, return- 
 ing through mid-heaven, Avhirling in dizzy 
 mazes, she sent her loud and piercing cry 
 through the resounding rocks, and soaring 
 for a moment on balanced pinions, winged 
 her way towards the cave where Helen 
 slumbered. Anon, skimming past the 
 cavern's mouth, scared by the appearance 
 of human forms, she swerved from her 
 course, and with a shrill, incessant cry, 
 flew screaming to the west. 
 
 Helen awoke at the sound, and looked
 
 121 
 
 inquiringly around her. All was as a 
 dream. She saw Eosalliu, animated with 
 the freshness of the bracing morn, standing 
 in the exuberance of rising manhood before 
 her, and her modest cheek was covered with 
 confusion. The time, the place, the com- 
 pany, the nervous sensations occasioned by 
 the opiate, overwhelmed her with apprehen- 
 sion, as she sat, trembling and terrified, 
 looking vacantly on Kosallin. 
 
 " Fear not, dear lady," said he, tenderly, 
 approaching her, and taking her hand ; " you 
 are in the presence of one who covets every 
 danger that may make him serviceable to 
 the heiress of Lumlev." 
 
 She began to understand her position. 
 Her look was one of ineffable gratitude; 
 her larire and lovinsr eye swam in tears as 
 she held the speaker at arm's length, as if 
 to recognise him. 
 
 "It is! — it is!" cried she; "it can be 
 no other !" and buried her weeping face in 
 her hands. 
 
 After the lapse of a few moments, she 
 raised her head, and calmly inquired where 
 she had been — how and why they were 
 there — and whence came the blood upon 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 122 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 her garments? Kosallin found it necessary 
 to detail the leading facts of the night's 
 adventure. At the conclusion, to his great 
 surprise, she exhibited no alarm, expressed 
 no horror, made no inquiries concerning her 
 mother, evinced no anxiety to return home ; 
 nay, thanked him not even for her preserva- 
 tion; but gently raising his left arm, from 
 the wound in which the blood was yet 
 oozing, with a cheek deadly pale, she as- 
 sisted in stripping it, and running to the 
 water's brink, soaked her silken scarf, took 
 up water in her palms, and returning, 
 cleansed and stanched the wound, with a 
 firm and steady hand, and unclasping her 
 zone, bound it tightly round the affected 
 part ; and then, looking into the face of 
 Eosallin, seemed to ask him whether she 
 had succeeded in assuaging his pain. 
 
 Our hero gazed with astonishment on her, 
 whose every feature was a type of feminine 
 softness, and wondered by what unaccount- 
 able charm her heart was nerved to perform 
 so sickening a task. He knew not yet what 
 woman's untold love could do. Though she 
 had wildly divulged the secret of her breast 
 in her dreaming agonies, still, her demeanour
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 123 
 
 towards him since her recovery, and his own 
 resokition to regard her with no other eye 
 than that of friendship, tended to dissipate 
 from his mind all he had seen and heard, 
 and induced him to attribute her kindly 
 offices to the workings of an overweening 
 gratitude. The fact, too, which recurred 
 to his recollection, that she had so frequently 
 passed him, without notice, when accom- 
 panying Lord and Lady Lumley to the 
 Priory mass, — nay, that she had bestowed 
 less of her observation on him than on any 
 of the other religious, to several of whom 
 she had frequently condescended to speak, 
 satisfied him that her temporary fondness 
 was rather one of the effects of that weak- 
 ness, which the opiate they had administered 
 to her had induced, than the result of any 
 tender feeling in his regard. 
 
 Like the froth that danced on every suc- 
 ceeding billow of the ocean before him, did 
 each little attention of the endearing Helen 
 toss to and fro his resolves. Now he would 
 sit in gloomy abstraction, and reject in 
 silence every dictate of the passion that 
 worked within him; now, unmanned by a 
 glance on her, whose helplessness did but 
 g2
 
 124 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 heighten her loveliness — who sat cheerless 
 and unprotected, save by him, — his effer- 
 vescing spirit would expand, in spite of all 
 the prejudices that fettered it, and dwell on 
 her form in one wild impassioned gaze. 
 One moment would he grasp her chilly 
 hand with rapture, and the next, slacken 
 his hold, as if repenting. At length, firm 
 to his resolution, although it belied the 
 emotions he struggled to curb, with a steady 
 voice, by its very firmness betraying that it 
 was assumed, — 
 
 " Lady," said he, '^ the sun rides high in 
 heaven ; allow me to support you to the 
 towers of Lumley, and respectfully take my 
 leave." 
 
 The effort failed, and he quailed at her 
 glance. His voice had faltered. 
 
 ** The towers of Lumley are far from 
 this," she calmly replied. " I fear I have 
 not strength to bear me thither yet ; but if 
 it irks you to stay, leave me now, — I will 
 seek the way alone." 
 
 " Lady," rejoined he, shaken to the very 
 soul, "it is, alas! bliss to stay — agony to 
 leave you. The convent bell has rung full 
 many a time since Eosallin heard it last. 
 'Tis now the matin hour, and yet he is not
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 125 
 
 there. Eemember, y ester-morn it sum- 
 moned him to your deliverance; when he 
 .sees you under your paternal roof, he leaves 
 you for ever. Further communion must 
 endanger thy peace, lady, and can avail me 
 nothing." 
 
 Fearful of unnecessarily wounding her 
 sensibility, his last words were accompanied 
 by a look of tenderness, fraught, never- 
 theless, as he thought, with deep determina- 
 tion. A tear gathered in her eye, as she 
 asked, — " Can aught of Helen Lumley's 
 remind you of her eternal gratitude?" 
 
 " Dear lady," said he, grasping her hand 
 with fervour, and scarcely knowing in that 
 moment what he either said or did, — ^' pray 
 for the soul-troubled Rosallin." 
 
 She answered not, but drawing from her 
 bosom the very beads and cross she had so 
 incoherently described in her dream, fast- 
 ened at the point of junction with a knot of 
 her own black hair, and presenting them to 
 him, — " Take these, Edgar Eosallin," said 
 she, in a faltering voice, and with a down- 
 cast look; " they may recall the friendless 
 Helen to your mind, and invite you to 
 recite a solitary rosary for her sake." 
 
 This was too much. He remembered the
 
 126 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 silent ecstasy with which he had watched 
 her sleeping features in the vault; he 
 thought of her wild and impassioned dreams ; 
 he saw the hallowed rosary, of which she 
 had then so unconsciously spoken, in her 
 extended hand, and ere reflection could 
 blunt the edge of his excited feelings, seized, 
 with delight, the proffered pledge. In the 
 same unreflecting moment, he tore from his 
 bosom the cross, so insidiously presented to 
 him by Brother Andrew, and suspending it 
 over the lily neck of his companion, — 
 
 " Lady," said he, " take in exchange this 
 token. More lasting than the precious 
 metal of which it is composed shall be the 
 friendship I pledge to thee." 
 
 The happy looks of Helen Lumley spoke 
 more than her tongue could utter. Her 
 brightening eye roved over his kindling 
 features, as he vowed to her his fidelity. 
 Their souls were united in that hour, replete 
 with bliss to Helen — with approaching agony 
 of heart to Rosallin. Now did he deem 
 himself her sworn protector ; bound to her 
 fortunes by an indissoluble tie, though he 
 fondly persuaded himself that tie was of 
 friendship only. As ready now to reject
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 127 
 
 every admonition with wliicli reflection fur- 
 nislied liim as lie was eager before to enter- 
 tain it, he fixed on the young Helen a look 
 full of the heart's richest confidence and 
 afiection, and gave the world away. She 
 met his gaze delighted, and repaid it with a 
 glance of truthful expression, which too 
 openly betrayed the feelings of her inex- 
 perienced and confiding breast. 
 
 Mutually happy for the time, they at 
 length quitted the cave, and wandered to- 
 wards the Castle. A sigh broke from the 
 maid when she looked towards the home of 
 her fathers. Eosallin felt the beating of 
 her heart, but never inquired its cause. 
 At times, when occupied in conversation, 
 the journey seemed light and pleasant ; but, 
 when each was thoughtful and silent, it 
 grew long and wearisome. They found 
 themselves, however, on the lawn before the 
 Castle, ere the thought had occurred to them 
 how they were to account for their respec- 
 tive situations. Eosallin expressed his sur- 
 prise to his companion that no search ap- 
 peared to have been set on foot during her 
 absence; but received for answer, that the 
 inmates of the Castle, knowing her to be in
 
 128 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 a delicate state of health, would, as the day 
 was not yet far advanced, conceive her to 
 be still in her chamber, and that, no doubt, 
 her mother (the only being in the Castle 
 cognizant of her abduction) had, by that 
 time, sent emissaries in every direction, to 
 inquire into her fate. 
 
 They now approached a rural seat in the 
 Castle park, and, fatigued with her long 
 journey, the Lady Helen, as if loathing a 
 home, the endearments of which had been 
 recently so embittered, availed herself of the 
 temporary resting-place. Rosallin looked 
 towards the battlements of Lumley, evi- 
 dently struggling with deep internal emo- 
 tion. At length, smothering a sigh, he 
 turned his glance, with fatal expression, on 
 her whos,e confiding but sorrowful gaze 
 made his heart ache at the thought of part- 
 ing. He affected, however, to conceal his 
 pain, again looked towards the Castle, and 
 clasping the hand of Lady Helen between 
 both his own, exclaimed,- — 
 
 " From the hill-top, near the cloisters of 
 Finchale, yon battlements are visible. Sun- 
 set ever finds me on its summit. Should 
 the Lady Helen, at some future hour, pme
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 129 
 
 in sorrow or duress — which her situation 
 renders not improbable, either at Castle 
 Hepburn, under the iron hand of its owner, 
 or in the towers of Luniley, at the dictation 
 of her mother — let a pennon wave on yon 
 eastern turret, at sunset, and it shall be a 
 magnet to the heart of Kosallin. Our part- 
 ing hour is come !" 
 
 He dropped her hand, hurried from her 
 sidg, leaped over the impalement of the de- 
 clivity which led to the Beck, flew down the 
 steep, and had buried himself in the thicket 
 below, ere the surprised and agitated Helen 
 felt herself alone ; but when the conviction 
 rushed upon her, she uttered a faint, ap- 
 pealing cry, and sunk into a death-like 
 swoon. 
 
 The place being one of the most unfre- 
 quented parts of the Lumley domains, she 
 might long have remained in this alarming 
 situation, had not chance led old Leslie by 
 the spot. Attracted by the flowing of her 
 drapery, as he was hastening over the brow 
 of the hill, curiosity led him to her side. 
 The wind was lifting up her dishevelled 
 hair, and tossing the disordered ringlets 
 from side to side over her marble features, 
 g3
 
 130 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 when the old man, in a panic of apprehen- 
 sion, bent over her, and, in a loud whisper, 
 called, "Myleddy!" 
 
 She answered not, but lay and looked like 
 one dead. Leslie grew yet more alarmed, 
 and brightening one of the silver buttons of 
 his tunic, applied it to the lips of his " ain, 
 ain bairn," as he was accustomed to call her, 
 to detect the breath of life, if it had not 
 already fled. 
 
 When withdrawn, the surface of the button 
 was dim. This quieted his immediate fears, 
 and he was on the point of summoning aid 
 from the Castle, when the Lady Helen half- 
 unclosed her eyes, but as immediately closed 
 them again, being unable to bear the gush 
 of light. He raised her head, and the little 
 exertion she was enabled to make by his 
 assistance restored her, in some degree, to 
 herself. She looked around her, but the 
 being on whom she would fain have fixed 
 her eye was gone. Her anguish spoke in 
 the tears she endeavoured, in vain, to con- 
 ceal. 
 
 " Dinna greet, my leddy, dinna greet," 
 said the old man, in an encouraging tone. 
 
 *' Oh, Leslie !" she cried, covering her
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 131 
 
 face with her hands, " you know not what 
 I weep for." 
 
 The soft-hearted seneschal wiped his eyes, 
 for his sympathetic feelings easily got the 
 better of him. His grief was fast thi'eaten- 
 ing to become more loudly dolorous, when 
 Helen rose from the rustic seat, and requested 
 him to support her to the Castle. Conscious 
 of her weakness, she hung on the old man's 
 arm, but this seemed not altogether to suit 
 the ideas he had formed of what was or was 
 not a fitting distance to be observed between 
 the superiors and the vassals of a great 
 family. 
 
 " N a, na, my leddy," said he, still sobbing, 
 "it's na for siccan as your leddyship to be 
 seen hangin' frae the arm o' ane like auld 
 Leslie. Bide a wee, an' rU fetch ane o' 
 your leddy ship's ain maids frae the Castle." 
 
 " Support me, good Leslie," said she, 
 heedless of his remonstrance ; "I can no 
 longer bear the cutting wind, and I am too 
 weak to walk alone." 
 
 "Aweel! aweel! — an' your leddyship 
 will hae it sae, it maun be sae. Come 
 alang; we'll gang thegither." 
 
 Thus, at a slow pace, they proceeded
 
 132 TALES OF A LAY-BKOTHER. 
 
 towards the Castle, but had not gone far, 
 when the Lady Helen, suddenly checking 
 her companion, loosened her hold of his arm, 
 clasped her uplifted hands, and staring 
 wildly towards the clouds in the east, stood 
 like a maniac, gazing on vacuity. Leslie 
 looked towards tlie same quarter, but saAV 
 nothing to attract attention. He remon- 
 strated, in his own way, but she turned a 
 deaf ear to him ; — her soul seemed wrapt in 
 thoughts of its own creation, and her un- 
 winking eye turned not from the spot where 
 it lirst was fixed. 
 
 At length, the old man saw, or thought 
 he saw, an object, wheeling in circles, high 
 and far in heaven ; but why it should attract 
 so intense a gaze from his companion, he 
 could not divine. His own curiosity became, 
 at length, awakened, and silently did he 
 watch the pircuitous but still approaching 
 Hight of the aerial being; nor had he yet 
 detected aught peculiar in the whirling 
 mazes which marked his path through the 
 sky, when the Lady Helen involuntarily 
 exclaimed, ''Ah!" and her features lit up 
 into a triumphant smile. Ere the witless 
 seneschal could collect the few ideas his own
 
 NlEViLLE'S CROSS. 133 
 
 mind was in the act of conceiving, a stock- 
 clove flew fluttering and screaming towards 
 them, and hovered round the spot on which 
 they stood, crying for protection. 
 
 *' We cannot help thee, harmless flutterer ; 
 — fly to the thicket !" exclaimed the Lady 
 Helen, trembling with agitation. 
 
 While the old man, unattended to on her 
 part, was inquiring from her the meaning of 
 so impassioned an exclamation, a mountain- 
 hawk soared with expanded wings above 
 them. The Lady Helen uttered a faint 
 scream, and her features worked convul- 
 sively, as, panting and almost breathless, 
 she watched the steady flight of the ravenous 
 creature, wheeling round and round in the 
 air over his dizzy and devoted prey. 
 Descending and mounting, apparently dis- 
 appearing, and as suddenly returning, to 
 sport with the terrors of his little victim, he 
 flung his shadowy form from side to side, 
 ere he could bring himself to bear on the 
 fated mark. Poised, at length, his rustling 
 wings flapped against his sides, his grappling 
 talons were tucked beneath his breast, and, 
 darting forward his head, he scudded down- 
 wards with the speed of a thunderbolt. On
 
 134 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 the tiptoe of an agonizing suspense did the 
 trembling maid press forward, as if to strike 
 the bird of prey with the lightning of her 
 eyes. She shrieked to scare him, but in 
 vain ; he blenched not from his course, and 
 the screaming victim had given its last 
 flutter beneath his shadow, when he was 
 suddenly jerked from his slanting flight, and 
 the report of a gun was, in the same instant, 
 heard from the thicket. Tossing for awhile 
 from side to side, with unguided motion, in 
 the agonies of death, he at last fell, with a 
 heavy sound, lifeless and bleeding, at her 
 ladyship's feet. 
 
 The scene had worked her imagination to 
 the highest pitch of excitement. It was too 
 faithful an omen of the sufferings with which 
 her own destiny was likely to be clouded, to 
 pass unregarded before her; and when the 
 stricken monster fell, as if her own deliver- 
 ance had been wrought, she threw herself on 
 her knees, and with uplifted eyes and lips 
 apart, seemed silently thankful to that Omni- 
 potent Power, which suffers not a sparrow to 
 fall unheeded. 
 
 '' It was weel dune, my leddy !" cried 
 Leslie, approaching her, and eyeing the
 
 neyille's cross. 135 
 
 bloody plumage of the bird of prey. ' ' I wadna 
 ha' gi'en the flirt o' my finger for the life o' 
 that wee bit skirlin' pigeon, an' it hadna 
 been for pouther an' shot. Piiir thing ! it 
 was ower muckle scared, to fin' its way to 
 the thicket. Ye auld bluidy thief!" taking 
 up the hawk, and examining his talons, 
 " ye'll mak' nae mair sic wark wi' the bit 
 things, that wad ne'er ha' dune ye ony harm, 
 wi' a' your forkit heuks. Awa wi' ye, for 
 an ugly deil, an rot !" concluded he, spui^n- 
 ing it from him, at the close of this pithy 
 oration. 
 
 Helen was too much a prey to mental 
 distress, to pay much attention to her com- 
 panion. She would fain have walked on in 
 silence, the better to indulge her own solitary 
 reflections, but the scene we have just de- 
 scribed touched old Leslie, and nothing 
 could prevent him expressing his ideas to 
 the full, as he turned, at every few paces, to 
 look at the " coward carrion" — thus desig- 
 nating the dead bird he had left behind. 
 At another time, his remarks might have 
 been a source of merriment and ridicule, but 
 now they did but serve to remind his com- 
 panion of her protectionless condition.
 
 136 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHEK. 
 
 " To rin after the wee bit things, i' ouy 
 sic gate, ye auld frightfii' limb!" resumed 
 he. " Ye wadna ha ta'en it sae muclde at 
 your ease, an' ye'd been gangin' to have a 
 bit scuffle wi' ane o' your ain kin, I'se war- 
 rant. It's may be weel eneugh to be speerin' 
 after a puir lone pigeon, an' chasin' it, a' 
 flutterin' frae buss to brake, because ye 
 tliought there was nane to help it, puir 
 thing ! But wi' a' your whirlin' an' twirlin', 
 an' wheelin' an soarin', frae ane side o' the 
 welkin to th' ither, ye cam doun wi' as 
 clumsy a grace as need be, when the bullet 
 gaed tliro' your rattlin' banes. Ae minute 
 mair, my leddy, an' he wad ha heuked his 
 forkit beak in its wee heart, puir helpless 
 thing!" 
 
 " There's many a wounded heart, good 
 Leslie, that meets with less compassion," said 
 the Lady Helen, with a look of settled 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Aweel, my leddy, it's like to be sae; it's 
 as God made 'em, ye ken," answered he. 
 " It couldna fin' its hame." 
 
 " Better never find it, Leslie, than find it 
 friendless," was the melancholy reply. 
 
 " Even sae, my leddy; but if it had gaun
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 137 
 
 to the thicket, it might ha' nestled under 
 its mither's wing," was the unconsciously 
 wounding reply. 
 
 Slie could bear it no longer, but burst 
 into tears, and with a look of unutterable 
 sorrow, exclaimed — 
 
 " It might have done so, Leslie." 
 They were now within a few paces of the 
 Castle gate. The Lady Helen waved a 
 kind farewell to tlie well-meaning seneschal, 
 and flew to her chamber, where Lady Lum- 
 ley had long been waiting her arrival with 
 painful anxiety.
 
 138 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " This outward, sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i' th' head, and follies doth ensnare, 
 As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The rapid flight of our hero down the decli- 
 vity of the Lumley Beck was impeded when 
 he reached the river, which, swollen by the 
 torrents of rain, poured from the huge black 
 thunder-clouds of the preceding night, had 
 overflowed its banks, and now rolled its 
 muddy waters over the path leading to the 
 ford. 
 
 It was all one to the firm but distracted 
 wanderer. Since his departure from the 
 Abbey, he had witnessed what might have
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 139 
 
 unmanned a more rigid philosopher — the 
 heiress of a great and distinguished house 
 imploring his protection from ruffian vio- 
 lence and unnatural treatment, with appeal- 
 ing tears ; he had felt what he had never 
 before dared to feel — emotions belying the 
 profession to which they sought to train 
 him; he had done what few even would 
 have dared to do whose ears had been taught 
 to love the clash of ringing steel, whose 
 eyes had rolled on streams of blood; but 
 w^hen the image of the stricken bondsman 
 passed over his imagination, he drew his 
 hand over his eyes, as if to remove the 
 shadow from before him. 
 
 The reflection of a moment, however, 
 calmed his disturbed spirit on this subject ; 
 but the more he communed with himself 
 on the entertainment of what he falsely 
 deemed a yet unhallowed feeling, the more 
 did it combat for dominion in his breast. 
 Indulging a wild and vague idea, that as long 
 as his emotions remained unrevealed to the 
 object that had excited them, he might con- 
 scientiously nourish the flame, and eventually 
 reconcile it to his state of life, he journeyed 
 on, unmindful of the broken path, till the
 
 140 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHEE. 
 
 grey walls of the Priory rose immediately^ 
 before him on the opposite bank. The step- 
 ping-stones were impassable. At another 
 time, he might have hesitated to ford the 
 rapid torrent ; bnt now, conceiving no other 
 than that the whole brotherhood had long 
 since changed queries and opinions concern- 
 ing his absence, and that the synod of supe- 
 riors must have already passed sentence on 
 his flagrant breach of discipline, he dashed 
 into the foaming stream, waded and stumbled 
 over its stony bottom, climbed the bank, 
 and, at his leisure, entered the monastery 
 from the northern ruins, and slowly traversed 
 the cloisters to his cell — like a prisoner 
 wearily pacing across the narrow boundaries 
 of the court-yard which leads to his dun- 
 geon, and dragging his iron fetters at his 
 heels, when the hoarse voice of his gaoler 
 announces to him that the prescribed mo- 
 ments for his gaze on heaven are expired. 
 
 To his no small surprise, the figure of 
 Brother Andrew, seated in a gloomy corner 
 of his little apartment, first attracted his 
 attention. Anxious for the loneliness of a 
 few solitary hours, he would gladly have 
 found his cell vacant, but forgave the pre-
 
 neyille's cross. 141 
 
 sence of the visitor, when he learned for what 
 purpose his temporary abode had been taken 
 up there. 
 
 ^' Deo gratias /" cried the monk. " Your 
 unwarrantable absence is undiscovered. — 
 Haste, and change those drenched garments, 
 and detection need not be feared. Why so 
 pale and sad, my youthful brother?" 
 
 " I am jveary," was the reply. 
 
 " That sunken eye," pursued the monk, 
 " speaks volumes that need not utterance. 
 You have seen the Lady Helen?" 
 
 " And if so?" demanded Rosallin, with a 
 frown of displeasure, all his former sus- 
 picions returning. But he checked himself, 
 as if about ungratefully to slight the good 
 offices of the monk. " Pardon me, Andi^ew," 
 he resumed; " I have not slept these thirty 
 hours." 
 
 A change of dress was soon completed, 
 and, secreting his pistols in his vest, he 
 threw himself exhausted on his pallet, -and 
 sunk into a deep sleep, which lasted until 
 the vesper-bell aroused him. He rose 
 to join the brotherhood at the choir; but 
 Brother Andi^ew, who had never left his 
 side, besought him to stay, as his languid
 
 142 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER, 
 
 and haggard appearance would certainly 
 attract inquiry. He cast his dim and rest- 
 less eye about him, by every glance betraying 
 to his experienced companion the agitation 
 of his spirit. The penetrating Andrew pro- 
 fited by the advantage thus afforded, and 
 endeavoured to extract from him the cause 
 of so much apparent emotion. 
 
 " There is anguish unrevealed in that 
 unsettled eye, Edgar," said he, with as kind 
 a look as his stern cast of features could 
 assume. " Confide in one who wishes, did 
 you not .deny him, to be your friend." 
 
 The confidence of Rosallin was won by 
 the frank aspect of the impostor, but still 
 there was a lurking suspicion in his lan- 
 guage. 
 
 " If the monk of Hepburn," said he, 
 '' would mislead the inexperience of one 
 whose confidence he courts, he may find his 
 victim dangerous. If he be really the friend 
 his looks and words bespeak him, he must 
 have already guessed the cause of his bro- 
 ther's pain. Andrew, I love !" 
 
 Affecting not to be either surprised or 
 offended at a confession utterly inconsistent 
 with the intended dedication of Rosallin to
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 143 
 
 the cause of religion, he proceeded to argue 
 that there was nothing incompatible with a 
 brother's duty, in transferring to another 
 object a portion of his heart's affections, so 
 long as those affections were restrained 
 within the bounds of innocent indulgence. 
 He then, with the craft of Ulysses concealed 
 under the apparent frankness of his brow, 
 sifted from the open-hearted youth the re- 
 cital of all that had befallen him since his 
 departure from the Priory, and so well did 
 he interlard his consolatory observations 
 with sympathizing looks and gestures, de- 
 ceitful as the heart from which they sprung, 
 and ejaculations of well-timed pity and sur- 
 prise alternately, that before our confiding 
 hero could read the dubious expression of 
 his diminutive eye, the minutiae of his tale 
 were all displayed in colours glowing as the 
 heart that portrayed them. 
 
 "'Tis well, "said the satisfied monk, — " 'tis 
 well! You are persuaded she does not 
 affect Sir William Hepburn — nay, you hint 
 that she rather loathes him. Effugiamus 
 scopiilos, my son. The bark, in which 
 you have launched on a difiicult sea, is but 
 slight and fragile; it may weather the winds
 
 144 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHEH. 
 
 for a while, and proudly breast the fringe 
 of the breakers, but when it steers amid 
 the rocks beware lest — 
 
 ' Incidit in Scyllam, cuplens vltare Charyhdin.^ 
 
 Your efforts may possibly tend to restore 
 peace of mind to the Lady Helen, as long as 
 you are at her side — they may inspirit her 
 to bear the violence of Hepburn, and the 
 cold treatment of her mother; but, mark 
 me ! an acquaintance with your passion will 
 be poison to the jealousy of Hepburn, and 
 an ineradicable sting to the pride of Lady 
 Lumley." 
 
 Eosallin listened with mute attention; at 
 one time admiring the figurative language 
 'in which his companion could so readily 
 clothe the most common ideas— at another, 
 surprised at the suddenness with which the 
 friendship his language bespoke sprung up, 
 — and strong as had been his inclination to 
 suspect the sincerity of his adviser, and 
 deep his repentance for having unwarily 
 revealed so much, he now threw all reserve 
 aside, reproached himself internally for 
 having doubted the professions of the pre- 
 tended monk, and concluding that none but
 
 NEVILLE'S CKOSS. 145 
 
 a true friend could have given him such 
 salutary precautions, resolved, once for all, 
 never to cease confiding without indisputable 
 grounds of doubt. 
 
 This was all the betrayer wished for, and 
 now did he begin to uncoil his mesh of 
 villainy. He knew that high-mindedness 
 was the distinguishing characteristic of the 
 youth, and secretly exulting in the power 
 he had gained over him, tauntingly and 
 sarcastically observed — 
 
 '' A jewelled cross is a saintly-seeming 
 token for a young religious to lure a maid 
 withal. Nay, feel not for it there — 'tis 
 round a whiter neck than that, I'll be 
 sworn. Surely the Foundling of Finchale 
 has never dared to presume tliat Helen of 
 Lumley would mingle her gentle blood with 
 the stuff that flows in his plebeian veins !" 
 
 The lightning of Eosallin's eye flashed, 
 as if to scathe his insulter, — his chest heaved 
 with pride and indignation, — his cheek red- 
 dened, as if the blood had rallied there, to 
 give the lie to the foul aspersion, — and with 
 a voice which betrayed that he was excited 
 beyond control, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Driveller, as thou art ! were it not for 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 the cowl that envelops thy shorn brows, I 
 should deal thee mischief! Begone! — 
 Scourge me not with thy hated presence, 
 lest every stripe thy glance inflicts should 
 demand a separate retribution !" 
 
 With a laughing scowl, in which every 
 demon lurked, did the insidious Andrew 
 throw his half-averted glance on the en- 
 raged youth, revelling in the conviction that 
 he had touched him to the quick. To com- 
 plete the havoc so pitilessly begun, he cut- 
 tingly retorted, with a sneer, — 
 
 " Such a bravado comes well and trip- 
 pingly from a Highland herdsman's bastard. 
 Nay, start not — it is true ! But, mark ! — 
 Dare to pursue your childish attempts on 
 the love of Helen of Lumley, and I will strew 
 burning ploughshares in your path, and 
 stimulate the heiress of Liulph, by a ma- 
 chinery which no mortal can divert, to 
 scout the mean pretensions of a nameless 
 stripling, whose effeminate heart shall be 
 broken in dishonour, if there be in hell a 
 fiend to help me to his ruin. Tremble, 
 when we meet again !" 
 
 Grinning horribly, the traitor departed. 
 Pale with rage, stood the fretful Rosallin, a
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 147 
 
 very type of outraged feeling. Anger, 
 hatred, and revenge, were uppermost; but 
 love, deep-rooted love, unknown to its victim, 
 was working still wilder ravages within 
 him. Reason long struggled for the mastery, 
 and at length a flash of self-reproach gathered 
 over his features, as he fearfully eyed the 
 instrument of death clutched in his hand, 
 which he had unconsciously drawn from his 
 bosom, and with which he had well nigh 
 deluged the abode of peace and the sanctuary 
 of religion with the blood of one whom he 
 knew only as a consecrated priest. While 
 yet his breast was torn with contending 
 emotions, he sunk on his knees, fastened his 
 eyes on a crucifix, and placing the weapon 
 on the pallet which stood beside him, clasped 
 his hands in an agony of grief at the re- 
 flection how narrowly he had escaped the 
 pollution of a fellow-creature's blood, and, 
 like a second Cain, the eternal gnawings of 
 a guilty conscience. A flood of tears, shed 
 over the image of his persecuted Saviour, 
 partially restored his peace of mind, and, 
 while contemplating the wounds of the 
 Lamb of God, the storm in his tumultuous 
 breast subsided. 
 
 h2
 
 148 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 From this moment did the spirits of the 
 once gay and lively Eosallin decline. His 
 hours were spent in solitude, uninterrupted, 
 save by the rules which forced on him the 
 companionship of the brotherhood. The 
 leisure time with which his avocations did 
 not interfere was passed in deep and dis- 
 tressing thought. He loved to loiter among 
 the northern ruins, and on the river banks, 
 frequently sauntering by the spot which 
 his associations had so much endeared to 
 him. 
 
 In this state of unsocial abstraction did 
 he retreat alone, after the usual hours of 
 prayer and reflection, to his favourite haunts, 
 and there, shutting out all the world be- 
 side, commune in spirit with the absent 
 Helen. The setting sun nightly spread his 
 beams on the brow of the little hill, from 
 which might be descried the towers of 
 Lumley. There was Rosallin seen, at his 
 favourite hour, looking on those towers as a 
 mariner on his beacon-light ; and frequently 
 did his fellow-religious observe his hand 
 stray within his bosom, and thence to his 
 lips, but none had ever caught even a glance 
 at the rosary of Lady Helen.
 
 Neville's cross. 149 
 
 Such a state of things could not long 
 endure without working a visible external 
 change. His once expressive eye grew dim 
 and passionless, his cheek pale and emaciated, 
 his brow constantly wrinkled with thought 
 and sorrow. The youthful vivacity of his 
 smile was changed into a melancholy and 
 unmeaning expression, and his light and 
 agile step assumed a heaviness and decre- 
 pitude indicative of serious and alarming 
 infirmity. If occasionally he mingled with 
 the younger classes of the community, and 
 for the moment seemed to banish care, and 
 acknowledge by a smile the eagerness of each 
 to conciliate his favour, the instant the 
 buoyancy of their youthful spirits betrayed 
 them into noisy mirth, he would suddenly 
 quit the happy circle, and immure himself 
 in the solitude of his cell. 
 
 Sleeping and waking, his thoughts were 
 on the Maid of Lumley. Her phantom 
 flitted round his pillow, sometimes present- 
 ing itself in the agonies of drowning — at 
 other times, reclining on the litter in the 
 vaults of tlie Castle — and at others, again, 
 communing with liim in the cave on the 
 beach. Each mornino: he rose from his
 
 150 • TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 pallet paler and more dejected. In vain did 
 the superiors remonstrate — in vain did his 
 friends admonish ; — he was sad, almost irre- 
 deemably sad. But his was not an inactive 
 sadness : there was in it an energy which, 
 if roused, would wildly break forth, and 
 warn the officious adviser against a second 
 intrusion. Suspicion lurked in every glance 
 of his restless eye, for confidence in his 
 fellow-men was fast fading from his heart, 
 and a misanthropic doubt usurping the 
 dominion in that breast, which so lately 
 teemed with delight if it could sympathize 
 in another's sorrows, or excite a fellow-feel- 
 ing for its own. Still, his behaviour was 
 partial. Towards all he was reserved; but 
 only to the superiors of the community was 
 he sullen. He had discovered that his con- 
 duct was narrowly watched, that spies were 
 sent across his path, and that a constant 
 communication was kept up between Prior 
 John and Lady Lumley. To what result 
 these circumstances might lead, he could 
 form no guess ; but his enterprising spirit 
 resolved on discovery, and, fearing no con- 
 sequences, he took his determination again 
 to visit the Castle. A whisper, too, that
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 151 
 
 Hepburn, who had escaped his fire in the 
 vault of Lumley, contemplated another and 
 a more diabolical scheme to obtain pos- 
 session of the person of Lady Helen, had 
 reached him, and gave additional zeal to his 
 endeavours in the cause of the persecuted 
 maid.
 
 152 TALES or A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, 
 And yet so lovely, that if mirth could flush 
 Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, 
 My heart would wish away that ruder glow : — 
 And dazzle not thy deep blue eyes — but oh ! 
 While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, 
 And into mine my mother's weakness rush, 
 Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 It was tlie evening of a gloomy day, and 
 the hour when the brotherhood had dispersed 
 to their respective cells, after vesper service, 
 that our hero chose for carrying the design, 
 mentioned in the conclusion of the last 
 chapter into execution. 
 
 Wlien all was hushed within the walls of 
 the monastery, he stole to the north-eastern 
 ruin, climbed over the mouldering fragments, 
 and crossed the lawn to the hill side. Saun-
 
 NEYILLE^S CROSS. 153 
 
 tering to the summit, lie stood for some 
 moments in deep reflection, devising by 
 what means to secure the success of his ex- 
 pedition. At length, with the step of one 
 who has taken a firm resolve, he descended 
 into the valley, and bent his course towards 
 the village of Chester-le-street. 
 
 At the outskirts of the hamlet of Lumley, 
 by which he passed, dwelt an old recluse, of 
 the name of Oscar,' whom he had frequently 
 visited, in his desultory rambles round the 
 country-side. He was a man grown grey 
 in sorrow, and from the habitual dejection 
 of his furrowed countenance, the rustics of 
 the neighbourhood had denominated his cell, 
 " The Grotto of Tears." 
 
 A young female, beautiful as a sylph, was 
 his constant attendant. He called her 
 Sidney. Her stature was tall and shapely ; 
 her step light as that of the bounding roe ; 
 and such the dignity of her easy and delicate 
 form, that the villagers would stop in her 
 path, and make their obeisance, as if to one 
 of superior birth and breeding. Her large 
 expressive eye, blue as a cloudless heaven, 
 won the love of all around her; and it 
 would have wrung a sigh from the heart of 
 h3
 
 154 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 a misanthrope to have read, at times, the lan- 
 guage of that eye, when she threw its speak- 
 ing glances on her aged and only friend. 
 
 She was seated on a stone slab, in front 
 of the grotto, and a few paces from her, in 
 the hollow trunk of a branching yew, the 
 old man was -wi'apt in prayer. The maiden's 
 harp leaned against the thick ivy, which 
 overhung and enveloped the rocky entrance 
 of the cell; the rude winds brushed its 
 responding chords as they passed, but seemed 
 to linger, as though in love with the sounds 
 of their own creation. A sadness reigned 
 round the spot, more fitting a cemetery of 
 the dead than the abode of a living being ; 
 but though sad, it was in nought unlovely. 
 
 Eosallin approached with reverential step, 
 but paused at a little distance, till the still- 
 ness of the moment might be disturbed. 
 Had the pensive Sidney been the genius of 
 the place, deploring the loss of her sister 
 nymphs, a more solemn silence could not 
 have prevailed. Her head was downcast; 
 her cheek rested on the palm of her hand ; 
 her auburn tresses rose and fell with the 
 breeze, and her pale brow was bared to view. 
 Intrusion at such a moment would have
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 155 
 
 been sacrilege. A deep-drawn sigh at 
 length revealed, that her thoughts were not 
 of a consolatory kind. She tried to shake 
 off her dejection, flung her tresses back, and 
 drawing her harp to her side, with one wild 
 sweep roused every sleeping echo. Edgar 
 advanced, and in a well remembered tone of 
 voice, whispered, " Sidney !" She gladly 
 turned to greet him, but her delicacy blushed 
 at the thought of having been detected in so 
 sad a mood, and fain would she have retreated 
 into the grotto, had not his entreaties with- 
 held her. 
 
 Sensibility was Sidney 's failing ; she would 
 have spoken, but could not ; her breast heaved 
 tumultuously, as she timidly regarded Ros- 
 allin. 
 
 "I surely am not unwelcome, Sidney?" 
 said he. She shook her head, and smiled. 
 
 " The venerable Oscar is at his usual 
 penance," he continued. 
 
 " Let us go, too," said she ; and taking 
 his right hand, led him to where the old 
 man was kneeling before a crucifix, and in 
 a voice somewhat above a whisper, repeating 
 his orisons. He had not heard the approach 
 of the youthful pair, and Sidney, with her
 
 156 TALES OP A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 finger on lier lip, signed her companion to 
 kneel. Through a fissure in the tree the 
 sky was seen, and shed its light on a little 
 broken altar, against which the recluse was 
 leaning. Our hero listened with reverent 
 attention, as the energetic prayer of the old 
 man fell on his struck ear. 
 
 " Protect, Heavenly Father ! that threat- 
 ened house ! Eaise up to it a deliverer, ere 
 its daughter is a sacrifice. There stalks a 
 wolf from Hepburn Forest. Interpose, 
 God! the shield of thy protection between 
 the chieftain of Hepburn and the innocence 
 he would despoil. Hurl the unerring bolt 
 of thy wrath at the feet of the seducer, and 
 turn him from his prey !" 
 
 Eosallin started on his feet. " Old man T' 
 exclaimed he, ' ' thy prayer is heard* Behold 
 the willing instrument of the wrath thou 
 invokest !" 
 
 Betraying neither surprise nor alarm, the 
 hermit rose, and looked on his visitor. 
 
 " Eash youth," said he, calmly, " thou 
 hast done wrong to interrupt me. Why not 
 leave my palsied tongue to exhaust its 
 maledictions on the last Hepburn — to invoke 
 the choicest blessings on the heiress of him
 
 NETILLE*S CROSS. 157 
 
 of the ' bloody brow/ — the last child of 
 Liulph Lumley? Seest thou yon gloomy 
 turrets, raising their scathed heads between 
 thee and the distant ocean?" Then, turning 
 to Sidney — " Come hither, girl," continued 
 he; "point out to the young Eosallin the 
 battlements of the Black Tower. I will be 
 with ye, anon." 
 
 "Is it the prison-house of Hepburn, 
 Sidney, of which I have heard so much, that 
 stands on yon lonely peak?" asked Edgar, 
 when the hermit had departed. 
 
 "Many have been said to feel it so, Edgar," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "Great God of heaven!" exclaimed he, 
 with perturbation, " hast thou made a being 
 so ruthless?" 
 
 " Sidney," again cried he, after a pause, 
 " furnish me with old Oscar's bonnet, cloak j 
 and staff. This hour will I go to Lumley !" 
 
 The vehemence with which he spoke, 
 called the aged inhabitant of the grotto once 
 more to his side. One reproving look 
 hushed the excited youth to silence. 
 
 " Whence this unseemly turbulence of 
 speech, young man?" asked the hermit. 
 
 " Father," answered Rosallin, " if the
 
 158 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 mist of centuries were between me and yon- 
 der peak, I could descry those towers. Too 
 dark the tale connected with that scene, — 
 too near this wrung heart, to hide it from 
 my view." 
 
 "What mean ye, young man?" inter- 
 rogated the recluse, impatiently. " Aught 
 connected with Helen of Lumley ?" 
 
 " Aught connected with Helen of Lum- 
 ley !" echoed Eosallin. " If the child is aught 
 connected with its mother, — if the founda- 
 tion-stone is aught connected with the super- 
 structure, — then is my tale connected with 
 Helen of Lumley. Have ye not heard, — 
 but hark ye, old man — are you that friend to 
 the house of Lumley, which your enthusias- 
 tic language would lead me to believe you ?" 
 
 " As each grey hair drops from this hoary 
 head," replied the hermit, " it bears testi- 
 mony how I have sorrowed for the threaten- 
 ing destiny of the house of Lumley. If ever 
 a tear starts from this shrivelled eyelid, it is 
 either for the lone child of Liulph, or for 
 my own unfortunate Sidney." 
 
 Eosallin looked compassionately on his 
 young companion ; her heart was full. The 
 old man motioned her to retire.
 
 159 
 
 " Send her not away, father," entreated 
 Eosallin; "I could not mistrust Sidney. 
 Stay, sweet girl; I have nought to reveal 
 but what thou well mayst hear." 
 
 The artless maiden, whose silence was as 
 habitual as her dejection, pressed her right 
 hand to her heart, and kissed her left to 
 Edgar ; at once indicating the pleasure she 
 felt in his confidence, and assuring him that 
 confidence should never be betrayed. 
 
 " My friends," cried he, stopping sud- 
 denly, (for he had been pacing the little 
 cell to and fro, with an agitated step,) "I 
 believe ye devoted to the fortunes of the 
 house of Lumley. It seems, too, to be known 
 to you, that Hepburn is its secret enemy; 
 but if, as is whispered, he attempts again to 
 carry away the heiress of Lumley to his 
 fortress on the Black Rock, by the heaven 
 above us ! this arm shall shrink like burning 
 wool, but it shall wrench her from his savage 
 embrace. I go hence to the Castle. Give 
 me but a garb which will enable me to escape 
 detection, and from the communicative Leslie 
 I may learn all. He is now at Lumley, 
 stationed there by his master, to. report the 
 conduct of the household ; a task he has
 
 160 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 little liking to, but undertakes for his own 
 purposes. If I can work on his wandering 
 senses, and call his recollection to certain 
 scenes with which I know him acquainted, 
 fear not the result. Sympathy will win his 
 confidence; I have tried it before, with 
 success. Pray for me, father, — pray for 
 me, kind Sidney, — and all will yet be 
 well." 
 
 He pressed the hands of each of his 
 companions in both his own, and donning 
 the change of external garments Sidney 
 had provided for him, hastily took his 
 leave. 
 
 " Fly !— God speed thee !— fly !" cried the 
 old man, witli impatient agitation. 
 
 Many were the adieus Sidney silently 
 bade her parting friend — many the blessings 
 her speaking eyes called on his beloved head. 
 But hers was the calm though devoted 
 affection of friendship. She knew no pas- 
 sion, — her gentle bosom felt no pang at the 
 zeal he displayed in the cause of the Lady 
 Helen. Moved by what she had seen and 
 heard, she watched his retiring figure, till 
 the windings of the pathway hid him from 
 her view ; then retm'ning to her stone seat,
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 161 
 
 she clasped her harp, awoke a wild and 
 favourite air, of which Kosallin had oft 
 approved, and with the sound of its soothing 
 harmonies, subdued and lulled the excite- 
 ment into which the recent scene had thrown 
 her.
 
 162 TALES OF A LAY-BKOTHEK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Fell, banning hag — enchantress, hold thy tongue !" 
 
 Shakspeabe. 
 
 On the burn-side, leading from the hermit^s 
 cell, along the banks of the Wear, to Lumley 
 Castle, dwelt a sexagenarian, of the sex of 
 mother Eve ; her name was Blanche, but 
 the vassals of Lumley knew her better by 
 the emphatic title of " the Prophetess." 
 Earely seen among the haunts of men, when 
 she did pass through the village, the matrons 
 " wi' bairn" would sign the cross over them- 
 selves, the old women curtsey their very 
 lowest, and while some greeted her with 
 divers conciliatory welcomes — " Ye're lookin' 
 braw, woman; — Gude morrow, cummer; — 
 Ye're alway^ bringin' gude luck to the wee 
 bairns an' the bit craps;" and such like —
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 163 
 
 others would address their companions at 
 the stretch of their voices, that she might 
 hear the good word they had for her. 
 
 " I'll uphaud ye, she's na come up frae 
 the bum-side, without guid to some ane !" 
 would one say; while . another, equally 
 anxious for her good-will, and not less 
 anxious, at the same time, to get rid of her, 
 would follow it up with — " Na, na; there's 
 mair than ae mither to bless the day that 
 auld Blanchie spaed the fortune o' her bairn, 
 frae the moment it loupit within her !" 
 
 The Prophetess, meanwhile, with strides 
 as long and rapid as the best male pedestrian 
 of the country-side, passed them by, with a 
 significant nod to a select few, who, no 
 doubt, by times, gave her a helping hand 
 through the difficulties and wants of her 
 chequered existence. 
 
 On the evening of oui' hero's visit to the 
 hermit's cell, Blanche had been seen prowl- 
 ing about the village of Chester-le-street, 
 and on the adjacent warrens. Under the 
 shade of a branching yew, which had, for 
 long, been the scene 
 
 " Where many an eye was gladdened, 
 And many a heart was saddened,"
 
 164 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 by her pryings into futurity, three rustic 
 maids, from the hamlet of Lumley, aware 
 that she was that day abroad, and expecting 
 her to pass through the dingle at even-tide, 
 had taken their stand — to coax from her 
 the fate they shuddered, yet longed to hear. 
 She came, and had well nigh escaped them, 
 when one of the damsels, more bold than 
 the rest, called, in a tremulous tone, 
 " Blanche!" Thus arrested, the old hag 
 turned round upon them. 
 
 " Get to your hames, fule bairns !" cried 
 she, *' an' comfort your mithers, for there's 
 nane amang ye will e'er be a mither 
 hersel' ! " 
 
 Never checking her laborious pace while 
 she spoke, she thus left the disconsolate 
 maidens to ponder on the hopeless futurity, 
 and striking into the dell, was out of sight 
 in an instant. 
 
 Out of the hill-side, near the entrance of 
 the glen, a spring bubbled into a rude stone 
 well at its foot. By the brink Blanche 
 threw herself carelessly down, and lianging 
 her head over the glassy surface, contem- 
 plated, for a while, her haggard features. 
 At length, holding over the basin her skinny
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 165 
 
 and freckled arm, she was intent on its 
 shrivelled shadow, when the three maidens, 
 having terrified themselves into courage 
 again to face her, timidly approached. Ap- 
 parently without observing them, '' The 
 foul fiend seize ye," muttered the Prophetess, 
 in a croaking under voice, '' an' mak' ye 
 bairnless, wha dare to pit your shadows 
 atween my auld een an' the fate o' the loon 
 Hepburn!" 
 
 They moved, and the western sky again 
 cast its reflection on the mirror of her 
 charms. With breathless silence did the 
 damsels listen to words big with impending 
 fate. 
 
 " Cheerily, cheerily, moss-lipp'd waters, 
 Heed not Luinley's wanton daughters !" 
 
 This pacification over, the Prophetess 
 gathered a handful of the moss which over- 
 hung the brink of the well, and casting it 
 in, watched the sprigs separate and follow 
 each other over the stone lip with a look of 
 intense interest. When the surface of the 
 well was once more clear, she proceeded : — 
 
 " The chiel maun hae a frightfu' fa'. 
 His men o' might maun perish a' ; — 
 Not ane, not ane maun live to tell, 
 How a' his fierce foregangers fell !
 
 166 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 The taid is croakin' on his bier, — 
 The hungry lang- worm's sliijie is near, — 
 The beetle i' his crannied brain 
 Maist ^^^cked part o' a' has ta'en ! 
 They'll a' enjoy right welcome fare, 
 For the feast shall be baith rich an' rare." 
 
 " Maidens," cried she, raising her head, 
 after some moments of serious consideration, 
 " my heart is light again — 
 
 " Fve cursed him wi' a mither's curse, 
 A witherin' blight, an', what is worse. 
 An auld man's, whose worn arm would fain 
 Avenge the dear one he has slain ! 
 Puir leddy ! Yet thy bluid maun reek. 
 An' stud wY teai's auld Neville's cheek, 
 An' bring the lightnin' to his ee. 
 Will spend itsel' avenging thee ! 
 Stan' back ! there's ane amang ye wha 
 Maun hae a fearfu' share o' a', — 
 His step o' roe, his ee o' fire. 
 Will do my ain fu' heart's desire ! 
 Stan' back, an' clear his bluidy path ! 
 He gaes this night '* 
 
 " Good eve, mother !" cried Eosallin, in- 
 terrupting her, as he that moment turned 
 the winding pathway, and burst upon the 
 sight of the astonished rustics, who, from 
 the words of the Prophetess, began to look 
 fearfully round for some unexpected guest. 
 The old woman, in the same oracular tone, 
 again spoke :—
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 167 
 
 " I ken the voice o' ane tliat's come 
 To learn fu' many an awfu' doom !" 
 
 '* Nay, mother," again interrupted Eo- 
 sallin, " I came not to dive into the mys- 
 teries of your prophetic art, I came " 
 
 " You came to inquire of the hag vou detest 
 "Wliere Helen o' Lumley will build her high nest. 
 But 
 
 " Come hither, maidens," continued she, 
 checking herself, and dropping her oracular 
 voice — " it's na fittin' that ye suld hear 
 what's gaun to be dune Avi' your betters." 
 Then taking the hand of the nearest to her, 
 and eyeing it mysteriously, she proceeded 
 in a monotonous tone — 
 
 " There's bloom upo' that cherry cheek, 
 But a' maun wither ere a week ! 
 Thine is a sorry weird to dree, — 
 The shroud is a' that's left for thee !" 
 
 With tears did the heart-struck damsel 
 relinquish the hand of the Prophetess, but 
 her tears were to Blanche a matter of perfect 
 indifference, compared with the magnitude 
 of what was working in her breast. She 
 rudely pushed the virgin from her, and 
 beckoning another, continued : —
 
 168 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " Gae on, gae on, — anither mime 
 "Will turn her hungry horn abune 
 Thy soakit grave ; — for, maiden, now 
 There's bluid upo' thy blanchin' brow !" 
 
 The poor girl turned away her head, and 
 slowly retired. The Prophetess seemed 
 moved, stern though she was, to pity ; but 
 when the last of the three stood before her, 
 she fairly shewed her sympathy, and patheti- 
 cally exclaimed — 
 
 " Hame — hame, puir E-osie !" (for it was 
 the little waiting-maid of Lady Helen) 
 ^' afore I sear thy young buds wi' my 
 blightin' breath — afore I mak' thy saft heart 
 loup for fear frae within thee, — 
 
 " For a' that belong to the house o' the chief 
 Maun hae a span blister'd, an' bluidy, an' brief!" 
 
 Eosie hurried away, and joined her dis- 
 consolate companions. As they retired, 
 Blanche rose, and with a fiend-like chuckle, 
 vociferated after them — 
 
 " Ken ye, fair maidens, there's ane o' your train 
 Has the bluid o' a Hepburn i' every black vein ? 
 By a maid o* your village, that dark, wanton knight, 
 Begat ane amang ye, your blossoms to blight : 
 An' that's why I cursed ye, tho' comely an' fair; — 
 If ye gae wi' a Hepburn, ye needna cry ' Spare !' " 
 
 It was long before the excited woman
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 169 
 
 deigned to look at Kosallin, who had been 
 leaning, during this scene, with his arms 
 folded, against the trunk of a willow, 
 narrowly watching the motions of the bel- 
 dam. More like a bundle of parti-coloured 
 rags than an animated being did she now 
 appear, cowering down upon the moss, with 
 her head still stretched over the well. Our 
 hero had often whiled away an idle hour in 
 listening to her incantations, wondering at 
 the facility with which, when under excite- 
 ment, slie could volley forth her doggerel 
 rhymes. When alone with her, and unob- 
 served, he had invariably assumed a stern 
 and peremptory bearing towards her, ever 
 chiding her for imposing on the superstitious 
 fears of her more ignorant neighbours, and 
 forcing on their credulous minds a belief of 
 her appalling predictions. Harpy-like, she 
 would sometimes retaliate on the well- 
 meaning youth with the most unjustifiable 
 abuse, but more frequently heard his re- 
 monstrances in silence. More than once, in 
 her fits of passion, she had uttered things 
 which shook his very soul within him; — 
 more than once she had made dark allusions 
 to his birth, and detailed, without any 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 variance, as far as he knew, his career from 
 the cradle to the prophetic hour. Some- 
 times, wrought on by the strange accuracy 
 of her predictions, lest his understanding 
 might yield to that conviction which his 
 information almost led him to entertain, he 
 would tongue-tie her, at once, with a glance 
 and an exclamation — "Silence, accursed 
 hag!" Though there was about him no 
 particle of superstition, still the very fact of 
 having listened to her, and heard her tell, 
 as if by the agency of her mysterious charms 
 and symbols, what he had been, and suf- 
 ficient of what he was to be, to rouse his 
 curiosity to a pitch of insubordination, 
 without affording him the slightest satis- 
 faction, wrought his imagination to a degree 
 of enthusiasm, and taught him, at length, 
 to doubt whether his mind, although endued 
 with surpassing strength, had resolution 
 enough to call in question the veracity of 
 her predictions. 
 
 Such were his feelings at this hour, but 
 there was added to them a powerful 
 stimulus. Could she tell him the nature 
 and aim of the Lady Helen's love? An 
 answer to his satisfaction would have given
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 171 
 
 veracity to all she had ever said concerning 
 him, and made her future decisions on his 
 fate tenfold truths, — but how was he to put 
 the question? Had he not cursed her 
 superstitious practices — threatened to de- 
 nounce her to the church, if she did not 
 cease her heathenish spells — to have her 
 tried, and burned for a witch? — and could 
 he, whom, as far as circumstances led him 
 to believe, she knew yet as no other than an 
 initiate religious, disclose to such as her 
 that he had rejected the tonsure, and turned 
 with horror from the cowl — that he was on 
 the very point of quitting the religious 
 roof for ever — nay, that he loved the Lady 
 Helen ? 
 
 Why he stood there looking on her form 
 he could not himself have told, unless it 
 were under some vague impression that his 
 presence might provoke her to the subject 
 of his fate. Tired, at length, of the silence 
 she seemed determined to maintain, he ad- 
 dressed her in his usual tone of severity. 
 
 " A profitable employment, truly, to sear 
 the hopes of young bosoms like those," 
 alluding to the village maids, now sorrow- 
 fully returning homewards. "• Curse on 
 i2
 
 172 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 tliy baneful tongue ! Were it not as easy 
 to bless as to ban?" 
 
 " Curse ! — curse !" repeated she, with the 
 rage of an exasperated fiend — " wha dares 
 to curse auld Blanche Rosallin ?" 
 
 She pronounced the last word with tri- 
 umphant emphasis, and watched its effect 
 upon our hero. Had she only whispered it, 
 the effect would have been stunning enough. 
 He passed his hand over his brow, cast a 
 withering look on his companion, and with 
 an energy amounting almost to fierceness, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Detestable hag, assume not that name 
 at thy peril!" 
 
 Though he spoke thus threateningly, his 
 heart quailed within him. Was he aught 
 to the scouted Blanche? Was he to be a 
 country-side wanderer, and follow her for- 
 tunes as dame or grandam, in case of leaving 
 the Priory ? In vain did he search his 
 maddening brain for some proof that he was 
 not of the blood he so despised. The con- 
 versation with Brother Andrew, in liis cell, 
 recurred to him. " He called me the bastard 
 of a Highland herdsman ; but did he not 
 also call me a foundling ? Then my name
 
 Neville's cross. 173 
 
 may not be Eosallin, and this old beldam may 
 have purloined me from my father's house, 
 or found me, the stray child of chance, and 
 transported me to the gates of the monas- 
 tery." Distracted with such thoughts, — 
 
 " Tell me, woman," cried he, seizing her 
 arm, "how is my name coupled with that 
 thou hast but now assumed?" 
 
 The look of ineffable contempt she cast 
 upon him staggered his resolution, and he 
 gradually let go her arm, as she rose, with 
 her disdainful eyes riveted upon him. 
 
 " Ye kenna, rash youth, what ye wad do," 
 spoke she. " It's lang syne ony o' your 
 bluid insulted auld Blanche ; but there was 
 ane that dared to do it ance, an' his hairs 
 are a' grey wi' the misfortunes I brought 
 upo' his flourishin' house. Forbear, young 
 man, forbear! Though Blanche is aulder 
 now, there's muckle mair mischief in her 
 dried-up banes, an' ye willna let it sleep." 
 
 More and more perplexed at hearing such 
 a being speak of having brought misfortune 
 on a flourishing house, of which he, accord- 
 ing to her own account, was a member, our 
 hero assumed a more kindly tone, and thus 
 addressed her,
 
 174 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 ^' And is the being you speak of, Blanche, 
 the only pillar of that fallen house ?" 
 
 " Fallen house !" echoed she. " Wha 
 said, ' fallen house !^ It isna fallen. There 
 was but ane lone branch cut away; it was 
 ower lovely to 'scape the ribald e'e of ane 
 ye maun, ane o' thae days, ken muckle mair 
 o'. Aweel, it's dune, it's dune; but if I 
 could gi'e her back to ye ance mair, I wadna 
 care to die. Mony's the pang it's cost my 
 shaken heart to think o't ; but I darena' 
 think o't now." She turned her moistened 
 eye on Rosallin. " Ye'll niver see her 
 mair." 
 
 He was about to push his inquiries far- 
 ther ; but, pressing her long shrivelled 
 finger to her livid lip, — 
 
 " Whisht ! — Avhisht !" continued she ; 
 "my tale's sune tauld. There were twa 
 mair seemly branches grew frae that vener- 
 able trunk. I didna wither a' their sap; 
 but I gave 'em a sair, sair blight. They 
 fell frae the parent stock, but took root and 
 flourished under its shade, though they 
 didna ken ane anither. It willna be lang 
 now afore that parent kens his ain; an' if 
 my auld e'e lives to see it, I carena when it 
 closes."
 
 nehlle's cross. 175 
 
 Thus speaking, the Prophetess suddenly 
 sprung up the copse, dragging her com- 
 panion by the hand, and, with a pace that 
 almost outstretched his youthful limbs, led 
 him to the summit of the hill. Kearing 
 herself forward, as if seeking to discover, in 
 the western horizon, some wished-for object, 
 her countenance assumed a cast of anxiety, 
 mingled with disappointment. 
 
 The last rays of the setting sun, as they 
 burst through a loophole in the clouds at 
 that ominous moment, spread a halo of bril- 
 liancy round the brow of the hill on which 
 they stood, while the valley below was wrapt 
 in gloom. Eosallin saw, or thought he saw, 
 an almost miraculous change in the appear- 
 ance of the Prophetess. A sunbeam struck 
 on her sunken eye, and drew from its deep 
 recess, sparks of living fire ; her grizzly hair 
 floated in the blast, from underneath a black 
 covering, which once had been a peaked 
 bonnet ; her lips, apart, seemed as if in- 
 haling inspiration, and the sinews of her 
 bare and outstretched neck, protruding from 
 its outline, gave the finishing stroke to her 
 haggard countenance. She stepped on a 
 little hillock, and, Avith the elevation, her
 
 176 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 form, which, in the ordinary walks of life, 
 outstripped the tallest of her sex, seemed to 
 grow yet more gigantic. Like the fiend of 
 darkness tempting the Saviour of mankind, 
 she placed one hand on the shoulder of her 
 companion, and sweeping the other around 
 her, exultingly exclaimed — 
 
 ''What wouldst thou give, Edgar, to 
 call all around thee thine?" 
 
 The look of suspicion and doubt with 
 which her interrogatory was met, drew a 
 veil of impenetrable gloom over her darken- 
 ing features. 
 
 " Dare to mistrust me," cried she, " at 
 the moment I would tell thee all, and I 
 leave thee to thy fate !" 
 
 ''I covet not wealth," replied Eosallin, 
 fearful of sealing her now communicative 
 lips; "I ask not wide domains. Does the 
 Lady " 
 
 " Silence!" cried she, in a voice of super- 
 human power. '' Dare not to question me 
 in this prophetic hour." 
 
 Scarcely had the angry exclamation es- 
 caped her lips, than her dark features 
 brightened, and she fixed on him a look of 
 benignity he had thought her rigid cast of
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 177 
 
 countenance incapable of assuming. Point- 
 ing to tlie turrets of the Black Castle, and 
 resuming her oracular voice and accent, she 
 predicted, as was usual with her, in doggerel 
 rhymes, some of the dark events which must 
 cloud the sequel of our history. While re- 
 citing the following dialectic couplets, the 
 benign aspect she had assumed changed 
 into a deep scowl of revenge : — 
 
 " Seest thou yon tower by the breakers' side ? 
 'Twill be the abode of the Foundling's bride. 
 But, ere that bridal, there's ane must fa' ; 
 He'll come to his death in her father's ha'. 
 Wi' the shaft in his heart, he will falter — that night, 
 The name o' the Foundlin', his birth, an' his right." 
 
 Wrapt in the amazement naturally created 
 by such a communication, couched in terms 
 of so dark and dubious meaning, Eosallin 
 perceived not that Blanche had left him, 
 till, conning over from the tablet of his 
 memory, the lines she had just engraven 
 there, and pondering on the revelation to be 
 one day made, he repeated to himself the 
 concluding couplet — 
 
 " Wi' the shaft in his heart, he will falter that night. 
 The name o' the Foundlin', his birth, an' his right." 
 
 And turning to the spot where Blanche had 
 
 stood, missed her from his side. With the 
 
 I 3
 
 178 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 gait of a man whose whole soul is absorbed 
 in thought, he retraced his steps down the 
 declivity, and resumed his leaning posture 
 against the willow tree, from which his 
 mysterious guide had so unceremoniously 
 hurried him. Though all that had passed 
 between them had been but the work of a 
 moment, the deeds of an age had moved in 
 panoramic view before him — the deeds of an 
 age of blood. The murdered bondsman in 
 the Castle vault rose on his recollection, and, 
 step by step, his thoughts wandered into 
 their now most accustomed theme, — the 
 subject of his religious life. 
 
 After many deep and perplexing views of 
 the inquiry, whether or not he considered 
 himself any longer of fellowship with the 
 brotherhood of Finchale, he finally came to 
 the conclusion, that, had other views been 
 open to him earlier, he never could have 
 gone so far in the pursuit of a profession to 
 which he felt he had never had any voca- 
 tion, and for which, the spirit within him 
 told him he was in no degree calculated. A 
 cloud of impatience passed over his brow, 
 and, though poverty and privation of all 
 kinds were likely to ensue, he took the con-
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 179 
 
 scientious resolution of departing at once 
 from the Priory, and of signifying his inten- 
 tion to the superiors accordingly, on his 
 return thither. 
 
 He knew not, except from the dark hints 
 of Blanche, that he was other than an 
 orphaned outcast. Deeming it, however, in 
 any event, a mockery to cloak such emotions 
 as had of late agitated his breast, under 
 a religious garb, and feeling, moreover, the 
 absolute impossibility of eradicating them 
 from his bosom, he persuaded himself, and 
 truly, that he had been the victim of cir- 
 cumstance, in having been pressed, as it 
 were, into the service of the church, and 
 thrown among men, whose only aim was to 
 aspire to, and deserve, the priesthood, and 
 nurse and educate youth for the altar. 
 Without the advantages of advice or expe- 
 rience to enable him to judge for himself, 
 and scorning to act the part of a hypocrite, 
 he laudably determined to avoid every chance 
 of another interview with the Lady Helen, 
 until he had revealed the result of his deli- 
 berations to the superiors of Finchale, and 
 taken leave of those venerable walls for ever.
 
 180 TALES OF A LAY-BKOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove, 
 Unnumber'd perils — but one only love ! 
 Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 
 Though fortune frown, or falser friends betray. 
 How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill, 
 Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Notwithstanding tlie resolution adopted by 
 our hero, at the conchision of the last chap- 
 ter, he hurried along the defiles of St. Cuth- 
 bert's Glen, towards Lumley Castle, bent on 
 learning the state of affairs there before he 
 sought the Priory. 
 
 A thicket stood on his right, and on his 
 left rose a sterile slope, which, from its per- 
 forated appearance, and the multitudes of 
 conies frisking about on its uneven surface, 
 he could not doubt was the well-known
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 181 
 
 Lumley Warren, where so many travellers 
 had come to their journey's end, through 
 the agency of the banditti who then infested 
 the Durham Moot. A rivulet, branching 
 from the Wear, playfully meandered through 
 the dell ; sometimes giving a small sheet of 
 water to the view, sometimes disappearing 
 altogether, and betraying itself again, at 
 short distances, by the fresh verdure of the 
 grass, through the roots of which it was 
 threading. 
 
 On a rising ground, and in an indented 
 part of the thicket's verge, far on in the 
 glen, stood a crumbling ruin, which gave 
 its name to all the surrounding neighbour- 
 hood. St. Cuthbert's Chapel, St. Cuth- 
 bert's Well, St. Cuthbert's Glen, and various 
 other spots in the vicinity, bearing the same 
 venerated name, served to prove, at least, 
 that if the saint himself never abode there, 
 as the legends, nevertheless, positively assert, 
 his name must once have been held in great 
 veneration by the inhabitants of that soli- 
 tary place, and transmitted to posterity, 
 together with the tutelar guardianship 
 arising out of the connexion, as part of the 
 birthi'ight of their native hills.
 
 182 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 The glen was now uninliabited, save by 
 the banditti who peopled its bowels. Its 
 name was rife with murder, and the stoutest 
 hearts had been known to quail, if they 
 chanced to descry a fellow-creature in its 
 solitary defiles, even when the mid-day sun 
 shone across their path. The name of Hep- 
 burn was suspiciously coupled with the dark 
 deeds it told of, and some were found daring 
 enough to call the ruin the den of the Black 
 Chief, — a name which Sir William frequently 
 bore, from his being the feudal lord of the 
 Black Castle. 
 
 On Eosallin — who had never before set 
 his foot within the precincts of the glen, 
 though, from hearsay, well acquainted with 
 its tragic features — ignorant as he was, 
 whether, by proceeding onward, he might 
 or might not meet with an outlet to Lumley 
 Castle — the solemnity of the scene, now 
 overhung by the veil of early twilight — the 
 knowledge of the enormities committed 
 there, and, not least, the excited state of 
 his spirit, produced a nervous sensation at 
 that moment, for which, fearless as he was, 
 he found himself at a loss to account. He 
 resolved, however, to proceed, though night 
 was likely to overtake him in the glen.
 
 Neville's cross. 183 
 
 On his nearer approach to the ruined fane 
 we have mentioned, a female figure caught 
 his eje, turning an angle of one of the 
 buttresses, and immediately disappeared. 
 Whether a being of another world, or one 
 of flesh and blood, he could almost have 
 doubted. However, he quickened his pace, 
 for the purpose of overtaking the solitary 
 wanderer, and inquiring his way to Lumley. 
 Deeper, and still more dark, grew the gloom 
 of the gathering clouds before he reached 
 the angle by which the apparition had 
 flitted ; but no trace of a human step was 
 there, and from the combined effects of dis- 
 appointment, and the difficulty of discover- 
 ing his path without a guide — the lowering 
 appearance of the heavens, and the bloody 
 tales fresh in his memory, he deemed it 
 prudent to seek shelter in the ruin till the 
 dawn of another day. 
 
 Near the fragment of stone on which he 
 threw his wearied limbs, a well bubbled 
 from the foundation of the ruin, and offered 
 its inviting waters. He drank freely, and 
 felt himself so refreshed, that it would have 
 been in vain to court sleep. Again did his 
 thoughts recur to the Priory ; again did he 
 determine to shun every path, for the pre-
 
 184 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 sent, likely to tlirow the Lady Helen in his 
 way. His only object in the adventure he 
 was pursuing, was, he persuaded himself, to 
 learn, if possible, the particulars of the in- 
 tercourse between Lord and Lady Lumley 
 and the superiors of Finchale, and the pre- 
 sent designs of Hepburn. Convinced by 
 experience, that in case of discovery of his 
 attachment, few of his superiors would hesi- 
 tate to take an undue advantage of him, by 
 procuring his dismissal in disgrace from the 
 Priory, before an opportunity might present 
 itself of signifying his intention to depart; 
 knoAving, too, the perfidy of Brother An- 
 drew, and the malignity of Lawrence, his 
 reason and experience left him no room to 
 doubt that the weakness and infirmity of 
 the Prior's mind, induced by age and bodily 
 decrepitude, would cause him to listen, with 
 credulous eagerness, to their misrepresen- 
 tations of his character and conduct, and to 
 condemn, without a hearing, one who would 
 never stoop, in such case, to defend himself. 
 He thought of the reproaches that would be 
 wantonly heaped upon him ; he thought of 
 the intimidations and denunciations that 
 would be employed by the bigoted few, to
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 185 
 
 force bim into a belief tbat be Tvas destined 
 for tbe service of tbe cburcb ; be tboiigbt of 
 tbe calumnies witb wbicb tbey would bligbt 
 bis name and eartbly prospects, in order to 
 screen tbemselves ; be tbougbt of tbe resent- 
 ment of Lord and Lady Lumley, wbicb be 
 was about to incur, but cbanged not one 
 particle of bis original resolution — namely, 
 to burry to tbe Castle, and learn, as far as 
 he could, tbe grounds of bis bopes and fears 
 — to communicate to bis superiors, on tbe 
 following day, bis intention to quit a reli- 
 gious life for ever; and, immediately after 
 bis emancipation from tbe sbackles of con- 
 vent discipline, to seek an interview witb 
 tbe Lady Helen, and, romantic as it migbt 
 appear, to declare bis love — if requited, to 
 meet every danger, and supplant every rival 
 — if unrequited, to seek a glorious grave in 
 France, under tbe banners of bis country. 
 How mucb of tbis contemplated course of 
 conduct was destined to be carried into 
 execution in tbe manner be proposed, our 
 readers will see in tbe sequel. 
 
 Manned, bowever, witb so noble and con- 
 clusive a train of tbougbt, be was «ngain on 
 tbe point of rising, to explore his unknown
 
 186 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 path, when a sound, similar to a groan, from 
 the interior of the ruin, arrested him. A 
 multitude of emotions struggled for ascend- 
 ancy in his mind ; but that of being able to 
 aflPord a suffering fellow-creature relief was 
 uppermost. Slowly and cautiously, how- 
 ever, did he proceed to an opening at the 
 western wing of the ruin, hoping to descry, 
 unseen, the being who had excited his sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 The growing darkness was favourable to 
 concealment. From an ivy-grown buttress 
 he found he might overlook, though indis- 
 tinctly, the whole interior of the chapel. 
 With amazement did he at length, as his 
 eye became accustomed to the gloom, behold 
 a tall female figure, leaning her head, appa- 
 rently in a weeping attitude, against a 
 pedestal, which supported the mutilated 
 effigy of St. Cuthbert. Her head was 
 uncovered, and her black tresses huDg in 
 dishevelled profusion, over her arms, neck, 
 and bosom. There was light enough to 
 discern that her drapery was white, and 
 her waist encircled by a black zone. Near 
 her, on the altar stone, lay a dark mantle, 
 and upon it, a black slouched hat, the
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 187 
 
 plumes of which carelessly hung down the 
 altar side. 
 
 Who the being might be, in such a garb, 
 — in such a place — at such an hour, he 
 could not divine. It was not the figure he 
 had previously seen turning the angle of 
 the ruin, for that was enveloped in scarlet. 
 Partial gleams of moonlight now began to 
 shed their rays from the veiling clouds; 
 but, mingling with the twilight gloom for 
 a time, rather obscured than assisted his 
 vision. 
 
 Anxious to identify the forlorn creature 
 with any one previously known to him, yet 
 fearful of creating alarm by too suddenly 
 discovering himself, he threw down a loose 
 fragment of stone, expecting to startle her 
 with the noise, and induce her to turn to- 
 wards the quarter from whence it came. 
 The manoeuvre, however, wholly failed, and 
 taking advantage of a moment of such deep 
 abstraction, he crept into the interior of the 
 chapel, and approaching as near to the altar 
 as he with safety might, concealed himself 
 behind a tomb, bearing on its slab the re- 
 cumbent effigy of a mailed warrior. From 
 this hiding-place did he keep his eyes fixed
 
 188 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 on the object of his curiosity and sympathy 
 till she might chance to stir. Long did the 
 attitude of the figure remain unchanged, 
 nor did sigh or word escape her. The dark- 
 ness grew apace, but at times the moon 
 would shed over the ruins a more lucid 
 gleam. At length the figure raised her 
 head, apparently drew something from her 
 bosom, and throw^ing her arms wildly up- 
 wards, passionately exclaimed, — . 
 
 " Great God in heaven, protect him !" 
 It was the voice and gesture of Helen of 
 Lumley. The first impulse of Eosallin was 
 to rush to her side — but might not the 
 effect of such an act, under all the circum- 
 stances, prove even fatal? His heart beat 
 tumultuously, but how to act he could not 
 decide. Should he retire, and pursue his 
 way to the Castle? There was shame in 
 the very thought. He finally determined 
 to remain still, closely watching the object 
 of his love and solicitude, till circumstance 
 might afford a safe opportunity of discover- 
 ing himself. Of a sudden, as if under the 
 influence of impatience, the Lady Helen 
 (for it was indeed she) seated herself on the 
 altar step, and was overheard to utter at
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 189 
 
 intervals — " She's long in coming. Virgin 
 mother ! lead her into his path. If he be- 
 come their captive, I cannot outlive the 
 hour of his captivity." 
 
 This language was mysterious; but Ko- 
 sallin's heart told him that he was the ob- 
 ject of her fears and expressions. But 
 whence had she to apprehend danger to 
 him, and whom had she sent to warn him 
 of it ? Her voice, again heard, interrupted 
 this internal examination. *^ Hepburn, 
 Hepburn, thine is indeed a dark and des- 
 perate spirit !" After a long pause, she 
 again resumed, in broken and interrupted 
 snatches, the following doggerels : — 
 
 " With the shaft in his heart, — he wU falter — that night, — 
 The name — of the Foundling, — his birth, — and his 
 
 right. 
 Oh lady ! — thy woes — are unnumbered — as yet, — 
 But the choice — of thy heart— is more darkly beset. 
 Time will be — the Foundling — will call thee — his 
 
 bride, — 
 And bring thee — a name — and a dowry — beside." 
 
 She paused, and allowed her forehead to 
 sink on her outspread palms. Like one 
 spell-bound, did Eosallin ponder on the 
 sequel of what he concluded to be old 
 Blanche's predictions of their approaching
 
 190 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 fate. Again did he pant to acknowledge 
 the heroic Helen, as the being with whom 
 his destiny was to be for ever linked ; and 
 with such violent emotion, that his deep- 
 drawn breath attracted her attention. With- 
 out betraying any symptom of fear, she 
 turned towards the spot where he stood, and 
 in a low inquiring tone of voice, whispered, 
 *' Blanche!" No answer being returned, 
 she rose suddenly from her seat, in manifest 
 alarm. Her figure tottered, and while 
 attempting to grasp the altar for support, 
 sensation failed her, and she fell heavily on 
 the rank grass, among the scattered tomb- 
 stones. 
 
 With the speed of thought, Eosallin flew 
 to her aid, and raised her up, but there was 
 no sign of animation. He placed her, in a 
 recumbent position, on the altar steps, and 
 hastily plucking some blades of grass, hur- 
 ried to the well, soaked them in its trickling 
 waters, and returned with breathless agita- 
 tion to his charge. To bare her white neck 
 and sprinkle it, was the impulse of the 
 moment. Symptoms of returning animation 
 soon became manifest, and then his per- 
 plexity increased. What might be her fears
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 191 
 
 on finding herself in the arms of a man, 
 when it was plain, from what she had been 
 overheard to utter, that she was momentarily 
 expecting one of her own sex? But if he 
 returned to his hiding-place, would she not 
 discover, as her scattered senses gathered, 
 that some officious hand had been about her 
 person? Of the two evils, one of which was 
 unavoidably necessary, he chose that which 
 he considered the least, by determining to 
 support her till her recovery. Knowing the 
 Lady Helen to be well acquainted with old 
 Oscar, he wrapped the hermit's cloak more 
 closely about him, and pulling his slouch 
 farther over his brow, hoped to be mistaken 
 for the old recluse, which might not prove 
 so revolting to her virgin delicacy, as to 
 discover herself in the arms of a youth, 
 whose voice she might, in her state of ap- 
 prehension, so easily mistake, and whose 
 features, owing to the partial moonlight, 
 she might not immediately discern. 
 
 Ere long her eyes unclosed, but he dared 
 not encounter their glance ; for it was but 
 too plain how much she mistook the being 
 who supported her, when she said in an 
 agitated voice, "Blanche, I have been so 
 terrified."
 
 192 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Her hand wandered to her bosom. The 
 pledge was there, and ardently kissing it, 
 she returned it to its sanctuary, and raising 
 her head, inquired, '' Did you meet him?" 
 
 The interrogation being unreplied to, she 
 raised her head yet more. The moon burst 
 full on the garb of her supporter. Her 
 frame shook from head to foot ; but, spring- 
 ing from his arms, with a force which fear 
 alone could furnish, she drew a poniard from 
 her vest, and raising it in the air, cried out, 
 " Wretch ! — my blood be upon thee !" 
 
 The horrid blade was within its length of 
 her bosom, when our hero checked the blow. 
 She struggled violently ; but when he threw 
 off his slouch, and disclosed his features, at 
 the same time exclaiming, " 'Tis Edgar 
 Rosallin !" her hand relaxed its clenching 
 hold, the weapon fell to the ground, and she 
 sunk trembling on her knee, saying, in a 
 voice almost choked with terror, " I thought 
 it was the savage Hepburn." 
 
 After a time, she became sufficiently com- 
 posed to seat herself beside our hero on the 
 altar steps. With what glowing rapture did 
 he listen, attending more to the impassioned 
 feeling of the narrator, than to the substance
 
 neyille's cross. 193 
 
 of her tale, while she admonished him that 
 his life was beset, and from what she could 
 gather from the dark hints of the Prophetess, 
 the danger was not far distant. She further 
 informed him, that Blanche had appointed 
 that hour and place for a private meeting, 
 to apprize her of the further designs of 
 Hepburn; that she had assumed a partial 
 disguise, the better to escape observation, 
 should any of her father's retainers cross her 
 path, and was then waiting the return of 
 the Prophetess, who had gone, as she herself 
 asserted, to save the life of Eosallin. 
 
 In turn, the fair lady became inquisitive, 
 and wished to learn how our hero had come 
 so far in safety ; and how long he had been 
 in the ruins before she swooned ; and how he 
 came to be disguised in the habiliments of 
 old Oscar. He replied, by detailing to her 
 ladyship his adventures at the hermit's cell, 
 and at the willow-tree with Blanche; con- 
 cluding by expressing it as his belief, that 
 the disguise he had assumed for another 
 purpose, had been the means of preserving 
 his life. 
 
 Both the lovers (for such they must be 
 called) had, so far, concealed the details of 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Blanclie's predictions; but when Kosallin 
 candidly confessed that he had overheard 
 the Lady Helen repeating the rhymes, she 
 fondly insisted on knowing the destiny in 
 store for him, and he repeated to her the 
 doggerel couplets, into which Blanche had 
 compressed so much of his future fate. 
 
 Mutually struck with the analogy of the 
 predictions, the drift of the Prophetess' 
 meaning could not but be manifest to both ; 
 but fears and doubts alternately predominat- 
 ing in their minds, they sate long in 
 silence. He feared that, should the confes- 
 sion of his love escape him, like Orpheus 
 of old, the moment that made her his might 
 snatch her from him irrecoverably; — she, 
 like the fond Eurydice, trembled lest a 
 glance of affection might betray him into a 
 pledge which would prove his bane. 
 
 Their love had been already told, in many 
 ways; — each was conscious of the other's 
 attachment, but there wanted yet that 
 declaration, which must be made and 
 accepted before they could be secure; and 
 he who should have made it, hesitated, 
 though he knew not why. 
 
 The hand of Helen lay on the altar-stone.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 195 
 
 Eosallin tremblingly took it in his, and she, 
 as immediately, clasped both to her panting 
 bosom. The action spoke its own meaning 
 — his soul was on fire ; — but the resolution 
 he had taken, already in part broken, flitted, 
 like a demon, between his heart and brain, 
 and startled back every rising emotion the 
 moment it reached his lips. 
 
 Such conduct, however, arose not from 
 any internal misgiving, — it was the fault of 
 his monastic education. He did not ask, 
 ^' Which way lies my destiny?" for the path 
 was open before him; but the officious 
 thought constantly recurred to him, that he 
 was not yet emancipated from his religious 
 ties. He could almost have washed, that 
 some burst of feeling on the part of Lady 
 Helen might excuse to his conscience, and 
 force from him the declaration of his devo- 
 tion, under the momentary influence of 
 excited passion; yet did he dread such a 
 result. He was not, however, thus far 
 tempted. She sat like Expectation in tears, 
 nursing Suspense, and waiting for Happiness 
 or Disappointment; — he, like Irresolution 
 blushing at the remonstrances of Decision. 
 But his was not the irresolution of his 
 k2
 
 196 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 nature. It was a conscientious fear, however 
 mistaken, with which his conventual impres- 
 sions had clothed him, and which the little 
 knowledge he yet had of things beyond the 
 pale of the cloister, could not impel him to 
 shake off. He knew not, though he was fast 
 learning, the intensity of the passions of the 
 human heart, and fancied all alike easy to 
 subdue. 
 
 Thus a character ever decided, and often 
 impetuous, was about to sacrifice its dearest 
 interest to impressions grafted on it by 
 habits which forbad the entertainment of a 
 love like his; grafted, too, by men whose 
 business it was not only to abstain from the 
 indulgence of such frailty, but to decry it, 
 in a young religious, whether so by convic- 
 tion, habit, mistaken ambition, delusion, or 
 necessity, and however unfettered he miglit 
 be, as the most diabolical refinement of the 
 Evil One to mislead and damn his soul. 
 Much of this conventual strictness, by which 
 young proselytes were sometimes prevailed 
 on to allow others to judge for them, and 
 which lay, like an incubus, on their subdued 
 and fettered spirits, he had already shaken^ 
 off; but when about to declare a passion, so
 
 Neville's cross. 197 
 
 often and so unsparingly a butt for the sneers 
 and sarcasms of many of the religious, as 
 being most obnoxious to the bringing up of 
 young striplings for the church, he felt their 
 opprobrium cling to him, despite of his exer- 
 tions to cast oil such childish impressions. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Lady Helen silently 
 nursed her anguish, for, as she could not be 
 supposed to know the feelings entertained by 
 Eosallin in her regard, more especially as 
 he still wore under his disguise the student's 
 garb, and ventured not to declare his love, 
 hers were the pangs of hopeless and unre- 
 quited affection. True, she feared she had 
 frequently betrayed her feelings, and he 
 must be in possession of her secret ; but that 
 furnished no conclusive reason why her love 
 should be returned. She felt, however, a 
 growing ardour in his manner, as he held 
 her hand firmly grasped in his, and at one 
 moment, her imagination would indulge in 
 its wildest fantasies, and realize all her 
 fondest hopes ; whilst in the next, the airy 
 vision was dissipated, by his long silence, 
 which assured her of the hopeless reality. 
 Sensibly feeling, and internally upbraiding 
 his own irresolution, he cast a look, sad, but
 
 198 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 full of impassioned expression, on her uplifted 
 features. She felt it in her heart of hearts. 
 The blushes on her lovely face and neck, 
 perceptible even by the pale moonlight, told 
 how that look had sped. He felt his hand 
 pressed against her bosom, — he felt that 
 bosom's throb; — every thought that before 
 alarmed him, fled, and gave place to his 
 nobler passion. 
 
 *' Speak, Helen," said he, in a voice of 
 entreaty ; " thou canst not name the thing 
 I will not do to pleasure thee. Forgive me 
 if I say, love makes the motive selfish." 
 
 He caught the enraptured maid in his 
 outstretched arms; but she suddenly re- 
 coiled, her countenance fell, and she faltered, 
 "• Trifle not with me; that garb belies thee, 
 Edgar." 
 
 "No 5 dearest !" cried he, firmly, " my 
 heart and head have long renounced it. 
 Ere to-morrow's sun appears, I will doif it 
 at the feet of Prior John ; and ere that sun 
 has climbed mid-heaven, Kosallin will be a 
 stranger at the gates of Finchale. Thank 
 God ! I am unfettered by oath or vow." 
 
 With feelings no longer restrained, the 
 virgin heiress of Lumley — the last scion of
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 199 
 
 a noble stock, whose line of ancestry was lost 
 in the hallowed mist of ages — freely gave 
 herself away to one known only as a found- 
 ling, and voluntarily bestowed on him a 
 hand, whose possessions were nameless and 
 boundless ; a heart, teeming with the 
 exuberance of love. 
 
 She wildly flung back the tresses, which 
 had fallen over her lovely features, and 
 seemed as if in act to speak ; but Rosallin, 
 struck with her devoted affection, and 
 appalled at the thought of his own impove- 
 rished condition, and the difficulties and 
 dangers she risked, by pledging herself to 
 one, not only destitute of earthly possessions, 
 but who must soon be an orpha ed outcast, 
 addressed her, in a tone of remonstrance — 
 
 "Bethink thee, lady, " 
 
 "I will not think, Edgar!" cried she, 
 interrupting him ; "I know what thou 
 wouldst say, but it is bootless. It is the 
 Foundling, Edgar, I love, — clothe him with 
 riches, and I might love him less. Seest 
 thou that tomb, surmounted with the effigy 
 of a warrior?" 
 
 She pointed to the tomb, behind which 
 Rosallin had concealed himself.
 
 200 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " And a brave warrior he was," resumed 
 slie; " yet lie sleeps not with his ancestors. 
 He was my father's brother. Nay, start 
 not — his elder brother ; yet his dust mould- 
 ers not with that of Liulph of Lumley's 
 children. His crime was great, you ween, 
 to be thus dishonoured. It was great, in 
 sooth. He loved a village maid, and raised 
 her to his bed, the bride of lawful wedlock. 
 Within a month of his lowly nuptials he 
 sickened — within another month, he died. 
 Some have said there was foul play. I 
 know not, but it seemeth not improbable. 
 Their hearts were hard enough to banish 
 his young bride, and spread suspicion round 
 her untarnished fame. It was never re- 
 sented, for he that would have resented it 
 right manfully, then lay dead in his father's 
 halls ; — but, ere he died, methinks he paid 
 too dearly for his love, — the price was his 
 disherison. Poor Ernest! His arm was 
 brave as ever wielded lance, — his heart was 
 true as ever loved a maid. He was the 
 admiration of every noble breast, as his per- 
 secutors were the odium of every honest 
 one. Thank Heaven! my father does not 
 share this obloquy. I tell thee this, Edgar,
 
 Neville's cross. 201 
 
 to shew how little a Lumley can blench, and 
 how possible it is that the heiress of that 
 high house may bring no dowry. Therefore, 
 quiet thee ; and if Helen of Lumley be dear 
 to the Foundling without her dowry, as the 
 Foundling is to her — talk not of danger ; 
 tell her not of penury, — for, if thou canst 
 bear the perils of the one, and the privations 
 of the other, never shalt thou feel a throb at 
 the heart, or see a tear in the eye of Helen 
 of Lumley, for such unworthy cause. To 
 be happy with thee, Edgar, is what I have 
 felt — what I now feel; — to suffer with thee, 
 and for thee, is a bliss this heart longs to 
 know." 
 
 She ceased, and suffered him to strain 
 her to his breast. Which to admire most — 
 her self-devotement, her heroism, or her 
 ardent attachment, displaying itself, now 
 that she felt it was requited, in such rap- 
 turous sallies, he could not choose; but 
 often did he blush at his own pusillanimous 
 thoughts, which, instead of warmly second- 
 ing her, would ever and anon return to the 
 cloisters. One glance at her excited fea- 
 tures drowned his officious memory, and 
 roused every spark of manhood within him*- 
 k3
 
 202 TALES OF A LAY -BROTHER. 
 
 " Let lis seal," cried he, " the sacred 
 pledge thy lips have given ; and over this 
 hallowed slab, let us swear eternal love!" 
 
 Her looks betrayed how gladly she would 
 interchange that vow. She took from a 
 small receptacle in her vest, a broad, thin 
 medal of pearl, bearing on one side the em- 
 blem of her ancestral coronet, and on the 
 reverse, a female figure, bending over two 
 babes, surmounted by an appropriate motto, 
 with which our readers will soon become 
 acquainted, and presented it to her lover, 
 across the tombstone, still retaining her hold 
 of the token. He knew it was meant for 
 their troth-plight. Why did he not then 
 instantly snap it asunder? The demon of 
 indecision was again in his path, for he saw 
 on the broken slab, an antiquated inscrip- 
 tion, as follows : — 
 
 cave! promitte nil quod faceee non potes : 
 
 formerly chiselled there, as an admonitory 
 warning to those pilgrims who used to fre- 
 quent the shrine of the saint, and whose 
 blind zeal and momentary enthusiasm would 
 prompt them to make vows utterly incom- 
 patible with the fallibility of human nature.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 203 
 
 A bright moonbeam fell athwart the inscrip- 
 tion, which he immediately took home to 
 himself, as a caution, to proceed no farther 
 in his troth-plight, till he had abandoned 
 the monastery for ever ; and his hesitation 
 was not the less, that a rustling noise was 
 at that moment heard among the ivy. An- 
 other instant and all was still, but the silence 
 was soon broken again, by the rapid ap- 
 proach of a footstep. The figure of the 
 Prophetess suddenly appeared in a ruined 
 gap, between them and the moonbeam, and 
 her taunting voice put the irresolute lover 
 to shame, as she exclaimed, — 
 
 " Why stand ye there, wi' looks sae wild ? 
 Look i' the ee o' the Lumley's child, 
 An' read thy God's approval there ; 
 An angel could na cry ' Beware !' 
 Haste thee ! son o' a wretched sire, 
 The maiden's soul is a* on fire. 
 Haste thee ! seize the virgin token, 
 Or half my spell remains unbroken.'* 
 
 As one who guides a pleasure bark, doubt- 
 ing whether he shall steer with the tide, 
 though the wind is in his teeth, or with the 
 wind, though the current is adverse, is de- 
 termined by a brisker gale, or more rapid 
 wave, which ever happens first to move his
 
 204 TALES OF A LAY-BROTIIER. 
 
 skiff from lier equipoise — so Edgar, at that 
 moment, though a glance at the maid might 
 have decided liim, was determined by the 
 first sound of the Prophetess' voice, and 
 snapped the pearl in twain. 
 
 " By my troth, an' ye be braw lovers," 
 said Blanche, descending from the heap of 
 ruins on which she had taken her stand, 
 "to be swearin' your troth-plight, when a' 
 the air about ye smells sae stark o' bluid. 
 Ye needna look sae dour, my leddy; I 
 kenn'd the young striplin' was in wi' your 
 leddyship, or I wadna ha been sae lang. But 
 up, bairns ! your lives are i' danger. Here, 
 young man, let me see that broken piece. 
 An' it be a Lumley token, there suld be 
 some scart o' Latin upo' ane part o't, I 
 trow." 
 
 Eosallin first looked at Blanche, next at 
 Helen, doubting whether he ought to trust 
 so sacred a pledge out of his possession for 
 one moment. Eeluctantly, however, he 
 gave it into the hand of Blanche. She 
 held it up to the moon. 
 
 " Here I hae'tl" cried she; '^ I ken thae 
 letters, but it's some o' your Latin clatter, 
 an' I canna read it. It suld mean, ' I'll
 
 205 
 
 hae my ain,' or the like o' that. Here, my 
 braw lover, ye ken thae kind o' things, read 
 it til' me.'' 
 
 Kosallin received the token, and distinctly 
 read the motto, " Pro meis mori,' and in- 
 terpreted it to mean — " To die for my 
 own." 
 
 " Is it nae mair positive than that?" 
 asked the Prophetess; *' it isna as it should 
 be. Maybe there'll be mair letters upo' 
 your half bit, my leddy?" 
 
 Helen presented her broken portion. 
 
 " I telled ye sae !" cried Blanche, tui'ning 
 it over. " What ca' ye these, Master 
 Edgar?" 
 
 On a narrow inspection, he discovered 
 the letters ar ; and by joining the pieces at 
 the fracture, found the motto to be, *' Pro 
 MEIS MORIAR," and to the delight of the 
 Prophetess, explained it to mean — " I will 
 die for my owm." 
 
 " Mind that! young man," said she, 
 " mind that ! An' up, bairns, I tell ye ance 
 mair, if ye dinna wish to bide still, an' be 
 murthered." 
 
 The moment they rose, she seized a hand 
 of each, and joining them together, after
 
 206 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 muttering several breaths of unintelligible 
 jargon to herself, exclaimed aloud, — 
 
 " Now Christ have mercy on ye twam ! 
 To th' saint wha raised this hallowed fane, 
 An' Virgin Mother, be it given. 
 To register this deed i' heaven." 
 
 Thus speaking, she left them, pressing 
 her fingers to her lip, in token that silence 
 was their safety.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 207 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 " That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, 
 Turns what he list." 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 Our narrative must now return to Lumley 
 Castle, and the events which took place 
 there, subsequently to the rescue of the 
 Lady Helen in the vaults, and previously to 
 her meeting with Rosallin at St. Cuthbert's 
 Chapel. 
 
 It will be recollected, that when Lady 
 Helen parted from old Leslie, she proceeded 
 to her own chamber, and there found her 
 mother. Unmindful, for the moment, of 
 her exhausted, and almost fainting condition, 
 — apparently unconscious of her wild and 
 disordered mien, — and almost totally ab- 
 stracted in mind, — she shi^unk not, as might
 
 208 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 liave been expected, from the presence of 
 her lady mother, but seating herself on a 
 crimson footstool, laid her hand on her 
 mother's lap, and raised her imploring eyes. 
 The feelings of the high-minded woman 
 gave way to the tender affections of the 
 parent. She gently kissed her forgiving 
 child, and involuntarily whispered, " Thank 
 God, thou art safe ! " Helen shook her 
 head, and sighed; — for she felt how pro- 
 tectionless is the condition of that female, 
 who, not having the experience of years to 
 guide her, cannot rely on the sincerity of a 
 parent's consolations. 
 
 Till within a few weeks of this eventful 
 period. Lady Lumley had been — as far, at 
 least, as external appearances could induce 
 the conclusion — a pattern of maternal solici- 
 tude. The amenity of her temper, and the 
 amiable sweetness of her disposition, Avere, 
 with her attendants, the retainers, and the 
 villagers, a topic of general admiration ; — 
 but of late, her countenance had assumed a 
 stern and repelling cast, — and impatience, 
 which, naturally, she seldom indulged, ap- 
 peared in every action. Her affectionate 
 daughter, so lately the constant companion
 
 Neville's cross. 209 
 
 of her leisure, the pride and comfort of her 
 existence, the theme of her unqualified 
 praise, now seemed obnoxious to her, and 
 the hours once pleasantly passed in her 
 society, had been, of late, consumed in 
 planning her union with the specious Hep- 
 burn. He, and he alone, seemed to rule 
 the destinies of the Castle, and it was, at 
 length, commonly talked of as her lady- 
 ship's policy, to ally the two houses of 
 Lumley and Hepburn, in the persons of her 
 daughter and the Black Chief, — notwith- 
 standing the dark cloud which hung over 
 the character of the latter. 
 
 Though the report of this unhallowed 
 union received currency in the neighbour- 
 hood, it was universally deprecated, — for 
 every one had some tale of horror to tell 
 connected with the name of Hepburn, 
 though but few dared to give utterance to 
 their sentiments. Many, however, ventured 
 to hint, though none could furnish proof, 
 that there had been foul play with his 
 former bride, the unfortunate sister of 
 De Neville. The domestics of Lumley re- 
 ported, too, that they had frequently, of 
 late, heard footsteps in the hall at unseason-
 
 210 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 able hours of the night, and that Lady 
 Liimley was in the habit of dismissing her 
 attendants from her toilette earlier in the 
 evenings, and summoning them later to 
 their morning's duty, than usual. 
 
 These circumstances, connected with the 
 assertions of those who had seen what they 
 considered spectral appearances on the slope 
 at the eastern front of the Castle, and ob- 
 served the foot-prints at the intersection of 
 the haunted pathway, did but tend to cor- 
 roborate the general alarm, — that some- 
 thing mysterious, and pregnant with event- 
 ful consequences, with much of which our 
 readers are already acquainted, was then 
 transacting at the Castle. 
 
 The projected alliance had been long be- 
 fore broken to the Lady Helen by her 
 mother, in secret ; but the intrepid maid 
 replied, as she shrunk at the proposal, that 
 she would rather wed with honest poverty, 
 than tarnish the honour of her house by 
 mingling with its posterity the blood of a 
 suspected murderer, wealthy and nobly de- 
 scended though he might be ! This it was 
 that broke the peace of the parent's mind, 
 and, for a time, blasted the happiness of 
 the child.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 211 
 
 Few steps were taken, even of the most 
 trivial nature, which did not come to the 
 knowledge of the intended bride. The 
 communicative Rosie, with the best of inten- 
 tions, endeavoured to while away the tedium 
 of the toilette by retailing to her young 
 mistress the gossip of the neighbourhood, — 
 making no scruple, when her narrative re- 
 quired it, to speak freely of the Black 
 Chief; — thus, instead of amusing the mind 
 of her mistress, giving her sagacity a clue 
 to the clandestine proceedings within the 
 Castle, and embittering every succeeding 
 hour, which could not now be otherwise 
 spent than in contemplating with horror the 
 actions and intentions of her deluded mother. 
 
 Such had, of late, been the feelings en- 
 tertained by mother and daughter in each 
 other's regard, so that the unaccountable 
 mildness of Lady Lumley, in the present 
 interview with her daughter, induced the 
 latter to suspect that it was but the 
 sweetening of a cup charged with a subtle 
 and mortal poison. She consequently an- 
 ticipated that every succeeding breath 
 would be the harbinger of some new woe, 
 or pregnant with proposals alike ruinous to 
 her present and future happiness.
 
 212 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Ill this alarming expectation she was, 
 however, disappointed. Though Lady 
 Lumley was an epitome of the liigh-minded- 
 ness of lofty breeding, she possessed that 
 very rare accompaniment — power to ac- 
 commodate her bearing, at pleasure, to the 
 circumstances around her ; and when 
 nothing came in rude collision with her 
 views, the inherent excellence of her heart 
 appeared in every action, and attracted 
 to her the admiration of all within her 
 sphere. 
 
 It was now the favourite scheme of her 
 pride and ambition to wed her daughter to 
 the heir of the ancient house of Hepburn, 
 and in order to compass this union, ere the 
 affections of her child should become fixed 
 on the upstart Eosallin, clandestine measures 
 had been resorted to. Everything had been 
 made to bend to the prosecution of this en- 
 grossing design, and the daughter might yet 
 have been hateful to the mother, but that 
 revenge is sweet. Her ladyship had been 
 insulted, and her pride and ambition became, 
 thenceforward, fixed stars of immeasurable 
 distance, compared with her intense longing 
 to resent the insult.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 213 
 
 It had long been dear to her heart to 
 think of the Lumley and Hepburn domains 
 forming one inheritance, in the offspring of 
 her child ; but the Black Chief had taunted 
 her as the dupe of his artifices, when he 
 thought his victim in his power, beyond 
 rescue, in the Lumley vaults ; her pride had 
 been stung, to hear her maternal feelings 
 sneered at by the dark projector of her 
 daughter's ruin — she hated him she had 
 before been trained by the crafty Andrew to 
 esteem, and her heart panted for the grati- 
 fication of that resentment, towards which 
 the first step was to receive and return the 
 embraces of her child. 
 
 The wary mother hung over her daughter 
 with unusual fondness, and by dint of per- 
 suasions, artfully mingled with caresses, 
 wrung from her a circumstantial account of 
 the events that had occurred since her 
 rescue in the vaults. As if the happiness 
 of the amiable girl centred in affording her 
 parent pleasure, she felt, at that moment, 
 capable of sacrificing her dearest wishes on 
 the shrine of filial duty, and, consequently, 
 tlirew into her artless tale an excess of 
 feeling and confidence, hesitating not to
 
 214 TALES. OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 lavish the most unreserved praise on her 
 preserver. Thus the mother obtained a 
 clue to more than was directly revealed ; and 
 the daughter blushed, but replied not, when 
 questioned as to the real nature of her re- 
 gard for the intrepid Eosallin. 
 
 " Can it be?" cried Lady Lumley, start- 
 ing from her seat. " Does that silence 
 mean that you have dared to look upon the 
 upstart with other eyes than those of gra- 
 titude ?" 
 
 Helen rose calmly from her cushion ; her 
 attachment was of too steady, too enduring 
 a nature, to be shaken by a threat. 
 
 " Mother," she replied, " I know not 
 that I have said or done aught to justify 
 that angry look ; and even if the gratitude 
 I have extended to my brave preserver has 
 ripened into love, I question much whether 
 the house of Lumley would not incur a more 
 lasting shame, by the union of its heiress 
 with Sir William Hepburn, than with the 
 fameless and landless Edgar Eosallin." 
 
 Lady Lumley, though burning with in- 
 dignation at this avowal of her daughter, 
 hazarded no remark upon it, but frowning 
 her displeasure, hastily quitted the apart- 
 ment.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 215 
 
 Again given up, by so unnatural a de- 
 sertion of the only parent to whom a 
 daughter can confide many of her sorrows, 
 to that singleness of conduct, so calculated 
 to mislead the young and unwary, the un- 
 happy Helen thenceforward spent her days 
 in the most dejecting and comfortless de- 
 spondency, which the restless hours of her 
 weary and broken nights tended rather to 
 fix than to dispel. A fund of heroism and 
 natural strength of mind, were the only 
 sources from which she could extract con- 
 solation; but these had of late been too 
 largely drawn upon, by indisposition and 
 the recent mysterious events at the Castle. 
 Aware that her mother would never rest, 
 until efiectual measures were taken to pre- 
 vent any further interviews between her 
 and Rosallin, she regretted her close con- 
 finement to her chamber only because it 
 prevented her from ascertaining the real 
 nature of Lady Lumley's designs. But 
 Rosie did not fail to inform her, how fre- 
 quently messengers passed to and fro be- 
 tween the Castle and the Priory; and a 
 trifling incident, which occurred about this 
 time, supplied her young ladyship with 
 further information.
 
 216 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 One day, while sitting employed at her 
 embroidery, the little waiting-maid burst 
 into the apartment, and, holding in her 
 hand an unsealed packet, exclaimed, in 
 great glee, — 
 
 " Your ladyship may find it all out now. 
 If here isn't old Blanche come with this 
 packet, which, she says, Ealph the forester 
 picked up by the burnside, on the road 
 leading to the Priory, and gave to her, — 
 that's old Blanche, — strictly enjoining that 
 she would see it delivered into the hands of 
 little Rosie, — that's me, your ladyship; — 
 and, asking your ladyship's pardon," with 
 a ducking curtsy, " the packet's unsealed, 
 and there can be no harm in peeping into 
 it. As I live, my lady, there's the Prior's 
 cross at the bottom ! I would not have had 
 your ladyship break the seal of a packet 
 addressed to your honourable mother, — the 
 saints forbid ! — but the packet being open, 
 your ladyship, it looks as if it would say, 
 ' Read me !' your ladyship, and " 
 
 " Cease, Rosie!" cried her mistress, put- 
 ting, in the little waiting-maid's opinion, a 
 very unhandsome period to her lecture on 
 the distinction between sealed and unsealed
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 217 
 
 correspondence, and the unquestionable pro- 
 priety of reading the latter; — '' give me 
 the packet." 
 
 The superscription bore — " To the Lady 
 of Lumley, — these;" and when the Lady 
 Helen had minutely inspected it, and satis- 
 fied herself that it was in the handwriting 
 of Prior John — " Take it to Lady Lumley," 
 said she, handing it back to Rosie. 
 
 Eosie took the missive, and retreated a 
 few paces ; but, not half satisfied with the 
 result of what she had hoped would have 
 furnished food for her own as well as her 
 mistress' curiosity, she hesitated, and again 
 began to enforce her own especial opinion — 
 '' Your ladyship might as well " 
 
 " Begone !" peremptorily cried Lady 
 Helen ; " and dare not to disobey me, at your 
 peril!" 
 
 The crest-fallen maid departed, but not 
 exactly to follow this injunction. It often 
 happens, that, by too great precaution, we 
 ourselves bring about the very consequences 
 our precautions are directly aimed to pre- 
 vent ; so, in the present case, the perversity 
 of Rosie's curiosity impelled her to pry, as 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 soon as she caught the idea that her mis- 
 tress thought the packet might contain a 
 secret, and, like many another frail daughter 
 of Eve, she tasted of the forbidden fruit, 
 solely because it was forbidden. But how 
 was this brought about? — forKosie could not 
 read. As she pursued her way along the 
 gallery, in sufficient dudgeon at her disap- 
 pointment, she encountered Blanche, who, 
 having been familiar with such lore in her 
 youth, and having learned from the waiting- 
 maid that Lady Helen had refused to avail 
 herself of the opportunity to discover the 
 machinations on foot against Rosallin, re- 
 tired with Eosie into a recess, and, opening 
 the envelope, read as follows : — 
 
 " Your ladyship's commands have been 
 strictly obeyed. The youth is closely 
 watched ; but there is the less need of any 
 further proof of his delinquency, if your 
 ladyship can satisfy yourself that your 
 daughter has in her possession a golden 
 cross, with an enigmatical device, being the 
 form of a flower, carnally called the ' Forget 
 me not/ as we are informed by Brother
 
 NEVILLES CROSS. 219 
 
 Andrew, who can depose to having seen the 
 same in the possession of the young Kosallin. 
 If this be so, it will be damning proof of 
 a private interview between the stripling 
 and your ladyship's daughter, which is all 
 that need be established ; and steps shall be 
 forthwith taken, at your ladyship's instance, 
 to remove him from the Priory, as a dis- 
 grace to the brotherhood. It will be your 
 ladyship's interest to have him dismissed 
 from the country, for I can assure your 
 ladyship, on my sacred word, that the tale 
 of his having been found, some sixteen years 
 ago, at the Priory gate, with a miniature 
 about his neck, is perfectly true. It is to 
 be devoutly hoped that your ladyship may 
 detect the above-named carnal token in the 
 possession of your daughter, for, without 
 such proof, we cannot banish him, and it 
 behoveth that all should be weighed in the 
 scales of the sanctuary. However, should 
 this charge fail, the zealous Brother Andrew 
 assures us he can substantiate other charges 
 against the delinquent, by which your lady- 
 ship's wishes to have him removed may be 
 rendered consistent with our duty. Such a 
 l2
 
 220 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 defection from the church is to be regretted ; 
 but it is not fitting that the love-sick should 
 be found therein. That the blessing of 
 God may attend your ladyship, here and 
 hereafter, is the earnest prayer of your 
 ladyship's 
 
 Most obedient and most humble 
 Servant in God, 
 
 4* John Fossour, Prior. 
 
 Given from our cell, this 
 3rd day of the kalends of 
 September, in the year of 
 Grace, 1345." 
 
 By the perusal of this epistle, poor Eosie 
 felt herself entangled in a labyrinth of per- 
 plexities. She loved her young mistress, 
 and since the morning of her preservation 
 at Finchale, the handsome student had been 
 a constant theme of admiration to the whole 
 household. She knew also that her mistress 
 was in possession of the fatal cross, men- 
 tioned in the Prior's epistle. This she 
 communicated to her companion. Blanche 
 looked dovmcast and impatient; but in- 
 stantly rousing herself, insisted on seeing 
 the Lady Helen immediately. Eosie dared 
 not refuse, and, without further preliminary,
 
 Neville's cross. 221 
 
 ushered the Prophetess into her mistress' 
 apartment. As if her life depended on 
 caution, Blanche most unceremoniously 
 thrust out the little waiting-maid, carefully 
 secured the door, stalked close up to the 
 Lady Helen, and, fixing on her a searching 
 look, attempted to speak, but could not 
 utter a word. 
 
 Helen, not more surprised at the intrusion 
 than at the extraordinary conduct of the 
 intruder, hazarded no inquiry; but know- 
 ing her visitor favourable to the house of 
 Lumley, and hostile to that of Hepburn, 
 gave her, on that account, a more welcome 
 reception than she could otherwise have 
 looked for. Thus encouraged, she at length, 
 after much fidgeting and uneasiness, arti- 
 culated, but scarcely above her breath, — 
 
 " I wad speak wi' your leddyship, anent 
 ane they ca' Eosallin ; but, oh ! he doesna 
 come o' siccan a blasted stock as thae Eo- 
 sallins. I'm a Eosallin, my leddy, but he's 
 nane. Ye ken weel wha it is I speak o'. 
 The striplin' wha twice saved your precious 
 life ; — ^wha's bluid the steel o' Hepburn has 
 already begun to spill, canna be forgotten.
 
 222 TALES OF A LAY-BEOTHER. 
 
 Stark as lie is, his strength shouldna be sae 
 wasted; he'll need it a', an niair. But ye 
 stanched his wound, leddy, wi' your ain 
 young han', an' auld Blanche thanks ye 
 for't." 
 
 With a wild eagerness in her look, the 
 Prophetess grasped the arm of her ladyship, 
 and emphatically exclaimed, after an omin- 
 ous pause, — " Helen o' Lumley, ye wadna 
 ruin yon striplin' ?" 
 
 " Kuin him ! Heaven forbid it, Blanche ! 
 Speak, — how?" cried Helen, in agitation; 
 for she persuaded herself that the singular 
 woman before her knew more of Kosallin's 
 early fate, and of his present condition, than 
 the secluded situation of her ladyship allowed 
 her the opportunity of discovering, and gave 
 full credence to the alarming intimation that 
 his ruin depended upon some action or omis- 
 sion of hers, the consequences of which she 
 had not foreseen. 
 
 To produce such an impression, was ail 
 Blanche aimed at, and having successfully 
 accomplished that aim, — 
 
 " Ye hae it i' your power, my leddy,'^ 
 said she, with a penetrating glance, as if the
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 223 
 
 knowledge had come to her by inspiration, 
 — '' ye hae it i' your power to save the mis- 
 ca'd Kosallin frae disgrace. Gie me but 
 that golden cross, that's e'en now danglin' 
 neist your heart. I ken it, if I canna see 
 it. Ye sail hae it again, afore the morrow's 
 set o' sun; an' at such sma' price, ye may 
 save the Foundlin' the shame o' being ex- 
 pelled frae the Priory." 
 
 Helen pressed her hand to her bosom, as 
 if her treasure was about to be charmed 
 from her. 
 
 "No, Blanche," said she, drawing the 
 dear emblem from her vest ; " I cannot part 
 with it, — not even for so short a time. 'Tis 
 too sacred to be trusted one moment from 
 my sight." 
 
 " E'en as your leddyship will hae't," re- 
 plied Blanche; "an' ye prefer siccan a 
 bauble to the honour o' Rosallin." 
 
 She hurried to the door, and frowned an 
 angry farewell, but Helen beckoned her to 
 return. 
 
 " Dinna keep me," remonstrated Blanche, 
 tartly. " I wadna lose my precious time, 
 this e'en, for a' the warld can gie. Hear
 
 2.2 J: TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 me, leddy. This night Eosallin's made or 
 marred." 
 
 " And does all depend on this cross, 
 Blanche?" 
 
 " Did ye ken what's gaun to be, my 
 leddy," replied the Prophetess, *' ye wad see 
 that mischief trinket rin to dross, afore ye 
 wad wear it sae near your heart at siccan a 
 time." 
 
 " Surely, woman, you dare not say aught 
 of Eosallin, to tarnish its immaculate bright- 
 ness," challenged her ladyship, with emotion. 
 
 " Na, leddy, but I ken that wad mak' it 
 brighter; but if your leddyship will not 
 trust it frae ye, meet me an' ye dare, at 
 sunset, i' the ruins o' St. Cuthbert's Chapel. 
 T'ane or t'other maun be dune; an' then, 
 leddy, I'll tell ye that will stir your young 
 heart wi' wae an' joy thegither. But, mind 
 ye weel, leddy, — if ye see your leddy mither 
 afore our meetin', ye'll bring shame an' sor- 
 row on the Foundlin'. Avoid her — keep 
 frae the glance o' her e'e, as ye wad frae 
 hell-gates, if ye value your ain peace o' 
 mind, or the sna- white honour o' Edgar 
 Eosallin."
 
 xeyille's cross. 225 
 
 Helen started at the wildj emphatic 
 threats of her monitor, and although she 
 well knew that her devoted attachment to 
 the Lumley family was the cause of her 
 anxiety, still did she deem it improper, not 
 to say dangerous, to trust herself alone, in 
 such a place, at such an hour, and with such 
 a being. She therefore hesitated to make 
 the assignation. 
 
 *' Then ye will na come?" cried Blanche, 
 impatiently, and shaking her long, skinny 
 finger. " Mony's the bitter tear ye'U hae 
 to shed ower the ruin ye're makin', leddy." 
 
 The last words thrilled to the heart of 
 Helen. She shrunk not from the trying 
 test, and resolving, at all risks, to abide the 
 result of a meeting, turned to her companion, 
 who was leaning forward, like a piece of 
 statuary, awaiting the effect of her warning, 
 and fomly said, " Blanche, I'll meet you !" 
 
 A ghastly grin of delight lit up the fea- 
 tures of the Prophetess, as she stealthily 
 retreated from the presence of her ladyship, 
 and glided through the door of the apart- 
 ment without uttering a single word. 
 
 So much of her scheme being accom^ 
 l3
 
 226 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 plished, Blanche, although strictly forbidden 
 to enter within the precincts of Finchale, 
 now pushed her way to the very gates of the 
 Priory. Her business was with Rosallin; 
 but how to have compassed an interview 
 with him, had he not been abroad, she had 
 scarcely calculated. To her inexpressible 
 joy, however, she discovered him sauntering 
 among the northern ruins. He moved 
 towards the ford ; she followed, nor quitted 
 his footsteps, though at such a distance as 
 to avoid his notice, till she had tracked him 
 to the hermit's cell. During the time he 
 remained there, she sped to the ruins of St. 
 Cuthbert's Chapel, for her indefatigable 
 soul was absorbed in the success of her de- 
 sign, though crooked it was ; and she 
 trembled lest the Lady Helen might not 
 have kept her appointment. The sun had 
 set, the hour had arrived, and the Lady 
 Helen was there. The conversation and 
 predictions which filled up their interview, 
 we have related in the preceding chapter. 
 The Prophetess then again set forth, strictly 
 enjoining the Lady Helen to tarry in the 
 ruins till her return. Between the warrens
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 227 
 
 and the hermit's cell she seated herself, as 
 we have seen, by the well-side, near the 
 willows, knowing, that whether Kosallin 
 returned to the Priory, or proceeded to the 
 Castle, he must take that path. Her object 
 was now to bring the lovers together, with- 
 out awakening any suspicion of an interview 
 on their part. This she conceived the more 
 necessary, as the Lady Helen still retained 
 possession of the cross, and nothing but her 
 absence from the Castle could prevent her 
 mother's scrutinizing search for this proof 
 of Kosallin's delinquency, as it was called in 
 the Prior's epistle. To the Lady Helen 
 she made it appear, that her only object in 
 detaining her at the ruins was to keep her 
 out of the reach of her lady mother, until 
 such time as she could forewarn Kosallin 
 of the plot to cover him with shame, by 
 expulsion from the Priory, and prompt him 
 to hasten thither, and voluntarily renounce 
 his cloistered home, before the plot was ripe 
 against him. While she could detain the 
 Lady Helen, she doubted not of success; 
 and, though dreading that Hepburn had his 
 banditti abroad in the forest, she trusted,
 
 228 TALES OF A LAY-BHOTHEH. 
 
 that as far as our hero was concerned, the 
 disguise in Avhich he appeared might prove 
 his safeguard. Her manoeuvres, as we have 
 seen, succeeded, and she at length brought 
 the unconscious pair together. Their inter- 
 view, and the further interference of the 
 Prophetess we have already enlarged upon 
 in the preceding chapter.
 
 Neville's cross. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " A change came o'er the spirit of my dream/' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 We left the lovers communing in the ruins. 
 Not long had they been thus agreeably em- 
 ployedj grasping in thought at schemes 
 which were to make the future an eternal 
 sunshine, when the clatter of many feet 
 around them, called to their minds the 
 warning of Blanche. In the next instant, 
 the dark forms of a group of men inter- 
 cepted the moonbeams, as they climbed over 
 a heap of ruins, into the interior of the 
 building. 
 
 Weaponless, and without the means of 
 protecting her for whom only he thought 
 his life now worth the saving, our hero
 
 230 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 stood aghast at the unexpected apparition. 
 He did not, however, long remain inactive, 
 for the danger was imminent, and frenzy 
 gave him nerve, when he heard the voice of 
 Hepburn vociferating to his desperadoes — 
 " Despatch the boy, but save his mistress !" 
 
 With a degree of strength which the ex- 
 citement of the moment alone could have 
 given, Eosallin wrenched from the altar 
 window the half severed fragment of an 
 upright stone frame, and brandishing this 
 uncouth weapon around him, rushed upon 
 the two foremost assailants who had drawn 
 upon him, and with one sweep of his arm, 
 shattered their blades to shivers. Before 
 they could recover the shock, a well-directed 
 thrust of the massy substance prostrated 
 one of his opponents among the tombstones, 
 and while the other, taking advantage of 
 the moment, attempted to seize the Lady 
 Helen, the same mighty ruin dashed out his 
 brains. 
 
 The encouraging voice of the Black Chief 
 spirited his assassins to the combat, and two 
 more advanced on the single enemy. Not 
 so easy was it to foil these; for, taking
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 231 
 
 caution from the fate of their companions, 
 they came upon our hero in such a manner, 
 that he could not, as before, effectually dis- 
 arm both at a sweep. Love and despera- 
 tion supplied the deficiency of art. He 
 flew at both with an energy, which, had it 
 been judiciously spent, would have rid him 
 at least of one. The effect, however, was 
 to daunt his foes at the expense of his own 
 strength, without disabling them for a fresh 
 onset. Their blades flashed fii-e against his 
 weapon, but were proof to its divided force. 
 During the moment of suspense which 
 ensued, four more armed figures made their 
 Avay into the ruins. Once again did Rosal- 
 lin wield his defence around him with a fury 
 that must have dealt the death-blow of his 
 nearest assailant; but while the ponderous 
 mass was poised in air, a faint shriek from 
 the exterior of the chapel struck his ear. He 
 knew the appealing voice, and then, for the 
 fii'st time, missed the Lady Helen from his 
 side. At the same instant, a hoarse, de- 
 moniacal laugh from all sides, convinced 
 him that every outlet to her rescue was im- 
 passable. His eyeballs glared with rage,
 
 232 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 and the last tlioiiglit of desperation was to 
 hurl his stone club into the thick of his 
 enemies. With left foot advanced, and 
 sinewy arms uplifted, the heavy missile was 
 about to fly, and the shrinking foe had 
 already formed an avenue, to escape the 
 fatal power with which it threatened to 
 sweep, when he sickened at the thought of 
 his destitution ; — his hands relaxed their 
 hold ; the weapon fell ; the banditti thronged 
 upon him, and he gave his limbs to their 
 fetters. Powerless as a babe, he heard the 
 irons clank, and with the wild eye of a 
 maniac, watched them manacle his wrists 
 unheeding. 
 
 A voice crying " Is he secure?" at length 
 roused him from his apathy, and when Hep- 
 burn advanced, preceded by a torch-bearer, 
 he writhed with agony, to look on his fet- 
 ters in such a presence. Gathering strength 
 from shame, he made an unavailing effort 
 to burst them asunder. In the attempt, 
 however, he struck off the helmet of a bandit, 
 who entered side by side with Hepburn, and 
 to his unspeakable amazement exposed the 
 shorn brows of Brother Andrew. When
 
 Neville's cross. 233 
 
 this despicable wretch found himself disco- 
 vered, he flew to the usual diabolical re- 
 sources with which his misanthropic nature 
 abounded, and by way of adding insult to 
 captivity, shook before our hero's eyes the 
 very cross and chain of which he himself 
 had been the insidious donor, and boasted of 
 having just torn it from the white neck of 
 the lewd daughter of Lumley. 
 
 This masterpiece of refined treachery in- 
 flicted the keenest pang of all, and the ma- 
 lignant smile of Hepburn, as he looked on, 
 and saw his victim wrung with torture, 
 added bitterness to that bitter moment. 
 After amusing themselves with a few ironical 
 bravadoes, touching the valour of their cap- 
 tive, and eliciting from the barbarous gang 
 many a broad and bloodthirsty grin, Hep- 
 burn wound up his savage sarcasms, with a 
 compliment to Brother Andrew, by his ban- 
 dit name of Eebello, on his superior tact in 
 outwitting all his fellows, and choosing the 
 heart for his home thrusts. This observa- 
 tion called forth a murmur of approbation, 
 and the parasite Eebello chuckled with hell- 
 born ecstasy at so signal a mark of favour.
 
 234 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " What will ye, comrades?" cried Hep- 
 burn, turning to his associates, — " despatch 
 him unconfessed, or depute our boon-saint 
 Kebello to hear his shrift ?" 
 
 A loud laugh was the only reply. 
 
 " One would think," resumed their chief, 
 *' he may take his venture. Eecollect, my 
 stout fellows, this is the wanton who fired 
 on your leader in the vaults of Liulph's 
 Tower. Is there one among ye can send a 
 -bullet through his heart, from yonder cor- 
 ner-stone, by torch -light ?" 
 
 A short, thick-set being, of monstrous 
 shape, with shoulders broad enough to have 
 made a descendant of Atlas proud of their 
 dimensions; a long, flat head, without any 
 covering but a few coarse, thinly scattered 
 black hairs ; huge splay feet, and knees so 
 fondly knit together, that each seemed in- 
 clined to climb round the other, whenever 
 the creature they supported attempted to 
 move, — here waddled forward from behind 
 the group, and opening a pair of stupendous 
 jaws, cased in a tawny, bat-like skin, and 
 stretching to their utmost a pair of goggle 
 eyes, seemed to fix them, with a fearful and
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 235 
 
 most portentous squint, on liis master, as if 
 waiting his further commands. The look, 
 taking the combined effect of mouth and 
 eyes, indicated that the wretch expected a 
 bribe, previously to his undertaking the 
 summary execution of the prisoner. So at 
 least his master understood him, — for while 
 he placed in his hand the weapon with which 
 the horrid deed was to be perpetrated, he 
 pledged himself, that if the shot succeeded, 
 the fawning slave should be raised from his 
 bondage to a boon-companionship with the 
 rest of the freebooters. A hasty, but signi- 
 ficant toss of the head, betokened the brute's 
 acceptance' of the proposed terms. 
 
 It was an awful moment for Eosallin, 
 though one of mirth and ribaldry to the 
 assassins around him ; but as he recognised 
 in the receding form of his murderer the 
 very bondsman whose life he had spared on 
 the night of the rescue of the Lady Helen, 
 an unusual sense of horror locked up the 
 streams of life within him, — a cold sweat 
 trickled down his brows, and uplifting his 
 hands as far towards heaven as his manacles 
 would permit, he looked no more on the
 
 236 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 scene around, but in silence awaited his 
 awful doom. 
 
 A few short paces had the wretched exe- 
 cutioner yet to recede before he reached the 
 corner-stone, when a pistol-ball struck him 
 on the skull, and felled him, splashed in his 
 own blood, to the ground. A bellow — a 
 moan — a gasp, and he lay a corpse, for his 
 fellow cut-throats to gaze on. 
 
 Stunned with the report, Eosallin con- 
 cluded that the bondsman had fired, but 
 missed his aim ; but when he saw the ban- 
 ditti gather round the lifeless trunk of their 
 comrade, tears of gratitude to the God who 
 had preserved him traced each other rapidly 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 The explosion seeming to have proceeded 
 from the exterior of the chapel, a party was, 
 in consequence, drawn off to search, which, 
 after a short absence, returned unsuccessful. 
 With them arrived another band, the leader 
 of which cautiously whispered Hepburn. A 
 movement of the Avhole body was the imme- 
 diate result, and none but Eebello, who, at 
 his own request, was permitted to mount 
 guard over the prisoner, remained behind.
 
 Neville's cross. 237 
 
 Alone witli the false Andrew, our hero 
 cast on him a look of withering contempt, 
 and, leaning against the altar slab, sum- 
 moned all his thoughts to the task of better- 
 ing his forlorn and dangerous situation. 
 The bandit, equally disposed to silence, 
 bored a socket in the earth for his torch, 
 and seating himself on a fragment of the 
 ruin, out of the reach of his prisoner, rested 
 his shoulder against the mossy trunk of an 
 old yew tree, and soon sunk into a deep 
 sleep, the soundness of which was indicated 
 by a hoarse nasal snore at intervals, echoing 
 thi'ough the ruin, as if many slept there. 
 
 It would be vain to attempt a faithful 
 portraiture of the anguish of Eosallin, as his 
 bereavement — the dark fate of Lady Helen 
 — the impracticability of departing honour- 
 ably from the Priory — and his personal 
 danger — presented themselves to his mind 
 in succession. In Heaven alone could his 
 trust repose, and in Heaven alone he reposed 
 it ; nor was that trust in vain. 
 
 There was one, whose revenge was of too 
 refined, too deep a cast, to be thwarted by 
 the captivity of its instrument — there was
 
 238 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 an eye tliat had seen, and there must have 
 been an arm to avenge ; else, how had the 
 temerity of the wretch, whose corpse lay on 
 the earth, soaked in its own blood, been so 
 signally punished ? Such, however, were 
 the movements of the being, who seemed to 
 guide the destiny of that awful night, that 
 it was not till Rosallin felt the key actually 
 applied to unlock his fetters, that he became 
 sensible of the presence of a third party. 
 The haggard features of Blanche, peering 
 up into his face as she busied herself with 
 his manacles, told him at once that this 
 singular being had been his protector. 
 
 He would have spoken his grateful sense 
 of her interference, but she immediately im- 
 posed silence, and intimated to him, by 
 signs, that she had abstracted the key of 
 his fetters from the belt of the sleeping 
 Rebello, — and that his very existence, and 
 that of the Lady Helen, depended on his 
 immediate escape. Pointing, with her long, 
 skinny fore-finger, in the direction of the 
 Priory, she displayed, by her gestures, her 
 utter abhorrence of his monastic dress, 
 thereby announcing to him, that his first
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 239 
 
 step must be to renounce it for ever. At 
 that moment, the key being fitted to the 
 lock, she turned it suddenly, and the snap- 
 ping noise of the spring, as it flew back, 
 startled the sleeping Eebello. He laid his 
 hand on his dagger, and indistinctly mut- 
 tered—" Salve r 
 
 " Salve r screamed the frantic Blanche, 
 as she dashed the captive's chains to the 
 ground, and levelled a pistol at the head of 
 the false priest. " Cry that word again, 
 or thy skull shall cranny worms afore 
 anither mune's-rise. Putrefaction seize thy 
 reptile banes ! Is this how the holy saint 
 afore men puts on- the de'il incarnate afore 
 his God ? Out on thee, hypocrite ! Hie, 
 hie, Eosallin ! an' if he move ae step, his 
 brain shall gang afore him !" 
 
 Amazed at the intrepidity of the daring 
 woman, our hero approached the recreant 
 impostor, who, on his knees, was imploring 
 life, and instantly disarmed him of his 
 offensive weapons. He next sought for and 
 recovered the cross which tlie bandit had 
 boasted of tearing from the neck of Lady 
 Helen. His thoughts were now on the
 
 240 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 safety of Blanclie, — but all liis entreaties 
 could not prevail on her to leave the ruins 
 without him, nor till she had locked the 
 limbs of the arch hypocrite, Eebello, in the 
 very manacles from which he himself had 
 just been emancipated. 
 
 It might have been wholesome employ- 
 ment for Vandyke to have contrasted the 
 horrid features of the Prophetess, still re- 
 taining the frantic grin with which she had 
 at first terrified the bandit, with the deter- 
 mination and caution speaking from the eye 
 and lip of Eosallin, and the glare of impo- 
 tent rage flashing from beneath the black 
 brows of Eebello, as the two former re- 
 treated, their eyes fixed on the kneeling 
 form of the apostate. 
 
 They had to stride over the yet bleeding 
 body of the bondsman. Blanche, as she 
 cast her eye on the corpse, placed her. 
 clenched fists on her hips, and, to the sur- 
 prise and horror of her companion, set up a 
 wild and extravagant laugh. Had the 
 scene been even more appalling, Eosallin 
 could not have forborne a smile as she 
 pushed her scraggy neck forward, and in a 
 jeering tone, shouted in his ear —
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 241 
 
 " It was a guid shot, that, Master Edgar, 
 by torch-light ! Ye wad scarce ha' been 
 content wi' that niggardly smile, an ye had 
 seen me perchit upo' the tap o' the wa', 
 amang the ivy, an' taking aim at siccan a 
 graceless ne'er-do-well as thae crooked legs 
 ance carried; — but an' ye could ha' seen 
 me squattin doun amang the leaves an' 
 stanes, when they a' cam' speering out, and 
 gaed back again, muttering — ' It maun ha' 
 been the de'il !' — ' I'll uphaud ye it's nane o' 
 flesh and bluid ! ' an' sic like, ye wad hae 
 bursten your very ribs wi' laughin' !" 
 
 As they left the ruins together, our hero 
 learned from his companion that the captors 
 of Lady Helen had borne her away towards 
 the Black Tower. To have pursued, at that 
 hour, unprovided with the means of rescue, 
 would have been madness. Eosallin could 
 only therefore resolve to achieve her de- 
 liverance as soon as means could be devised 
 of rendering it secure ; and warmly enlist- 
 ing the Prophetess in his cause, he parted 
 from her, and bent his way to the Priory. 
 
 The harvest moon was at the full, and 
 rode calmly over her midnight path, light- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 ing him on his journey along the rocky 
 banks at the foot of the Cocken Cliffs. The 
 striking and solemn beauty of the scenery 
 insensibly soothed his distracted spirit, and 
 he instinctively paused to contemplate its 
 features, and to indulge the train of thought 
 induced by the melancholy but pleasing 
 solitude of nature, in this her stillest hour. 
 The venerable pile of Finchale, as it 
 shewed its dark side to the cliffs, and cast 
 its sombre shade on the stream, rose before 
 him, and recalled to his aching heart a 
 multiplicity of reflections. There was a 
 forbidding gloom about the place, which, in 
 the then temper of his mind, charmed him 
 from it, — and he accordingly resolved to 
 give the night companionship, and steal to 
 his cell by early dawn. Still could he not 
 but hesitate to indulge the emotions 
 struggling in his bosom towards the nursery 
 of his youth, which he was so soon to quit 
 for ever — where so many innocent hearts 
 were cloistered, and so little of crime was 
 known, that if one among them accused 
 another of anything beyond venial guilt, 
 the accuser ran great risk of being stamped 
 as a slanderer.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 243 
 
 This last reflection lie felt the more 
 keenly, as it bore upon his own situation. 
 Would Prior John give credence to the tale 
 of Brother Andrew's apostasy, were he to 
 detail the events of that night ? Would he 
 not rather deem the bearer of such tidings 
 the calumniator of a brother's innocence? 
 He had no witness but Blanche; and were 
 he to produce her, would he not be scouted 
 as a dealer in spells and witchcraft ? — 
 Would she not be disbelieved, and denounced 
 as one who had charmed him ? 
 
 Such reflections brought home to him the 
 too certain reality of his precarious position, 
 should the hypocrite Andrew forestall him 
 in the hearing of his Prior. Circumstances, 
 however, arising out of his own freedom of 
 action, and the captive condition of the 
 marauding priest, were in his favour. Still 
 it appeared to him, that he had only to 
 choose between the degradation of actual 
 expulsion from the Priory, and a slandered 
 name, after his voluntary departure. The 
 latter, however, seemed the preferable alter- 
 native. 
 
 Plunged in a vortex of painful recol- 
 M 2
 
 244 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 lections of tlie past, lie could not, lie dared 
 not attempt to fathom the future. The 
 thought of what he might be was still more 
 perplexing than the thought of what he had 
 been. As is the case with most of man's 
 unpremeditated actions, he knew one effect 
 of the cause — namely, that a total depri- 
 vation of all human assistance, as far as he 
 could calculate, must immediately ensue on 
 his departure from the Priory; but he 
 knew no more, and how to avert the 
 calamity, he was powerless to conceive. 
 Now, for the first time, did he discover 
 that there was only one step between a 
 strenuous endeavour to push his fortune, 
 and absolute despair. Eevolving the sub- 
 ject in every sliape, he at length resolved 
 on a plan, fraught, perhaps, with more 
 difficulty and danger than any other he 
 could have adopted, — but being the one 
 most directly accordant with his romantic 
 and enthusiastic spirit, he deemed it, there- 
 fore, the most likely to succeed. This was 
 no otlier than to play the mendicant to 
 France, in the guise of a minstrel, — to join 
 the army, and seek for glory under the
 
 Neville's cross. 245 
 
 banners of the third Edward, the rumour of 
 whose splendid victories had reached even 
 the cloisters of Finchale; — if successful, to 
 return and claim the hand of Helen of 
 Lumley, — if not, to die on a field of glory, 
 or remain a voluntary exile from his native 
 land. 
 
 This step necessarily presupposed a 
 dangerous forerunner. He could not leave 
 the generous Helen in captivity, and how 
 to achieve her rescue was beyond his con- 
 ception. A thousand plans did he devise, 
 at fii'st apparently feasible, but painfully 
 was he obliged to abandon each, when he 
 reflected that his single arm was unsup- 
 ported. 
 
 Thus torturing his mind with crude and 
 undigested schemes, all likely to prove 
 abortive when put to the trial, he wandered, 
 unconsciously, into the vicinity of Oscar's 
 Grotto. The sound of distant music caught 
 his ear, and lured him to approach it. 
 Pleased, indeed, w^as he to find that it was 
 the thrill of Sidney's harp, and her own 
 sweet, melancholy voice, issuing, at that 
 lonely hour, from the Grotto. He listened,
 
 246 TALES OF A LAY-BHOTHER. 
 
 but painfully did the ballad of the secluded 
 maid jar with the resolution he had been 
 forming. 
 
 SONG OF SIDNEY. 
 
 " Why wouldst thou pale my cheek with woe ? 
 Sir Knight, it boots not here to stand ; — 
 Leave me to weep — I cannot go, — 
 Too well I love my native land !" 
 
 " Oh, lady !" now Sir Eustace cries, 
 " My clime is lovelier far, I wot, — 
 So bright her sun, so fair her skies. 
 Thy native land would be forgot !" 
 
 " Begone ! — thou know'st me not. Sir Knight," — 
 Then said and sighed the maiden fair ; — 
 
 " Her sun will be as dark as night — 
 My native land will not be there !" 
 
 " Lady, tis one eternal spring — 
 Its seas abound with jewels rare ! 
 Seest thou the ruby in this ring ? — 
 There's none in all thy land so fair !" 
 
 " Sir Knight, the jewelled ring to strip. 
 
 Needs but the loose and wanton hand ; — 
 Look on the British maiden's lip — 
 There's no such ruby in thy land ! 
 
 " Look at her soft blue eye, and tell 
 
 Is pearl in thy far clime so bland ? — 
 And yet that eye ne'er melts so well 
 As on the knights of her native land !"
 
 Neville's cross. 247 
 
 Sir Eustace then grew stark and wild, 
 His rampant pride could bear no more ; — 
 
 He reached his ships, with the chieftain's child, 
 And bore her away from her native shore. 
 
 She saw the gems of which he spake — 
 
 She was the queen of a fairy dome — 
 And yet her exiled heart did ache. 
 
 For she was far from her island home. 
 
 One month she sorrow'd, — one month she pined, — 
 But death had grasp d her snow-white hand ; — 
 
 To God and his saints her soul resign'd, 
 She died repeating—" My native land !"
 
 248 TALES OF A LAY-BEOTHEK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ' If music be the food of love, play on, 
 Give me excess of it ; — that surfeiting. 
 The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
 That strain again ; — it had a djdng fall : — 
 Oh ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing and giving odour." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 As the wild pathos of Sidney's voice died 
 away to the last deep-toned thrill of her 
 heart, our hero stood in the entrance of the 
 Grotto. His spirits were almost weak enough 
 to allow the illusion of fancy, for the moment, 
 to persuade him, that the maiden addressed 
 the words of her ballad to him; but when 
 he reflected how unlikely it was that she 
 should even be aware of his approach, he
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 249 
 
 smiled at his own infirmity, and seating 
 himself by tlie side of Sidney, before the 
 cheerful embers of a comfortable fire, ob- 
 served — 
 
 " The air of thy ballad is passing sweet, 
 Sidney, but the words are too melancholy." 
 
 " You surely have not been eavesdrop- 
 ping, Edgar?'' she asked, with an arch look. 
 
 " I heard more of thy ditty than I would 
 fain have done, and it has made me sad," 
 was the reply. 
 
 " And why should it do so?" remonstrated 
 his companion. " Do you not love your 
 native land?" 
 
 Little did the artless girl dream that she 
 was irritating his overwrought feelings, by 
 the very remedies applied to soothe them. 
 He turned from her, and sighed — 
 
 "Too well!" 
 
 " Then why be sad, Edgar? Should you 
 not rather rejoice with me, that nothing has 
 banished us from that home of the heart, our 
 native land? Come! — that melancholy 
 brow would scarcely beseem a doomed 
 exile." 
 
 He answered not, for every observation 
 m3
 
 250 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 saddened him the more; but the winning 
 solicitude of his companion admonished him 
 that his gloom of temper was ill-timed. 
 With a self-accusing look, he took her hand — 
 
 "Forgive me, Sidney," said he; "but 
 why is it we so love our native land ?" 
 
 "Why?" echoed the enthusiastic maid. 
 " Ask the eagle why he loves the sun? — the 
 redbreast why she loves her nest? — the 
 infant why it loves its mother? Why? 
 Ask the mendicant, who starves on his hard- 
 wrung pittance, why he does not leave it? 
 — the felon, who weeps when the transport, 
 which is to bear him into exile, is under 
 weigh, why he weeps? Ask the warrior, 
 who fights his country's battles in a foreign 
 land, what it is he dreams of? — the exiled 
 maiden, why she pines in far-off splendour ? 
 — the mariner, why he exults when he leaps 
 on his native shore? We love it, because 
 it is our only home, and all the world be- 
 side is exile. We weep when we leave it, 
 because we leave some protecting or pro- 
 tectionless being behind us, — a friend, a 
 relation, a child, a parent, or perhaps an 
 object dearer far than these, — and if there
 
 Neville's cross. 251 
 
 be none such, we love it because it is our 
 native land." 
 
 She ceased, and blushed at the energy 
 with which she had spoken. Rosallin gazed 
 on her animated features with delight, 
 during this glowing expansion of her patriotic 
 mind. So completely had she been under 
 the impulse of feeling, that the old hermit, 
 roused by her voice, had left his midnight 
 orisons, and had actually been at her side 
 during the greater part of her eloquent 
 euLogium of the love of fatherland, without 
 her being conscious of his presence. 
 
 " Daughter," said he, as she hid her 
 blushing face and neck on the old man's 
 shoulder, " thou owest but little to thy 
 native land. Nor father nor mother has 
 she, that she wots of, young man, and when 
 this old head is low, she will be friendless." 
 
 He raised his eyes, and with the big tear 
 on his cheek, clasped the maiden to his 
 heart, and, almost choking with emotion, 
 faltered — " Poor, poor Sidney!" 
 
 The sensibility of the orphan was touched 
 to the quick — she sobbed audibly, and 
 pressed the old man's hand to her lips*
 
 252 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 Eosallin, unable any longer to bear so aiFect- 
 ing a scene, turned to drop an unseen tear 
 of sympathy for one whose destitution re- 
 minded him too keenly of his own. But 
 that tear was not wholly unseen. Sidney 
 saw it fall, and raising her clasped hands, 
 looked smilingly towards heaven, and ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " I shall never want a friend !'' 
 
 '' Never, Sidney !" repeated our hero, — 
 " never, while Rosallin breathes !" 
 
 The recluse fixed on the youthful pair 
 that look, with which a departed mother 
 would, from the regions of blessedness, follow 
 her fatherless child, and called down the 
 blessing of Heaven on their heads. He then, 
 by way of diverting their thoughts from the 
 contemplation of so painful a subject, ex- 
 pressed his surprise that Rosallin should be 
 abroad at such an hour. 
 
 Thus called upon, and impelled by the 
 fulness of his heart and the candour of his 
 nature, our hero laid before his companions, 
 in detail, the substance of what we have 
 before related, omitting, with natural deli- 
 cacy, all allusion to his troth-plight. Oscar
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 253 
 
 hailed his determination to seek for laurels 
 on the field of battle, as the sunrise of his 
 future glory ; but Sidney silently read in it 
 the disappointment of many a fond hope. 
 From the frequency of Eosallin's visits to 
 the Grotto, and the confidence which had 
 grown up between them, she had conceived 
 for him an attachment, which, being the 
 first her young heart had ever known, was 
 too deeply rooted to be easily eradicated. 
 Yet was it the calm attachment of friend- 
 ship — her unsophisticated bosom was a 
 stranger to the emotions of any warmer 
 passion. When she heard him openly avow 
 his love for Lady Helen, she rather rejoiced 
 than complained, as it might prove the 
 stepping-stone of his future fortune ; and to 
 an innocent breast like hers, jealousy, of 
 course, could find no access. It was painful, 
 nevertheless, to part with her young friend, 
 and she trembled while she asked when he 
 intended to take his departure. 
 
 " To-morrow, my sister," was the reply; 
 for he was wont to call her by that endearing 
 name. 
 
 '* To-morrow? Why so suddenly ?''
 
 254 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 There was something in Sidney's manner 
 while she said this — not, as usual, free and 
 unconstrained, but difficult, and indicative 
 of stronger emotion than she was accustomed 
 to betray. Our hero observed this, and 
 feeling himself to be the cause of it, endea- 
 voured to dispel it. He had been in the 
 habit of whiling away many a stolen hour 
 at the Grotto, and of feeding his natural 
 melancholy with the wild harmonies of 
 Sidney's harp. Often, alone and unobserved, 
 had they sat and sung together those ro- 
 mantic legends, for which the border counties 
 have ever been so famous. He witnessed 
 with pain her present sensibility, and endea- 
 voured to cheer her with the assurance that 
 they might soon meet again. 
 
 " If I thought so," said she, with doubt and 
 joy together, " then could I say farewell." 
 
 Rosallin began to feel the hour of part- 
 ing from so affectionate and artless a crea- 
 ture grow more and more bitter. He rose 
 from his seat, tenderly pressed her hand, 
 and seemed about to take his leave. She, 
 however, arrested him with a look. 
 
 " Sing me," said she, "the Loves of Edwin
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 255 
 
 and*Henda. It is our favourite legend. 
 Leave its thi^illing tones on my harp-strings, 
 and I will ask no more." 
 
 Eosallin drew the harp towards him with- 
 out hesitation. Oscar, whose kindling eye 
 spoke his ^gratification, forgot, for the mo- 
 ment, that he was so soon to part with his 
 young friend, and took his seat in the accus- 
 tomed nook, while Sidney, with quiet rap- 
 ture in every feature, gazed and listened to 
 a strain but too well calculated to excite it. 
 She had often heard that strain before ; — 
 she had often seen the animated featui'es of 
 the minstrel grow pale or flushed, as the 
 horror of the maid, or the indignation of 
 her lover predominated. She had often 
 melted at the tender tones in which Henda 
 told her moui^nful tale to the supposed 
 ghost of Edwin; — she had often started 
 aghast at the expression thrown into the 
 motions of the midnight sprite, and felt her 
 own heart, for the moment, cease to beat, 
 when that of Henda broke ; but there was 
 a sadness in the tale so concordant with the 
 feelings of her own bosom, and a charm 
 thrown by her spirit round the bard that
 
 256 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 sung it, which so endeared every tone to 
 her lingering senses, that to listen to the 
 rising and subsiding swell — the break — the 
 rush — the start — as his fingers brushed 
 the cords, was almost more than earthly 
 ecstasy. The strain had become, by sym- 
 pathy, so dear to her fancy, that the young 
 religious seldom called at the Hermitage 
 but he was entreated, as now, to sing — 
 
 THE LOVES OF EDWIN AND HENDA. 
 
 A SAXON LEGEND. 
 
 A cloudy heaven is on the wave, 
 
 This night the love-lorn maid will wander ; 
 
 A willow tree o'erhangs the grave 
 
 Where her warrior s bier lies mouldering yonder. 
 
 Serene the deep, 'tis calm and stilly. 
 Save hollow night-winds— wailing sadness. 
 
 She comes ! — she comes ! — But, ah ! how chilly 
 Beats her heart, once fraught with gladness. 
 
 Once 'twould leap with fond emotion ; 
 
 Now, 'tis still — 'tis cold — 'tis bloodless. 
 Once, 'twould melt in dear devotion — 
 
 All for Edwin, — now, 'tis floodless. 
 
 She comes, and on that green turf kneeling, — 
 Pale — her dark eye fixed in wildness ; — 
 
 All her soul to Heaven appealing, 
 
 Calmed to more than maiden mildnessi
 
 neyille's cross. 257 
 
 O'er that hallowed sod she's bending, — 
 Angels charmed, are listening o'er her ; 
 
 Her prayer is done, and homeward wending, 
 Moves a shrouded sprite before her. 
 
 Oft her timorous footstep faltered, — 
 
 Fear-struck, her heart was sadly aching, — 
 
 Sore it throbbed,— its quick beat altered, — 
 Sore, alas !— 'twas full— 'twas breaking. 
 
 Faint screamed the maid, — the spectre dim 
 Stalked by— her heart's vnld beat grew fonder, 
 
 . For oh ! it was the shade of him 
 
 "Whose \\inding sheet lay corpsdess yonder. 
 
 See ! its shrouded arm is waving ! 
 
 Lo ! it beckons — dare she follow ? 
 See those gestures, wildly raving ; — 
 
 Oh that voice — sepulchral — hollow ! 
 
 " Hie thee, liie, — thou maid of "Wear ! 
 In life thou wast not wont to feai' me ; 
 Then, those lips would call me dear. 
 
 If thou hadst loved me, thou wouldst hear me." 
 
 " //thou hadst loved me ! Oh ! unsay it," 
 Sobbed the maid,— "full well thou weenest 
 How I loved thee. May, oh ! — may it 
 Be the last, —for 'tis the keenest 
 
 " Of those rankling barbs, that harrow 
 All my soul, and fright to stillness 
 Life's warm blood— freeze through the marrow. 
 Till it creeps with death-like chillness.
 
 258 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " Oh ! unsay it ; for 'tis cleaving 
 
 Through my breast, in bleeding furrows : 
 See its full swoln billows heaving ! 
 Oh ! thou canst not know its sorrows. 
 
 " "Was 't not for love of thee I've wandered, 
 Nightly round these copses roaming ; 
 Watching how the wave meandered 
 
 Kound thy grave, at midnight's gloaming ? 
 
 " Was 't not for thee I've seen the scowling 
 Of the storm, through darkness dreary ? 
 For thee I've heard the night- winds howling 
 Round yon tomb, till night was weary- 
 
 " Hear thee ? Oh ! thou loved one still ! 
 E'en in thy shroud I could en%vrap me ; — 
 Cold — though thy thrilling touch should chill 
 My panting heart, — no ill could hap me. 
 
 " Oh ! could my beating bosom warm thee ! 
 Fain 'twould leap against thy breast — 
 Death no longer should alarm thee, 
 For with thee thy maid would rest." 
 
 " Speed thee, then, thou maid of sorrow ! 
 List ! the midnight warlock's screaming. 
 Heaven scowls apace ; — mark yon deep furrow 
 'Thwart the moon, — how dimly gleaming ! 
 
 " Keen blows the blast ; thy tender frame 
 
 111 brooks the dark storm's pelting wildness. 
 Methinks its blustering rage should shame 
 T' o'ercast such calm — such virgin mildness.
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 259 
 
 " Poor, ill-starred maid ! Faint not, though lowering 
 Tempest clouds are gathering round thee ; 
 
 Though shrieking elves o'er white bones cowering, 
 Howl their death- cries to astound thee. 
 
 " Hush ! tread light ; the dead are here, 
 
 Their hollow shades thou wilt awaken ; 
 Still, if thy once loved one's near, 
 
 Thy pulseless heart is not forsaken." 
 
 " Forsaken ! Oh, say but thou lov'st me, and then 
 Let yon pitiless heaven look scowlingly on ; 
 
 Thy maid shall not shrink — shall not falter again. 
 Till her heart is a desert — when Edwin is gone ! 
 
 " Oh ! look not so pale — so imploringly sad ; — 
 Ah ! pity thy Henda, — the barb's at her core. 
 
 Smile again, and that heart will leap pantingly glad, 
 Wliich now feels unfriended — thou smilest no more." 
 
 The stars were all hid — the fair Henda was weeping — 
 The pale shade of Edwin stood wistfully by — 
 
 The loud winds were hushed — the still waters were 
 sleeping ; 
 And nought broke the calm, save the night raven's cry. 
 
 The nightingale, too, sung enchantingly sweet, 
 
 On a willow-twig sat the lone songstress bewailing, — 
 
 But lonelier far, Henda felt her heart beat. 
 
 As her sluicy eyes, fix'd on her Edwin, grew failing. 
 
 She faltered — she fell — the moon burst from a cloud — 
 She shrieked as she saw the grim spectre advancing, — 
 
 Then round her chilled bosom he flung his dark shroud, 
 And bore her away, while her soul was entrancing !
 
 260 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " To the tomb !— to the tomb !" the maid faintingly cried — 
 To the tomb, with his breathless charge, Edwin has flown ; 
 
 " Ilush— hush ! my sweet angel !" — he clasp'd her, and 
 sigh'd. 
 As she woke to his fondness, and calVd him her own. 
 
 But she woke not to reason ; — her brain was all swimming 
 With notions bewilder'd ; — her soul, it was dark ; — 
 
 Across her dim eyes frenzy's phantoms were skimming, — 
 She started, — she gazed on her Edwin, — and — hark ! 
 
 " ]\Iy love was hale — my love was hale — 
 He never wore that look of sadness ! — 
 Oh, Edwin ! why dost look so pale, 
 When Henda's heart o'erruns with gladness ? 
 
 " My love was hale — my love was hale — 
 He never wore that look of pity ! — 
 Oh, Edwin ! why shouldst thou bewail, 
 When Henda sings her love-lorn ditty ? 
 
 " My love was hale — my love was hale — 
 He never wore that look of sorrow I — 
 Could Edwin love a thing so frail ? — 
 'Tis Henda's bridal-day to-morrow ! 
 
 " The bells shall ring, the birds shall sing,— 
 Our glee shall Edwin's ghost awaken, — 
 For Edwin loved so frail a thing. 
 His cold heart lies in earth forsaken ! 
 
 " His bier is laid, his grave is made, — 
 Hark ! the funeral-bell is ringing ! — 
 Clandectar weds Dendrillan's maid, — 
 Hark ! the bridal-song is singing !
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 261 
 
 " The bride is led, — the feast is spread, — 
 
 The guests are there, — the hour has fled, — 
 The bridal-bed is stain d blood-red, — 
 For Henda's faithful heart has bled !" 
 
 She sung, — she smiled, — she gazed on him, — 
 As reason dawned, to awake her sadness, — 
 
 Keen grew her glance, no longer dim ; — 
 She spoke — it kindled e'en to madness ! 
 
 " Oh, Edwin ! by thy blood, I swear — 
 
 They told me that my love was dead ; — 
 They said they laid his cold heart here, — 
 By brave Leofric's side he bled ! 
 
 " And by thy bloodless ghost, I swear — 
 The bridal night shall stain this blade ; — 
 I'll lay my bleeding bosom bare, 
 
 And haste to join my Edwin's shade ! 
 
 " And then, hard by this tomb communing, 
 When Henda in her shroud is dight, — 
 Celestial love our souls attuning, — 
 
 We'll sit, and cheat the livelong night !" 
 
 " Oh, Henda, twas false ! though afar from the battle, 
 On that blood- oozing sod thy struck Edwin was lying, — 
 
 Where dim on his reeling brain echoed war's rattle, 
 And choked was its clangour with groans of the dying!" 
 
 " Oh, then, 'tis my warrior ! methought I heard clash 
 His mail, as he clasp'd his fond maid to his breast, — 
 
 And when the moon glimmered, methought there did flash 
 A gleam from that shroud, that o'ershadowed his crest !
 
 262 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 " Be still, my mad brain ! — oh, why wilt thou wander ? 
 
 Look there ! — 'tis my Edwdn stands pale and enshrouded ! 
 One glance of that sunk eye, one sweet smile is blander 
 
 Than all thy fond dreams, — why wilt thou be clouded ? 
 
 " Oh, shade of my warrior !" her hand he has grasped ; — 
 She shrinks not, — so late from his cold arms retreating : 
 
 " Feel, Henda!" the maid to his bosom he clasped — 
 " Feel, Henda— oh, feel ! — this heart is yet beating !" 
 
 " Thy bridal's to-morrow ; — look, look for the spectre 
 At midnight, when every flush' d cheek shall tui'n pale, — 
 
 When the bride shall be claim'd, — and the might of Clan- 
 dectar 
 Shall shrink in his bosom, — shall stagger,— and quail ! 
 
 "When the Dane to the dance thy fair form shall be 
 leading. 
 
 And the harp wildly thrills to the trumpet's loud peal — 
 He comes ! On that hall-floor Clandectar lies bleeding, — 
 
 The arm that has struck him was coated in steel ! 
 
 " And fast, from his false heart, the black blood is 
 welling — 
 
 The blood of a traitor— that injured thee ever : — 
 Oh ! why is thy breast so indignantly swelling ? — 
 
 He ne'er shall embrace thee — never ! — oh, never ! 
 
 " For, Henda, behold !"— full flashed on her sight 
 The sheen of his mail, as unshrouded he stood ; — 
 
 " Will the soul of Clandectar not shrink with affright, 
 When he sees this dark steel gleaming red for his blood ? 
 
 " Look, Henda, — ^this hilt was embroider'd by thee, 
 When the blast from Dendrillan bad Edwin depart ; — 
 
 On the plains of Astralga, I thought, love, of thee. 
 
 When it stabb'd the fierce foeman that sprung at my 
 heart !
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 263 
 
 " Clandectar ! — Clandectar ! thy pride it shall stagger, 
 When thy writhing lips, chafing for vengeance, are 
 froth' d, — 
 When Henda shall fix her glad eyes on the dagger 
 That struck thee, — and Edwin shall claim his be- 
 troth'd !" 
 
 She gazed, — started back, — gazed again, — and advanced, — ■ 
 Sat down on the cold turf, and play'd with his shroud, — 
 
 With madness' wild frenzy her soul was entranced : — 
 " Be still, thou stem warrior, — thou speakest too loud ! 
 
 " For Edwin sleeps here, — and Edwin once said 
 
 He would slay my insulter, — Clandectar th' accursed ! — 
 
 On my Edwin's cold pillow I'll sleep," — sobb'd the maid. 
 Her heart heaved, as she spoke, — sunk again, — rose, — 
 and burst ! 
 
 O'er the crest of her warrior she roll'd her dark eye, 
 Pressed her hand to her heart, as she sunk on the sod, — 
 
 " My Edwin ! — oh, God !" was the virgin's last sigh ; — 
 And echo thrice plaintively warbled — " Oh, God !" 
 
 The tragic close of the legend, sung as it 
 was, in solemn and broken swells, with all 
 the wild pathos of heart and voice that the 
 scene or the sentiment called for, produced 
 a visible effect on the listeners, and buried 
 them in deep and prolonged silence. The 
 minstrel leaned his head against the pillar 
 of his harp, yet thrilling with the last note 
 he had struck, and the dejection of spirit 
 his strain had left behind it seemed to have
 
 264 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 communicated itself to all. At length, as 
 if aroused by some involuntary impulse, 
 Sidney sprung from her seat, and with her 
 soul in her speaking face, fixed her fond, 
 sad gaze on our hero. Her heart filled, she 
 burst into tears, and hastily fled the apart- 
 ment. Old Oscar was deeply affected, and 
 approaching Eosallin, kindly took hira by 
 the hand, and observed, — 
 
 ^' Sidney is sorrowful at parting with the 
 only young friend she ever knew. It will 
 go hard with her, young man, when she sits 
 at eve, as she has long been used to do, on 
 the stone seat at our humble threshold, and 
 looks, at sunset, with hopeless anxiety to- 
 wards the Priory. Many's the tear will 
 wet her harp-strings when she thinks of her 
 desertion, and sings those plaintive strains 
 you have so often listened to. Many's the 
 pang her heart will have to bear before 
 time can administer a balm to its sorrows. 
 It is not of common mould ; when once 'tis 
 touched, it bleeds, and bleeds for ever. 
 Would to God a parent's tenderness were at 
 hand, to watch over and guide her too sen- 
 sitive nature! but Sidney has no parent."
 
 Neville's cross. 265 
 
 A sympathizing chord was touclied ; our 
 liero made no answer, and the old man, 
 indulging the privilege of age, wept, nor 
 tried to conceal his tears. At length, put- 
 ting his hand into his tunic, he drew from 
 it a small clasp-miniature, and fixing his 
 eyes steadfastly upon it, continued, — 
 
 "'Tis now some sixteen winters since 
 Heaven threw this child across my path. 
 She was left, on a perishing night, in the 
 bower at the entrance of our dwelling. Her 
 infant cries awoke me, and when her little 
 blue hands were extended shivering towards 
 me, a father's tenderness for the pretty in- 
 nocent kindled in my breast. I took her 
 in, and warmed, and fed her. This portrait 
 was suspended from her neck. Whom it 
 was intended to represent I could not know ; 
 but, imagining I saw in it some of the little 
 foundling's features, I guessed it for her 
 mother. Xor was I, as it seems, mistaken ; 
 for when the little cherub caught a glimpse 
 of it, she grasped it in her tiny hands, 
 gazed at it with an infantine curiosity, 
 smiled for a moment, then, looking me in 
 the face, as if aware of her loss, cried most 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 piteously. Since tliat hour, I have cherished 
 her as my own, and well did her endearing 
 gambols repay me, during the days of her 
 childhood. As she grew up, I trained her 
 to the harp and lute, and found her an apt 
 scholar. That keen susceptibility which is 
 now the prevailing characteristic of her dis- 
 position, must be a portion of her parents' 
 inheritance, for she has had no other source 
 whence to derive it. It often pains me to 
 witness its alarming effects on her once 
 lively spirits, but there is in it a something 
 so sympathetic and so kindly, that I cannot 
 check it. Excuse an old man's folly, but I 
 cannot check it. Poor Sidney ! while I 
 have a roof to shelter thee, and a board to 
 share with thee, thou never shalt know what 
 it is to be cold and hungry. But these 
 sapless limbs cannot last long, young man, 
 and when they are mouldering into the dust 
 that made them, what protection will the 
 old hermit's Grotto afford to a friendless 
 maid, exposed to the intrusions of the worldly 
 and the unfeeling, and the more fatal snares 
 of the systematic seducer ? Oh, Edgar — 
 Edgar! if there is a thought would weigh
 
 nehlle's cross. 267 
 
 these grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, 
 it is that of leaving my child unprotected ! 
 Farewell, my young friend — farewell ! Leave 
 me and Sidney to our separate sorrows, and 
 may Heaven's best blessing attend thee! 
 Shouldst thou prosper in a foreign land, 
 return to protect my Sidney, and God may 
 temper the wind to the shorn lamb. If 
 thou wouldst quiet the spirit of an old man 
 in his grave, be a friend to her when I am 
 gone. Farewell !" 
 
 The recluse pronounced his blessing, and 
 retired, closing after him the door of the 
 inner cell. When alone, Rosallin had curi- 
 osity enough to take up and examine the 
 miniature, which the hermit had placed in a 
 niche of the rock. 
 
 There was nothing in the likeness to 
 attract his particular attention; but how 
 struck was he to discover the perfect simi- 
 larity of the frame to one he had in his own 
 possession, and which he had been assured 
 was found suspended from his neck on the 
 morning he lay exposed at the gates of 
 Finchale. A row of garnets, encircling an 
 inner row of pearls, adorned them both, but 
 n2
 
 268 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 his were the miniature features of a soldier, 
 benign, but dignified, and marked with lines 
 of lofty breeding ; while on the other was 
 traced the resemblance of some gentle and 
 lovely female, whose speaking blue eye too 
 strongly beamed the fervour of Sidney's own, 
 to leave a doubt that the being it repre- 
 sented was some one near and dear to her. 
 The circumstance of the two frames corres- 
 ponding tempted Rosallin to the conclusion 
 that they might be members of the same 
 family, and when he reflected on the striking 
 coincidence of their cruel and unnatural ex- 
 posure, about the same period of time, an 
 unusual fluttering of hope played round his 
 heart; but how could it be realized? If 
 Sidney were related to him — if she were his 
 sister ? There was an ecstasy in the thought, 
 which he continued to revel in long after 
 reason had convinced him, that even were 
 such the case, an age of mystery, into which 
 he had no means of prying — probably an age 
 of guilt — must be developed, before the fact 
 of their parentage could be established ; and 
 how was he assured that the result of an 
 inquiry would be successful, when the pro-
 
 Neville's ciioss. 269 
 
 babilities were tliat time liad cast an im- 
 penetrable veil over an event already, by 
 circumstance, too dim and obscure? Lost 
 in these reflections, sleep overpowered him. 
 The twilight of dawn, ,as he awoke, ad- 
 monished him that the time of action had 
 arrived. Scarceh^ could he believe he had 
 slept. The open miniature was still in his 
 hand, but the wasted embers of the iii'e con- 
 vinced him of the reality. With difficulty 
 could he resist his inclination to arouse 
 Sidney from her couch, and reveal to her 
 his conflicting emotions ; but the now dis- 
 pelling mists of morning gave decision to 
 his irresolution, and replacing the miniature, 
 he hurried from a spot Avhere, to linger, 
 was but to invite the pain of another parting 
 interview.
 
 270 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHEE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIV. 
 
 " The convent bells are ringing, 
 But mournfully and slow; — 
 In the gray square turret swinging, 
 With a deep sound, to and fro." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The horizon was blazing when our hero 
 came forth with slow and reluctant step 
 from the Grotto of Tears ; but, as the cliffs 
 of Cocken hid the lonely dwelling from his 
 view, he quickened his pace, and rapidly 
 brushing the dew from the grass, as the red 
 morning sun poured his fresh beams through 
 the pearly gossamer enveloping the briers 
 on to the glistening globules which studded 
 every blade, soon reached the ruined wing 
 of the Priory, hurried through the cloisters,
 
 NEVILLE'S CKOSS. 271 
 
 and threw himself into a wicker-wove seat, 
 the only furniture of his deserted cell, save 
 his bed, just as the bell rung the hour for 
 the brotherhood to rise. 
 
 Aware that Friar John was wont to re- 
 cite his matins before the rest of the com- 
 munity, he lost no time in proceeding to the 
 superior's cell. There he found the reverend 
 father, and at a glance perceived that his 
 aspect was inauspicious. He hastened, how- 
 ever, to signify that he had taken a step 
 utterly incompatible with his longer sojourn 
 among the brotherhood, and that conse- 
 quently he had come to a fixed resolution 
 to depart from the Priory forthwith. 
 
 The venerable superior was staggered at 
 this unexpected avowal, threw his eyes to- 
 wards heaven, ejaculated a short prayer, 
 and, turning to the object of his excitement, 
 entreated him, by all that was sacred, to go 
 down on his knees and confess before God 
 that he had been blinded by the devil, and 
 that he was ready to return to the right 
 path, and beg pardon of his fellow-religious 
 for the scandal he had given them. By 
 every persuasive argument which his age
 
 272 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 and experience taught liim to wield to ad- 
 vantage, did the old man endeavour to force 
 the young delinquent, as iie was pleased to 
 call him, contrary to his deeply rooted convic- 
 tion, into a belief that there was something 
 in the step he was about to take, revolting, 
 and in defiance to the will of the Almighty 
 in his regard. Eosallin stood unmoved. 
 
 The Prior, thereupon, resorted to intimi- 
 dation, and pronounced on the stripling's 
 head denunciations of tlie most serious 
 character, if he did not submit. This species 
 of persuasion was no more decisive in its 
 effect than the former. The reverend 
 father grew chafed at what he termed the 
 obduracy of the wilful boy, and suddenly 
 turning round upon him, announced that 
 the superiors in conclave had already duly 
 considered his conduct, — had weighed all in 
 the scales of the sanctuary, and finding, in 
 his manifold transgressions, a great pre- 
 ponderance against him, had unanimously 
 resolved to dismiss him ; and, therefore, as 
 Prior of Finchale, armed with the authority 
 of his fellows in council, he felt it his duty 
 to expel him from the Priory, as a taint to
 
 273 
 
 the brotlicrliood, and a disgrace to the 
 church; and, as far as in him lay, to ad- 
 monish him that the Almighty would deliver 
 him over to a reprobate sense. 
 
 The youth smiled at this summary mode 
 of discharging one, whose previous declara- 
 tion that he had seceded from the brother- 
 hood had made him already a virtual 
 stranger, and no longer amenable to the 
 laws of the community ; but this unlooked- 
 for levity being considered as a first proof 
 of his spiritual reprobation, as well as of a 
 temporal insanity, with which he was 
 charitably supposed to be afflicted, the truly 
 sympathetic father condescended to pity 
 him, and to shed a tear over his falling 
 away, insisting, however, at the same time, 
 that the sooner he turned his back on the 
 monastery, the less would be the risk of the 
 blessing of Heaven being withdrawn from it. 
 
 While Kosallin was in act to dejDart, he 
 was reminded by the Trior that his in- 
 trigues, us the word was emphatically pro- 
 nounced, with Lady Helen Lumley had all 
 been discovered, and that Brother Andrew, 
 the Hepburn chaplain, had asserted, from 
 n3
 
 274 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 facts within liis own knowledge, that how- 
 ever fortune might favour his endeavours, 
 his union with that lady ultimately was 
 utterly impracticable. This last paltry 
 piece of indulgence in impotent vexation 
 was not without its effect upon our hero. 
 He hastily turned, and exclaimed, — 
 
 " Beware, reverend sir, how you and 
 your brotherhood deal with the name of the 
 Lady Helen, when I am gone. Breathe it 
 not in the same sentence with dishonour, or, 
 by Heaven ! I will find means to make the 
 very foundation stones of your priory trem- 
 ble. Beware, too, of your boasted Brother 
 Andrew, and if you would not bring our 
 holy religion to shame, forbid him your 
 walls, lest God in his anger should avenge 
 himself for the pollution of his altar, and 
 crumble the venerable pile of Finchale to 
 dust over your heads." 
 
 Not caring to wait the effect of his 
 words, Rosallin stepped over the threshold 
 of the nursery of his youth, and thus, in 
 doubt and suspicion, if not in anger, left 
 behind him a society of men, who, but for 
 the excepted few, were such as to afford
 
 NEVILLE'S CTvOSS. 275 
 
 Heaven joy that it had made them. Ac- 
 quainted as he was with the prevailing 
 innocence and simplicity of their ways in 
 general, and having witnessed for years that 
 cheerfulness and singleness of heart which 
 best betoken an unblemished mind, and a 
 conscience at peace with itself, he could 
 have dropped a tear when thus compelled 
 by circumstances to leave them; but a 
 moment's reflection on the higher destiny 
 he had to pursue, nerved him afresh for the 
 task, and considerably lightened his heart, 
 as he betook himself to the village of 
 Chester-le- Street, digesting on his way a 
 plan for ascertaining the fate of Lady 
 Helen, and compassing her deliverance be- 
 fore his departure. 
 
 At the outskirts of the village, and to the 
 westward of Lumley Castle, stood the 
 Deanery house, a copyhold of the bishopric 
 of Durham ; not then, as now, a prominent 
 and capacious edifice, but a small, low- 
 roofed, ill-constructed building, with like 
 advantages of scenery, it is true, but not 
 clothed in that pampered and luxurious 
 seeming which is, in this day, the dis-
 
 276 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 tinguisliing characteristic of the adjuncts of 
 that proud see. 
 
 Against a paling of the beautiful meadow 
 landj which formed the south level of the 
 Deanery, bordered on the west by the great 
 Eoman road, leaned Kosallin, lost in mind 
 what course to pursue, and weary in body 
 with the troubled night he had spent. Be- 
 fore him majestically rose the machicolated 
 towers of Lumley, casting their dark 
 shadows obliquely down the western slope, 
 as the morning sun travelled southward, 
 over the battlements. The placid breast of 
 the river Wear, silvered by the dallying 
 beams, quietly swelled at the foot of the 
 slope, and formed a pleasing contrast with 
 the gloom which the iir-grown declivities of 
 the Beck cast around the northern gable of 
 the Castle. The front of the pile, in conse- 
 quence of the dark shade into which it was 
 thrown, had a dun appearance, very different 
 from that golden and lively tint, which tra- 
 vellers on this road are so accustomed to 
 admire, when reflected by the rays of a 
 setting sun from the beautiful yellow free- 
 stone of whicli the building is chiefly com-
 
 277 
 
 posed. But not less picturesque were the 
 sombre towers, as they appeared to the eye 
 suspended in the air, the milky mists of 
 morning still hovering over the lawn, and 
 concealing their massy bases from view, as 
 they svv^ept slowly northward, lingering as 
 they passed round the thick summits of the 
 trees which overhung the Beck. 
 
 The Grotto, the Priory, his prospects, were 
 all forgotten by Rosallin, and his whole soul 
 centred in the danger which beset that 
 castle's heiress. It took a mighty effort to 
 summon resolution enough to proceed thither, 
 to seek an interview with Lord Lumley, and 
 to excite him to a sense of his daughter's 
 imminent peril ; for, when our hero reflected 
 that the desperate proceedings of the last 
 night might have met with the sanction of 
 Lady Lumley, he knew not how far he might 
 implicate himself, and endanger the well- 
 being of his betrothed, 1)y creating dis- 
 sension between the lord and lady of the 
 Castle, and being doubtful whether her lady- 
 ship really entertained an affection for her 
 daughter, which the reckless disposal of her 
 hand, betrayed ])y the scene in the vaults,
 
 278 TALES or A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 went directly to disprove ; he knew not but 
 that the ambitious mother was a guilty par- 
 ticipator in the last violent measures of 
 Hepburn. The credulous respect also, which 
 he knew her ladyship ever to pay to the 
 counsels of Brother Andrew, operated in her 
 disfavour in one point of view, though, in 
 another, and that perhaps the more rational, 
 it tended to prove that her conduct was the 
 result of false impressions, made by one 
 clothed with the seeming authority of an 
 ecclesiastical office. 
 
 The approach of two horsemen, in the 
 distance, now attracted his attention, and 
 dissipated for the moment all his specula- 
 tions. One glance satisfied him that the 
 foremost rider was Sir William Hepburn; 
 another proved, that his attendant was our 
 old friend Leslie. He naturally construed 
 this daring approach to the Castle, on the 
 very morning subsequent to the audacious 
 ravishment of Lady Helen from the ruins of 
 St. Cuthbert's Chapel, as an incontrovertible 
 proof that Lady Lumley was accessory to 
 that measure ; and, therefore, he wisely con- 
 cluded, that to interfere at present would
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 279 
 
 be little better than to rush on certain ruin, 
 while such powerful engines as the desperate 
 bloody-mindedness of Hepburn, and the pre- 
 sumed hard-heartedness of Lady Luniley, 
 were in joint operation against him. 
 
 He accordingly retraced his steps to the 
 village, and in order to escape the recogni- 
 tion of the riders, turned into the open door- 
 way of a cottage, which proved to be that of 
 a wicker basket-weaver, who appeared also, 
 from certain exterior signs and symbols, to 
 be a dairyman, and butter and beer mer- 
 chant-general to the village : the two latter 
 branches of his extensive trade being con- 
 ducted by his better half — a little, round- 
 faced, good-humoured, middle-aged body, 
 seemingly a great crony and gossip with all 
 her customers, who were calling in crowds 
 for their respective portions of the needful 
 articles to garnish their tables for the morn- 
 ing's meal. A thick, blue and red striped 
 linsey-woolsey petticoat, surmounted by the 
 full-length stomacher of the times, which 
 rested, in her dumpy person, on as substan- 
 tial a pair of hips as any in the village, was 
 the principal part of her body dress. A
 
 280 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 pair of red liose covered a thin and well- 
 Ibrmed ankle, fast diverging into a lusty 
 calf, before the wide-bottomed petticoat con- 
 cealed a further prospect. Her head-gear 
 consisted of a peaked cap, with very large 
 ear-flaps, of course untied, and whisking to 
 and fro, as the gestures of the laughing 
 dame kept it in perpetual motion. 
 
 Some half-dozen of half-dressed young 
 Sourcrouts (for such was the name of the 
 couple, although Annie often boasted, to the 
 great annoyance of her lord, Master Timothy 
 Sourcrout, tlie basket- weaver aforesaid, that 
 her maiden name^ was Dainty, of ancient 
 family, and well to do in the world) stood 
 round their mother; some staring her in 
 the face, as she amused her neighbours, and 
 others playing at bo-peep among the fold- 
 ings of her petticoat, while two little naked, 
 cherry-cheeked urchins, of which dame 
 Annie had lately become the happy mother, 
 by one and the same birth, lay squalling and 
 struggling, under a thickly matted, fawn- 
 coloured, woollen rug, which was no doubt 
 the night covering of the whole live stock 
 of the house.
 
 281 
 
 111 a corner appropriated from the rest of 
 the apartment, for the convenience of Master 
 Timothy, was scattered a profusion of twigs 
 and rushes, in tlie midst of which sat that 
 grim worthy himself. And an ill-favoured 
 varlet he was. Spare in form, pale-faced, with 
 hollow jaws and sunken gray eyes, overhung 
 by a dark, narrow brow, the sullen being sat, 
 dreaded and avoided by all. This was suffi- 
 ciently made evident by the terror evinced 
 by the little Sourcrouts, if any of them, in 
 their gambols, approached within the sphere 
 of their father's arm. 
 
 Several large pails of milk, and some few 
 rolls of butter, were arranged with the 
 utmost nicety on a beautifully white deal 
 dresser, against which stood the cleanly 
 dame, busily distributing to each the portion 
 for which they respectively waited; judi- 
 ciously dispensing her scraps of gossip 
 among her customers, and telling over, with 
 scrupulous accuracy, the amount of money 
 counted down by each, or scoring with 
 chalk, on a board apparently used for that 
 purpose alone, in a manner understood at 
 least by herself, certain hieroglyphics be-
 
 282 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 tokening that trust had been afforded to 
 sucli -as she thought hard-pinched and 
 worthy of credit. A tub of buttermilk 
 (vuIgOj swipes) stood in a cool corner of 
 the apartment, and opposite to it a barrel 
 of fat ale, part of the Stock in trade, Avhich, 
 even at that early hour, was well plied by 
 the village labourers passing to their morn- 
 ing toil. A few three-legged stools, a table, 
 and a large chest, completed the heavy 
 furniture of the humble dwelling, and with 
 the necessary culinary articles and other 
 indispensable utensils, well nigh filled the 
 apartment. 
 
 Such was the morning scene at Annie 
 Sourcrout's, when Rosallin intruded himself, 
 to the evident surprise of all, and apparently 
 to the great annoyance of Master Timothy, 
 Avho, as the stranger entered, muttered 
 sotnething to himself about spies and med- 
 dlers. This unprovoked grumbling of the 
 man of the house was perhaps our hero's 
 passport; for Annie might have taken it 
 upon herself to vindicate the privacy of her 
 dwelling, into the very centre of which he 
 had advanced, had not her conjugal spirit
 
 Neville's cross. 283 
 
 been raised to contradict her husband's 
 " uncanny gae-betweens " to strangers, as 
 she termed his sulky observations, and 
 thereupon prompted her to offer the young 
 man a seat, and to place befoi^ him a 
 porringer of new milk for his morning's 
 draught. 
 
 While thus employed to her heart's de- 
 light, inasmuch as she knew that every 
 attention paid to the "tall an' handsome 
 striplin," as she called her visitor in the 
 hearing of Timothy, was poison to the said 
 Timothy, she was roused by a cracking 
 noise, which turned out to be the collision 
 of her good man's weaving-knife handle with 
 the cranium of her youngest son Caleb, thus 
 applied by the ruthless father, in conse- 
 quence of the little urchin treading on the 
 twigs with which he was working. 
 
 The whole soul of Annie's progenitor^, 
 from the remotest generation, found its way 
 into her flashing eye, as she placed herself 
 a-kimbo, and, in a style objurgatory to the 
 last degree, exclaimed — 
 
 " What for, ye de'il-lookin' bogie, did ye 
 dare to hit the wean's pow i' ony sic gate?"
 
 2S4 TALES or A LAY-LKOTHER. 
 
 Here, u-la-Biliingsgate, to suit tlie sound to 
 the sense, she stamped her foot. '* Am'nt I 
 its niither, an' isn't it my bairn? An' if 
 the wean was friarhtened o' the weel-favoured 
 young man, — weel-favoured, did ye hear? — 
 he need but ha' turned til his ain father to 
 be mair feared still, ye Ian thorn-jawed loon. 
 Wliat for dinnaye come hame o' nights, like> 
 ither men to their lawfu' wives, an' not 
 gang ferreting thro' the woods o' thae dark 
 gloamin's ? There can ne'er come guid o't. 
 But ye dinna care, ye dinna, what comes o' 
 me an' your bit bairns, ye thankless do- 
 no-good ! Dinna greet, Caleb — dinna greet, 
 lad!" 
 
 That Caleb, thus entreated, should gulp 
 down his sobs and dry his tears, when his 
 mother herself began to " greet," in no very 
 measured tone, either from vexation or mo- 
 therly feeling, as the reader may guess, was 
 scarcely to be expected. The younger mem- 
 bers of the family, following the example of 
 their mother, set up a most sympathetic 
 whine,- which, caught up by the naked fry 
 on the coverlet, was fast assuming a more 
 uproarious tone, when the discomfited Tim-
 
 Neville's cross. 285 
 
 othy rose from his scat, tlirust Iiis head into 
 a greasy slouch, looked drawn daggers at 
 the irritated Annie, and with curses on his 
 lip, not loud, but deep, beat a most in- 
 glorious retreat. 
 
 Rosallin was not an idle spectator of this 
 domestic scene, the more especially as he 
 considered himself the cause of it. On his 
 first entrance, he had almost shrunk from 
 the uninviting aspect of Timothy ; but when 
 he heard the exasperated Annie accuse him 
 of being abroad at nights, he immediately 
 recognised in him one of the banditti, who 
 assisted in chaining him to the altar-stone 
 on the preceding night. Muffling himself 
 up, in consequence, to escape suspicion, he 
 narrowly watched the motions of the bandit, 
 who left his cottage at the precise moment 
 when Hepburn came up. The first circum- 
 stance that struck him arose from an ob- 
 servation of Annie's, who, as she dried up 
 her tears, whimpered, — 
 
 " Here comes that graceless ne'er-do-weel 
 of a Hepburn." 
 
 "Whist! Annie, whist!" resounded from 
 all sides, as the more cautious villa i:,^ers
 
 286 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 primmed themselves up, and curtsying, 
 trembled while he passed. His savage 
 features, though tortured into a smile, 
 threw a chill round the heart of each as he 
 proudly pranced by the door, and Eosallin 
 himself, though he had confronted him, arm 
 to arm, and held him in mortal defiance, 
 felt a sensation of horror creep ovoj.' him, as 
 he saw that smile change into a dark and 
 terrible scowl. 
 
 But the scrape of the obsequious Timothy 
 did not pass unacknowledged. A slight 
 move and a glance of the eye were the 
 statue-like symptoms of guilty recognition ; 
 and our hero, though thrown into a dark 
 shade in the interior of the cottage, plainly 
 saw the servile desperado make such signs 
 to his master as admonished him that he was 
 discovered. 
 
 Leslie, mounted on a hobbling nag, now 
 coming up in the rear, the matrons put on 
 their most pleasant faces, and with signi- 
 ficant gestures, for they dare not speak, ac- 
 knowledged him as an old favourite. 
 
 Eosallin put himself more forward, for 
 he was willing to be recognised by the old
 
 NEVILLE'S CROSS. 287 
 
 seneschal, as it miglit be of importance to 
 obtain communication -with him. 
 
 Seldom possessed of more than one idea 
 at a time, Leslie, as soon as he caught sight 
 of our hero, started erect on his haltins; nao'. 
 and after wriggling and writhing, in the 
 most grotesque and ludicrous manner, reined 
 in his steed of a sudden, and cried out, at 
 the pitch of his voice, — 
 
 " Dinna fash yoursel! I ken ye weel 
 eneugh. How can ane but ken ye, when 
 ane recollects how ye cam' di'ippin' " 
 
 " Who's that you A-e?z^" roared Hepburn, 
 in a voice of thunder, and laying a sneerful 
 emphasis on the dialectic word. 
 
 Thus detected, the squire proved that, on 
 a pinch, he could muster a second idea, for 
 he slily proceeded, taking no notice of his 
 master's question, — 
 
 " I ken ye weel eneugh, auld Meggie. 
 Weel I recollect when ye cam' wi' drippin' 
 to the Castle, yon mirk night. Ye'll re- 
 member that, Meggie ?" 
 
 This ruse had the desired effect, and 
 Hepburn, ashamed that he had needlessly 
 betrayed his suspicious disposition, could
 
 288 TALES OF A LAY-BROTHER. 
 
 only say, — " Eide on, you old fool !" Leslie, 
 not caring to liazard his crazy wits at any 
 second trial of skill, with a significant nod 
 to the villagers, and a sly glance at Rosallin, 
 obeyed the uncourteous summons, and in 
 his and his nag's best style, on a three- 
 legged gallop, managed to keep up with the 
 heavy trot of his master, to the no small 
 excitation of the risible faculties of those 
 who beheld him. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T. C. Savill, Pi inter, 107, St. Martin's Lane.