served, as the party moved down the slope towards Rivelsby. Impatient as Sir Godfrey was, he had to wait some time before even his own personal followers from Ladysmede could arm and get to horse. It seemed to him an age before they were fairly in motion.

The friends and vassals upon whose aid he reckoned, and who were near enough to answer to such a hasty call, had been ordered to join him at Swinford Mill; and there the knights and their followers halted for a while to collect their strength before pushing on for the monastery. Every moment of inactivity was a penance to Sir Godfrey in his present temper; seizing a field-trumpet from one of his men, he sounded from his deep chest a rapid succession of calls, so strong and clear in tone, and so perfectly modulated, that they moved even from the Crusader a half-sarcastic admiration. It was the one solitary accomplishment, not exclusively of a warlike character, on which De Burgh prided himself; it was held to be a gift hereditary to those of his blood. Slowly, by twos and threes, riders came trooping up; and it was not long before their numbers presented an array which, though of somewhat miscellaneous composition, seemed more than sufficient to strike terror into the defenders of Rivelsby. This force would probably increase threefold before the day closed; for De Burgh's power and influence, as holding the shrievalty of his county, was very considerable, to say nothing of the temptation of monastic plunder.

Picot had been lounging in the courtyard as was his wont, though during Sir Godfrey's absence his leisure time had been much divided between the manor and the abbey. He had listened to the knight's hurried order as one little concerned in aggressive measures against any enemies but those recognised in venery. He might have been included, no doubt, if he had wished, in the motley crowd of half-armed footmen that followed at the horsemen's heels; but the hunter did not care to draw a bow except in the lawful exercise of his craft, and had a very determined objection against becoming himself a

mark for any warlike sportsman. Probably for this reason, as soon as he understood his lord's present purpose, he whistled carelessly to his hounds, and as soon as the knight's back was turned, walked quietly under the wall into the meadow.

He sauntered at an easy pace so long as he supposed himself to be within view of the manor; but no sooner had he reached the cover of the wood that lay between him and the river, than he dashed off at a run towards Swinford Mill. He reached it long before Sir Godfrey and his party had started; but he stopped when he came out upon the beaten road, and walked into the miller's barton with as easy a gait as though he came upon no particular business.

His friend the stout miller, however, saw something in his friend's face that made him take him aside at once out of the hearing of any but themselves. It was not the first time that there had been secrets between them; and some suspiciouslooking joints that hung drying in the smoke of the open chimney near which they stood which, if they were mutton-hams, as the miller would have called them, were mutton of a very peculiar breed--might, if examined, have thrown some light upon their former transactions.

""Tis an age since thou wast here last," said the miller, as he led him in "but welcome still, for all that. And what news, now?"

"I cannot a-while to drink, Rob," said the hunter, staying his friend's arm, who was feeling in a well-known corner with hospitable intent. "The Abbot of Rivelsby hath sore need of thy service, and that straight; go thou up with thy men, and take good weapons-ay, and clap two sacks of meal on the mare's back-if ye would not see Rivelsby burnt and plundered."

"How!" said the miller, nearly dropping the stone bottle, which he had laid hold of, in his consternation.

"There is that wild Dermod of the Heath, and Boteler of Bury, and the Ganger of Long-hope, and I know not who besides-set on, they say, by the Lord de Lacy-who have sworn to hang the abbot in his own

hall. They are marching thither now. He hath sent for aid to the Bishop of Ely, but he will need help to hold his own till my lord send or come."

Picot said nothing of Sir Godfrey ; for he knew that the miller would be sorely divided between his fealty to the abbot and his dread of his more powerful neighbour, if he should learn that the Knight of Ladysmede was engaged in the quarrel. Rob, however, had a far more cunning head than his friend; and he soon extracted from Picot's hurry and incaution quite sufficient to inform him how matters really stood. The result was, that after a careful weighing of the claims of duty and interest, which drove Picot nearly wild with impatience, and a brief consultation with a sharp little woman who exercised a disproportionate influence over her burly husband, the miller came to the conclusion that it would be safer to neglect his feudal superior's summons than to make an enemy of De Burgh. The abbot might deprive him of his holding, but with Sir Godfrey his life would not be safe.

"Tell the lord abbot," said he, "I am a man of peace. I will send Gib and Simkin, and as much good meal as the mare and two mules can carry -and if his reverence choose to keep the men there, he can do as seems him good. But I am nought myself, Picot, as thou very well knowest,

when it comes to bills and bows. And why shouldst thou meddle thus on the monks' behalf, if they have angered thy master? Hast lost the little wit was in thee?"

"I had need have more wit than most men, for those I have had to deal with of late," replied the hunter in a tone of vexation. "Thou wilt not answer the good abbot at his need, then?"

"What shall come of the grist, if I be mewed up in the cloister for a month's leaguer?"

"Wilt see the church where good Sir Ivo and Dame Margaret lie buried, trodden under foot of these evil men?"

"I will see nought of it that I can help," said the miller," but it should hardly wake them."

66

"Was ever such a beast!" said the hunter, in despair; a word in thine ear, Rob.”

He whispered something to him, which the dame did not catch, carefully as she listened.

"My bonnet and buff jerkin, wench!" exclaimed the miller, starting back, as it seemed, a new man, from Picot's last communication. "Dost hear?-bid the men follow me as fast as they may-on with thee first, Picot, for I am not quick of foot as thou art; but where I be once set, tell those at Rivelsby, they shall find me while the fight lasts dead or living."

Three days had passed since the abbot's return, and still there came no tidings, anxiously as they were looked for, from William of Ely. Whether he had succeeded in finally crushing the machinations of his enemies, Prince John and his fellowconspirators, or whether the danger which he had escaped at Huntingdon had met him in another form in another place, was still uncertain. There was little communication now between the monastery and the outer world; peril and suspicion were all around them, and Ladysmede was now looked upon as a more dangerous neighbour than ever. All was quiet,

but there was too much reason to fear that the storm was only brooding in the atmosphere. The abbot employed the time in making such preparations as might be necessary in the event of the worst. Large requisitions of provisions of all kinds were made to the abbey tenants, and the sacrist and other officers of the house had been very energetic in supporting their demands in person; but in many cases the yearly rental in kind had been even anticipated, owing to the embarrassments of the abbey finances; and where money was scarce, it was not found that either threats or promises were very

effectual. The supplies scarcely increased in proportion to the additional numbers for whom they were required. If fighting followed on good feeding, the Brabanters might be confidently depended upon to do good service if required, for they played their part at the board like old campaigners. They had been as orderly hitherto as could reasonably be expected from men of their habits; the abbot had taken care to fix their quarters, in the ample precincts of the abbey, where they should intrude as little as possible upon the sight or hearing of the religious fraternity; still from time to time sounds would find their way to the ears of the latter which caused a shudder amongst the more rigid disciplinarians; and even the gait and bearing of these new inmates, contrasting as it did so strongly with the sober walk and downcast look enjoined by their rule upon the Benedictines, was an offence in some of their eyes. The professional grumblers of the community, who had been wonderfully silent since Prior Hugh had lain in the abbey prison, were beginning to take heart again, and found in the Brabanters a very legitimate subject for their stric

tures.

"There go the firkins of good ale for our abbot's friends again," said the sub-prior to one of the monks who was more than suspected of being in Prior Hugh's confidence, as they stood watching together the conveyance of sundry casks towards the foreigners' quarters.

"Ay," replied the other, "there is no stint there, brother Simon, whatever may run short in the refectory. We are to have our poor corrodies of wine 'minished by one half, as I hear, because we are victualling in case of siege, forsooth, and must husband somewhat-yon looks like it, doth it not?"

"And they were as drunk as Brabant swine last night, if howling and roaring be any token." Brother Simon was always sleepy and silent himself under the influence of good liquor. "What thinkest thou of our lord abbot's new body-guard?" he asked of Gervase, the kitchener, who came by at the moment.

VOL. LXXXVII.-NO. DXXXII.

Gervase's prudent soul had groaned in secret ever since he had been called upon to minister to the wants of his increased family, the new members of which seemed to have a more than monastic capacity both for solids and fluids.

"The lord abbot should know best," replied the kitchener; but they seem to me a very costly security. I doubt if he might not have made terms with Sir Godfrey cheaper."

"A crying scandal to the house, I call it," said the prior's friend. "Such help as this is but a casting out of Satan by Satan. As well be plundered by him of Ladysmede as devoured by such a brood of locusts as these are."

"Dost think Sir Godfrey hath any such intent, in good earnest ?" asked the sub-prior. He was indolently disinclined to give credit to any intelligence which threatened to interfere with his comforts.

"Well," said the other monk, looking carefully round him before he spoke-"so our abbot saith. That is, if certain chattels of his, that you wot of, be not given up to him."

Ay," said brother Simon, with a sigh expressing as much thought as he was capable of. He had no mind to counsel his superior to betray either the poor child or the dark-eyed beauty, but he foresaw very uncomfortable consequences from retaining them under the abbey protection.

"Picot the hunter was here again yesterday," said Gervase, and he said that he had heard that the knight had sworn vengeance against our abbot and all his house. are fallen upon troublous times."

We

"We are, indeed," said the subprior. "But what doth Picot here so often now?"

"He comes to see old Peter; and he hath a mighty fancy for the black vizard yonder, ever since he fished him out of the mill-tail."

"Ay, there it is again," said "Fish brother Simon's companion. or fowl, every waif and stray finds free quarters at Rivelsby. Our house is become a very cave of Adullam ; every one that is in distress or discontented gathers here; and as for debt, we have a fair share of that

ourselves already, I take it. This pilgrim, as he calls himself, he hath a liking for our company too, it seems; he is in no hurry to complete his vow of travel.”

"Nay, nay," said the sub-prior, to whom locomotion was a penance in itself," he hath had but a four days' rest as yet; and he is a quieter guest than the Brabanters."

They were interrupted in their conversation by the appearance of the sacrist, who approached them with a hasty step, attended by Picot of Ladysmede, with whom he seemed to be holding earnest conference as they walked.

upon

There was a cloud

brother Andrew's brow, and he had neither jest or sarcasm, nor even word of ordinary greeting for them as he came up.

"Where can I find the lord abbot?" was the brief question which he scarcely stopped to ask.

"He was sunning himself on the terrace-walk a short while since," said the prior's friend, sulkily. The brotherly love between him and the sacrist was of the most conventional quality.

On towards the terrace-walk the sacrist and his companion were hurrying, when the sub-prior, his curiosity getting the better of his laziness, shuffled up behind them at a pace which he seldom attempted.

"What is it, brother?-any news stirring at Ladysmede ?" he puffed out, as soon as he got near enough to be heard.

Andrew looked back at him for a moment without stopping. "The armourer is welding two breast-pieces into one, to make a harness that may suit thy girth," said he; "there will be work anon for every man that hath a vocation for arms at Rivelsby."

It was pitiful that such a peaceful scene as the river-terrace showed at that hour should have been interrupted by the tidings which the hunter brought. The morning was one of those sunny deceits of early winter, which cheat us into bold forgetfulness of the cold season which is sure to come. Wrapped in warm furs, which were rather a luxury than a necessity, so mild was the air, and sheltered by the high walls behind

them, the ladies of Willan's Hope sate looking over the battlements on the river that glistened in the sunshine below. Giulio, never slow in making friends, had already found in Gladice a companion and a play. fellow. Happily, a child sees always beauty in a kind face; yet the boy would gaze from time to time into those lustrous eyes, and watch the rich hues of her cheek with an almost unconscious homage of admiration, until Gladice would laugh and turn away with an amused confusion. There were other eyes, too, which found the same attraction, though their gaze was less bold and more conscious than Giulio's, and was withdrawn if the stray glance from Gladice met their own. Giulio played fearlessly with the long chestnut curls, which caught the southern breeze from the river, and daringly made captive of the hand which was raised to punish him for his presumption; but Waryn leant on the wall at some little distance, and only watched the play with a half smile. Gladice had felt very sad in spirit when the abbot had tempted her forth to enjoy the rare beauty of the morning; but the fresh breeze soon cheered the youthful blood, and the boy's free but gentle courtship soon won her back to something like her natural gaiety. She was as honest-hearted, too, and free from all petty coquetries, as maiden could be; but beauty is seldom quite unconscious of its charms, and she knew that other eyes were watching her. Many a light word spoken to the boy was weighed more carefully because it would fall on Waryn Foliot's ear. Between themselves but few words passed. The inquiries about the bandaged shoulder (for the wound received in the night-attack had been a painful one) were of Dame Elfhild's making, though the maiden also watched for the reply with a decorous interest. It was the elder dame's fingers, more gentle and skilful in such kind ministry than even the good brothers' of the infirmary, which rearranged the bandages so as to give more ease. Gladice did but look on; yet Foliot might have been tempted to show less indifference to the pain, if he could have been sure

that the expression on that beautiful face betokened the least degree of personal interest in the patient, and was not merely the ordinary token of woman's universal sympathies.

The abbot was pacing up and down the broad terrace with his seneschal, pausing occasionally in his walk to address a cheerful remark to his fair guests, or to ask a question of Foliot, when the sacrist appeared in view, hurrying forward to accost him. The hunter from Ladysmede waited respectfully a few steps in the rear.

Benedicite, brother," said the abbot, giving the word for his subordinate to speak his errand-for he saw that there was something of importance in his face.

"There is word of Sir Godfrey's movements, my lord abbot," said the sacrist; "he took horse for Rivelsby, with all his following, not an hour since, and hath halted-waiting for some one, as it would seem-within a mile of Swinford Bridge. He is in great wrath, and means evil against us."

"Who brings these tidings?" inquired the abbot, looking towards Picot, whose person was unknown to him.

"One from Ladysmede," said the monk, bringing Picot forward, who was rather abashed at the company in which he found himself; for the ladies of Willan's Hope had heard the sacrist's announcement, and had moved nearer to the party, listening with eager looks.

"Who is with Sir Godfrey?" asked the superior"hath he any force with him besides his own?"

Picot stammered out some answer that was not very intelligible, though he had been fluent enough with his information to the sacrist a few minutes back.

"There ride with him men enow, of his own mould," said the sacrist, hastily "Nick Boteler of Bury, and Long Lawford, and a cursed fellowship of the country-side-Irish Dermod, too, I hear, is among them -there is no lack of good-will," he added, bitterly, " on such a service. But time is precious, under your pardon, my gracious lord-will it please you to give order in this matter? By St Mary, see yonder are lances

on Swinford Bridge! the heathen are upon us!"

It was so. Glancing in the sunlight, they were plain enough, even to the abbot's failing eyes. Waryn stepped upon the battlement, and saw the road covered with moving figures. "It is true enough," he said, quietly, to the abbot.

"With your leave, I

will look to the muster." "Bid Gaston come to me," said Abbot Martin to the sacrist, "and warn the captain of the Brabanters. Is the drawbridge up?"

"I took it on myself to look to both before I came; wherein I erred in my obedience, father, and ask pardon," said brother Andrew, bending his knee.

"You have it," said Abbot Martin, smiling for an instant. "Sweet Lady Gladice," he continued, as he caught her troubled look fixed on him, "have no fear. Rivelsby is poor; but our walls are strong, and our cause good. If yonder company set the battle in array, we will hold, with Heaven's help, what Heaven has given us. William of Ely will not fail to succour us ere long. Dame Elfhild, let me lead you to your chambers-it may be that this cloud will pass."

"Have no care for me, my good lord," said the dame, her keen eyes flashing as she spoke. "I cannot yet think so ill of my kinsman Sir Godfrey, as to believe that he can intend violence either against those of his own blood or against Holy Church. I trust it may rather be that he comes to offer his protection to my niece, his ward, as becomes a true knight of the de Burgh's name and kin."

"His protection!" said Gladice, turning suddenly pale. "Oh! my good lord, you will not give me up to him! You will not believe him, let him protest what he will! I am vowed to the cloister, remember-it were no less than sacrilege to carry me elsewhere-you will promise, good Abbot Martin-you will promise!"

Her utterance was so rapid and so earnest that the churchman's words of reassurance were scarcely heard or heeded as she clung to his robe, and looked beseechingly into the kind face that bent down to her. The abbot's own voice was broken with