winter, when the winds have been blowing aloud, and crossed the wide Thames on a dark and stormy night; and if the sea is broader, assuredly the river stretches as far length-wise, and I never was afeard of the white waves that rose around us."

"Thou hast never been on the sea, my dear Maud," answered the lady, "and knowest nothing of that dread loneliness which settles upon the spirit, when the last headlands have disappeared, and one wide waste of tumultuous waters are heaving around, bounded only by the dull and lowering sky. Thou hast not felt that mighty dread, which overwhelms the timid. wayfarer on the ocean, who watches the little ship stagger from wave to wave, or heard the shrill wind singing through her cordage, until the masts bend again like a reed in the storm. Thou hast not looked around upon the pathless waters, where nothing moved but the black hull on which we stood, and the rolling mountains of waves, the smallest of which might close over the barque for ever, and leave

not a vestige to tell that ought living ever glided above those depths. But more; thou never hadst one whom thou didst love dearer than thine own life, journeying over those perilous paths, and thou far away, dreaming of the death to which he is exposed, or pining to be a partaker of his dangers."

to

'Mayhap I have not," replied Maud somewhat tartly; "but when thou wentest Normandy with thy father, I threw oil on the waters of the Wye when the waves were rough, and sent up feathers into the air on which I had signed the cross, that thy voyage might be smooth, and thy return quick; nor did I ever sleep without uttering three aves for thee."

"Thou art a kind-hearted maiden," answered her mistress with a faint smile, placing her hand familiarly on her attendant's arm, "and lovest me like thy very self. But hark !-assuredly I heard the tramp of a steed sounding as if its footsteps were muffled by the snow ?"

The ears of love are light, and what to Maud seemed but as the sighing of the wind, or the

clashing of the branches, had to her mistress's ear different music, nor was it long before she heard the warder summoned to the barbican by the blast of a bugle-the chains of the drawbridge rattle, and the heavy portcullis upheaved.

Like a young fawn springing forward to the hind, which it first perceives, after having searched through glade and thicket; so did that lovely lady bound down the turret stair-swing open the ponderous and iron-studded doors which, at any other time, she could scarcely have found strength to have opened,—and reach the vaulted and gloomy postern, just as the horseman, encumbered with heavy armour, alighted from his foam-flecked and panting steed. The fastenings of his helmet seemed to fly loose as if by magic, and in an instant her arms were around his mailed neck, and after a long and fervent embrace, the knight lifted up his eyes to heaven, and seemed breathing forth a silent prayer. He had not come alone, for two attendants, well mounted and armed, though

not so heavily as himself, stood without the barbican, not so far distant, however, but that they might behold the meeting between the knight and his lady.

The countenance of the noble warrior seemed to have undergone a great change, since the day that he rescued his lovely lady from death. It was not an alteration of features, but some indescribable dignity seemed to sit upon him. He looked as if the weight of a nation sat upon his brow, and seemed worthy to bear so overwhelming a load. But that look vanished when he entered the castle, and had long and fixedly scanned the angelic countenance of his bride, and there seemed to steal over him a kind of cloudiness, as if the moody spirit warred against it, and was still shining serenely on, unconscious that a cloud rested between itself and the beholder. Her presence seemed to fill him with pleasure, yet while he gazed upon her, it was too visible that there were other thoughts mingled with his happiness, and that these cast a shadow over his present joys. But this again by degrees vanished, and he gave way to the

full flow of his feelings in many a silent embrace, and in those deep brief ejaculations that spring only from the heart.

He

"Thou seemest wearied, my love," said she, with a look that would have cheered up the worst of foot-beaten pilgrims that ever wearied himself in the fulfilment of a penance. would have replied, but her own sweet lips checked his utterance; for she hung upon him like a bee, revelling in the bell of some favourite flower. "I knew thou wouldst come at last," continued she; looking so lovingly at him, that his very heart shook with its own weight of love. "I shall hang around thy neck now instead of thy shield," added she; leaning her whole weight upon him, which seemed no more than the blossom to the tree. "Thou wilt not go forth without me again, amid danger, and leave my poor heart forlorn and aching; and take away that which I ought to guard. Thou wilt not leave me again to grieve so long for thine absence: I know thou wilt not." He only replied by pressing her closer to his mailed bosom; and she returned the caress with an earnestness that