CHAPTER VI.

“I've watch'd a wintry night on castle walls,
I've stalk'd by moonlight through deserted halls,
And when the weary world was sunk to rest,
I've had such sights as-may not be express'd.
Lo! that chateau, the western tower decay'd,
The peasants shun it-they are all afraid;
For there was done a deed!-could walls reveal,
Or timbers tell it, how the heart would feel!"

CRABBE.

A CHEERFUL group assembled around the breakfasttable on the following morning. The Rector, happy in the consciousness of conferring happiness, was unusually loquacious; Mr. Dudley, grateful for the kindness of his friends, exerted himself to the utmost to sustain the conversation with spirit; while Floernce, charmed with the novelty of her position, was the gayest of the gay.

"Confess," said Dr. Leicester, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table, " that the spirit of a châtelain already swells within your breast, as you gaze with feudal pride on yonder massive battlements and mouldering towers."

"Alack, alack, they are tottering to their fall!" interposed Mr. Dudley, with a rueful shake of the head. "I am a delegated sovereign amid the ruins, not of an empire, but of a system. Where are the proud retainers and bold yeomen who thronged to the castle-gate, at the summons of their suzerain, in the good old times? Vanished from the face of the earth with the feudal tenure which bound them. Where are the stout bow

men, the gallant knights, whom the blast of the warder's horn summoned to the rescue of beleaguered chieftain or distressed damsel?"

"Nous avons changé tout cela," said the Rector, laughing. "The spirit of chivalry is extinct. In our enlightened age the woes of an unprotected female excite a smile."

Mr. Dudley shook his head. "Doctor, Doctor, how remorselessly you break the thread of romantic association

"Not so," interrupted the doctor. "My speech was only a prelude to the history of an unlucky maiden who flourished-so saith tradition-in this very castle."

Here Florence jumped up, overturning the milk, thereby curtailing Puck's breakfast. She took up her station close to the Rector, and, fixing her eyes upon his face, waited eagerly for the promised tale.

The Doctor smiled, pushed back his chair, and began as follows:

"Once upon a time, there lived in this very castle, a beautiful princess, called Gwendaline. Her father was a powerful chieftain, and ranked high in the court of Llewellyn the Great. He was a bitter enemy to the English, whom he justly regarded as the lawless invaders of his country, and the destroyers of his countrymen. In those rude days Emrys Castle was considered almost impregnable, and a small garrison were deemed sufficient, to keep the utmost power of the enemy at bay.

"Gwendaline, young, lively, and high-spirited, led a weary life in the old castle, when her kinsmen were far away fighting the battles of their prince and country. She and her maidens sauntered upon the battlements, or lingered in the desolate halls, murmuring at the dulness of the weary hours, which dragged their slow length along.

"One evening, the poor princess was unusually moody; she was dying of ennui, although she would fain have denied the soft impeachment. She strangled a yawn

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and clapped her hands with delight, when the old greyhaired seneschal of the castle sought an audience to inform her, that a wandering harper craved admittance to her presence, to lay his homage at her feet.

"Gwendaline summoned her maidens and descended in haste to the great hall. 'Bid the minstrel enter,' she cried; we would judge of his skill.'

"Alas! poor Gwendaline little deemed what dangerous guest she bade to her presence.. The harper was an English knight in disguise. He had resorted to this unworthy stratagem in order to spy out the strength of the garrison, the defences of the castle, and, if possible, to discover a secret passage, which was said to communicate with the vaults of the fortress, and the neighbouring pass. The knight was well fitted by nature to play out the character he had assumed. He was eminently handsome, and he touched the harp with the hand of a master:

"He played a soft and doleful air,

He sang an old and moving story-
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

"She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew, he could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

“For several days the harper lingered; one morning, he vanished suddenly, leaving the poor princess more melancholy than ever. Gwendaline, who was dying to escape from the grim old castle, stole forth, unattended, in the early mornings, to vent her sorrow in the glen. In one of these matutinal rambles, she accidentally encountered the disguised minstrel, who still lingered in the neighbourhood of the castle, having only half accomplished his mission."

"Why did he leave the castle?" asked Florence.

"For several reasons," returned the doctor, with imperturbable gravity. "A lengthened sojourn would have excited the suspicions of the garrison; moreover,

the wary knight entertained considerable hopes of discovering the clue to the secret passage, if he haunted the vicinity of the castle. He was tolerably conversant with the Welsh language, and he determined, if possible, to extract the needful information from the herdsmen or peasants, unless chance threw Gwendaline once more in his way. Accordingly, when he saw the princess wandering alone in the valley, and heard her humming one of the airs he had repeatedly played, he determined upon a bold stroke to win the game.

"He struck a few responsive chords, and darting from his ambush, threw himself at her feet, and confessed that he was an English knight, drawn thither by the fame of her beauty. He vowed the most passionate love, the most undying fidelity to her person. daline listened and believed. The knight, urged on by success, implored her to admit him within the castle. The princess, with a glance of mingled love and anger, turned and fled.

Gwen

"But the knight and lady met again; alas, for woman's weakness!

"One day, the lovers were startled by the blast of a horn, followed by a great trampling of horse. They concealed themselves behind a rock, while the cavalcade swept past. My kinsmen are returned,' cried Gwendaline, wringing her hands; 'farewell! we meet no more.' "The knight threw himself at the lady's feet, and implored her, by all she held sacred, to grant him an interview-one last interview, I cannot leave the castle unnoted," she faltered. 'Dear lady, admit me within the walls.' She hesitated-she yielded. In a trembling tone she confided to him the secret he burned to discover the clue to the passage which led from a rock in the glen to the vaults of the castle.

"The wind moaned faintly as Gwendaline betrayed the trust; and a slight rattle, as of a sword drawn from the sheath, struck upon her ear. She started-all was silent. The lovers parted-to meet once more at midnight.

"At that hour a horseman sped wildly through the

pass, away, away, rejoicing in the success of his stratagem. At the court of King Edward he would claim the promised reward of his treachery-the conduct of the expedition against Emrys Castle. The knight's plans were laid with consummate craft, and he doubted not of ultimate success. He would surprise the castle, put the garrison to the sword, and claim the hand of Gwendaline, with the forfeited lands of her kinsmen, for his reward. Away, away, the hoofs of his charger rattled over the fragments of rock which encumbered the track. Suddenly, the good steed plunged violently, snorted as if in deadly terror, then planting his forefeet firmly together, refused to move onward.

"The knight strained his eyes to discover the cause; he encouraged the horse by word and gesture-in vain. The noble animal trembled in every limb, but refused to stir. The knight dismounted, and gazed around in utter perplexity:

"There is a light cloud passing by the moon

It is passing and will pass full soon

another minute of breathless suspense, and a faint glimmer of light shone full upon a tall, shadowy figure, looming on the mountain-side. The rushing night-wind bore the words of doom to the ear of the consciencestricken knight. Thou, who camest to betray and to destroy, shalt never reap the fruit of thy treachery. Traitor die the traitor's death!'

"A barbed arrow, aimed by an unerring hand, sped through the air, and sank deep in the false knight's heart. A riderless steed dashed wildly on--Florence, I will trouble you for the cream."

With a gesture of impatience, the young lady pushed, rather than handed, the unoffending cream-jug. The Rector resumed,

"At that same hour, with a trembling step, Gwendaline descended to the vaults of the castle:

"I guess, 'twas frightful there to see

A lady so richly clad as she,—
Beautiful exceedingly!'