ntended for a female rider.

"It is well," said the taller of the men "that I am not a member of a
temperance society like you, Stephen, or it would be difficult to reward
this good man for his care of our steed. I will take a cup of the drink
of Saxon kings." Then leading up the pony to the Religious, he placed
her on its back with gentleness and much natural grace, saying at the
same time in a subdued tone, "And you--shall I bring you a glass of
nature's wine?"

"I have drank of the spring of the Holy Abbey," said the Religious, "and
none other must touch my lips this eve."

"Come, our course must be brisk," said the elder of the men as he gave
up his glass to their host and led off the pony, Stephen walking on its
other side.

Though the sun had fallen, the twilight was still glowing, and even on
this wide expanse the air was still. The vast and undulating surface of
the brown and purple moor, varied occasionally by some fantastic rocks,
gleamed in the shifting light. Hesperus was the only star that yet was
visible, and seemed to move before them and lead them on their journey.

"I hope," said the Religious, turning to the elder stranger, "that if
ever we regain our right, my father, and that we ever can save by the
interposition of divine will seems to me clearly impossible, that you
will never forget how bitter it is to be driven from the soil; and that
you will bring back the people to the land."

"I would pursue our right for no other cause," said the father. "After
centuries of sorrow and degradation, it should never be said, that we
had no sympathy with the sad and the oppressed."

"After centuries of sorrow and degradation," said Stephen, "let it
not be said that you acquired your right only to create a baron or a
squire."

"Nay, thou shalt have thy way, Stephen," said his companion, smiling,
"if ever the good hour come. As many acres as thou choosest for thy new
Jerusalem."

"Call it what you will, Walter," replied Stephen; "but if I ever gain
the opportunity of fully carrying the principle of association into
practice, I will sing 'Nunc me dimittas.'"

"'Nunc me dimittas,'" burst forth the Religious in a voice of thrilling
melody, and she pursued for some minutes the divine canticle. Her
companions gazed on her with an air of affectionate reverence as she
sang; each instant the stars becoming brighter, the wide moor assuming a
darker hue.

"Now, tell me, Stephen," said the Religious, turning he