y. He bade me seek his dame, and say, 'His last sigh was to
her--his last wish to heaven.'"

Lady Mabel listened--every tone sunk like a barbed arrow to her heart.
The voice resembled not that of her deceased husband, yet such was the
deceptive influence arising from the painful irritation which her
spirits had undergone, that, if reason had not forbidden, her fancy
would have invested it with supernatural attributes--listening to it as
though it were a voice from the tomb.

"For the love I bore and yet bear to his most honoured name, tell me--I
conjure thee, tell me--his earthly resting-place. My last pilgrimage
shall be thither. I will enshrine his hallowed relics, and they shall be
a pledge of our union where we shall no more part."

The last words were spoken with a solemnity of expression awful and
thrilling beyond the power of language to convey:

"What recks it, lady? thou hast gotten thee another," said the pilgrim.

"Another!--Oh name him not. Never, never!--most base, most cruel. He
took advantage of my bereavement--a moment of weakness and maternal
terror. By what long ages of suffering and wretchedness has it been
repaid! Better I had beheld my babes wasting with hunger, than have
mated with this unpitying husband for a home and a morsel of bread!"

A flush of proud scorn at her own weakness overspread her features. It
was but momentary. She bade the attendants withdraw. Looking round for
this purpose, she was aware, for the first time, of the hated presence
of Roger de Cliderhow, watching, with considerable surprise, for the
result of this unexpected interview. He departed with the retinue,
leaving Lady Mabel and the pilgrim for a while unobserved.

"Thou art a holy and a heaven-destined man, yet surely thou hast been
taught to share another's sorrows--to pour the oil of compassion over
the wounds of the penitent and broken-hearted." The lady turned aside
her head--she leaned over the chair for support, whilst one hand pressed
her throbbing temples.

"_Mabel Bradshaigh!_" It was the voice of Sir William. She started as at
a summons from the tomb. No other form was visible but that of the
pilgrim bending over his staff. Her eye wandered wildly around the hall,
as if she expected some phantom to start from its recesses. A
richly-fretted screen, behind which the minstrels and lookers-on
occasionally sat at the festival, stood at the lower end of the
apartment. A slight rustling was heard; she was about