her wide wings overspread the land. From all quarters,
conformably to the signal, the levies marched with great rapidity to
Doncaster, where they found Lord D'Arcy, who seemed to feel, or to
feign, astonishment at this sudden rising without his orders. One and
all proclaimed that the appointed signal was from the Abbot of Whalley,
at whose war-inciting torch the whole line of beacons had been kindled.
A messenger, however, was soon forwarded to the camp, from Paslew, with
an explanation of the affair, while at the same time he demanded their
aid for the discovery and punishment of the offenders. But D'Arcy and
Aske were too well pleased to see Paslew's crafty and selfish plans
frustrated, whilst he was irretrievably committed to their cause. Tired
of waiting the tardy result of negotiations with their sovereign, these
ambitious spirits were glad to behold their army once more menacing the
royalist position, hoping it would either quicken or terminate these
dilatory proceedings. But the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of
Shrewsbury, at the news of this unexpected rising, were mightily amazed.
Their plans were at once terminated. Their emissaries had failed to
bring intelligence previously of the intended gathering. In the midst of
their dilemma word was brought that the Abbot of Whalley had first
lighted up the blaze of insurrection. Secretly resolving that this
meddling priest should sorely rue his mischievous exploit, they again
found themselves unwillingly obliged to enter into fresh stipulations
with their adversaries, though determining on delay, if possible, in the
hope of dividing their leaders, and of extinguishing the rebellion in
detail.

But we would crave the reader's return to the abbey, where Ralph was
left in strict durance, and possibly in some danger from the vindictive
purposes of the abbot.

Early on the following morning he was aroused from a deeptoned and
laborious stertoration, by a figure that shook him as he lay, in a
somewhat unceremonious fashion. The intruder was wrapped in a thick
cloak or tunic, and he stood gruffly erect by the straw couch, whereon
the prisoner's night-dreams had nestled in their first existence.

"I marvel thou sleepest so soundly! Thou art the first knave, I trow,
that hast welcomed these walls with so loud a clarion."

"And what should ail the well-earned slumbers of Ralph Newcome? His
sleep may be as sound as some of those, mayhap, that have softer beds
and gayer cloth