The story of the Babe of Bethlehem--cradled among the beasts of the stall--heralded by angels, and worshiped by the eastern sages, passing, a holy presence that diffused joy and comfort to every heart, through the green vales of Judea--walking unsandaled upon the glassy waves of Galilee, and standing in robes white as the light upon the top of Tabor, agonizing in Gethsemane, and suffering upon Calvary for the redemption of a ruined race, recited in the mellow tones of Maude, imparted an interest to the scenes of the Saviour's life and passion, which all the sacred relics and saintly effigies of the church had failed to awaken. But especially did Robert and Adela delight in tales of the turbaned Paynim. The long caravan winding its spicy track through emerald oases, or glistening sands--the dark-browed Saracens with spear and cimeter careering in battle on Arab steeds, fleet as the desert wind--terrible Turks from the wilds of Khosser, swifter than leopards, and more fierce than the evening wolves--swarthy Nubians clustering like locusts in the holy places--toil-worn pilgrims scourged and massacred, and christian children slaughtered to furnish diabolical repasts for Moslem fiends, were themes that never failed to excite the most intense curiosity, and to rouse the direct imprecations of vengeance. From one of these narrations, Robert rose with a determined air, and exclaimed--"My grandsire, Robert le Diable, say the monks, was carried to heaven on the backs of fiends; but if by the favor of St. Stephen, I ever visit the Holy Land, it shall be not with pilgrim's staff, but with sword and lance, to drive those cursed fiends back to their place of torture." "It were a holy work," said Richard, "and one the saints would bless." "Were I a knight, or might a woman set lance in rest," cried Adela, "those heathen dogs should no longer feed upon the flesh of christian babes. Shame to the peers of Normandy, that sit quietly in Rouen while the Holy Sepulchre is in the hands of infidels." "The peers of Normandy will sit quietly in Rouen only till my father returns from his conference with Lanfranc," said William. "Last night a small vessel anchored off the coast, and a messenger came in breathless haste to the palace. I could not gain speech with him, but I know he brings tidings from Fitz Osborne, and our Uncle Odo. Hugh de Glaville conjectures there is treason in England." "My mother dismissed her maidens at an earlier hour than is her wont, and sent away Turold with a frown, when he brought her his pattern of the wooden fort," said Cicely, with a sigh, "my heart misgave me then that some peril was impending." "Pray God it may not reach Edwin," said Agatha, with white lips. "Pray God the troubles may continue till my father moves his court to London," said William, as rising from the mossy bank upon which they had been sitting, the anxious party returned through the pleasance, to the great hall where the evening meal was prepared.