betrothed to join in the mazy dance; when—whilst all was merriment and joy,—suddenly a wintry dismal blast passed through the hall. The lights were quickly extinguished, the din and clamour of war seemed to assail the castle walls on every side; and whilst the guests stood in darkness and in stupid wonder, in a moment vivid flashes of lightning shot across the richly tapestried walls, and displayed the fight renewed on Mount Caburn’s side. The hill and dale were seen distinctly, as if broad day were shining, and the combatants eagerly engaged. But when Lord Pevensey again lifted his battle-axe to strike Earl de Warrene, all disappeared and total darkness ensued; the clamour ceased against the castle walls; lights were brought, but the guests, terrified, gloomily withdrew. On the morrow, Earl de Warrene hither to Brighthelmston, to St. Bartholomew’s Chapel came, and by the counsel of the holy fathers, built a ship, gaily trimmed, and named ‘St. Nicholas’ Galley,’ to bear his son to the blessed Virgin’s tomb. It was fixed that when he should return from performing his noble mother’s vow, then should he wed the fair Edona. The vessel gallantly dashed from Mecheem {109} harbour, and bounded over the yielding wave, making his way for brighter—not happier climes. Lord Manfred safely arrived at Byzantium, and performed his sacred duty. It was noon on the 17th of happy May—another year had rolled its wain—when a sail, bearing the well known pennant of St. Nicholas, was descried off Wordinges (Worthing) point by one of the Fathers of this Chantry. Instantly a messenger was sent to carry the welcome tidings to Earl de Warrene, who, with all his retinue, a train of gallant bearing, his noble lady, the Lord of Bramber with the Lady Edona, and the holy Abbot of the priory, with all his brotherhood, had, in a few hours, assembled beneath the Earl’s banner, on the hill where now stands St. Nicholas’ Church. The day was fair, the wind was favourable, and the ‘St. Nicholas’ glided swiftly on her way; the holy fathers sang with cheerful voices. The Earl watched, with beaming eyes, for the signal agreed upon. It was made; shouts rent the air; every face shone with joy, every heart beat with gratitude; when, in a moment, the progress of the vessel was checked; she reeled on her side, and sank before their eyes. She had ran full on the hidden rock off Shore-ham {110a} harbour. The Earl and every soul around him stood motionless; not a word broke the silence of that sad scene. To move was useless. One sad, last, long-drawn sigh burst from Edona, and she fell never more to rise. The Earl passed his hands over his eyes; dropped his head on his bosom; no smile ever rested on that face again. One foreign sailor alone of the hapless crew survived to describe (feebly indeed) the