“Arthur!” Elizabeth exclaimed in a voice of terror, “I hear the coach; it dashes furiously along. Nay, do not hold me.” The noise was distinctly heard;--it became loud and louder. Henry’s voice was above all, laughing, shouting, cursing. It halted. A knocking was instantly made at the house door. “It is my brother; I cannot delay. Arthur, I must go alone. I will speedily return to you. But I must admit Henry. Will he give me worse than before?” She rushed out of the door as the knocking was redoubled. The door opened, and the next moment a step was mounting the stairs. Arthur tarried for a time; still, Elizabeth came not. He snatched a light, and when he reached the door, there she was lying with her head on the pavement,--dead! dead! The Spectre Coach of the Infidels, at the hour of midnight, stopping at their old abodes, is said still to be heard. Coachmen have anxiously looked before them, expecting to come into collision with it. Dogs commence to howl, and yet are frightened; and many a traveller has heard, but none ever seen “the Spectre Coach.” THE CROSS AND LADY MABEL. [Illustration] THE CHRONICLER, IN THE FOLLOWING LEGEND, ADHERES TO THE STATEMENTS OF THE GENEALOGICAL ROLL OF THE BRADSHAIGH FAMILY, IN REFERENCE TO THE KNIGHTLY HERO’S EXPEDITION TO THE HOLY LAND. The banner was waving over the goodly mansion of Haigh Hall, on the twenty-sixth anniversary of Sir William Bradshaigh’s birth, and all the retainers, from the scullion to the seneschal were boisterously enjoying themselves, in a hearty eating, drinking, and laughing. On every eminence in view, small flags had been placed, and some of these sported their colours on the loftiest trees, in the adjoining woods. But, although much good cheer had been placed near these, to attract a small company, they were left solitary, as tokens to strangers, for all the knight’s men were assembled at the porch of the Hall, quaffing the foaming goblet to his honour and prosperity, and to his success in his intended expedition as a Crusader. With earliest morn the appropriate demonstrations had commenced, but they became more ardent and joyous towards sunset. A chair was then placed on the threshold, for the minstrel whose chivalrous strains were to be heard by all, in praise of his noble master. One burst of merry applause greeted him, as the aged man took his seat, and as he gently touched the strings to Sir William’s glory, within, the fair bosom of Lady Mabel, heaved with answering sympathy. She embraced her children, and looking upwards, prayed that they might be good, and brave as their father; and when Sir William joined her, she added, as handsome and beautiful.