Her locks fell from the slight silken band, which passed across her forehead, as if to strengthen the power of her supplications. They concealed the noble expansion of her brow, as if dignity ought then to be lost in condescension. Her eyes were raised so mournfully, although no tears were visible. But she might as well have addressed herself to the stones, and the echoes would have given a kinder reply. The knight stamped furiously, and impatiently, as Mabel spoke. “Sir Osmund, confine me not here. It is too, too near the picture gallery, and I have been lately visited by such awful dreams and sights there, that I shudder. For your own sake, my wedded--nay, Sir Osmund, I will not speak falsehood; I cannot call you husband;--Sir William, forgive me!” In a moment, she forgot that she was supplicating a favour from the ruffian knight. Her eyes were turned upon vacancy, but with such an earnest expression! Her bosom heaved, her lips slightly quivered, and a strange light gleamed from her eyes. In a hollow voice she whispered, whilst her hands were clasped together, “Spirit of the departed! forgive me for my treachery to thy memory. No--no; I have not been faithless to thee for ten long years, if silent and lonely vigils can conjure up what thou wert; if penance dark and painful can change me to thee, from what I am, to what I once was! Oh! cannot that which withers all the bloom and freshness of my youth, on the cold, cold stones, likewise efface every other name but Mabel Bradshaigh: dear, dear name! Our noble mother was gone to thee before I consented to be another’s, in name; and even then, but for our children, thy grave should have been my second nuptial couch!” “Would that you would hasten to its delights, then” interrupted the brutal knight, as he approached and patted her head in scorn. “Call on your torch bearers, for Hymen’s light; bid them be quick, and consummate the ceremony. But to turn from this fine reverie of your’s, sweet Mab, you must leave this room and follow me into that frightful gallery. You may then make orisons to all the painted heroes; and improve yourself so much as to become a holy father. But, methinks that you are here visited also by strange sights, and you will have more space, in the other room to fly from them. Come, not a moment’s disobedience, and there dream of Sir William. It is his birthday, and he ought to appear unto you, as a matter of courtesy. And oh, do not be faithless, and treacherous to him! Go after him, and leave me Haigh! Ha, ha! And as for the young fry, it matters not where he be confined; he may go to the devil, and dance on the holiday of his father’s birth. Come Mabel; aye, you may kiss the boy, wipe the blood from off his face, and he wont pollute the clear fountains before the porch. Come, sweet Mab.” Mabel embraced her son, and followed Sir Osmund into the gallery, and as he retired she heard the heavy bar secured on the outside.