Meantime, the boy found his younger brother, and they wandered forth, together, into the wood. They sat down and gazed upon the window of the room, where their lady mother was confined, and long and affectionately they spoke of her wrongs. The younger, clapped his hands and shouted, as he beheld her handkerchief waving from the casement; a sure proof that she had observed them. It was a pleasant day, in the most pleasant season; and soon their young hearts became free and happy, and they thought of some knight of romance spurring forward on a black steed, with glorious and shining arms, to free their mother from her shameful durance. They found their bows, and gay archers, shot through the wood, making it resound with their gladness. Oh what a blessing a young heart is! It has in itself a balm for all its grief! Spring and summer have many flowers, but childhood and youth have as many hopes; and they even descend from a mother’s arms into the grave without being withered. They rambled, hand in hand, down the steep hill, which by a circuitous rout, leads to Wigan. The way was then romantic, and all around, beautiful glens were lying in the arms of majestic eminences, and every thing bore the stamp of feudal and chivalrous days. The Church turrets were seen against the cloudless sky like the pencillings of Hope, and Charity; whilst the quiet vales were sprinkled over with tamed lambs. The boys, at intervals, on their way looked back to the hall of their ancestors, admiring the broad pendant which floated over the stately tower. At length they reached the Cross, erected on the outside of Standishgate. There the town guards were in conversation with a holy palmer. He seemed to speak little, and only put a few questions. His piercing eyes glanced from beneath his large cowl. His hands played with the crucifix which was suspended from his neck; and on his sable cloak were embroidered Peter’s keys. “Here, reverend father,” said one of the guards, “here are Sir William’s boys; they will shew thee the way to the hall.” The palmer started at the words. He eagerly looked upon the boys, and raising his hands above their heads, implored a blessing. “Yes, yes,” they both exclaimed, and took hold of his hands. “Is it near the hour of vespers at the Haigh?” inquired the palmer. “Many, many years have elapsed since they were chanted there in my hearing. How sweetly the hymn stole up through the little echoes. Who, then, sat beside me? Ha! who now will? But, boys, how is your lady mother?” and he waited breathlessly for the answer, with his eyes intently fixed upon their countenances. “Holy father,” the eldest replied, “she is well, but needs comfort.” The noble mansion of Haigh was now seen through an opening in the woods. Long and anxiously did the palmer look thereon; yet his was not the gaze of a stranger; for many emotions, arising from many recollections, were marked in the motions of his head. “My boys, why does the banner float over Haigh?”