“Come to mine arms, my faithful wife, dearer to me than ever. Come! Thank God that we meet, never more to part. Awfully have our dismal forebodings, the last time we were in this gallery, been fulfilled.” “Sir William--reject me. I am unworthy. Nay, let me kneel at thy feet.” “Both together then, and at the feet of the Most High. Hush, Mabel, here come the children. My boys, do you not know your father? Kiss me. _I am_ your long-lost father.” After the embrace, the boys exclaimed in terror, “Sir Osmund comes.” Lady Mabel shrieked. Sir William unloosed a garment which was closely wrapped round him, and unfurled a Paynim standard which his arm had won. “Stay, Mabel, I escape here, by this door. My old servants will rally round me. Yet no, I cannot leave thee defenceless. William, my brave boy, fly with this to my servants. Tell them that Sir William is returned. Bid them arm for me. Haste.” The boy disappeared through the concealed door, and Sir William stationed himself beside his lady, his sword drawn. “Ho, lights,” exclaimed Sir Osmund. “Must I fall, and break my neck? Mab, take hold of my hands, and bring me to thee.” The next moment he entered. But the twilight was so shady, that he saw not the presence of the returned knight. “Mab, sign this paper. Cliderhoe, come hither.” “Here’s one,” replied Sir William, “who can do it. Ruffian, do you know me. I am Sir William Bradshaigh.” “Indeed,” sneeringly responded the parson. “You have got the name.” “And the sword, thou hypocrite.” “Very likely,” was the retort, “very likely. That proves thee a thief, and not Sir William.” “Sir Osmund Neville, I challenge thee to deadly combat for the wrongs thou hast done me, and for thy cowardly and cruel treatment to Mabel and our children. Come forth, else I will smite thee to the death. Equal weapons, if thou willest: if not, I will stab thee where thou standest.”