“How now, good priest,” exclaimed Sir Hugh, “are these two now fast wedded?” “As fast, fair sire, as the holy rites may wed them.” “Then ring me, thou knave, Ringan, a death-peal! Thou, Gilbert, and thou, Launcelot, make me three halters, quick--nay! four--the dead knight shall swing, as his villany well merits, beside the living knaves!--Sing me a death-chant, priest, for these are judged to death, unhouselled and unshriven!” Not a word did the ruffians answer, they knew that prayer was useless, and with dark frowning brows, and dauntless bearing, they met their fate, impenitent and fearless. For Marian begged their lives in vain. De Mortemar was pitiless in his just wrath! And the spurs were hacked from the heels of the dead knight, and the base halter twisted round his cold neck, and his dishonored corpse hung up upon the very tree to which he had bade bind the Saxon bridegroom. And the death-peals were sung, and the death-hymn was chanted; and ere the sounds of either had died away in the forest echoes, the three marauders writhed out their villain souls in the mild air, and swung three grim and ghastly monuments of a foul crime and fearful retribution--and this dread rite consummated the Saxon’s bridal! LEGENDS OF THE CRUSADERS. THE SYRIAN LADY; A SKETCH OF THE CRUSADES. “Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Allah given, To lift from earth our low desire. Devotion wafts the mind above, But heaven itself descends in love.”--THE GIAOUR.