It was the opening of a bright autumnal day. The softened lights streamed playfully athwart the grim and shadowy masses that lay on the chequered pavement, like the smiles of infancy sporting on the dark bosom of the tomb. The screen formed a rich foreground, in half-shadow, before the east window. The first beam of the morning, clothed in tenfold brightness, burst through the variegated tracery. Prophets, saints, and martyrs shone there, gloriously portrayed in heaven's own light. Rodolf approached the small door leading into the choir, [Illustration: COLLEGIATE CHURCH, MANCHESTER. _Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._] when his vacant eye almost unconsciously alighted on a female form kneeling just within the recess. A ray, from her patron saint belike, darting through the eastern oriel, came full upon her dark and glowing eye. She turned towards the stranger, but in a moment her head was bent as lowly as before, and the ray had lost its power. Rodolf suddenly retreated. Passing through a side door, he left the church, directing his steps towards the low and dark corridors of the college. Near the entrance to his chamber, on a narrow bench, sate a well-caparisoned page tuning his lute. His attire was costly, and his raiment all redolent with the most fragrant perfume. This youth, when very young, was sent over as the companion, or rather at that time as the playmate of his master. He was now dignified with the honourable title of page, and his affection for Rodolf was unbounded. "Boy," said the cavalier, something moodily, "come into the chamber. Stay--fetch me a sack-posset, prythee. I am oppressed, and weary with my morning's ramble." Now the boy did marvel much at his master's sudden return, but more especially at the great fatigue consequent on that short interval;--knowing, too, that a particularly copious and substantial breakfast had anticipated his departure. "And yet, Altdorff, I am not in a mood for much drink. Give us a touch of those chords. I feel sad at times, and vapourish."