"Holy men, with song and prayer, Fain would shrive the passing soul; Fiend-like whispers, to his ear. Winds, in muttering curses, roll. "Ere his last lone shuddering cry, To his couch the maiden came; On his breast she silently Bent an eye of ravening flame. "One wild shriek the sufferer sent, Ere life's last frail link might sever; Laughed the maiden, as she leant O'er that form, to cling for ever. "Closer to his heart she pressed; Scorched, the quivering flesh recoiled; Unconsumed his burning breast, While that grim tormentor smiled. "'Now revenge!' the maiden cried, 'I have bartered heaven for this; Mine thou art, proud Rudolph's bride, Mine, by this last demon kiss.' "Tower, and battlement, and hall, Scathed as with the thunder-stroke, Flashed through midnight's dusky pall, Twined in wreaths of livid smoke. "O'er that gulph of yawning flame Horrid shapes are hovering; Monstrous forms, of hideous name, To the bridal-bed they bring. "'They come!--they come!' their frantic yell. On a wave of billowy light Sudden rose (so marvellers tell) The maiden and her traitor knight. "The moon looks bright on Rudolph's towers, The breeze laughs lightly by, But dark and silent sleep the hours, The lone brook murmuring nigh. "The lank weed waves round thy domain, The fox creeps to thy gate; Dark is thy dwelling, proud chieftain, Thy halls are desolate!" The legend we have thus rendered. His own idiom and versification, as we have already observed, were of a more unintelligible sort, though better suited, perhaps, to the fashion of the time and the capacity of his hearers. But a gloom still pervaded the once cheerful hearth, and the night wore on without the usual symptoms of mirth and hilarity. Holt of Grislehurst held the manorial rights, and was feudal lord over a widely-extended domain, the manor of Spotland descending to him by succession from his grandfather. His character was that of a quiet, unostentatious country gentleman; but withal of a proud spirit, not brooking either insult or neglect. This night, an unaccountable depression stole upon him. He strode rapidly across the chamber, moody and alone. The taper was nigh extinguished; the wasted billet grew pale, a few sparks starting up the chimney, as the wind roared in short and hasty gusts round the dwelling. The old family portraits seemed to flit from their dark panels, wavering with the tremulous motion of the blaze. Holt was still pacing the chamber with a disturbed and agitated step. A few words, rapid and unconnected, fell from his lips. "Rebel!--Outcast! I cannot betray thee!" "Betray me!" echoed a voice from behind. Turning, the speaker stood before him. It was the athletic form of the stranger, wrapped in his grey cloak and cap of coarse felt, plumed from the falcon's wing.