Late in the evening the steward brought an account of the fray which terminated the village sports, to the little turret-room where Polydore was sitting with his old pupils. Jeffrey had been down on the green, participating in the evening revels; but the careful warder returned to his post as soon as anger took the place of amusement. And so fitful was Randolph's mood that he now heard even of this disturbance with regret, as he fancied it might introduce some fresh element of discord into the family feud. CHAPTER VIII. "Era già l'ora che volge 'l disio A' naviganti, e'ntenerisce il cuore, Lo di ch'han detto a' dolci amici addio, E che lo nuovo peregrin d' amore Punge, se ode squilla di lontano, Che paja 'l giorno pianger che si muore." Dante. Mercy Page was an old acquaintance of Helen's, and was wont to bring her all the gossip of the village, intermingled with her own little adventures. And so she told Miss Helen the story of her pilgrimage to Madron Well, and the fierce denunciations of Dame Gudhan. And the young lady, after smilingly chiding her for her simple proceeding, taught her to smile also at the ill words of the pythoness. But now Mercy thought she had the laugh on her side, for she had heard the twilight tales about the castle, and availed herself of the familiarity which Helen allowed her, to inquire concerning them at head-quarters. "D' ye know, Miss Helen," she asked, "what they're saying about the green yonder? How there's a pale lady all in white, that walks through the castle by night, and fleers you and Mr. Randolph sadly?" "All I can say, Mercy," Helen answered, with a smile, "is that I have met no lady answering that description, either by night or by day." "They tell it so in whispers," the fair rustic continued; "I cannot well say what is the story. It's something about somebody that some one murdered a very long while ago." "Ah, Mercy, people are always fond of a ghost story," Helen said. "And so I hear Michael was in the game the other day. You had a merry dance at last, I expect." "Then, Miss Helen," said the girl, "I don't well know what's come over Michael. He's very different from before he went to London." Helen sighed, thinking Michael was not the only one who had been so altered. And in truth, Mercy was quite right. If her old lover pretended to court her now, it was in a spirit very opposite to that which animated him before his employment by Mrs. Pendarrel. His object was twofold; to make use of the unsuspecting maiden as a spy within the castle, and to achieve one of those conquests which he had heard boasted of as great exploits in the society he frequented in town. But love is frequently as blind to the qualities of its object as the attachment of animals, and Mercy was as ignorant of Michael's intentions, as the faithful dog in the story, that his master was a murderer.