THE sun was softly sloping his yellow rays over the orchards that half smothered the old grange of Hartmere, and the weathercocks on the tall hunting tower at Rough Park were beginning to glimmer above its long woods, when the Prince and Blauncheflor traversed together the field path on the hill top, overlooking the hall on the south-west, to the beautiful terrace of Cowley Bank.

It was now the very high and palmy prime of May-the reign of spring looked so superbly flourishing, that summer already began to cast glowing VOL. IX.

See p. 308

and impatient glances on her sister's throne. Forest and field emulated each other in the most delicious freshness and luxuriance of verdure.Flowers of a thousand hues besprinkled the turf; soft fragrant airs were felt, not heard; and sun and sky seemed in that balmy silence to be wooing the beautiful and blooming earth. Remember those exquisite lines of Massinger in "The Great Duke of Florence"

hung

They unattended walk into The silent groves, and hear the amorous birds Of barren sycamores, which th' all-seeing sun Warbling their wanton notes; here a sure shade Could not pierce through; near that an arbour With spreading eglantine; a bubbling spring Watering a bank of hyacinths and lilies. and then picture our lovers in as fair a region on Cowley Bank;-and lo! the Lady Blauncheflor with a deep obeisance, and a countenance, where, like the moon governing the sea in which her image is agitated, an inalienable firmness of purpose predomi

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sire to see her child a queen, hath herein beguiled her from her customary wisdom, it remains with me, at whatever price, to prevent her becoming odious to her confiding sovereigns.

I am to understand then," said the youth, deeply mortified, "I am to understand that the lady heiress of flamstal takes a high flight in her self-denial! she would lead the Prince of Wales, like some stray alaun in a leash, to the next royal palace, and would say 'Behold the folly of your heir, and the magnanimity of the maid he stooped to woo! Keep him in safer durance my liege! for, if he prove such a haggard in his amours, it is not every knight's daughter will reject a Plantagenet.'"

Edward had relinquished the hand of Blauncheflor as he spoke, and like a pettish, thwarted schoolboy, stood half averted from her. Her blood mounted to her temples one moment till every blue vein seemed bursting, and the next it left her countenance pale as sepulchral marble. Had the habitual command, wonderful in one so young, ever deserted her it would have been then, while, throbbing with the consciousness of her hardly mastered love, her heart was suddenly wrung by the most cruel taunt that could fall from a lover's lips.

Her first impulse was, to fling herself upon that dear, but injured bosom, and at once abandoning herself to her feelings, avow that she was his through good report or evil report, his only and for ever.

This dangerous temptation was, however, resisted and overcome, and Blauncheflor felt her security, if not her power, as she thus addressed her offended suitor :

"God forgive you, Prince, that hard speech! I have not deserved it, and you know I have not; but you can never know how bitter it was to bear; could you read this poor heart, your generous nature would not have wounded it with such poisoned words!”

The youthful Plantagenet turned to her, fell on her neck and hid his face in her clustered tresses. Blauncheflor felt his warm tears. She was the first to speak.

"This must not be, my Lord! thank heaven these woody solitudes hide us from all eyes! What would the chivalry of France and England say, to see the noblest Prince that ever belted a knight, turned childish with passion! Through his orphan," she continued

in a solemn voice, her eyes glistening and her cheeks blushing with enthusiasm," Through his orphan, the spirit of my dead father speaks! Think of Crecy, Edward! Think of thy Sire's transport, when clasping thee to his bosom he exclaimed, 'My dear son! you have this day shewn yourself worthy of the knighthood you have lately received, and the crown for which you have so bravely fought!' Prince of Wales! how would that father's heart be humbled, if he saw, if he heard thee

now ?"

Edward was greatly moved at this speech, blushes covered his pale face, as, throwing himself on his knees before his mistress!

"And thou!" he cried, "who can'st feel, who can'st counsel thus, art still so wrongful to thy desert, as to deem thyself unworthy of a throne. Oh more than kingly heart! Rebuke me, admonish me as thou wilt! I will obey thee, even against myself! Only in one point yield to me; forbid me not! Oh Blauncheflor, forbid me not to hope, while I am striving to deserve!"

One pang more, thought poor Blauncheflor, and then the bitterness of death is surely past! She paused a moment, and then, though her frame shook, she firmly spoke:

"My mother's partiality, your Highness, has won to be your advocate. My father, whose loyalty would have stood as a mailed warrior in the gap, is dead; and the task has devolved on a weak girl, who, with no aid but his spirit at her side, and his heart in her bosom, dares to affirm, that Blaunchéflor of the Hamstal will never be the mate of Edward Plantagenet! Prince! I would swear this, did I for a moment distrust my resolution!"

*

The twilight of this eventful day was imperceptibly approaching, with a change of atmosphere, not unusual at this season, when a pilgrim entered St. Michael's Churchyard at Hamstal, and was soon absorbed in devotion, on the steps of the Great Cross in its southern portion.

It was one of the splendid structures distinguishing that period, octagonally shaped, throned on a broad and lofty flight of steps, and enriched with all the minute decorations of niches, tabernacles, images, turricles, spires, and vares, usual in such erections. This, however, was rendered more picturesque by the neighbourhood of a yew

tree, whose monstrous bulk and sable hue were strikingly contrasted with the graceful architecture, white stone, and gilded weathercocks of the cross. Shooting far and wide its extravagant branches, and laboriously poising its massy foliage, the trunk opened into such numerous orifices, as to give you the idea of an elaborate latticework; there was not a point at which the light did not stream coldly through the clefts, palely severing the many-coloured stains concealed by age upon its gorgeous bark.

The pilgrim was of stature approaching the colossal, his robe swept in dusky volume round his giant limbs, and his hood or cowl, entirely veiled his features.

The weather, we say, had completely changed; the gloomy sky had anticipated twilight. Sullen intermitted gusts hissed through the yew tree. The evening bell was sounding drearily from the campanile. The waters of the Blythe plashing over the mill-dam, swelled on the uncertain air. A lagging rook uttered now and then a weariful cry, as he winged his slow way to the great grove behind the castle, where his comrades, with subdued murmurs, were rustling tranquilly to their rest. Lights began to glance from the deep porch and stone transoms of the mill, and the buttresses and arches of the bridge beside it, were lost in the distant shades; while, close at hand, the castle with its grand agglomeration of towers and ramparts, the church steeple, and the trees that overshadowed the pile, soared in sublime and silent gloom.

The stranger had not long been absorbed in his devotion, when a postern gate, communicating by the Beacon Tower with the church-yard, was hastily opened, and the Prince of Wales, entering the grassy precinct, began to pace to and fro under its embattled wall (apparently without observing the pilgrim), with all the unequal step, and distracted gesture of passion. At length his mental anguish broke forth into groans, so loud and deep that they disturbed the orisons of the kneeling devotee, who slowly rising from the steps of the cross, stalked solemnly down towards the young man; his height looking unearthly in the growing gloom, his face completely lost in his hood, and his drapery floating in the gust that wavered over the long grass of the graves.

"Is it a man?" he said, as encountering the Prince under the shadow of

the yew tree, he planted himself full in front of him. "Is it a man that disturbs this hour and place, with the wailings of a woman?" He paused, and receiving no answer, he continued, "Is there a child of earth, so new to its history, that these tombs cannot teach him he is but dust, or these evening shades, that life cannot be all sunshine?”

"Away, father!" exclaimed Edward, "away! tell thy beads, and intrude not on the sorrow thou can'st not console!"

"It is not I who intrude," rejoined the pilgrim, "it is the disturbed and disturbing children of men, who intrude upon me; who rouse me from my repose, by bewailing the sorrows they have forged for themselves. Edward of Woodstock! what dost thou here?"

The Prince started, less from the unexpected recognition, than the unceremonious and almost stern manner, in which it was announced. He rallied, however, and with assumed haughtiness replied:

"Methinks that name should win me more worship than I am likely to receive from a beggarly pilgrim.'

The form of the stranger seemed to dilate at these insulting words, but, with grandeur impassive as the majestic yew above them, he answered in the same cold deep tone,

"If the Prince of Wales needs the admonition of a 'beggarly pilgrim,' let him feel shame for the folly that has brought him so low."

The full May moon, that had been fluctuating amidst fantastic piles of clouds, now shone forth effulgently, dashing her lustre along the livid blazonries in the church windows, and enfolding in sparkles the signorial vanes of the castle. The Prince, in whom this extraordinary encounter had gone far towards assuaging the wildness of his passion, gazed earnestly on the gigantic figure which had thus strangely crossed him; but he in vain endeavoured to distinguish the lineaments of his countenance, for the cowl was so large, and so deeply drawn over it, that all was blank within; the very voice seemed to issue from a vault.

"If I have wronged thy sanctity by my hasty speech," said Plantagenet, submissively, "I pray thee, holy pilgrim, pardon me; for at this present, my spirit is so wrung, I wist not if I be altogether in my perfect mind."

"If thou doubtest on that point, I will resolve thee. Thou art mad, Plantagenet, mad as the winds and waves;

but, an' thou steer not thy course the better, thou wilt more resemble the noble Argosy their madness overwhelms!" He drew the royal boy under the shadows of the yew, and stooping his cowled head, whispered in his ear.

Edward sprang backward like a stricken stag, and, with clasped hands, and frame trembling with ineffable emotion, was about to speak. "Hush!" said the unknown, "answer me not here, but follow me.'

He led the way through a door in the north wall, into a broad walk overshadowed by an avenue of sycamores. This avenue flanking the churchyard, descended a gentle slope to the Pleasaunce, situated at the foot of the hill on which the manorial buildings arose, and about a bowshot from the outer ramparts.

The Pleasaunce, an inseparable appendage to the towered halls of antiquity, would to a modern taste, exhibit few attractions. Oblong pools balustraded with stone, intermixed with marble cisterns, were separated from each other, by straight turf terraces, whose only variety consisted in some being bare and level, and adorned with statues; while others formed pleached allies of mulberry, quince, fig, and various fruit trees. In the centre, where the green walks met, a conspicuous ornament was the labyrinth; an intricate concentring of hedges massy with clipt hornbeam, holly, and yew, in the midst of which a magnificent sundial enamelled and gilded, with a spread eagle on each side supporting a shield for a dial plate, stood in glitter or gloom as the moon imparted or withheld her light.

The long-broken line of Hamstal Hall, stretching from the south with its spiky enfilade of turret and chimney, closed its feudal array in the towers of the great gateway on the north. And with this magnificent object brooding over them, as it were to shut out all intrusion, the quaint allies and glimmering ponds of the Pleasaunce were witness to a conference between Plantagenet and the devotee, of which tradition has furnished a very vague account. It was currently reported among the vassals (and with what truth the sequel of this story will shew) that then and there the veil of the future was torn away, and that the various scenes of his career, with the early death that closed their splendours, were revealed to the eye of the young Prince. But,

that unanswerable dissuasives from his passion for Blauncheflor of the Hamstal were at the same time enforced on his attention, was only evident from his abrupt departure for Tutbury before the dawn, with a hasty note of excuse to his lady hostess, assigning as its cause some disturbances in his Duchy of Aquitaine.

The warder, however, and the sentinels, one and all, declared that, as they looked into the night, from the battlements and towers, they had noticed two figures for some time in the Pleasaunce below; that the gestures of both were extraordinary, and that the one, whom, by his white plume streaming in the fitful moonshine, they had recognised as the Prince of Wales, seemed to listen with much agitation to his coinpanion, whom they described as of supernatural height, in flowing robes like a magician, and using the most solemn and awful gesticulations. Whether the pilgrim had quitted Hamstal with the Prince was unknown:-of him the morrow shewed nothing more.

Over the castle, which, as the residence of two mourning females, was at no time remarkable lively, a redoubled gloom seemed to gather after this remarkable day. On a sudden, stories of an apparition began to be transmitted, and caught from pallid lip to startled eye, among the domestics. The age and place considered, there was nothing very uncommon in this; but loud was the outcry in the castle, Lady de Ridware giving way to undisguised terror, while even Blauncheflor's heart beat thick, upon the following occurrence. In the great hall of the Hamstal, there was a gallery traversing the east end of the apartment at mid height; it was of ponderous stonework, and arose on Saxon pillars of barbaric richness. In the centre of this gallery had recently been erected, as a mournful trophy, the splendid suit of armour in which the gallant Sir Bertram had fallen at Crecy.

The armour of Edward the Third's reign, borrowed from the Italians, was magnificent to excess, and there are many instances of knights being killed solely for the sake of these gorgeous insignia. It was indeed conjectured that something like this had been the lot of Sir Bertram, as his corpse had been found by his followers, dreadfully mangled, and stript of his splendid armour, which a body of marauders, whom they interrupted, were compel