soul of my kinsman Gloucester!-and for thee. kind stranger, albeit I would that thou hadst told me of another father, yet, for thy service towards me, will I think nought but good of thee, and I rejoice that I have cause to remember thee without sin. Farewell! a virgin vowed unto Heaven hath nought but thanks and prayers to bestow, and they are thine already."

The Lady Bride then gave me her hand, which I put unto my lips with much devotion: whereupon, hastily drawing it from me, she wrapped herself more closely in her mantle, and bending her head towards me with much dignity, went forth from the chapel by a private portal; when it seemed as if the even-tide had suddenly sunken down upon me in all its darkness.

CHAPTER IV.

A SECOND INTERVIEW-AN AVOWALAND A SE

PARATION.

She came !-She is gone!-We have met!

And meet-perhaps never again!

The sun of that moment is set,

And seems to have risen in vain.

COWPER.

I HAVE afore recounted, that the good brethren of Windsor prayed me to tarry the coming night with them, in those fair stone dwellings which the noble King Edward III. caused to be edified for the Decanus and Canons of the house, in the lower-ward of the castle, and on the eastern side of the cloister adjoining unto the Chapel of St. George. Beneath the same roof, also, as I did afterward find, the Lady Bride was lodged in certain chambers between the Gunner's and Winchester Towers; the windows whereof looked unto the Inner-Bailey and Keep, and overhung divers low wooden houses allotted unto the servitors. The good Decanus and his Canons would fain have passed that joyful season,-being as I said the birthday of King Edward IV.,-in wassail and revelry, and in discoursing of that which I had seen in France and Burgundy; and I might

well hear the merry songs and voices of the lackeys below, which showed that they were doing the like. But beside being now wearied with travel, the thought of that even's converse with the Lady Bride, had shaded over my mind with a grave and holy calmness that made me care little for any such pastime; and seeing, therefore, that mine heart was filled with the cherished remembrance of a scene so sad and sacred, I was all unfit for any other enjoyment. For this cause, therefore, did I soon entreat to go unto my rest, as I did think to travel early upon the coming day.

The chamber wherein I was to lodge was of little space, having a vaulted roof, and a tall narrow window that dimly showed the Chapel-cloister lying in misty moonlight beneath; yet did I take but small note of its incommodity, or the night without, seeing that it contained a pallet whereon I might well rest me, and ponder over the sweet and bitter thoughts of my heart. Upon this couch I therefore threw me, taking off but little of mine attire save mine armour, and lay revolving, as I was wont to do, the scenes of my . life that had already passed, and the untried paths through which I had yet to travel. As mine eyes began to grow heavy and to close, and the real images before them were fading into those quaint and dim forms, which they do oft put on as we sink into slumber, my rest was suddenly broken by a loud and continued noise, which seemed to betoken much of present danger; nevertheless, when I looked through the window I could behold nought of hazard in the dark clois

ter, saving that divers persons were hastily passing about it with torches and loud cries. Howbeit, I might soon hear the shout of "Fire!" and the heavy and hasty toll of the alarum from the Bell-Tower beyond the chapel on the west; and anon a ruddy glow rising upon the night-clouds over the building wherein I was lodging, made me deem that the flames had broken out in its chambers.

I will not now seek to portray the wild disorder of that place, which was in truth greater than I can picture it, or how the inmates of those lodgings came hastily from their chambers, all endeavouring to find safety in escape. For mine own part I made me ready with all speed, and went into the gallery or passage, with the purpose of retreating as the others had done already; yet full desirous of seeking and saving the Lady Bride in that hour of hazard. It was dark without, but as I passed by an open chamber on the other side, I beheld through the window thereof the fire rising up fiercely from beneath, as if it would eftsoons assail that room. The red light was cast upon a female in a white habit, devoutly kneeling before a crucifix, yet sometimes looking silently around her, although with much anxiety and doubt, as to whither she should turn for succour. I felt me well assured that only the Lady Bride would be thus pious and tranquil in a time of such danger; yet without regarding who she might be in that perilous place, I went towards her, and accosting her with little form of speech, raised her in mine arms and hastily bore her forth.

The fearful light which was cast through her window, showed me that it was indeed the Lady Bride whom I now carried, but soon the blaze sank down as if it had been somewhat abated; when she suddenly started from me and hastily withdrew into her chamber. I followed again thither, being anxious to convey her from that place of hazard, and entreated of her to secure her safety by instant flight with me unto some distant part of the building; unto which she did at length consent, and, in the disorder which did then prevail, I led her, unmarked by any, to the stone chambers of the canons on the western side of the cloister.

This was scarcely performed when I heard divers voices, both of men and females, loudly calling to each other to hasten and re-assure the Lady Bride; for that the danger was now past, and, peradventure, had been less great than it was at first deemed. Yet not being wholly satisfied hereof, I hastened the noble maiden as swiftly as her fainting steps would move onward, until we had gotten some good space from that spot of supposed peril, encouraging her on the way thither as I best might. When at length I saw her in safety, I said unto her, "Lady, be of good cheer, all hazard is now past, and I rejoice in having been so nigh unto you as to have borne you therefrom. Yet may I ask if you indeed know me; or are conscious that he who now stands at your side is no other than he who hath so long and deeply adored you?"

"Right well, good Richard, did I know you," answered she, "even when you first appeared in