heard of?-it was true, our kings wedded the daughters of France; but they did it not out of love, but of policy, for the general good and aggrandizement of the nation. She would disinherit her son, and give the lands and towers to his kinsman Aymer. And yet she said love was an overmastering passion, and it would be a pity to disinherit a brave youth because he fell in love with a fair face. Beatrice was alone unmoved among them all, and never for a moment coupled dishonour with her lover's name. "It happened one evening that a minstrel came to the gate; and sought to overcome the churlishness of the porter by singing one of the old preda English army, and, like many loftier personages of that period, was alternately a robber and defender of his country. He came and made a low obeisance, and was questioned by Beatrice of the wars in Normandy, and of the deeds of arms. He said, of the achievements of the army he knew little; it was the valour and heroism of single warriors of which he sung; he left the deeds of the multitude to the historian. Many songs he had framed of joy for the victor, and lament for the vanquished, and of sorrow for those who fell in battle. But the days of his singing were well nigh done, and it mattered not, -for wicked and politic men had made use of the gentle craft for base and un tory ballads of the border, but the por-worthy purposes, and the lot.g reign of ter listened to his favourite minstrelsy, and shook his head, and bade him begone. The old man, for he was very old, and with locks like snow, said, The gate of Heron tower had never been shut against music and poetry,— he had been with the great lords in the wars in Normandy, and could sing many a song of gallant deeds;-fair fall the kind heart that cheered the minstrel, and foul fall the churlish hand that bolted the jealous gate.' Beatrice, who was seated at her window, heard him pleading earnestly for admission, and she desired Sir Aymer to be kind, and remember that all good and gallant knights were lovers of historic song. To please thee, lady,' said Sir Aymer, I will admit this idle ballad-maker for a single night; he is one of a lying race, who exalt the low, and depress the noble, and for a paltry piece of gold stain high and heroic names. lover of the race, but your wish is enough.' And he arose, and conducted the minstrel to the presence-chamber. I am no "He was an old man, and of low stature, had been a harper from his youth, and a warrior from his cradle, and he belonged to that district of longcontested ground called the debatable land of the border. Sometimes he followed the Scottish, and sometimes the historic poesie was drawing to a close. And he sat silent, and seemed unwilling to give any proof of his skill, and Beatrice came near him, and spoke of the poetry of her country,-of the rude but graphic strains of chivalry and romance; and repeated some of the tenderer pas sages with a grace and felicity which charmed all present, save the minstrel himself. I too,' said the old harper, 'can sing a Scotch song to the harp, and in my youth my songs of joy and mirth were famed far and wide,-but of late all my love of mirth is fled, and my strains are now of a sadder and solemn kind; therefore press me not, lady, for I wish not to make so fair a face sad.' And he drew his aged hands over the harpstrings, which emitted a low and melancholy sound, like the prelude to a funeral dirge. I would have thee to sing us some sad story,' said Beatrice; let it be no idle fiction, (for idle fictions are abroad); let truth honour thy harpstrings, the songs of my native land are all songs of truth." And the minstrel turned his face away, and said, I shall sing thee a song of truth,-my last and my saddest -and when I have sung it, I care not if I die, for the scene which inspired it will ever be before me, asleep or awake. I saw him lying with his sword in his hand, lady, and I heard his an eye it has wet with tears, and it may wet thine. Listen to the song, lady, and let the owner of this tower listen, -I come to sing a song of truth.' Hugh Heron. All by the lake Hugh Heron lay 'Mong rushes long and green, The sward around was soak'd with blood, All by the lake Hugh Heron lay, His bright blade like a sun-beam, out,- And pass'd o'er France's palmy plains, Men knew by cloven shields and helms, "O, never more amid the ranks Of warriors shalt thou gleam, Or shine with me on Tweed's green banks, What now shall shield the hoary head, When war comes with a sweep, All by the lake Hugh Heron lay, "When this song was done, Beatrice arose, laid a string of pearls on the minstrel's harp, and moved out of the chamber, her bosom heaving till the lace which covered it seemed like to burst. She reached her chamber door, when a sob and groan were heard, and she dropt on the threshold. Lady Heron came and watched over her like a mother. The peasants missed her at morn, and noon, and twilight, sitting looking seaward on the castle-top for eight whole days; with the ninth she re-appeared again, and the sound of her voice and lute was heard once more coming from the latticed window of her little chamber. "This was in summer, and the middle of harvest came, yet brought no certain tidings of Sir Hugh Heron. Of rumours there were many, but all so contradictory, and strange, and romantic, as to exceed all ordinary belief,yet they filled the mind of Beatrice with doubt and apprehension. The song of the minstrel she esteemed only as one of those fictions in which poets take the advantage of a wound or lost battle, to raise the wail and the lament, and call the attention of the world to the object of their esteem. But if she retained her outward show spirit and resolution, a secret trouble was visible in her eye, and a change had come to the bloom of her cheek. Sir Aymer was duteous and respectful,-anxious for the safety of the castle, and withal so strict and jealous, that he permitted no one to speak to the ladies till he had conversed with them privately; it was rumoured that many a message, and present, and letter came from Normandy, which never found their way as the sender wished; and menials and peasants whispered that he loved the fair young lady, and coveted the broad lands of Sir Hugh Heron. "Of all this no suspicion seemed to be entertained in the tower, of which Sir Aymer had sole charge and trust. Lady Heron seldom left her chamber, save for devotion in the chapel, where she continued often till a late hour. Beatrice was her constant companion, and to a meek and gentle nature added much tenderness of heart, and a mind ardent and enthusiastic. The lady loved her as her own child, and wished for her son from the wars, that she might lay her hand on his head, and bless him, and go to the altar with him and Beatrice. But the love of Beatrice, and the affection of Sir Hugh, and the wishes of Lady Heron were not to be fulfilled without peril and blood. "It is said, that during the French wars, the strange vision which had appeared to Sir Hugh Heron in England, year round the marches of their grounds the first in blood walked at the head of the procession, with banners displayed, and with music playing. On the renewal of this pageant, much pains had been taken to render it striking and gorgeous. Horses richly caparisoned, pennons of all bues, and banners won in battle were mixed with the retainers, who were all completely armed; and mirth, and minstrelsy, and wine abounded. The way was rough and mountainous, the vales were deep and bushy, and the streamlets many, and rocky, and turbulent, so they marched but a little way by noon, and the sun was nigh the setting when they reached the' sea side. continued to haunt him, and his knowledge of his kinsman's nature filled his mind with mistrust and forebodings. The utter silence of his mother and his mistress to all the presents and messages he sent them would have brought him from the uttermost ends of the earth, had not the heroic duties to which his country had called him demanded heart and hand. That his home, and his mother, and his mistress were ever present to his mind, was proved at the memorable storming of Caen, when, amid the carnage and the outcry, he burst into the secret residence of a Norman necromancer, with his battle-axe unwiped and bloody, told his name, and demanded to see in the magician's mirror his native tower, his mother, and his love. The magician looked on this young and armed apparition, and said, Look there, my child,' And he looked in the mirror, and there his native valley lay in summer beauty,-herons sat by the quiet lake, the gates of his tower were closed, his mother sat numbering the days and hours he had been absent, and Beatrice was in her chamber pressing to her bosom a token which he had given her of his love. And he smiled, and said, I will place two warriors from that little valley at thy chamber door, and woe to those who seek to molest thy gray hairs.' And the old man looked mournfully upon him, and said, You have seen the present, my child; look, and behold the future, and know that to a de-fess hearts and strong hands, and martermined heart wings are given,-your fate is in your own hand.' And he looked into the magic mirror again, and the blood rushed burning to his temples; he stood for a little space, and then exclaimed, Eternal villain!' and smote the mirror with his battle-axe till he cleft the steel frame in two;-and out of the chamber and over the rent and battered walls he went, like one who bends his heart to do a desperate deed. · "It had long been a custom with the house of Heron to go once every third "The scene before them was beautiful, and the natural splendour of rock and wave was increased by a number of barges covered with flags and streamers, to convey the procession along the maritime boundary of the land. Lady Heron, and one or two of the attendant matrons of her household, and several of her armed retainers were placed in the first barge, and at the sound of a trumpet it darted from the shore, and the music which came from its crowded decks rung mellow along the bosom of the sea. Other barges followed, and last of ail, and a bowshot behind, came the barge of Sir Aymer, manned by his own friends-men lured by the love of rich dresses and good pay from the wild and licentious border,-with daunt vellously slender systems of morality. A minstrel was there, but he seemed more of a warrior than a bard, and the music was all of a rough and martial kind. It was with a heart free of all suspicion that Beatrice gave her hand to Sir Aymer, and was placed on the prow of his barge on a cushion of velvet and under a canopy of silk. Her lover's stag hound, the faithful companion of all her journeys, was at her side; and she sat nd looked on the darkening waters and the receding shore with a heart ill at rest. More visible cause for alarm soon came. Since mid-day the distant clouds had begun to gather themselves together over the bosom of the sea; a dark cloud had descended among the neighbouring mountains, and as the procession moved, the cloud moved, and hung dark and vast over a line of steep and lofty rocks at a little distance. The sun, which seemed with its fervent light to keep the clouds of sea and land asunder, now sunk fairly down, the clouds increased and came rolling together, and when they met, the wind rose with a rush, the lightning flashed, and the sea swelled and heaved; and there was a thick darkness, in which no man could see a lance's length. The mirth of the minstrel and the merry songs of the mariners were drowned in the gusts of wind and in the chafing of the waves on beach and cliff. The coast along which they sailed was dangerous and rocky, with sharp headlands and wild caverns, in which the storm moaned and roved by fits, still the sea was not violently agitated, and they moved away with oar and with sail. All at once, however, the tempest stooped down to the water, and heaved it midmast high, and the big and thick-descending drops of rain made the decks reek as if the barge had been on fire. The death shrieks of creatures drowning were heard for a moment above the noise of the storm; and Sir Aymer directed his barge to the shelter of a little bay, scooped out of the rocks, overhung with trees, and terminating in a wild and beautiful cavern. "It was with an involuntary shudder that Beatrice submitted to be borne into this lonely and beautiful cavern ;— cushions were placed in one of the recesses for her accommodation, and the rude followers of Sir Aymer buslted themselves to render the place pleasant and agreeable. Torches were kindled and laced within the entrance, and beside them the mariners and soldiers stood, expecting the storm to subside, and uttering profane jests, and singing licentious songs. Beatrice sat at a considerable distance from this rude group, a small torch burned beside her, and before her stood Sir Aymer, silent and thoughtful, a dark flash was on his face, and he seemed forming some evil resolution. She watched his looks; he was ever a man of few words, and now his power of speech seemed overmastered by some internal commotion. Sir Aymer,' said she, this fearful storm and the perils to which Lady Heron is exposed trouble you sore: look out on the night, and tell me if the tempest is likely soon to abate.' Ho there, Stephen,' said Sir Aymer, look to sea and sky, and say what further they bode.' A step was heard, and a hoarse voice answered, The sky is black as hell, and the sea seethes like a cauldron of pitch, can't say when the storm may slacken.' Sir Aymer strode a pace or two, and said, By the might of heaven, lady, love for you troubles me more than a thousand storms; I have loved you fondly, and I have loved yon long.' Sir Knight,' said Beatrice, have you forgot your vows of honour and arms, and have you forgot Sir Hugh Heron? But you wish to be pleasant of speech in this dreary hour; I am glad to hear you speak, and if you will describe one of your well-fought battles, you will find me a patient listener; but talk not of love.' 'Lady,' said he, I have ever lost the love of my bosom for lack of honeyed words, and I must plead my cause in the way that fortune wills; those arms (and he held out his hands towards her), can fold ye and guard ye against all who either love and hate you.' And he seized her suddenly by the mantle. In a moment the stag hound which lay at her feet sprung at his throat, and had not a thick huntingdress of buff, ornamented with chains of steel and gold, which reached high up his neck, protected him, the bite had been deadly. He seized the stag hound with one hand, uttered a deep imprecation, and with the other hand drawing his sword, cleft it in two, and flung it |