of God to love and honour a man whom her soul abhorred. It was because you would have done this, that I, as the only being besides your lordship who could-- ››

"Insolent priest!" interrupted De Boteler, "do you dare to justify what you have done? Now, by my faith, if you had with proper humility acknowledged your fault and sued for pardon-pardon you should have had. But now, you leave this castle instantly. I will teach you that De Boteler will yet be master of his own house, and his own vassals. And here I swear (and the Baron of Sudley uttered an imprecation) that for your meddling knavery, no priest or monk shall ever again abide here. If the varlets want to shrive, they can go to the abbey; and if they want to hear mass, a priest can come from Winchcombe. But never shall another of your meddling fraternity abide at Sudley while Roland de Boteler is its lord."

"Calverley," he continued, turning to the squire, who stood at a distance, enjoying the mortification of the monk --"Calverley, see that the priest quits the castle-remember-instantly!"

The monk, for the first time, fully raised his eyes, and casting upon the baron a momentary glance of reproach, turned, without speaking, from the table. He walked on a few steps towards the door, and then stopping suddenly, as if recollecting that Calverley had orders to see him depart, he turned round, and looking upon the squire, who was almost at his side, he said in a stern voice, and with a frowning brow, "I go in obedience to your master; but even obedience to your master is not to be enforced upon a servant of the Lord by such as you. Of my own will I go forth; but not one step further do I proceed till you retire!"

There was that in the voice and look of the monk, which made Calverley involuntarily shrink; and receiving at the same instant a glance from De Boteler, he withdrew to the upper end of the room; and Father John, with a dignified step, passed on through the hall, and across the court-yard, and giving a blessing to the guard at the principal gate, who bent his knee to receive it, he went forth, having first shaken the dust from his sandals.

The next morning, when his lord had released him from attendance, Calverley, little satisfied with the progress of his vengeance, left the castle, and walked on to meditate alone more uninterruptedly on the canker-worm within.

He had not proceeded far along his path, when the heavy tread of a man on the rustling leaves, caused him to raise his eyes, and he saw a short, thickset figure, in gray woollen hose, and a vest of coarse medley cloth reaching no higher than the collar-bone, hastening onward. A gleam of hope lighted Calverley's face as he observed this man.

"What is the matter this morning, Byles ?” said he, troubled."

“you look Byles looked at Calverley for an instant, perfectly astonished at his condescension.

-

"Troubled!" replied he "no wonder. My farm is bad; and"It is a poor farm," said Calverley hastily; "but there are many fine farms that have lately reverted to my lord in default of heirs, or as forfeitures, that must soon be given away or sold."

--

"But, Master Calverley, what is that to me ?" said Byles, looking with some surprise at the squire· "you know I am a friendless man, and have not wherewithal to pay the fine the steward would demand for the land. No, no, John Byles is going fast down the hill."

"Don't despair, Byles there is Holgrave-he was once poorer than you - take heart, some lucky chance may lift you up the hill again. I dare say this base-born I have named thinks himself better now than the free-born honest man."

"Ay, that he does, squire: to be sure he does n't say any thing; but then he thinks the more; and, besides, he never comes into the alehouse when his work is done, to take a cheering draught like other men. No, no, he is too proud for that; but home he goes, and whatever he drinks he drinks at his own fireside."

For a moment Calverley's brow contracted; but striving to look interested for the man he wished to conciliate, he replied, "Yes, Byles, it is a pity that a good-hearted yeoman like you should not prosper as well as a mere mushroom. Now, Byles, I know you are a discreet man, and I will tell you a piece of news that nobody about the barony has yet heard. My lord is going to be married yes, Byles, he leaves Sudley in a few days and goes again to London, and he will shortly return with a fair and noble mistress for the castle."

"We shall have fine doings then," said Byles, in an animated tone, and with a cheerful countenance; not that the news was of particular moment to him, but people love to be told news; and, besides, the esquire's increasing familiarity was not a little flattering.

Oh, yes," replied Calverley; "there will be fine feasting, and I will see, Byles, that you do not lack the best. Who knows but your dame may yet nurse the heir of this noble house."

"I am afraid not, many thanks to you; John Byles is not thought enough of in this barony-no, it is more likely Holgrave's wife, if she has any children, will have the nursing."

"What! Margaret Holgrave? never" said Calverley, with such a look and tone, that the yeoman started, and felt convinced, that what he had heard whispered about the esquire's liking for Margaret was true: "but, however," added Calverley, in a moment recovering his self-possession, "do not despair, Byles. My lord tells me I shall replace old Luke as steward in a few months, and if I do, there is not a vassal I should be more inclined to favour than you; for I see, Byles, there is little chance of your doing good unless you have a friend; for you are known to the baron as an idle fellow, and not over-scrupulous of telling a falsehood. Nay, my man, do n't start, I tell you the truth."

Well, but squire, how could the baron hear of this?" 'Perhaps Stephen Holgrave could answer

"The base-born kern," replied Byles, fiercely; "he shall answer

"I don't say he told the baron," said Calverley; "but I believe Holgrave loves to make everybody look worse than himself; and to be plain with you, John Byles, I love him not."

"No sir, I believe you have little reason to love him any more than other people—

"Byles," interrupted Calverley, speaking rapidly, "you are poor-you are in arrear with your rent; a distress will be levied, and then what will become of you- of your wife and the little one? Listen to me! I will give you money to keep a house over your head; and when I am steward, you shall have the first farm at my lord's disposal, if you will only aid me in my revenge! Revenge!" he repeated, vehemently—" but you hesitate -you refuse."

66

Nay, nay, squire, I don't refuse: your offer is too tempting for a man in my situation to refuse; but you know—"

"Well," interrupted Calverley, with a contemptuous smile — "well, well, Byles, I see you prefer a jail for yourself, and beggary and starvation for your wife and child. Aye-perhaps to ask bread from Stephen Holgrave." "Ask bread from him! of the man who crows over us all, and who has told my lord that I am a liar! No, no, I would sooner die first. I

-

thank you for your kindness, Master Calverley, and I will do any thing short of- -99

1

"Oh, you need not pause," interrupted Calverley, "I do not want you to do him any bodily harm."

"Don't you? oh! well, then, John Byles is yours," said he, with a brightening countenance : for you see I don't mind saying any thing

against such a fellow as he."

"Yes, Byles, and especially since you will not be asked to say it for nothing," returned Calverley with a slight sarcastic smile; but immediately assuming a more earnest and friendly tone, he continued, "I have promised you gold, and gold you shall have. I will befriend you to the utmost of my power, and you know my influence is not small at the castle; but you must swear to be faithful. Here," said he, stooping down and taking up a rotten branch that lay at his feet, and breaking it in two, he placed it in the form of a cross; here, Byles, swear by this cross to be faithful." Byles hesitated for an instant, and then, in rather a tremulous voice, swore to earn faithfully his wages of sin.

It was nearly four months subsequent to the departure of De Boteler from the castle, ere Byles proceeded to earn the gold which had, in some measure, set him to rights with the world. It was about the middle of March; -the morning had risen gloomily, and, from a dense mass of clouds, a slow heavy rain continued to pour during the whole of the day. "Sam," said Byles to a servitor, a faithful stupid creature, with just sufficient intellect to comprehend and obey the commands of his master,-" Sam, if this rain continues, we must go to work to-night ?"

The rain did continue, and, after Byles had supped, he sat at the fire for two or three hours, and scarcely spoke. His countenance was troubled ;the deed he had promised to do which he had contemplated with almost indifference was now about to be accomplished; and he felt how different it is to dwell upon the commission of a thing, and actually to do it. Frequent draughts of ale, however, in some measure restored the tone of his nerves; and, as the evening wore away, he rose from the fire, and, opening the door, looked out at the weather. A thick drizzling rain still fell; the moon was at the full; and though the heavy clouds precluded the possibility of her gladdening the earth, yet even the heavy clouds could not entirely obscure her light; there was a radiance spread over the heavens, which, though wanting the brightness of moonlight, was nevertheless equal and shadowless.

"T is a capital night," said Byles, as he looked up at the sky in a tone of soliloquy; "I could not have wished for a better-just light enough to see what we are about, and not enough to tell tales. Sam," continued he, closing the door and sitting again at the fire, "bring me the shafts, and let me look if the bow is in order."

The serving man took from a concealed place a couple of arrows, and a stout yew-tree bow, and handed them to his master.

"You did well, Sam, in getting these shafts from Holgrave. You put the quiver up safe? there is no fear of his missing them?"

"I should think not, master. It would be hard if he missed two out of four-and-twenty."

66 Mary," ,” said Byles, addressing his wife, "put something over the casement, lest if, by chance, any body should be abroad, they may see that we are up; and now, bring me the masks. Never fear, Mary, nobody is out such a night as this. Now Sam," he continued, "fetch the hand-barrow, and let us away."

Mary began to tremble; - she caught her husband by the arm, and said something in a low and tremulous voice. As the fire revealed her face, Byles started at the strange paleness it exhibited.

"What ails you, Mary ?" said he. "Have you not all along urged me to this? and now, after taking Calverley's gold, and spending it, and signing the bond, you want me to stand still! No, no, must go to the Chase this night, were I sure to be hung to-morrow morning!" He then pushed her away with some violence, and the servitor preceding him, he passed over the threshold and closed the door.

They entered the Chase and the wind, as it came in sudden gusts through the branches of the tall trees, gave an air of deeper gloom to the night. Frequently they paused and listened, as if fearful of being discovered; and then, when convinced that no human being was near, hastened on to the spot where the deer usually herded at night. A deep ravine, ten or twelve feet in breadth, intersected the Chase at a few paces from the enclosure; and about a stone's throw to the right of this enclosure stood the dwelling of the keeper.

"Sam," said Byles, " is not that a light in the cottage?"

"Yes, master, but I think they are in bed, and maybe have forgotten to rake the ashes over the fire."

"It may be so," answered Byles, doubtfully; "keep in the shade of the trees, and let us stop a while — I do not much like this light." They watched the cottage anxiously, and, in about twenty minutes, the light disappeared.

"Sam," said Byles, "I believe you were right—that last faint flicker, I doubt not, came from the dying embers. Creep softly to the enclosure, and gently rustle the brushwood. Do'nt let them see you. Softly--therego on."

Byles drew his shaft from beneath his garment, and fixed it in the bow as Sam crept into the enclosure and did what he was ordered. The animals started on their legs, and stretched their heads forward in various directions, as if to ascertain whence the danger seemed to threaten.

"Down, Sam, a little to the left," whispered Byles, as a noble buck bounded forward towards the servitor, who had sheltered himself so as to avoid being seen by the animal. Sam dropped on the drenched grass to avoid the shaft that now sped from the bow of the marksman. The arrow entered the neck of the affrighted creature, as, for an instant, it stood with upraised head, its lofty antlers touching the branches. It then bounded forward, but, in its giddy effort to clear the obstruction of the opposing chasm, fell gasping among the brushwood that lined the sides of the ravine.

Confound him, he has escaped us !" exclaimed Byles. See the whole herd scudding off, as if the hounds were in full cry at their heels. But forward, Sam, and creep to the edge, for he may not have fallen into the

stream."

Sam obeyed; but whether owing to his trepidation or the slippery surface of the earth, he lost his footing and disappeared, uttering a cry of terror. Byles stood for an instant, irresolute whether to advance to the succour of his servitor, or leave him behind, for he apprehended that the cry would arouse the guardians of the Chase. Recollecting, however, that it would be as dangerous to abandon him as to attempt his extrication, he rushed forward to the spot where Sam had disappeared. The man had, in his fall, grasped the root of a tree from which the late heavy rains had washed the earth, and he lay suspended midway down. Byles hastily threw him a rope, with which he had intended to bind the animal on the barrow, and, with some difficulty, succeeded in dragging him up.

The dying throes of the buck recalled Byles to the object of his journey; and they were about making an effort to extricate the animal from the brushwood, when the servitor's eye caught the gleam of a light in the cottage.

"It's all over," said Byles, in a disappointed tone; "but the arrow may

answer our purpose where it is. Take up the barrow and fly, but keep in the shade of the trees."

A quick knock aroused Mary from her seat at the fire. She approached the door on tiptoe, and hesitated a moment ere she unclosed it; but the rapid breathings of Byles relieved her alarm, and she opened it hastily. A pale, haggard look met her eyes as her husband rushed in. "Fasten the door, Mary," said he❝haste, quench the fire. Here, put these wet clothes in the hiding place"-stripping himself of his garments" and when you have done, hasten to bed. I am afraid they have overtaken poor! Sam."

"Oh!" said Mary, dropping the clothes and staggering to a seat -" oh! Byles, Byles, we are lost! What will become of us! Sam will tell all!" "Hold your tongue, woman," said Byles, jumping out of the bed into which he had thrown himself, and taking up the clothes, concealed them in the pit. "Do you want to have me hanged? To bed, I tell you." She tremblingly obeyed, and Byles listened with breathless anxiety for the signal that would assure him of his servant's safety. At length a footstep and a low tap at the door summoned Byles from his bed. "Who is there?" said he.

"Hasten, master, open the door," answered the servitor.

"All is well; Sam is returned!" He opened the door, and the servitor, panting with fear and fatigue, threw the barrow on the floor.

"That's right, Sam; there is nothing left to tell we have been in the Chase to-night. Now hasten to bed as quickly as you can. You shall have a new suit at Easter for this night's business. But Master Calverley will not be well pleased that the buck was not lodged in Holgrave's barn. However, it cannot be helped now."

*

CHAPTER III.

Ir was a fair morning in the June succeeding Holgrave's marriage, that Sudley Castle presented a greater degree of splendour than it had exhibited for some years before. Roland de Boteler had wedded a noble maiden, and it was expected that the castle would that day be graced by the presence of its future mistress.

There was a restless anxiety that morning, in every inhabitant of the castle, from old Luke, the steward, who was fretting and fidgeting lest the lady should consider him too old for the stewardship, to the poor varlet who fed the dogs, and the dirty nief who scoured the platters. This anxiety increased when a messenger arrived to announce that the noble party were on the road from Oxford, and might be expected in a few hours: and when at length a cloud of dust was observed in the distance, old Luke, bareheaded, and followed by the retainers and domestics, went forth to greet, with the accustomed homage, De Boteler and his bride.

The graceful Isabella de Vere was seated on a white palfrey, and attired in a riding-dress of green velvet, while a richly embroidered mantle of the same material, trimmed with minever, fell from her shoulders, and in some measure concealed the emblazoned housing that ornamented the beautiful animal on which she rode. A pyramidal cap of green satin, with a long veil of transparent tissue flowing from the point, and falling so as partly to shadow and partly to reveal the glow of her high-born beauty, was the only head-gear worn that day by the daughter of the Earl of Oxford, and the new baroness of Sudley.

On her right hand rode her husband, clad in a tunic of fine cloth, in colour