CHAPTER X.

Duke. Has not Jupiter thrown away his rays and his thunder to walk amongst mortals? Does not Apollo suffer himself to be deprived of his quiver, that he may sometimes sing to his harp?

Leonardo. Nay, marry, I have heard of a Nobleman that has been drunk with a pedlar, and of a magnifico that has played at blow-point.

The Antiquary, a Comedy, by S. Marmion.

It was a night of surpassing beauty, in which the hour drew near for the departure of a being as beautiful from the convent of Nunna Mynstre. The bells of the three great monasteries, and of many an inferior edifice, had chimed midnight-lauds were sung-the streets were silent and abandoned, and upon every side the farextending city lay like a sleeping giant, hushed in the tranquillity of that solemn hour, and steeped in the flood of silver splendour which the summer's moon poured down in her perfect fulness from a sky without one speck of cloud

or vapour.

Perhaps, to a solitary watcher, with spirits rightly attempered, the mingled glory and loveliness of moonlight on such a scene have their deepest―their most pervading influence. There is a moral adjunct to their power in the consciousness of those desolating human passions which lie "sleeping, but not dead," under the silvery mantle. Amidst the solitudes of nature the gaudier day-beam can but arouse the wildbird to its matins the hind and fawn to play and pasturage the shepherd and the woodman to their peaceful and patriarchal labours. But what awaits it in the densely-crowded city? There, until the breaking dawn deposes the gentler night-queen, what fearful energies, what limitless aspirations, for good and evil, what schemes of beneficence, what projects of destruction,

"Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie!"

There the whirlwinds of wrath and violence are

"Hushed in grim repose."

There the vultures of Revenge and Hate-the harpies of Avarice and Ambition, relax

"The terrors of their beak-the lightnings of their eye!"

And yet, upon every human dwelling, the pure and placid illumination sleeps as deliciously as if all earth and sky-nay, the whole universewere wedded to repose and love!

Raymond Cœur d'Acier, however, at the moment when we return to him, would gladly have dispensed with all this tender and poetical radiance; at least, until Winchester and its perilous vicinity lay a few leagues behind him. Brave as he was, the better part of valour suggested to him that a dark but uninterrupted course was preferable to the contingencies of a moonlight struggle, in which to fail was, probably, to heap ruinous results both upon Constance and her father. Every measure for the rapid prosecution of their journey he had already taken, and, so far, the enterprise was

"Furnished with wings to fly withal,"

but it was necessary also to give it beak and talons, or, in other words, to be prepared for the preventive clause in the King's warrant of departure; and these, also, it will presently be seen, Raymond had sufficiently cared for. William Rufus, indeed, had settled the terms

of this approaching "Passage of arms,' as Flambard called it, with as much precision as a Marshal of the lists in open tourney. Three champions only, with what weapons they listed, were to make good against all comers' the departure of Constance; the said comers not to oppose with unknightly odds, but man to man and horse to horse, in whatever protracted succession.

Minor conditions and observances we will

not be tedious enough to specify.

It wanted little to the appointed moment of tryst at Nunna Mynstre when He of the Heart of Steel drew towards the convent-portal.

"Get thee under cloud, Madam with the silver visage!" he muttered, as the prolonged shadow of his own tall frame shot before him upon emerging from that of the Cathedral. Suddenly his eye fell upon the same low, dark, singular object which, on the same spot, had led De Lacy the strange dance described in our last chapter. It stood at no great distance, perfectly motionless, and without the least resemblance to any thing human or breathing. A dark cloak thrown over a low pillar might have been its prototype; and it was not until Raymond shortened the

space between them by a few strides, that the shapeless shape gave symptoms of locomotion. In an instant two long arms were flung abroad, and a cry, preternaturally shrill, echoed along the convent-walls. Then might it be seen that legs as well as arms were at command, for, with the same wonderful speed as before, the swart enigma shot away into the shadow of Ealden Mynstre-but not, however, with the same success; for the light-heeled Raymond was of other racing mettle than the stately Lord of Newark, and speedily succeeded in laying clutch upon the fugitive. A single glance served to show whom and what he had captured, being none other than our diminutive acquaintance, Elfin Puckfist; and sharp and shrill was the repeated cry of the poor abortion, as Raymond plucked the cloak from his abridged body, and gave its stunted disproportions to the moonbeam.

"Peace, thou villanous mandrake! peace!" exclaimed the captor, "and tell me who hath planted thy shapeless carcass here, like an imp of Satan upon the watch? Nay, thou shalt find a tongue to speak as well as to scream, I warrant thee!"