of these was such as to induce him to forbear all application to Strickland with regard to a son whom he hated, and by whom his paternal authority was utterly disclaimed.

Unwilling, however, to lose sight of Osmond's interest, he employed a trusty vassal, upon whose prudence and fidelity he could depend, to observe his motions, and to apprise him from time to time of his proceedings.

Osmond had completed his seventeenth year, when in one of his solitary rambles he accidentally encountered the Baron Fitzclare. It was the first time Lord Fitzclare had seen him. His lofty bearing, his flashing eye, his fine commanding features and bold demeanour, while he gazed undauntedly and unbendingly on the feudal noble, who could ill brook such daring presumption in a vassal, at once provoked his indignation and excited his curiosity.

Attributing, however, the want of respect to his dignity, which Osmond so carelessly evinced, to his iguorance of his rank, the baron haughtily demanded if he was not a stranger in that part of the country?

"I am known, and not known," coldly answered the youth, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the baron, with a piercing expression of indefinite mystery.

A stern frown contracted the brow of the feudal lord, as he fiercely inquired, "Dost thou not know me?",

"Thou art the Baron Fitzclare," the youth calmly replied, and he would have passed on, but the voice of the baron arrested his steps.

"For thy lofty bearing I can pardon thy little courtesy, though it ill becomes vassal to demean himself thus proudly in the presence of his lord.”

"I am no vassal," auswered the youth firmly, while his dark eye flashed indignant fire.

The baron's choler rose.

"Who is your father?" he sternly enquired.

"I am called Hugh Strickland's son," was Osmond's reply, and a scornful smile sat disdainfully upon his proud lip.

Fitzclare started, and, regarding him attentively for some moments, said in a more conciliating tone than he had hitherto used,—

"My honest steward, Hugh Strickland! I am already interested in thy

care.

favour. I will provide thy fortune, if thy father will entrus thy fortune to my Thou shalt be my page, and bear my shield and sword, and accompany me to our brave monarch's court. I will buy thy service with a golden meed from Strickland. What say'st thou, boy? Methinks thine eagle eye looks proud disdain on me."

The Baron ceased, and Osmond energetically replied,

"I was not born Hugh Strickland's slave, to be bartered for gold at his will. Let him, while he may, bow down before thy pride, and be the servile vassal of

thy stern conduct; but never will Osmond be a hireling of thy train, or, amidst the vain pageantry of courtly splendour, attend upon thy greatness a menial of thy state! My choice is already made. I will to the battle-field, and leave to the disposal of Heaven my future destiny."

"Proud boy!" exclaimed the astonished baron, “I will still befriend thee. I will not crush thee for thy rude presumption, but act a generous part, and pardon the rash folly by which thy proud spirit is misled, for the sake of thy inex perienced and untutored youth. If warfare be thy choice, my power shall aid thy sword."

"Lord Baron, no!" cried the youth vehemently. "Never shall aid of thine be my guiding star in the paths of renown. Never, O never! shall thy vaunted patronage be the herald of my sword to the lists of glory; while echo's plaintive moan, amidst the dark recesses of yonder lonely forest, responds mournfully to the voice that pleads my cause in Heaven !"

66 Thy words are dark, vain boy," cried the baron, "and in thy mystery of latent scorn breathes a spirit unmeet for such as thee. Thy proud disdain cannot aid, but may mar thy fortunes; and trust me, youth, aspiring as thou art, thou wilt soon learn that knightly honours wait not on a crestless stripling's sword !"

"Lord Baron, taunt not my youth! 'Tis dangerous, and I warn thee to forbear; for wounds too deeply probed may yet provoke a cry too loud for thee !" "Peace, rash boy, peace," interrupted the baron, in accents that betrayed the emotion of his soul, while the paleness of death overspread his counte

nance.

"Why flies the colour from thy blanched cheek, Baron?" resumed the youth, "while terror sits up aghast upon thy brow. Is not thy heart ill at ease? Fitzclare! Fitz clare! 'tis past-'tis done the cry is silent now!"

"What madness fires thy distempered soul, presumptuous slave ?" exclaimed the baron fiercely. "But Strickland comes, his presence may control thy frenzy, and the voice of parental authority assert my right to command, while for his sake I forbear to trample on the viper he has cherished to rebel against his lord."

"Regard not that ungracious boy, my honoured lord," cried Hugh Strickland, who at that moment reached the scene of altercation. "As I approached I heard with pain how greatly you endured and he presumed. It is thus, ever thus, he wounds my soul. "Tis hard, my lord, 'tis hard to be compelled to sorrow in my age for such a son."

"Old man, avaunt!" exclaimed the excited youth. "Thy presence offends my sight. Haunt not my step, I charge thee. Thou art the cloud, whose envious gloom obscured the sunshine of my rising day! But hope smiles from

afar. Thy bond-slave I am not. No longer will I inhale the air thy breath contaminates! Remain thou with thy lord, be still the trusty servant of his pride, the hireling of his power. He knows thy worth. Hugh Strickland has a ready hand to serve his master's will."

The baron stood aghast.-" Am I then betrayed?" he faintly articulated.— "Is Strickland faithless to his confiding lord ?"

“Thus,” exclaimed Strickland, “ thus he proves his fidelity and truth :" then drawing a dagger from his bosom, with a withering look rushed furiously at Osmond, and the next moment would have seen it sheathed in the heart of the daring youth, but the active stripling clung firmly on the arm of his enraged father, and seizing the dagger with an iron grasp, wrenched it from his hand.

"Old traitor, but that I would. not wrong the deathsman of his right, thy heart's best blood should stream upon thy own weapon!" cried the youth, while Strickland vainly endeavoured to free himself from his hold.

"Hold! impious boy, hold!" vociferated the baron, rushing with uplifted sword to guard his servant's life.

"Lord Baron, if thou hast a hope of mercy from above, tempt me not in this dread hour to become a parricide !"

"Young traitor, yield up that weapon," furiously interrupted Fitzclare, presenting his sword at Osmoud's bosom.

"For thy own soul's sake, baron, whilst thou are safe depart, and force me not to lift this dagger against my father's life!"

66

"I'll hear no more," cried Fitzclare. Thy soul is steeled in guilt. Yet I would spare thy life. Yield, villain, or die !"

"Then must I guard my life, proud lord!"-cried Osmond, and suddenly seizing the baron's lifted arm, he dashed aside the sword, Fitzclare at that moment prepared to sheathe in his bosom. While Strickland in the same instant, loosened from his hold, flew to assist his lord, and snatching a dagger from the baron's belt, turned his wrathful eyes on Osmond, with fierce intent to satiate his hatred in his blood.

"Lord Baron, for what deed of sin shall this day stain my soul," Osmond emphatically exclaimed, “remember the guilt is thine."

The steel was already raised in Strickland's hand, while Fitzclare with a violent effort freed his arm from Osmond's grasp. A moment more and the heart's blood of the bold youth would have crimsoned the earth on which he stood; but thus hardly pressed by both he was compelled to defend his perilled life. Hugh Strickland fell!—yet Osmond paused not, but darting on Fitzclare, laid hold of his sword, and would have succeeded in wresting it from his hand, but the weapon broke in the struggle, and the disarmed baron, finding himself completely at Osmond's mercy, implored him to spare his life.

"Fear not for thy life, lord baron!"-cried Osmond, "Thou art safe. Dark as my seeming may appear to thee, I hate thee not. I would not wound anew thy agonised bosom. Thon bearest thy punishiment within-and I——I pardon thee! For India's gold-for India's sparkling mines, I would not do thee wrong. O then, when memory sorrows o'er the past, think on this hour, and think if such could be-and if when slumber flies thy restless couch unearthly visions should appal thy soul, think on this hour and bid those shadows fly. 'Tis past-farewell! Let not thy pride disdain to owe thy life to Osmond. The cloud that dims my sunshine fades away: think then what yet may be. Thou canst not solve my riddle now, but when next we meet, there is a charm will break the spell that involves thine and my destiny-till then farewell, Fitzclare. Then suddenly seizing the baron's hand, with a convulsive grasp, he raised it to his lips, then gently releasing it, hastily departed from the scene, without casting one look of cold regret on the bleeding body of Strickland.

The resplendent beams of the morning sun illumined the azure beauty of the eastern skies with golden radiance, and nature's boundless landscape smiled in loveliness and light, when the reverend hermit's matin song, as it rose sublimely amidst the shades of the solitary forest, in praise of Omnipotence, was borne by angels to the throne of grace.

An armed youth, kneeling beside the pious anchorite, shared the good man's prayer.

Having concluded their morning devotions, the hermit rose from his knee, and bending reverently before the sacred emblem of celestial faith that adorned the rustic altar he had himself raised, devoutly implored the gracious protection of Omnipotent power for the youthful warrior. Then affectionately raising the knight, thus addressed him—" Go forth, brave youth, and trust thy cause to heaven." Then drawing from his bosom a rich rosary, he continued, “preserve this chaplet, in the honour of our Blessed Lady. It once belonged to one whose sainted spirit pleads for thee in Heaven. Be faithful to thy trust and fear thee not."

The knight then took an affectionate leave of the hermit and proceeded on his journey. He was a youth, whose stately mien had graced the noblest lineage, but no proud heraldic bearings were emblazoned on his shield, to proclaim his high descent. On the helmet he wore a single white plume, beneath which a turtle with drooping head spread her silver wings mournfully over the rified

nest.

He was on his way to join the warriors embarking for the Holy Land.

It was evening: the nuns of St. Ursula had ceased their vesper song, when

a youthful knight of noble mien stopped at the convent gate, and requested permission to speak a few words to the Lady Abbess.

With this request the Abbess immediately complied; and the knight having briefly informed her of the circumstances that occasioned his visit, she paused for a moment, and devoutly raising her eyes to heaven, in silent but fervent supplication, mentally implored the divine protection for the young warrior. Then turning to him, she said,—" Be it as thou hast resolved: now glory calls thee to join the assembled warriors of Christendom, 'tis fit thou shouldest obey the summons; thy fame and fortune rests upon thy sword, may smiling heaven crown thy hopes with victory's noblest wreath. But never,-I charge thee, never receive a choice unworthy of thyself, from the proud hand that paid the ruffian's blood-stained hire, though interposing heaven denied his will; but the weight of guilt lies not less dark and heavy on his soul. Take this packet; the contents will solve to him the mystery that involves thy fate, when, if thou winnest renown on the plains of glory, thou may'st boldly meet the proud aggressor and breathe the starting tale. But never, again I charge thee, never yield to wrong the memory thou hast vowed to rescue from the cloud that dims its lustre; be what thou art, or, in the grave where the injured now lies, let thy claims still repose; but from the dead a voice will arise to plead thy cause, where eternal justice reigns. Farewell, young knight; mayest thou find fame and fortune,-my prayers are thine, my blessings rest on thee."

The knight respectfully took leave of the abbess, and departed from the

convent.

Years passed away, and fields were lost and won. At length the rage of warfare ceased; and the valorous Cœur de Lion once more adorned his native throne.

It was shortly after his return to England, when, surrounded by his nobles, he received the joyful congratulations of the warlike knights, who had fought under his banner in Palestine, that a warrior of majestic mien approached the throne, and bending on one knee, placed a sword at the monarch's feet.

This knight, by his extraordinary valour and unequalled daring, had obtained, during the wars, the particular notice of his sovereign, who, after an engagement, in which he had signally distinguished himself, presented him with a sword; giving him at the same time his royal word, to grant whatever boon he should demand on producing that sword, which was to remain the pledge of his engagement, if it pleased heaven to permit their safe return to England.

"Name thy request, brave knight," exclaimed the monarch, with a gracious aspect; the knight obeyed.