through the shattered casement and the broken door, and shed an air almost of comfort over the bare walls. Holgrave remembered the ruin, as he was considering where he could abide until Margaret, who was far advanced in the family way, should be enabled to travel farther. His resolution was instantly formed; and refusing the assistance offered by Hartwell, and some other neighbours, and as decidedly rejecting the idea they proposed, of striving to regain possession of his house, he requested Lucy Hartwell to look to Margaret for a day or two, while he sought out a place to shelter them; and then, without mentioning his purpose, quitted the house.

It was late in the afternoon ere Holgrave resolved to put the hut that had sheltered him when a boy, in a state to receive him now; but there were several hours of daylight before him, and even when the day should close, the broad harvest moon would afford him light to prolong his labour. The rushes that grew by the Isborne, the clay from the little spot of ground attached to the hut, and the withered and broken branches that lay thickly strewn over the adjoining forest, gave him ample materials for his purpose. Holgrave set about his task with that doggedness of purpose which persons of his disposition display when compelled to submit. His misfortunes had in some measure subdued a pride that could never be entirely extinguished; it might be likened to a smothered fire, still burning, although diffusing neither heat nor light, but ready upon the slightest breath to burst forth in flame. Even here he was interrupted by a visiter.

"Good even, Stephen," said Wat Turner, the parish smith, in as kind a tone as his abrupt manner could assume; you are hard at work, master are you going to set the old cot to rights?"

Holgrave answered carelessly, and without looking at the smith, continued his work.

"I think you are doing well, Stephen, not to allow the idle vagabonds to house here any longer. By St. Nicholas! when these holes are stopped up, and the thatch is put to rights, and the casement whole, and a couple of hinges put to the door, it will be a place fit for any man. When I go home I will send my son Dick, and the knave Tom, to help you." "You need not trouble yourself," replied Holgrave: "what I want to do I can do myself."

Turner looked at Holgrave, as if he meant to resent the unsociable manner in which the reply was uttered; but speedily recollecting himself—

"I can't blame you, Stephen," said he, "you have had enough to sour any man's temper; nevertheless, I shall send Dick if I can find him; and Tom is a famous hand at thatching, and I will step over myself in the morning with the hinges and a latch for the door. But harkee, Stephen, if you wish to keep your own house, only say the word, and myself, and one or two more, will beat the old miser and his men to powder, if they don't give it up again."

There was so much of good feeling in this rude speech, that Holgrave turned to the smith and grasped his hard hand.

"Hush! man," interrupted the smith, as his friend attempted to thank him; "say nothing for the present; only remember, if Wat Turner, or any belonging to him, can lend you a hand, just say the word, or come over to my forge and give me a nod, and we'll be with you in a twinkling."

One morning, about a month after this, Margaret had as usual prepared her husband's dinner. The frugal meal was spread by eleven o'clock, but Holgrave came not: twelve arrived, and then one, and two, and the dinner was still upon the table untasted. Margaret was first surprised, and then alarmed, but when another hour had passed away, she started up with the intention of going to seek her husband. At this moment, Holgrave pushed open the door, and entering, threw himself upon a seat. There was a wild

ness in his eyes, and his face looked pale and haggard. It occurred to Margaret, that he had probably partaken of some ale with a neighbour, and having neglected his customary meal, that the beverage had overcome him. However, he looked so strangely, that she forbore to question him. He bent forward, and resting his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his upraised hands, and sat thus, ruminating on something that Margaret's imagination arrayed in every guise that could torture or distress. At length he raised his head, and looking on his wife with more of sorrow than

anger

"I was right, Margaret,” said he, "it was Calverley that set the usurer upon taking the land. He gave the miser something handsome, and John Byles is to have it upon an easy rent!"

"John Byles, Stephen ?"

"Yes, Margaret," replied Holgrave, "John Byles is to have it; he told the smith so himself. But," he continued, sitting upright in his chair, and then starting upon his feet, - "does he think he shall keep it?" Margaret shuddered, as she looked in his eyes.

That night, the freeman and serfs that dwelt on the estate of De Boteler, and even the inmates of the castle itself, were alarmed by the sudden glare of red flames rising in a bright column above the tallest trees, and so fiercely burned the flame, that in a few minutes the horizon was tinged with a ruddy glow. There was an eager rush to discover from whence the phenomenon arose, and many were the exclamations, and many the whispered surmises, when it was ascertained that the cottage was on fire from which Holgrave had been so recently ejected.

Stephen stood at the door of his hut, looking with an air of derision on the vain efforts of the people to extinguish the flames; and Margaret wept as she saw the flames rising, and brightening, and consuming the house, which she still loved to look upon, even now that it was for ever lost to her. The roof at length fell in, and myriads of burning particles, sparkling like diamonds, showered for a moment in glittering beauty.

Holgrave was still looking on the conflagration, that had in a great measure spent its fury, when Wat Turner came up to him, and applying a hearty smack on the shoulder

"A famous house-warming for John Byles," said he. "By Saint Nicholas! I wish his furniture had been in, to have made the fire burn brisker. 'Tis almost over now; there it goes down, and then it comes up again, by fits and starts: 't is a pity, too, to see the house which stood so snugly today, a black and smoky ruin to-morrow; but better a ruin, than a false heart to enjoy it. By Saint Nicholas! 't will give the old gossips talk for the whole week. Aye, 'tis all over now; there will still be a spark and a puff now and then; but there's nothing to see worth keeping the carles any longer from their beds, and I think it is time that we be in ours-so good night. But a word with you, Stephen; - you did the business yourself this time without help; but mind you, if ever Wat Turner can lend you a hand, you have only to say so- -Good night."

"Good night,” replied Holgrave, though without moving his eyes from the now darkly-smoking ruin; and there he stood with unchanging gaze till the sky had entirely lost its ruddy hue, and the smouldering embers of the cottage could no longer be distinguished; and then he entered his dwelling, and, closing the door, threw himself upon his bed but not to sleep.

CHAPTER VII.

An hour had not elapsed since Holgrave retired to bed, before the cottage door was burst open, and Calverley with a strong body of retainers entered, and arrested him for the felony.

The fourth day from his committal happened to be a court day of the manor, and it was selected for the trial, for the purpose of showing the tenantry what they might expect from the commission of an offence of such rare occurrence. The hall was thronged to suffocation; for many more were attracted by the expected trial, then by the familiar business of a manorial court, and the people beguiled the time till the entrance of De Boteler in commenting on the transaction.

"Silence!" was at length vociferated by a dozen court keepers, and Calverley was asked if he was ready to begin. The steward answered in the affirmative, and slowly read the indictment, during which a profound silence was maintained throughout the hall.

"Are you guilty or not guilty?" asked Calverley, in a tone, the emotion of which even his almost perfect control of voice could not disguise.

"Thomas Calverley," replied Holgrave, firmly, "if you mean me to say whether I burned my cottage or not, I will tell these honest men (looking at the jury) that I did so. All here present, know the rest.”

A buzz of disapprobation at this confession was heard, and the epithet "fool, fool," was faintly whispered, and then another loud cry of silence was shouted from the court keepers, as De Boteler appeared about to speak. "You have heard his confession," said the baron. See, steward, that he is sent to Gloucester, to receive sentence from the king's judge when he goes the next assize. Record the verdict, and let the record be transmitted to the superior court."

Wat Turner, whose attention was anxiously fixed on the proceedings, now stepped forward, and forcing his way till he stood opposite the baron, demanded, in a voice of mingled anger and supplication, "May I be heard, Baron de Boteler?"

"Be brief, Sir Blacksmith," replied the Baron, surprised at the abrupt question, "be brief with whatever you have to say."

"I was going to say, my lord, that poor Stephen here has called nobody to speak to his good character, but maybe it is n't wanting, for every man here, except one, would go a hundred miles to say a good word for himBut, my lord, I was thinking how much money that house of Holgrave's cost in building-Let me see about twenty florences, and then at a shilling a head from all of us here," looking round upon the yeomen, "would just build it up again-I for one would not care about doing the smith's work at half price, and there 's Denby the mason, and Cosgrave the carpenter, say they would do their work at the same rate-By St. Nicholas! (using his favourite oath) twelve florences would be more than enough - Well then, my lord, the business might be settled," -- and he paused, as if debating whether he should go farther.

"And what then, impudent knave," asked the baron, drift of this long-winded discourse?"

"what is the

"Why then, my lord," replied Turner, "this matter settled, I and these vassals of yours here, would ask you to give this foolish man free warren again. We (mind your lordship) going bail for his good bearing from this day forth, and

The baron reflecting that his dignity would be in some measure compro

mised by thus countenancing the smith's rough eloquence, commanded him in a harsh tone to be silent, although it was evident, from his altered looks, that his heart had felt the rude appeal. He beckoned Calverley to approach, and they remained for some moments in earnest discourse.

"Neighbours," ," said Turner in a whisper, "my lord is softened. Let us cry out for pardon." And the hint was not long lost upon the people; in an instant a deafening cry of " Pardon, pardon for Stephen Holgrave!" resounded through the hall. The unexpected supplication startled the astonished De Boteler, and a loud threat marked his displeasure at the interruption. Silence was again shouted by the hall keepers.

Prisoner," ,"resumed De Boteler, assuming a tone of severity, "you are forgiven; but upon this condition, that you renounce your freedom, and become my bondman."

"Become a bondman !" cried the smith, disappointed and mortified at the alternative: "Stephen, I would sooner die."

"Silence, knave !" said the baron; "let the man answer for himself." "It was on this spot too," persisted the smith, "where, but two years ago, he did homage for the land you gave him: and by St. Nicholas, baron, boastful and proud was he of the gift; and if you had heard him as I did, that same day, praying for blessings upon you, you could not now rive his bold heart so cruelly for all the cottages in England."

Pale as death, and with downcast eyes, Holgrave, in the mean time, stood trembling at the bar. His resolution to brave the worst, had, with a heartwringing struggle, yielded to the yearnings of the father and the love of the husband. The bondmen pressed forward, and marked the change; but that scrutinizing gaze which he would so recently have repelled with a haughty rebuke, was now unheeded, and his eyes remained fixed on the ground to avoid contact with that degraded class with whom he was soon to be linked in brotherhood.

Just as the baron was about to put the dreaded interrogatory, to the surprise of all, Father John entered the hall, and walked with a firm step towards the justice-seat. The monk had not visited the castle since his expulsion, and he had now no desire to stand again where his profession as a priest, and his pride as a man, had been subjected to contumely; but the desire of aiding Holgrave in his defence had overcome his resolution.

"What dost thou here, monk ?" asked De Boteler, sternly, "after my orders that you should never more enter this hall."

"Baron de Boteler, I have not willingly obtruded myself. The duty of affording counsel to this unfortunate man impelled me to enter thus once again. Stephen Holgrave must choose the bondage, because he would live for his wife and his yet unborn child; but, ere he resigns his freedom, he would stipulate for his offspring being exempt from the bond of slavery." He ceased, and fixed his eyes anxiously on De Boteler, who seemed collecting a storm of anger to overwhelm the unwelcome suitor.

"Audacious monk!" said he at length, "this is thy own counsel quit the hall, or—”

away,

"Hold, Lord de Boteler," interrupted Father John, calmly; "the threat need not pass thy lips: I go; but before I depart I shall say, in spite of mortal tongue or mortal hand, that honour and true knighthood no longer preside in this hall, where four generations upheld them unsullied."

"Strike down the knave!" cried De Boteler, rising fiercely from his seat. "Drive him forth like a dog," continued he, as the monk, without quickening his pace, walked proudly away; but no hand responded to the baron's mandate. A cry arose of "Touch not the Lord's anointed," and the monk was permitted to depart as he came, unharmed.

"Now, sirrah," said the baron, whose anger was aroused to the highest pitch; "say the word is it death or bondage?"

Holgrave trembled; he cast a longing eager glance towards the door. Margaret was in the pains of labour, brought on by the shock she received on his arrest; and this it was that caused him to hesitate. His face brightened as he beheld the animated ruddy face of a serving boy, who breathlessly approached. He bent forward his head to catch the whispered intelligence that told him he was a father, and then, with a joy which he strove not to conceal, announced his selection in a single word "bondage!" "Then the child is born?" asked De Boteler. "Yes, my lord, HE is free!"

Calverley's countenance displayed the mortification with which he received the intelligence, but he presented the gospels to Holgrave in silence.

Notwithstanding the recent flush of pleasure which warmed the heart of the yeoman, his resolution appeared again to forsake him- he endeavoured to speak, but in vain - he appeared to be overwhelmed by a variety of contending emotions; but the stern voice of De Boteler aroused him, and in a choked voice, he pronounced after Calverley the fealty of a bondınan, holding his right hand over the book: —

"Hear you, my Lord de Boteler, that I, Stephen Holgrave, from this day forth, unto you shall be true and faithful, and shall owe you fealty for the land which I may hold of you in villeinage, and shall be justified by you both in body and goods, so

A loud blast of a horn, accompanied with the voices of men and the tramp of horses, interrupted the ceremony; and De Boteler, recollecting that his cousin Ralph de Beaumont, with other guests, were expected, turned to Calverley and ordered him to receive and conduct them to the hall.

"Stephen Holgrave, my lord, has not yet finished his fealty."

"What! do you dream of such things when my noble cousin and guests are waiting for our courtesy? Away! I shall attend to the matter myself." Calverley reluctantly departed on his mission, cursing the interruption that prevented his enjoying the degradation of his rival, and the baron now inquired whether Holgrave had confessed himself his villein.

One of the retainers, who stood by, boldly answered, “He has, my lord; Master Calverley gave him the words;" and the baron perceiving Holgrave's hand still resting on the book, took it for granted; and then ordering the yeoman to be set at liberty, arose and advanced to meet his guests.

Holgrave, too, retired; and though secretly rejoicing that, legally speaking, he was as free as when he entered the court, he yet felt bitterly that in the eye of the baron and the barony, he was as much a villein as if he had pronounced every letter, and sealed the declaration with the customary

oath.

He returned home gloomy and discontented; and, as he stood by the bed of the pallid Margaret, and inquired of her health, there was nothing of the tender solicitude with which he used to address her, in his manner or in his voice.

"Thank God!" said Margaret faintly, as she took his hand and pressed it to her lips; "thank God, that you have returned to me without hurt or harm."

"Without hurt or harm!" repeated Holgrave: "she would not have said so-oh! no, no, she would not have rejoiced to see me return thus

;

but your soul is not like hers-if life is spared, it matters little to you that the spirit be crushed and broken: but Margaret, do not weep," he said, bending down to kiss the pale cheek, over which the tears his harsh language had called forth were streaming fast. "Do not weep, I cannot bear your anguish now: I did not mean to speak unkindly-I love the gentleness of your spirit-you are dearer to my heart, Margaret, than even the freedom that was of higher price to me than the breath I drew!"