no longer power to sooth her aching breast, where eternal sorrow had settled its abode; of the hue of grief were her garments, like the colour of the fortune which had marked her fate; a sable robe flowing to her feet alone composed her dress, save the single band of pearls which confined its folds round her waist; her light brown hair hung in unrestrained tresses upon her shoulders; her blue and heavenly eyes were dimmed with weeping; a faint tinge of the rose's hue still painted her cheek, just sufficiently to recall to remembrance how beautiful it had once been; and her neck of milky whiteness, even, when not contrasted with her sable robe, gained from it the pureness and lustre of unfallen snow.

The baron took the hand of his daughter, and leading her back to the seat from which, she had arisen at his entrance, he placed himself by her side. A silence of some minutes ensued; but the eyes of each were eloquent. How happy had been my life, had a daughter been obedient to my will!" passed in the eyes of lord William; and -"How wretched has the exercise of parental authority made his child!" in those of Rosalind.

"You have doubtless heard, my Rosalind," lord William at last began, "that the temper of the times calls me from my castle; the enterprise upon which I am now setting out, I am taught to believe, is one of little hazard to the safety of my troops or myself; but the fate of the field is uncertain, and however secure of victory in my opinion,

it

may be the will of Providence that I shall never return. Will my daughter vouchsafe a parting embrace to a father whom she may never again behold ?"

"Heaven avert the evil that you mention !" returned Rosalind. "You have been cruel, very, very cruel to your only child; but I cannot forget that you are my father, though you have so severely used the authority of a parent over a child towards me."

"Should I return in triumph, the conqueror of my sovereign's foes wilt thou quit this garb of woe, cast off these frowns of sorrow, and consent once more to visit with me that court, of which thy youth and beauty would be the grace, and to which my gracious mistress has so oft invited me to bring thee?" asked lord William.

"Do I ever, my father," returned Rosalind, "reproach you with the miseries that load my aching heart?-do I ever breathe a sigh of malice aimed at your feelings? Never, witness Heaven, have I done this! be then the reward of my patient sufferings, that my future days be those of obscurity!-force me not into busy life, where my wretchedness would be exposed to the gaze of every unfeeling eye. Oh, in this one point, 'tis all that I have left to ask, do not constrain my feelings!"

Lord William returned a cool reply to the request of his daughter, and then proceeded to inform her that she need not be under any dread from the

incursions of the borderers during his absence, for that he should leave the greater part of his strength in the castle for her protection.

To life and death Rosalind was equally indifferent—thus with apathy she heard his declaration.

The first bugle was now sounded, for the body of men who were that night to march out to begin accoutring; on its sound, lord William rose to quit his daughter's chamber; Rosalind rose also, and throwing her arms round the neck of her father, she imprinted on his cheek the first kiss which her lips had for the last four years bestowed on him.

curse.

Even into the eyes of lord William de Mowbray the tear of parental affection started; he returned her embrace, and would probably have pronounced a blessing on her head, had he dared to have blessed where his conduct had fixed a In unbroken silence he left the apartment. He repaired to the castle hall, whither Donald was again summoned to meet him. The youth came forth, his appearance more composed, and his strength renovated by the care which had been bestowed on him. After a short and friendly conference, the baron submitted it to his option, whether he would join the party then preparing to march, or whether he would prefer to await the event of that night's encounter with Allanrod and his men at the castle.-"Your late hard faring," said lord William," has apparently rendered you unfit for the march; and were not this the

case, consider what you have to dread should you be taken by Allanrod's party, and submitted to the tyranny of his chastisement. All this you are risking, only to add to my strength one additional arm, of which I am not in need, as I could increase my numbers to three hundred, with ease to myself."

Donald thanked the baron for his consideration, but was resolute in becoming the avenger of his own wrongs." By this hand," he exclaimed, "must perish the murderer of my sister and my father."

Lord William, finding him earnest in his entreaties, yielded to his prayer; and an English soldier's garb was given to him instead of the one which he now threw off; a sword was girt by his side, a pike put into his hand, and he was appointed to march by the side of Irwin.

"You are very young," said lord William, who was present at his equipment, and during that time more particularly observed his features than he had before done.

"I have not yet seen quite twenty summers," Donald replied.

As his bonnet was exchanging for a cap corresponding with his English dress, lord William again addressed him-" I have somewhere met with a countenance very much like yours, and did I not know it to be almost an impossibility, I should think that I had really seen you before "

"It is not improbable, my lord, replied Donald, "if you have travelled in Scotland; the scenery round Tiviotdale is much resorted to by strangers,

and my poor father and I have often been their guides to its beauties."

"I have been in Tiviotdale," returned the baron, "but it is some years ago, and I do not recollect the particulars of my visit."

The second bugle was now sounded, and every one dispersed, in order to be ready at the signal for marching, which would very shortly be given. Meanwhile the evening bell tolled, and the usual guard of the castle was mounted on the ramparts. The third bugle then sounded, and the two parties having taken leave of each other, the massy gates were unlocked, the drawbridge was let down, and the cavalcade, headed by their chief, sallied forth.

The country lay before them wrapt in the stillness of night; no warlike instruments gave notice of their march-all was secrecy and silence.

CHAPTER II.

What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again in complete steal
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,

Making night hideous, and us fools of nature,
So horribly to shake our disposition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

HAMLET.

FOR a length of time past, the fair Rosalind had allowed herself no air or exercise but what she took in an evening on the eastern rampart of the castle,