noble highnesse, his barons, and the whole worlde, charge and denounce Sir Canute, Baron de Bellemonte withe beinge a false and untrue knighte, a base violater of hospitalitye, and a cowardlye recreante to friendshipe, for in-as-muche that he, the knightebaron, while most honorablye entertained, housed and boarded, he and his followers, at Godolphin Castle, did moste outrageouslye and forcablye, abducte the Ladye Bona de Godolphin, the onlye and loving daughter of the Lorde Godolphin, from her parentes castle, wherebye the Ladye-maiden was in greate peril of life and honor, for which deepe and indellible injurye, the Lord Godolphin dothe challenge and demande Sir Canute, Baron de Bellemonte, to measure a lance or swordes with him, to the death, in the tilted listes, accordinge to the due formes and contingencyes observed on all similar proceedings and occasions, or to acknowledge himselfe, for what he is herebye declared to be treacherouse, base, and false-hearted, and a disgrace equallye to knightehood and to baronye.

The Lorde Godolphin sayes this."

This challenge never reached the king, or De Bellemonte, for it is seen in the last chapter, that the faithful messenger was cruelly murthered when he was near fully performing his mission. The poor messenger was also the bearer of kind greetings from the Lady Bona to Sir Lionel, as well as a few gages of affection, but an untimely grave enclosed his commissions with himself, for to search under his doublet, where all was secured, was never thought of.

The Lady Bona now took delight in tending her flower-beds, one of which was a bed of snow-drops and violets, and it was observed as a very curious circumstance, that though the first is a winter, and the last a spring flower, still, at this period, the height of summer, the roots shot up their flowers as luxuriantly as in their proper season. But what was more singular than all, there was in the midst of the bed a small rose tree, of which no one knew the planting, but which was always covered with roses. One of

them was plucked, daily, by the lady-maiden and placed in her auburn locks, which seemed to afford her great mental delight, as if the arrangement was connected with some very interesting associations. Another, the greater source of pleasure to her, was, in fine weather, to take a book and seat herself upon the turret, from whence she witnessed the departure of Ludolph, though her look was more frequently directed towards the spot on which the youth wheeled round his steed, and took the last glance of her, than on the book. By degrees, the lady-maiden regained the same equanimity of mind, which distinguished her before his departure. Every succeeding day, it was supposed, approached nearer the return of the messenger, whose arrival was wished for, even before he could possibly have reached the Egyptian shores, so great was her anxiety to hear tidings of her lover.

Within sight of the castle, but in an opposite direction to the forest, stood a nunnery, which had been founded and endowed about

seventy years before this period, by a lady of rank, who, in the hey-day of her youth and beauty, retired to its seclusion, and had ever since presided over it as lady-abbess. It was called "the Retreat of our Lady of Wo," and its gates were never closed against the miserable and wretched; the children of sorrow, here, were sure to meet with sympathy, consolation and succour.

The history of the good lady-abbess, previously to the foundation of the monastery, was never very well known, but it was universally believed that she was a lady of many troubles and misfortunes, and her great charities and goodness, and her retiring and silent habits effectually suppressed all prying curiosity to search further. Her life, since, had been one of an invariable character, and what at the period of the foundation of the building had been spoken of, in the progress of seventy years had fallen into total forgetfulness.

The sisterhood were denominated "the

Happy Sisters of our Lady of Wo," for though, principally, the sorrowful and grieved-hearted alone were welcomed into the society, yet such was the attention paid to their comforts and happiness, that their troubles and sorrows, which led them to the retreat, were very soon assuaged, and faded before more congenial feelings. The orphan, and the disowned, the friendless and the miserable, here found a parent-a more than mother in the amiable lady-abbess, and sisters in the sisterhood, who were no less so in character than in name, from the excellent example which was before them in their superior, and which they closely followed.

Though the lady-abbess was the fountain of the happy state of things which characterized the retreat, yet she never tasted of happiness herself. A settled sorrow sat upon her brow, grief had there enthroned itself so firmly that she was never seen to smile, though a dimple in the cheek, and a slight movement of the upper lip whenever any