"And she housed us both, when, cheerfully,

My child to her had sworn,

That even if made a widow, she

Would never wed Kinghorn.".

Here paused the nurse, and then began

The abbot, standing by:

"Three months ago a wounded man

To our abbey came to die.

"He heard me long, with ghastly eyes

And hand obdurate clench'd,

Speak of the worm that never dies,

And the fire that is not quench'd.

"At last by what this scroll attests

He left atonement brief,

For

years of anguish to the breasts

His guilt had wrung with grief.

"There lived,' he said, ' a fair young dame

Beneath my mother's roof;

I loved her, but against my flame

Her purity was proof.

"I feign'd repentance, friendship pure; That mood she did not check,

But let her husband's miniature

"The treachery took: she waited wild; My slave came back and lied

Whate'er I wish'd; she clasp'd her child,

And swoon'd, and all but died.

"No fears could damp; I reach'd the camp,

Sought out its champion ;

And if my broad-sword fail'd at last,

'Twas long and well laid on.

"This wound's my meed, my name 's Kinghorn,

My foe's the Ritter Bann.'

The wafer to his lips was borne,

And we shrived the dying man.

"He died not till you went to fight

The Turks at Warradein;

But I see my tale has changed you pale."

The abbot went for wine;

And brought a little page who pour'd

It out, and knelt and smiled:

:

The stunn'd knight saw himself restored

To childhood in his child;

And stoop'd and caught him to his breast,

Laugh'd loud and wept anon,

And with a shower of kisses press'd

The darling little one.

"And where went Jane ?"-"To a nunnery, Sir

Look not again so pale—

Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her."

"And has she ta'en the veil ?"

"Sit down, Sir," said the priest, "I bar

Rash words."-They sat all three,

And the boy play'd with the knight's broad star,

As he kept him on his knee.

"Think ere you ask her dwelling-place,"

The abbot further said;

"Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face

More deep than cloister's shade.

"Grief may have made her what you

Scarce love perhaps for life."

"Hush, abbot," cried the Ritter Bann,

"Or tell me where's my wife."

The priest undid two doors that hid

The inn's adjacent room,

And there a lovely woman stood,

Tears bathed her beauty's bloom.

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