vanced reverently, and knelt at the steps of the altar, while the choir sung, the Abbess and holy sisters occasionally joining. As she knelt, the Baroness held in one hand a crucifix of silver, in the other her missal, and on her arm hung a rosary of beads. Her dress, like that of the

nuns, was black. A long gauze veil, partially thrown over her, shaded, but did not conceal her face; for it was thrown aside to enable her to kiss the crucifix, and exhibited to the mournful beholders her beautiful eyes streaming in tears, while raised with a look of devotion, almost angelic, to a large image of the Virgin, which was placed in a shrine, with tapers in due order opposite.

The choir had now finished the first part of the chaunt all was solemn silence; and Father Osborne approached, supported

supported by two monks, to give her absolution; when, oh, horror! a knocking was heard beneath, and deep hollow cries seemed to shake the foundations of the chapel. These in an instant engrossed the attention of all present, and occasioned a silence still more profound than the solemnities of devotion. The cries were now, of course, heard more distinctly, and seemed more terrible.

"Holy mother!" exclaimed the monk, closing his book, and crossing himself. The Baroness seemed scarcely to breathe; her female attendants screamed aloud. "Our prayers,” cried Father Osborne, tremulously," are not accepted: the spirits of the dead are abroad: let us depart; hereafter, by penances and prayers, we may be prepared to meet again in this place."

The

3

The nuns arose in disorder; the abbess raised her hands and eyes towards heaven, in silent and awful astonishment; the monk, horror-struck and appalled, hurried from the altar; and the Baroness, more terrified and more disconsolate than ever, was led back, almost fainting, to her own apartments.

Edgar alone remained behind, for he alone was unappalled by the alarming sounds; and he staid with the hope of being able to learn the meaning of the cries he heard.

VOL. II.

D

CHAP.

CHAP. III.

His hoary beard in silver roll'd,
He seem'd some seventy winters old,
A palmer's amice wrapt him round:

His left hand held his book of might,
A silver cross was in his right.

SCOTT.

As soon as Winifred was again alone with the Baroness, after their return from the chapel, she earnestly conjured her, if she had any regard for her own welfare, for the happiness of her people, and desired that the spirit of the Baron should rest quietly in its grave, that she would immediately

diately invite Sir Reginald back to the castle.

"While that gallant and noble knight was here," cried Winifred, "this dreadful apparition never came to disturb us; nor were there any of those horrible shrieks and groans: nothing then was to be heard but the music of the wood, to which you, my Lady, so often listened, and which you used to say was played by some spirit; and sometimes you thought it was the spirit of the Paron; and then you would weep, and say how charming it was, and how much it consoled and delighted you."

"Ah! that music," cried the Baroness; "methinks, Winifred, it was certainly supernatural!"

66

Who knows," continued Winifred, if Sir Reginald was to return, but the