rtion of their house. As soon as he recovered his senses, he earnestly
asked their pardon for his pride, and the scorn he had shown to the
poverty and patient suffering which he should have reverenced.

William had always been a man who chose the good and refused the evil,
but this accident, and the long illness that followed it, made him far
more thoughtful and serious than he had ever been before; he made
preparing for death and eternity his first object, and thought less of
his worldly affairs, his wars, and his ducal state. He rebuilt the old
Abbey, endowed it richly, and sent for Martin himself from France, to
become the Abbot; he delighted in nothing so much as praying there,
conversing with the Abbot, and hearing him read holy books; and he felt
his temporal affairs, and the state and splendour of his rank, so great a
temptation, that he had one day come to the Abbot, and entreated to be
allowed to lay them aside, and become a brother of the order. But Martin
had refused to receive his vows. He had told him that he had no right to
neglect or forsake the duties of the station which God had appointed him;
that it would be a sin to leave the post which had been given him to
defend; and that the way marked out for him to serve God was by doing
justice among his people, and using his power to defend the right. Not
till he had done his allotted work, and his son was old enough to take
his place as ruler of the Normans, might he cease from his active duties,
quit the turmoil of the world, and seek the repose of the cloister. It
was in this hope of peaceful retirement, that William had delighted to
treasure up the humble garments that he hoped one day to wear in peace
and holiness.

"And oh! my noble Duke!" exclaimed Abbot Martin, bursting into tears, as
he finished his narration, "the Lord hath been very gracious unto thee!
He has taken thee home to thy rest, long before thou didst dare to hope
for it."

Slowly, and with subdued feelings, the Norman Barons left the chamber;
Richard, whom they seemed to have almost forgotten, wandered to the
stairs, to find his way to the room where he had slept last night. He
had not made many steps before he heard Osmond's voice say, "Here, my
Lord;" he looked up, saw a white cap at a doorway a little above him, he
bounded up and flew into Dame Astrida's outstretched arms.

How glad he was to sit in her lap, and lay his wearied head on her bosom,
while, with a worn-out voice,