d silence showed the awe and respect which her presence
inspired. She raised her veil. Grief, long subdued, yet deep and
irremediable, hung heavily on her pallid features, but their form and
character was untouched by the destroyer. Not a ringlet was visible. Her
brow, bare and unornamented, threw an air of severe grandeur on her
whole countenance. Around the lip fell a deeper shade of sorrow; but
sweet, inexpressibly sweet and touching, was the expression. Though the
rose had faded, yet, lovelier in decay, it seemed to mingle more
gracefully with the soft hues by which it was surrounded.

She waved her hand: singly the mendicants approached, proffering their
simple tale of suffering and privation. To every one she administered
comfort; consoling the wretched and reproving the careless; but each had
a share of her bounty ere he withdrew.

The hall was nearly cleared; yet the palmer sat, as if still awaiting
audience, behind a distant pillar, and deeply pondering, as it might
seem, the transactions he had witnessed. The last of their suppliants
had departed ere he rose, bending lowly as he approached. The eye of the
noble dame suddenly became rivetted on him. She was leaning in front of
her maidens, beside a richly-carved canopy of state, underneath which,
on days of feudal hospitality and pomp, presided the master of the
banquet. Behind, a long and richly-variegated window poured down a
chequered halo of glory around her form. She seemed an angel of light,
issuing from that fountain of splendour, and irradiating the whole group
with her presence.

"Reverend pilgrim, thy behest?" She said this with a shudder of
apprehension, as if dreading an answer to her inquiry. The pilgrim spoke
not, but advanced.

The attendants drew aside. A silence, chill and unbroken as the grave,
pervaded the assembly. He took from his vest a silver ring. The Lady
Mabel grasped the well-known signet. With agony the most heartrending
and intense she exclaimed--

"My husband's signet!--Where?--Whence came this pledge?--Speak!"

A pause ensued. It was one of those short ages of almost insupportable
suspense, when the mind, wound up to the keenest susceptibility of
endurance, seems vibrating on the verge of annihilation,--as if the next
pulse would snap its connection with the world for ever.

"Lady," the pilgrim answered, in a low sepulchral tone, "it is a bequest
from thy husband. It was his wife's last pledge--a seal of unchanging
fidelit