‘Her residence, since her orphan childhood, had been the hall, and William De Norris, her sole companion. Often have they wandered together in this gallery, by moonlight, and the ghosts of the warriors of her race, could not frighten their young love.’
“Mabel,” softly whispered Sir William Bradshaigh to his lady, “is not this our own tale?”
The dame proceeded, ‘He took her to the neighbouring woods, and there they passed whole days—he the shepherd, and she the rustic maid. She often sat on his knee, while he combed her long golden locks. But the crusade inspired in De Norris’s mind, thoughts and desires for glory. He dreamt of nothing but the lakes and holy mountains of Palestine, where the daring Richard should pitch his camp, afterwards to become his court. The cross was ever before him, and a warrior’s arms were glorious to behold, dipped in the Saviour’s blood, and consecrated to his cause. Was the licentious prophet to hold the inheritance of the meek and lowly Jesus? In vain did Magdalene weep, and by tears and caresses, entreat her William to stay in his father’s halls. He vowed that the cross must seal their marriage, and that he would be faithful to his love. Yet, proud was she, as the morn of parting came, and De Norris mounted his fiery charger. He was so beautiful and gallant! He had pronounced the tender farewell, as the trumpets sounded, and his followers rallied around him. But a sudden thought brightened over his features, and he spurred back to Magdalene, and sprang from his steed.
‘“My own Magdalene, give me thy portrait that hangs in my apartment, that in my tent, before and after our engagements, I may think of thee, and implore thy blessing.”
‘“Nay, William De Norris,” she replied, with a feint sigh, “should you be faithless, how would that silent resemblance, recall to thee our past vows, and bitterly chide thee for thy falseness. I would not even then, give thee uneasiness. But William, think of me as fondly, as I will of you! Farewell!” and she threw her arms around him, and wept on his neck.
‘Cœur De Lion, honoured your ancestor by marks of his favour, and once embraced him in the royal tent, after a victory, in which De Norris had distinguished himself. Four years he had been absent, but Magdalene forgot him not, and as every palmer appeared at the hall, she kindly led him into her own bower, expecting to hear of the Holy Land, and her lover. She became sad, and pale, spoke of none but William, and of nothing but his return.
‘One evening towards sunset, the family banner was suddenly raised, for news was afloat that De Norris had returned, and was on his way to the hall with a bride! Magdalene heard it, and from that very moment became a maniac. She rushed out to meet him, among the retainers.
‘Through the shady wood she beheld De Norris approaching. Banners were floating over his head; and by his side rode a beautiful lady, in white bridal robes. They were conversing together, yet was the knight’s cheek deadly pale, and his lips quivered, as he cast furtive glances around, which told that he expected to meet One whom he had forsaken. But trees concealed her. To change his emotions, he dashed the spurs into his furious steed, in order that his spirit might be chafed in curbing it, when a loud shriek was given, and the horse plunged madly on. A rush was made to the place by his immediate attendants; and on looking back De Norris saw his own Magdalene prostrate and mangled. He leaped down; a shudder of despair and frenzy passed over his whole frame, and he flung himself beside her. He called her by her name, kissed the bloody brow, and threw back her disordered tresses.
‘“My own Magdalene, forgive me; still am I thine!”