"And why did not you go with him ?” "It was na my allowance-my time was na come, and it was a mercy I was spar't to attend him; for, oh! he had sore trouble; but he was a thought fashious in the dead throes. Noo I beg and beseech you, Maister Hanslap, to help me." "What would you?" "Put him aneath the grund!-put him aneath the grund!" exclaimed the lady, bursting into tears, but adding more calmly, "for though he was na without a fault, he was aye my friend." Her tears beginning to flow faster, she sat down on the chest and began to weep bitterly, saying, "but it's weel for him and it's woe for me. He's now get ting his reward, weel happit in Abrahawm's bosom; but I maun dree my leafu' lane in a foreign land." "But your servant, what's become of him?" cried Ralph Hanslap, really touched with compassion for her forlorn situation. "He's dead too-but he could be spare't." While they were thus speaking, one of the huge waggons that were employed to carry the dead to the great public pits, was seen coming towards them, and two fellows before it, crying, "Bring out Bring out your dead.” "These men," said Ralph Hanslap, moving to retire as the tainted waggon drew near, "will assist you to bring out the body.” "Would I gi'e my gudeman to them ?" exclaimed the lady, rising in horror at the thought of committing the remains of Sir Gabriel into the common stock-and she added "Would ye serve one of the Fa'side family like a malefactor? No, no-I have been his wife for forty years e'er to alloo o' that. Wi' a fire-sho'el I hae howkit a grave for him in the next kirk-yard, and though I couldna get a coffin made, this kist maun serve in such a needcessitous time." "That chest!" exclaimed Ralph Hanslap. "Deed ay, I squeezht him in't, knees to chin, wi' my own hands,-for wha was there to help me?-and I ha'e lockit the lid down, never to be opened till 'the last day. O! Mr Hanslap, if you wad but help me wi't out o' the house, I could harl't to the grave mysel.” "I'll help you, and I'll help to carry it too, for the pestilence has no power over me,” cried Sir Amias, rushing to her assistance; and with his aid she got it removed and taken to the church-yard, Ralph Hanslap following them. When they had completed the interment, she sat down on one of the tomb-stones, and began again to weep and mourn. Contrasting the difference between that forlorn ceremony and the revelries of their wedding-day." Ah! he was blither then," said she," and he could sing the Border lilts like a laverock. Weel do I mind how he sang, "Carlin, is your daughter ready, Fey make her ready, At the door there stands a jo, "Gude forgi'e me, am I singing at my gudeman's burial ?” It was, however, the poor lady's last song; the infection had seized her, and the delirium was coming on. In the course of little more than an hour, she died in the church-yard, and Sir Amias de Crosby dug the fresh mould from the new-made grave, and laid her by the side of her husband, whose obsequies she had so affectionately performed. "This," says the Chronicler," was thought to be the last of the wonderful and dismal things done in that time; for, from the hour that the mort-bell was again heard in the land, men relapsed into their wonted customs, and the emulations of pride and vocation became as common as before." CHAPTER II. SURVIVORS. It is the same-I thought the old man dead. WHEN "the year of the prodigies and the pestilence," as it is called by the Chronicler, was over, and the currents of human affairs had returned into their ancient courses, it appears, that one day, as the Bishop of Winchester was sitting in his chamber, it was announced to him that Adonijah the Jew solicited an audience. The name of the old man, for now he was become very aged, reminded him of the story of Rothelan, which, having heard nothing of for a long time, he had forgotten in the nearer cares by which he |