Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 23, 2025
It was a mercenary age among the clergy, and besides, it was the depth of a northern winter, and the funeral rites of the Lady of Whitburn would have been poor and maimed indeed if a whole band of black Benedictine monks had not arrived from Wearmouth, saying they had been despatched at special request and charge of Sir Leonard Copeland.
The Lord of Whitburn halted, and blew his bugle with the peculiar note that signified his own return, then all rode down to the old peel, the outline of which Grisell saw with a sense of remembrance, against the gray sea-line, with the little breaking, glancing waves, which she now knew herself to have unconsciously wanted and missed for years past.
"Even so, poor lad; and he was only on his way to see after his own, or his wife's, since all the Whitburn sons are at an end, and the Tower gone to the spindle side. They say, too, that the damsel he wedded perforce was given to magic, and fled in form of a hare. But be that as it will, young Copeland St. Bede, pardon me! What have I let out?" "Reck not of that, brother.
The Lady of Whitburn did not expect to see her husband or son again till the summer campaign was over, and she was not at all uneasy about them, for the full armour of a gentleman had arrived at such a pitch of perfection that it was exceedingly difficult to kill him, and such was the weight, that his danger in being overthrown was of never being able to get up, but lying there to be smothered, made prisoner, or killed, by breaking into his armour.
"I daunt him?" returned Lord Whitburn, in his teasing mood. "By his own showing not a troop of Somerset's best horsemen could do that!" Therewith more amicably, father and son fell to calculations of resources, which they kept up all through supper-time, and all the evening, till the names of Hobs, Wills, Dicks, and the like rang like a repeating echo in Grisell's ears.
"It is well!" said Lord Whitburn. "Ho, you there! Bring the horses to the door." Grisell, in all the strange suspense of that decision, had been thinking of Sir Gawaine, whose lines rang in her head, but that look of grief roused other feelings. Sir Gawaine had no other love to sacrifice. "Sir! sir!" she cried, as her father turned to bid her mount the pillion behind Ridley.
"So you fulfil your contract, the rest is nought to me." "I am then at liberty? Free to carry my sword to my Queen and King?" "Free." "You swear it, on the holy cross?" Lord Whitburn held up the cross hilt of his sword before him, and made oath on it that when once married to his daughter, Leonard Copeland was no longer his prisoner.
The sad question and answer of "No change" passed, and then Ridley, his gruff voice unnecessarily hushed, said, "Featherstone would speak with you, lady. He would know whether it be your pleasure to keep him in your service to hold out the Tower, or whether he is free to depart." "Mine!" said Grisell bewildered. "Yea!" exclaimed Ridley. "You are Lady of Whitburn!" "Ah!
My lord took out all the retainers to lay hold on Crooked Nan, but she got scent of it no doubt, for Jack of Burhill took his oath that he had seen a muckle hare run up the glen that morn, and when we got there she was not to be seen or heard of. We have heard of her in the Gilsland ground, where they would all the sooner see a the young lad of Whitburn crippled and a mere misery to see or hear."
"Nay, madame, you are Lady of Whitburn by right." "By right, may be, but not in fact, nor could I be known as mine own self without cumbering him with my claims. No, let me alone to be Grisell as ever before, an English orphan, bower-woman to Vrow Clemence if she will have me."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking