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LAST FUNEREAL RITES

the sage implored her speedily to decide whether she would remain the slave of superstition, or avert evil from herself and her father, by yielding to the monitions of her truest friend, the Earl of Murray. Dulsibella, starting as from a dream of anguish, looked up; a glowing crimson chased the lily hue from her face, when she saw the brilliant dark eyes of the sage fixed on her countenance, as if his very soul hung on her decision.—"Lady! pardon my importunity, but not a moment should be lost!"

"Alas! to cast myself upon a world unknown is appalling; yet to remain is obviously more perilous. Lead, sir! I follow, in the name of God!"

"And God so deal with me and with the far-famed race of Ercildoun, as I prove my fidelity and uprightness in this precious trust!"

Dulsibella was surprised yet secretly charmed by those expressions, uttered in a tone ardent as tender. She directed the sage to a concealed outlet, made known to her by the late Baroness; and by that subterranean passage her hoary guide proceeded with her to the narrow bridge of the moat, where a splendid retinue of armed men in the Earl of Murray's livery received them. The sage raised her in his arms and seated her on a velvet cushion; and he walked by her side till the footmen bore her where a white palfrey, richly caparisoned, was

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