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CHAPTER VI. A BLACK YULE-TIDE.

It wanted but three days of the sweet and gracious festival of Christmas ; of that holy season which commendl peace and goodwill to the hearts of men. Alas ! domestic tyranny aaid treachery, a. revenge niore wicked even than the injustice that provoked it, was to make a black yule-tide in the lordly halls of Thurston. There was dismay throughout the district — for three days the brothers de Coniston and the damsel of Egremont had been missing. The stem, the impassable Earl was moved from his hard indifference. He moaned for his missing sons as [a. peasant or a burgher would have done, forgetful of his dignity. His retainers scoured the district — the abbot and whole community at Fumess offered up prayers j the -vassals of the monastery also engaged in the search for the missing damsel and the two brothers, but without avail. It was his knowledge of the fierce uncompromising temper of both his sons that alarmed the proud Earl ; he feared that some awful tragedy would come to light ; that the rival brothers had murdered the damsel or slain each other. It was this terror that had bent the stubborn knees of the godless Earl — that bowed him down a fasting penitent at St. Mary's on that eve of Yule. It was a night wild and stormy as that on which the outbreak of brotherly hate and envy had led to the sacrifice of Walter de Coniston's innocent life. , But it was a winter, not an autumnal storm — sometimes roaring like the waves of the near ocean, the wild winds swept with resistless force from the bleak fells and matted woods of High

Furness athwart the valley of the deadly Nightshade, snapping lite hazel twigs the strong tough branches of the beech and elmrrshouting among the oaks of centuries, and bowing their stately' heads and rending the offshoots from the parent tree. Anon the mad gale would subside into a melancholy murmur, amid which would be heard the patter of the ceaseless rain and sleet upon the massive frondage of the place or the glittering metallic leaves of the huge hollies. [ It was a night so wet and raw, so black and bitter, that in castle or grange, hut or homestead, the dwellers made* fast their doors, and shut out the darkness and the howling storm, and piled high the blazing logs upon the hearth, and prayed Our Lady .and St. Julian to solicit grace for the wayfarer. A night on which each wild creature, beast or bird, sought its shelter ; a night on which no living thing could face the storm and live. But the lights in the Beacon tower near the abbey, gleamed out against the inky sky like a star of hope, and from the bell tower the long musical note pealed out upon the gale to guide or warn any persons whose disaster it was to be abroad on that dark dismal night. Vespers were over, and still Earl Thurston knelt near the lady chapel. Seldom had real piety drawn him to those sacred precincts ; as a matter of course he had attended the church on great festivals, but his heart had been hard and obdurate to religious influence till now. But calamity is a softener of the hardest hearts, and the,uncertainty respecting his two 'sons and the damsel of Egremont added to the grief and horror of the Earl ; for his fancy suggesibed, in a thousand varied forms, some catastrophe which would coyer the very name of Coniston with infamy and reproach. Lord Thurston had fasted through the day ; he was in general a free liver, and physical exhaustion added not a little to, the dismal depression of his spirits. The lights were for the most part extinguished, the chaunt of • the monks had died away, and the hollow gale that swept through the lofty aisles, and shook the feeble flame of the few lamps and tapers that were left burning, was the only sound heard in the vast edifice. A hand, gentle but firm, was laid upon Lord Thurston's shoulder. He lifted his haggard face and saw the abbot standing beside him. " Kise, my son I" said the churchman in a voice of kindly but grave authority. " Rise, I have had some slight refection prepared for you ; it is meet that we sustain our bodily strength if only that we may be able to bear our afflictions." The Earl rose j — he had little care for refreshment, but he was absorbed by his fears about his sons. He followed the abbot put of the church, and crossed the cloister towards that portion of the monastery in which was situated the abbot's apartments. Almost on the threshold they encountered the lay brother, an. assistant of the sacristan, whose" duty it was to attend to the bell tower, and have the chimes properly rung for the devotional services. This lay brother was a mere youth, who had not long been a> member of the community. He -was trembling from head to foot, either with fear or cold. His teeth chattered as from an ague fit, and he was ghastly pale., "Good, nay, son!" inquired the abbot, startled at his looks. " What hath thus dismayed thee? Thou lookest like one .risen, from the dead I" " Oh, my lord and reverend father !" cried brother Edmund. "Of a verity I think that I have seen one risen from the dead. A wailing spirit is around our sacred, walls. I heard it first issuing, from the deep woods — a cry full of despair' and sorrow, pealing above the night wind, marring the solemn notes of the church! bell. It filled my heart with dismay to hear those wild and'desperate shrieks, and looking through a casement of the bell tower I saw a white figure rush from the covert of the woods — female in' garb, "with long hair that streamed wild upon the blast. It' flitted past, and was gone — brief as the lightning's flash ! But, as trembling I bent my steps thither, again that horrid cry I heard — the cry that pealeth from no human lips." " Edmond, my son," said the abbot, who had listened in grave silence to the relation of the affrighted lay brother, "the superstitious terror to which thou hast yielded is a fault. The spirit' that uttered that despairing cry had a mortal habitation — was doubtless some poor ; distraught wanderer benighted in this dreadful storm. So call together the lay brothers, get torches, and search the woods." Even as the abbot spoke a long shrill shriek rang out upon the wind, and a white-robed figure such as Edmond had described flitted athwart the gloom. " See, see, my lord, yonder where it glides !" exclaimed the lay brother. " Bring fights ! bring lights I" said the abbot. " This wretched wanderer, whoever she be, is in some sore strait." "Aye, so I ween," cried Lord Thurston, who had hitherto looked on the scene in moody silence. " Oh, my reverend lord, turn your eyes yonder— t-there see where the white spectral figure glides. It makes for the cloister. Oh, Mother of mercy! my heart sinks like lead in my boson. Oh, the^poor damsel of Egre. Mont ! Oh, my wayward sons !"

This article text was automatically generated and may include errors. View the full page to see article in its original form.I whakaputaina aunoatia ēnei kuputuhi tuhinga, e kitea ai pea ētahi hapa i roto. Tirohia te whārangi katoa kia kitea te āhuatanga taketake o te tuhinga.
Permanent link to this item
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZT18741212.2.25.2

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 85, 12 December 1874, Page 13

Word count
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1,206

CHAPTER VI. A BLACK YULE-TIDE. New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 85, 12 December 1874, Page 13

CHAPTER VI. A BLACK YULE-TIDE. New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 85, 12 December 1874, Page 13

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