"
"Is the Lady Mabel in health?--and the children?" inquired the stranger.
"Sorely did she grieve when tidings came of Sir William's death in the
great battle; but sorer still rues she her wedding with Sir Osmund
Neville. Poor soul! It would melt the nails out of a rusty horse-shoe to
see how she moans herself, when she can steal privily to her chamber.
They say the knight caught her weeping once over some token that
belonged to Sir William, and he burnt it before her face, ill-treating
her into the bargain."
"How came she to wed this churl?"
"Oh, it's a sorry history!"--The speaker paused, and it was at the
pilgrim's entreaty that he thus continued:--
"Parson Cliderhow had his paw in the mischief. She was in a manner
forced either to wed, or, in the end, to have found herself and her
children with never a roof-tree above their heads."
"How?--Sir William did not leave her portionless?"
"I know not; but Sir Osmund had, or pretended he had, got a grant from
the Earl of Lancaster for possession of all that belonged to Sir
William, as a reward for his great services; and unless she wed
him--why, you may guess what follows, when a lone woman is left in a
wooer's clutches.
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