On this same night, soon after sunset, the lady of Bernshaw Tower went
forth, leaving her lord in a deep sleep, the effect, as it was supposed,
of her own spells. Ere she departed, every symbol or token of grace was
laid aside;--her rosary was unbound. She drew a glove from her hand, and
in it was the bridle ring, which she threw from her,--when the flame of
the lamp suddenly expired. It was in her little toilet-chamber, where
she had paused, that she might pursue her meditations undisturbed. Her
allegiance must be renewed, and revoked no more; but her pride, that
darling sin for which she raised her soul, must first suffer. On that
night she must be guided by the same laws, and subjected to the same
degrading influence, as her fellow-subjects. At least once a year this
condition must be fulfilled:--all rank and distinction being lost, the
vassals were alike equal in subordination to their chief. On this night,
too, the rights of initiation were usually administered.
The time drew nigh, and the Lady Sibyl, intending to conceal the glove
with the sacred symbol, passed her hand on the table where it had
lain--but it was gone!
* * * * *
In a vast hollow, nearly surrounded by crags and precipices, bare and
inaccessible, the meeting was assembled, and the lady of the Tower was
to be restored to their communion.
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