CHAPTER V. "Still to the truth direct thy strong desire, And flee the very air where dwells a liar. Fail not the mass, there still with reverent feet, Each morn be found, nor scant thy offering meet, Haste thee, sir knight, where dames complain of wrong; Maintain their right, and in their cause be strong." THE last act in the bloody tragedy of England's sub-jection, was consummated in the year 1074, when Earl Waltheof, having been drawn into a plot against the crown, and betrayed by his Norman wife, Judith, to her uncle, the Conqueror, was beheaded on a rising ground, just without the gates of Winchester, the first Anglo-Saxon that perished by the hand of the executioner. The perfidious Judith had fixed her affections on a French Count, but William had already secured a willing agent of his own purposes, in the person of Simon, a Norman noble, lame and deformed, on whom he designed to bestow her hand, with the rich earldoms of Northampton and Huntingdon. The haughty Judith scorned the alliance, and stripped of rank and power, retired to the wilds of Yorkshire in obscurity and contempt. The bitter tears occasioned by the melancholy fate of Agatha and Edwin, were fresh upon the cheek of Maude, when the heavy tidings of her father's cruel death, over-whelmed her in a tide of deeper anguish. A lingering ill-ness followed, yet sweet dreams stole ever upon her rest, and the watchful Adela comprehended, that transported to the home of her childhood, in the gaiety of life's early morn, she trod again the breezy upland, and fragrant glade, wandered through wood and wold, with Edwin by her side, or sitting by the starlit fountain, challenged the nightin-gale from out the leafy holt, with snatches of Runic rhyme, and Saxon melody. But young life combating disease, ADELA. 35