from the first. 'T was a year ago last
May when she died. She'd been con-
fined to her bed about a week, but I'd
no thought of her goin' so soon.
I was
settin' up with her, and 't was a little
past midnight, maybe. She'd been lay-
in' like dead awhile, an' I was thinkin'
I could snatch a nap before she woke.
All 't onst she riz right up in bed, with
her eyes wide open, an' her face lookin'
real happy, an' called out, loud and
strong, Farewell, Eber Nicholson! fare-
well! I've come for the last time!
There's peace for me in heaven, an'
peace for you on earth! Farewell!
farewell!' Then she dropped back on
the piller, stone-dead. She'd expected
it, 't seems, and got the doctor to write
her will. She left me this house and lot,
-I'm her second cousin on the mother's

side,— but all her money in the Savin's Bank, six hundred and seventy-nine dollars and a half, to Eber Nicholson. The doctor writ out to Illinois, an' found he 'd gone to Kansas, a year before. So the money 's in bank yit; but I s'pose he'll git it, some time or other."

As I returned to the hotel, conscious of a melancholy pleasure at the news of her death, I could not help wondering,— "Did he hear that last farewell, far away in his Kansas cabin? Did he hear it, and fall asleep with thanksgiving in his heart, and arise in the morning to a liberated life?" I have never visited Kansas, nor have I ever heard from him since; but I know that the living ghost which haunted him is laid forever.

Reader, you will not believe my story:

BUT IT IS TRUE.

RHOTRUDA.

In the golden reign of Charlemaign the king,
The three-and-thirtieth year, or thereabout,
Young Eginardus, bred about the court,
(Left mother-naked at a postern-door,)

Had thence by slow degrees ascended up,

First page, then pensioner, lastly the king's knight
And secretary; yet held these steps for nought,

Save as they led him to the Princess' feet,
Eldest and loveliest of the regal three,

/ Most gracious, too, and liable to love:
For Bertha was betrothed; and she, the third,
Giselia, would not look upon a man.

So, bending his whole heart unto this end,
He watched and waited, trusting to stir to fire
The indolent interest in those large eyes,
And feel the languid hands beat in his own,

Ere the new spring. And well he played his part, -
Slipping no chance to bribe or brush aside
All that would stand between him and the light:

Making fast foes in sooth, but feeble friends.
But what cared he, who had read of ladies' love,
And how young Launcelot gained his Guenovere, -
A foundling, too, or of uncertain strain?
And when one morning, coming from the bath,

-

--

And so they loved; if that tumultuous pain

Be love, disquietude of deep delight,

And sharpest sadness: nor, though he knew her heart His very own,- gained on the instant, too,

And like a waterfall that at one leap

Plunges from pines to palms, shattered at once To wreaths of mist and broken spray-bows bright, He loved not less, nor wearied of her smile; But through the daytime held aloof and strange His walk; mingling with knightly mirth and game; 4 Solicitous but to avoid alone

Aught that might make against him in her mind; Yet strong in this, that, let the world have end, He had pledged his own, and held Rhotruda's troth.

But Love, who had led these lovers thus along,
Played them a trick one windy night and cold:
For Eginardus, as his wont had been,
Crossing the quadrangle, and under dark,—
No faint moonshine, nor sign of any star,—
Seeking the Princess' door, such welcome found,
The knight forgot his prudence in his love;
For lying at her feet, her hands in his,
And telling tales of knightship and emprise
And ringing war, while up the smooth white arm
His fingers slid insatiable of touch,
The night grew old: still of the hero-deeds
That he had seen he spoke, and bitter blows
Where all the land seemed driven into dust,
Beneath fair Pavia's wall, where Loup beat down
The Longobard, and Charlemaign laid on,
Cleaving horse and rider; then, for dusty drought
Of the fierce tale, he drew her lips to his,
And silence locked the lovers fast and long,
Till the great bell crashed One into their dream.

The castle-bell! and Eginard not away!
With tremulous haste she led him to the door,
When, lo! the courtyard white with fallen snow,
While clear the night hung over it with stars!
A dozen steps, scarce that, to his own door:
A dozen steps? a gulf impassable!
What to be done? Their secret must not lie
Bare to the sneering eye with the first light;
She could not have his footsteps at her door!
Discovery and destruction were at hand:

Angry the king,-yet laughing-half to view
The strangeness and vagary of the feat:
Laughing indeed! with twenty minds to call
From his inner bed-chamber the Forty forth,
Who watched all night beside their monarch's bed,
With naked swords and torches in their hands,
And test this lover's-knot with steel and fire;
But with a thought, "To-morrow yet will serve
To greet these mummers," softly the window closed,

1. And so went back to his corn-tax again.

166

A wrath of crashing steeds and men; and, in
The broken battle fighting hopelessly,
King Arthur, with the ten wounds on his head.

But not to gaze on these appeared the peers.

Stern looked the king, and, when the court was met,-
The lady and her lover in the midst, -

Spoke to his lords, demanding them of this:
"What merits he, the servant of the king,
Forgetful of his place, his trust, his oath,
Who, for his own bad end, to hide his fault,
Makes use of her, a Princess of the realm,
As of a mule, a beast of burden! - borne
Upon her shoulders through the winter's night

And wind and snow?" "Death!" said the angry lords;
And knight and squire and minion murmured, " Death!"
Not one discordant voice. But Charlemaign —

Though to his foes a circulating sword,
Yet, as a king, mild, gracious, exorable,
Blest in his children too, with but one born

To vex his flesh like an ingrowing nail

Looked kindly on the trembling pair, and said:

"Yes, Eginardus, well hast thou deserved

Death for this thing; for, hadst thou loved her so,

Thou shouldst have sought her Father's will in this, —

Protector and disposer of his child,

And asked her hand of him, her lord and thine.

Thy life is forfeit here; but take it, thou!

Take even two lives for this forfeit one;

And thy fair portress-wed her; honor God,

Love one another, and obey the king."

Thus far the legend; but of Rhotrude's smile,
Or of the lords' applause, as truly they
Would have applauded their first judgment too,
We nothing learn: yet still the story lives,
Shines like a light across those dark old days,
Wonderful glimpse of woman's wit and love,
And worthy to be chronicled with hers
Who to her lover dear threw down her hair,
When all the garden glanced with angry blades;
Or like a picture framed in battle-pikes

And bristling swords, it hangs before our view, —
The palace-court white with the fallen snow,
The good king leaning out into the night,
And Rhotrude bearing Eginard on her back.

GREEK LINES.

[Concluded.]