Of a very different character is the story of the Hermit of Warkworth.  It is unfortunate that this, the most tragic and moving of all Northumbrian tales, should be most widely known by means of the prosy imitation ballad by Dr. Percy, whose ability as a poet did by no means equal his zeal as a collector of ballads.  The hero of the sorrowful tale is said to have been a Bertram of Bothal, who loved fair Isabel, daughter of the lord of Widdrington.  Bertram was a knight in Percy’s train, and at a great feast made by the lord of Alnwick the fair maiden and her father were amongst the guests.  As the minstrels chanted the praises of their lord, and sang of the valiant deeds by which his noble house had won renown, the heart of Isabel thrilled at the thought of her true knight rivalling those deeds of fame.  Summoning one of her attendant maidens, she sent her to Bertram, bearing a helmet of steel with crest of gold.  With the helmet the maiden gave her mistress’ message, that she would yield to her knight’s pleadings and become his bride, as soon as he had proved himself a valiant and worthy wearer of the golden-crested helm.  Reverently Bertram accepted the commands of his lady, and vowed to prove his devotion wherever hard blows were to be given and danger to be found.  The lord of Alnwick straightway arranged for an expedition on to Scottish land, in requital of old scores, and assembled together a goodly company to ride against the Scots.  Earl Douglas and his men opposed them, and blows were dealt thick and fast on both sides.  Bertram was sorely wounded, after showing wondrous prowess in the fight; but being rescued by Percy, was borne to the castle of Wark upon the Tweed, to recover from his wounds in safety.  Isabel’s aged father had seen the young knight’s valour, and promised that the maiden herself should tend his hurts and care for him until he recovered.  Day after day passed, however, and still she came not.  At last the knight, scarcely able to take the saddle, rode back to Widdrington, tended by his gallant young brother, to satisfy himself of what had become of his lady.  They reached Widdrington tower to find it all in darkness; and after repeated knockings the aged nurse came to the gateway and demanded the name of those who so insistently clamoured at the door.  Bertram enquired for the lady Isabel; and then, indeed, all was dismay.  The nurse, trembling with fear, told the two youths that her mistress had set out immediately on hearing of her lover’s plight, reproaching herself for having led him to adventure his life so rashly, and it was now six days since she had gone.  Weary and weak, Bertram rested the night at the castle, and then set out on his search for his lost lady.  That they might the sooner search the country round, he and his brother, who loved him dearly, took different directions, one going eastward, and the other north.  They put on various disguises as they went, Bertram appearing now in the guise of a holy Palmer, now as a wandering minstrel As he was sitting, despondent and well-nigh despairing, beneath a hawthorn tree, an aged monk came by, and on seeing the supposed minstrel’s face of sorrow, said to him,