The Lady Alianore did not die under this dreadful calamity:  she lived to mourn.  The knight was interred within the precinct of the Abbey Church of Gloucester; his tomb and effigy were in a niche at an angle of the cloisters.  Here would Alianore continually come, accompanied by Leo, who, since his master’s death, never left her side; here would she stop, fixedly gazing upon the monument, the tear in her eye, and the chill of hopeless sorrow in her heart.  There are, indeed, few of us, who, wandering through the interior of some noble ecclesiastical edifice, can suppress a feeling of melancholy, when we view the sepulchre of a knight of repute, who has died in his prime, in the midst of his achievements and his fame, and who, clad in the harness of his pride, lies outstretched in the marble before us.  Courage and courtesy, chivalry and Christianity, are buried there—­there the breast, replete with honor, the heart to feel, and the right arm to defend.  The monument tells of the sudden extinguishment of some bright light that shone in a semi-barbarous age, which had its main civilization and refinement from knights and churchmen solely.  If this sight would sadden a stranger soul, what must have been the deep grief of the lady as she contemplated the cold memorial of Sir Ralph, and felt that the consummation of her whole earthly comfort was there entombed!  A secret sentiment that satisfied, or rather softened her mental agony, brought her again and again to the place—­ay, again and again to gaze upon the grave, and then to retire into the church to long and ardent prayer.

About two years after the knight had been dead, the Lady Alianore was one morning departing through the cloisters from a visit to the tomb, when her attention was suddenly arrested by a low growl from the dog who accompanied her.  She turned back, and saw two persons in the garb of foreign merchants or traders, the one pointing out to the other the knight’s monumental effigy.  Scarcely had she made the observation, when Leo rushed from her side, and flew at the throat of him who was exhibiting the grave; in an instant he brought him to the ground; the other endeavored to escape, but some sacristans who heard the noise, hastened to the spot, and the men were arrested.

On examination, the two pretended merchants were found to wear eastern habilaments beneath their long gowns, and the cloth of the turban was concealed under the broad brimmed hat of each.  They both had daggers, and upon the arm of the one the dog had seized, there was the deep scar of what seemed to be a desperate bite.  Further proof became needless, for when every chance of escape was gone, they made a full confession, and appeared to glory in it.  They were emissaries from the Old Man of the Mountain.  The one on a previous occasion had journeyed from the far east to do his fearful master’s bidding, and had stabbed the knight in the back, on the evening he rode in his gladness from the abode of his affianced bride.