“Hush, Willy,” said the terrified woman.

“Nay,” returned the leering half-wit, “I was but a-thinking, that if he does, may be his master too will want a heriot.”

“And what may be the name of my master?” said Sir Ralph, with a furious oath.

“The devil,” replied the boy, with apparent unconcern.

“Ay,—­and what will they give him, dost think?”

“Thee!”

Whether the peculiar expression of the lad’s face, or the fearless indifference of his address, so unusual to that of the crouching slaves he generally met with, contributed to the result, we know not; but, instead of correcting the boy for his audacity, he hastily departed, finally repeating his threat of punishment in case of disobedience.

When Sir Ralph got home, his ill-humour vented itself with more severity than usual.  On joining the sports, he was at the first somewhat startled, on perceiving a representation of the personage which the morning’s conversation had by no means prepared him to recognise either with admiration or respect.  Still, as it was nothing out of the common usage, he took no apparent notice, farther than by remarking the general gloom that prevailed, contrary to the usual course of these festivities.  Then came the unlooked-for aggression upon his person, provoking his already irritated feelings into vehement action.  But, when the last unfortunate blow had failed in its purpose, appearing to the furious knight to have been warded off by a charm, a sudden misgiving came across him, which, with the speech of this supposed imp of darkness, so strangely alluding to his adventure with the boy, wrought powerfully upon his now excited imagination, so that he stood aghast, unable to grapple with its terrors.  He hastily departed from the hall, leaving the enemy in undisputed possession of the field.

What occurred subsequently we are not told, save that on the following morning the widow’s heriot was sent back, with an ungracious message from the knight, showing his unwillingness to restore what terror only had wrung from him.

The person who adventured this dangerous personification of the Evil One was never known.  Whether some bold and benevolent individual, interposing on behalf of the fatherless and famishing little ones, or some being of a less substantial nature,—­whether one of those immortal intelligences of a middle order between earth and heaven, who at that time were supposed to take pleasure in tormenting the vicious and unworthy,—­is more than our limited capacities can disclose.

It is said that on Easter Monday following the Black Knight died; and though probably it had no connection with the circumstances we have related, yet was his decease a sufficiently strange event in the mysterious chapter of coincidences to warrant this memorial.

FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE.

In Percy’s Relics, this ballad is called “The Lady Isabella’s Tragedy,” and is thus introduced:—­