by the contiguity of a tall cypress, whose funereal branches added to the general gloom.  The room was one of those formerly allotted to their guests by the hospitable abbots, and had undergone little change since their time, except in regard to furniture; and even that appeared old and faded now.  What with the gloomy arras, the shrouded bedstead, and the Gothic wardrobe with its mysterious figures, the chamber had a grim, ghostly air, and so the young girl thought on entering it.

“I have brought you hither, Alizon,” said Mistress Nutter, motioning her to a seat, “that we may converse without chance of interruption, for I have much to say.  On first seeing you to-day, your appearance, so superior to the rest of the May-day mummers, struck me forcibly, and I resolved to question Elizabeth Device about you.  Accordingly I bade her join me in the Abbey gardens.  She did so, and had not long left me when I accidentally met you and the others in the Lacy Chapel.  When questioned, Elizabeth affected great surprise, and denied positively that there was any foundation for the idea that you were other than her child; but, notwithstanding her asseverations, I could see from her confused manner that there was more in the notion than she chose to admit, and I determined to have recourse to other means of arriving at the truth, little expecting my suspicions would be so soon confirmed by Mother Chattox.  To my interrogation of that old woman, you were yourself a party, and I am now rejoiced that you interfered to prevent me from prosecuting my inquiries to the utmost.  There was one present from whom the secret of your birth must be strictly kept—­at least, for awhile—­and my impatience carried me too far.”

“I only obeyed a natural impulse, madam,” said Alizon; “but I am at a loss to conceive what claim I can possibly have to the consideration you show me.”

“Listen to me, and you shall learn,” replied Mistress Nutter.  “It is a sad tale, and its recital will tear open old wounds, but it must not be withheld on that account.  I do not ask you to bury the secrets I am about to impart in the recesses of your bosom.  You will do so when you learn them, without my telling you.  When little more than your age I was wedded; but not to him I would have chosen if choice had been permitted me.  The union I need scarcely say was unhappy—­most unhappy—­though my discomforts were scrupulously concealed, and I was looked upon as a devoted wife, and my husband as a model of conjugal affection.  But this was merely the surface—­internally all was strife and misery.  Erelong my dislike of my husband increased to absolute hate, while on his part, though he still regarded me with as much passion as heretofore, he became frantically jealous—­and above all of Edward Braddyll of Portfield, who, as his bosom friend, and my distant relative, was a frequent visiter at the house.  To relate the numerous exhibitions of jealousy that occurred would answer little purpose,