CHAPTER XI.
The Chapter House.
The march of De Valence from the castle having proved that no suspicion of any of its late inhabitants being still in the neighborhood remained with its usurpers, Grimsby thought he might depart in safety; and next morning he begged permission of the prior to commence his journey.

"I am anxious to quit a land," said he, "where my countrymen are committing violences which make me blush at the name of Englishman." Murray put a purse of gold into the soldier's hand, while the prior covered his armor with a pilgrim's gown.

Grimsby, with a respectful bow, returned the gift; "I cannot take money from you, my lord.

But bestow on me the sword at your side, and that I will preserve forever." Murray took it off, and gave it to the soldier.

"Let us exchange, my brave friend!" said he; "give me yours, and it shall be a memorial to me of having found virtue in an Englishman." Grimsby unlocked his rude weapon in a moment, and as he put the iron hilt into the young Scot's hand, a tear stood in his eye: "When you raise this sword against my countrymen, think on Grimsby, a faithful, though humble soldier of the cross, and spare the blood of all who ask for mercy." Murray looked a gracious assent, for the tear of mercy was infectious.
Without speaking, he gave the good soldier's hand a parting grasp; and with regret that superior claims called so brave a man from his side, he saw him leave the monastery.
The mourner banquets on memory; making that which seems the poison of life, its ailment.