We have heard of her in
the Gilsland ground, where they would all the sooner see a the young
lad of Whitburn crippled and a mere misery to see or hear."
Grisell was quite as ready to believe in witchcraft as was the old
squire, and to tremble at their capacities for mischief. She asked
what nunneries were near, and was disappointed to find nothing within
easy reach. St. Cuthbert's diocese had not greatly favoured
womankind, and Whitby was far away.
By and by her father came back, the thundering tramp of the horses
being heard in time enough for her to spring up and be mounted again
before he came in sight, the yeomen carrying the antlers and best
portions of the deer.
"Left out, my wench," he shouted. "We must mount you better. Ho!
Cuthbert, thou a squire of dames? Ha! Ha!"
"The maid could not be left to lose herself on the fells," muttered
the squire, rather ashamed of his courtesy.
"She must get rid of nunnery breeding. We want no trim and dainty
lassies here," growled her father. "Look you, Ridley, that horse of
Hob's--" and the rest was lost in a discussion on horseflesh.
Long rides, which almost exhausted Grisell, and halts in exceedingly
uncomfortable hostels, where she could hardly obtain tolerable
seclusion, brought her at last within reach of home. There was a
tall church tower and some wretched hovels round it. The Lord of
Whitburn halted, and blew his bugle with the peculiar note that
signified his own return, then all rode down to the old peel, the
outline of which Grisell saw with a sense of remembrance, against the
gray sea-line, with the little breaking, glancing waves, which she
now knew herself to have unconsciously wanted and missed for years
past.
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