Page:Stories from Old English Poetry-1899.djvu/157

Rh I leave thee to thy liking, and have sent thee this purse of gold to thy dowry. Farewell. Neither thine or his own,

Cruel, cruel words for trusting Margaret to read from the letter whose seal was still warm with her kisses. Proudly she crushed the traitorous paper under her foot, and pushing back the purse of gold he proffered, she turned to the page.

“Take back the gold thou hast brought, good youth, and tell Lord Lacy that no one can rejoice more than I do that his wavering fancy is at rest, and that I wish him all happiness. For myself, I have done with false vows and falser lovers, and. to-morrow’s sun will see me safe in he walls of Framlingham Convent, where I will be sworn at once a holy nun.”

Margaret’s resolve once taken, neither the grief nor the entreaties of her father could move her from it. On such a summer’s day as the one when, under the greenwood shades, Lacy had confessed his rank and asked her to be his wife, she set out for the Nunnery of Framlingham. The mossy towers of the convent, rising through the trees, and the dewy shades of the forest, made a picture no less fair than before. But to Margaret’s eyes a shadow was over all the day, and there was no beauty for her even in the