THE
STORY OF
SIR BERTRAND.
By Mrs. BARBAULD.
Sir Bertrand turned his ſteed toward the wolds, hoping to croſs thoſe dreary moors before the curfew tolled. But ere he had proceeded half his journey, he was bewildered by the different tracts; and not being able, as far as the eye could reach, to eſpy any object but the brown heath ſurrounding him, he was at length quite uncertain which way he ſhould direct his courſe. Night overtook him in this ſituation. It was one of thoſe nights when the moon gives a faint glimmering of light through the thick black clouds of a louring ſky. Now and then ſhe ſuddenly emerged in full ſplendor from her veil; and then inſtantly retired behind it, having juſt ſerved to give the forlorn Sir Bertrand a wide-extended proſpect over the deſolate waſte. Hope and native courage a while urged him to puſh forward; but at length, the encreaſing darkneſs, and fatigue of body and mind, overcame him: he dreaded moving from the ground he flood on, for fear of unknown pits and bogs; and, alighting from his horſe in deſpair, he threw himſelf on the ground. He had not long continued in that poſture, when the ſullen toll of a diſtant bell ſtruck his ears–he ſtarted up; and, turning toward the found, diſcerned a dim twinkling light. Inſtantly he ſeized his horſe’s bridle, and with cautious ſteps advanced toward it. After a painful march, he was flopped by a moated ditch ſurrounding the place from whence the light proceeded; and, by a momentary glimpſe of moonlight, he had a full view of a large antique manſion, with turrets at the corners, and an ample porch in the centre. The injuries of
