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Chap. XXXIV. POOR MARY AND HER LOVERS.
75
“Brother,” murmured Sir Hem, “your hand! we
fought for love, not hate.” A slight, feeble pressure
responds, a whispering faint “ Good-night!”
“ Stop them, stop them!” exclaimed the frantic Mary,
when the news of the combat reached her. “ Stop,
oh, stop! I’ll marry you both,”—and she rushes to the
spot Too late—she casts herself on both the bodies
at once, and gives way to her agony of grief. Survive
them she will not—she who had caused their death;
so she makes her will, bequeaths all her possessions
to the Church to found a cloister, and builds two
churches over the remains of her lover victims, Sir
Hem and Sir Sem—those two white village churches,
Hem and Sem, you pass on your road, as we did, when
we wandered about the wide plains in our midnight
journey to Mariager.
“ Now,” exclaims Mary, “ I have done with life !”
and she casts herself headlong into the deep
well’adjoining the ancient monastery, of which one ivied and
extinguisher-capped tower remains.
“ But our beloved foundress,” asks a brother of the
prior who directs the building of the rising convent,
where shall we bury her ?”
“Hush, hush!” responds the prior, “not in consecrated
ground, the holy Mother Church forbids us; but bide
a time, leave her where she is, the story will blow over ;
we can’t canonize a suicide, but we will work miracles
at her cell.” And gradually a rumour goes forth,
how a love-sick maiden, deserted by her lover, at the
last stage of consumption had recovered her youth,
freshness, and peace of mind by quaffing the water
from poor Mary’s well. The spring became famous,
though I doubt it did much good—it only made men
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