"
The yeomen had drunk deep; the ale was strong, and at a sign from their
master, all sought rest on the hostel floor before the now dying embers.
For pillow, under each head, was quiver or targe. The flickering fire
threw fitful shadows on the strange group. Marmion and his squires
retired to other quarters. Where the Palmer had disappeared, none knew
or cared.
Alone, folded in his green mantle and nestling in the hay of a waste
loft, lay Fitz-Eustace, the pale moonlight falling upon his youthful
face and form. He was dreaming happy dreams of hawk and hound, of ring
and glove, of lady's eyes, when suddenly he woke. A tall form, half in
the moonbeams, half in the gloom, stood beside him; but before he could
draw his dagger, he recognized the voice of Marmion, who said:
"Fitz-Eustace, rise, and saddle Bevis! I cannot rest. The air must cool
my brow. I fain would ride to view the elfin scene of chivalry of which
we heard to-night. Rouse none from their slumbers, for I would not have
those prating knaves know that I could credit so wild a tale as our
landlord has told."
Softly down the steps they stole. Eustace led forth the steed arrayed
for the ride, and Marmion, armed to meet the elfin foe, sprang into the
saddle.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40