University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER THE SECOND.
THE LADY AND THE YEOMAN.

When the Ladye Annabel opened her fair blue
eyes, she gazed hurriedly around the apartment
until her glance was met by that of the bold yeoman.
She gave a faint scream, and her form trembled
with affright.

`St. Withold!” exclaimed the yeoman—“but I
do seem to frighten every one that looks at me,
into fits. Fear me not, Ladye Annabel—'Tis I—
Rough Robin—I would speak a few words to thee.
The import of what I have to say is of a fearful
nature.”

“Ah!” said Annabel, “of what would you
speak?”

Robin whispered a word in her ear.

The maiden gave a convulsive start. She clasped
her hands and looked wildly in the yeoman's
face, as she exclaimed—

“How was't done?—The doer of this deed—who
was't?”

“Pardon me, Lady. For three long days and
nights have I been without sustenance—I am faint
—my brain burns, and mine hands tremble.”

The Ladye Annabel made a sign to Rosalind,
who was leaving the room, when she was met at
the door by Guiseppo, bearing a wine flask in one
hand, while the other supported a dish containing
the fragments of a venison pasty.

“Bold Robin,” said Guiseppo, “I contrived to
abstract these from the wine cellar and the kitchen,
without being noticed. I thought your business
might require secrecy.”

“Thanks, Sir Page, thanks—and now,” continued
the yeoman—“an thou lovest thy Lord Adrian,
wait in the ante-chamber, and see that no one enters.
Fair Rosalind, I am waiting to close the
door.”

As he said this he gently pushed the damsel
thro' the doorway, and carefully drawing the bolt
he seated himself opposite Annabel. He then
placed the pasty on his knee, and with a trembling
hand filled a silver goblet to the very brim with
wine. With all the nervous eagerness of famine,
he lifted the capacious vessel to his lips, when he
beheld a pale, cadaverous, spectre-like face dancing
in the ruddy glow of the wine.

“St. Withold! 'Tis no wonder I have scared
every body with my dried up visage!” He drained
the goblet to the last drop. “S'death I'm frightened
at that deaths-head myself.”

He then plunged one hand into the pasty, and
raising a piece of the rich crust, he devoured it in
an instant; then lifting the flask to his mouth, he
poured the luscious liquid down his throat, and
his sinews and veins began to rise and well, a
ruddy glow ran over his ashy face, while the supernatural

brightness of his eyes, gave place to a
healthy, twinkling glance.

There was a pause of some ten minutes.

“St. Withold! but I thank thee!” cried the yeoman,
as his eyes filled with a liquid which bore a
strange resemblance to tears of joy—“Holy Mary,
Holy Peter, and Holy Paul, ye shall have a wax
candle apiece; instead of one to all of ye!”

The Ladye Annabel who had watched his movements
with the greatest impatience, now exclaimed—

“For heaven's sake, good Robin, speak. What
dost thou know of the fearful deed”—she looked
hurriedly around the room—“Of the murder?”

“Ladye” replied the yeoman, “I'm a rough,
blunt soldier—I know little of courtly manners,
but so help me St. Withold, I would peril—I
would sacrifice my life, to serve thee and—Lord
Adrian—”

“Adrian? What knowest thou of Adrian? For
heaven's sake speak.” Her very soul glanced
from her eyes as she continued.—“Oh, God! thou
surely wilt not say that he—Adrian—is—is—The
Murderer?”

“St. Withold!” muttered Robin, “but I have got
myself into a nice predicament. Ladye I would
say no such falsehood.”

“It is a falsehood then?—Thanks—Holy Mary,
from my soul, unfeigned thanks!”

“It is not Adrian: but Ladye—heaven help thee
to bear it—the murderer is one who is mayhap as
beloved of thee, as is Lord Adrian.”

“One as beloved?” murmured Annabel—“surely
there is no one as beloved as Adrian, no
one save my father. Thou triflest with me, Robin.”

“Nay Ladye I trifle not—again I say it is the
one who is as dear to thee as Lord Adrian.”

One word came from the maiden's lips.

“O! God!” she shrieked, as if some awful thought
had riven her brain. She said never a word more,
but her bosom which a moment past rose and fell
convulsively, now became stilled; the excited flush
of her cheeks died away into an ashy paleness,
her lip lost its eager expression, her eyelids closed
stiffly, and she fell heavily as a corse from her
seat.

Robin sprang forward and extended his arms in
time to prevent her from falling to the floor.

“I am a very fool,” he said, bitterly reproaching
himself—“a dolt, an idiot—a mere wearer of the
motley doublet—a jingler of the belled cap would
have known better. St. Withold, but I am an
ass!”

Having his own reasons for not calling assistance
from the ante-room, he used all kinds of expedients
to restore the Ladye Annabel to consciousness.
He chafed the fair and delicate hands,
he deluged the brow as white as snow, with perfumed
liquids contained in silver bottles standing
upon the table; and after a lapse of a quarter of an
hour he had the gratification of seeing her eyes
unclose, and feeling her heart beat as he held her
form in his arms.

The Ladye Annabel faintly spoke—“I have had
a fearful—fearful dream. The Virgin save me
from the dark spirits that inspire such fancies. I
thought of thee—of thee, my father!” She paused
suddenly as she caught a view of the yeoman's
face. “Thou here!” she exclaimed in surprise,
“wherefore is this?”

“St. Withold!” muttered the confused Robin,
fearful of again referring to the late subject of horror.
“Why Ladye, in truth I am here—because
I am—not here—that is to say—s'death Ladye, I
came here to serve ye.”

“To serve me?” said Annabel wonderingly,
“how wouldst thou serve me?”

“Ladye,” cried the yeoman in utter despair of
his ability to convey his ideas in a circuitous manner.
“Ladye would you wed this Duke of Florence?”

“Sooner would I die!”

“How will you avoid the bridal?”

“God only knows,” said Annabel, as she stood
erect, “to his care do I confide myself. I have
read legends of dames and damsels who have
raised the dagger against their own lives when
terrors such as threaten me, rose before their eyes,
—but I cannot—cannot do it! All I can do”—and
her head sunk low upon her bosom, and her arms
drooped by her side—“all I can do is, to pray,
earnestly pray; upon my bended knees beseech
the Virgin that I may die!”

“Cheer thee up, fair ladye—cheer thee up,”
thus Robin spoke, “by the troth of an honest
soldier, I swear that I will be near thee when the
hour of thy peril draws nigh. I swear that my
life shall be sacrificed to save thee!—And now I
must be gone. This castle can no longer be Rough
Robin's home. God be with ye!”

The Ladye Annabel placed a purse of gold in
Robin's hand, and with many blessing on his

head, she beheld him disappear into the anteroom.

Rosalind entered the room—Annabel exclaimed—

“Retire for a little while, fair coz: I would be
alone.”

As the black-eyed maiden retired, the Ladye
Annabel sank down into a seat, and gave herself
up to the wild and agitating thoughts that flashed
through her brain.

The first beams of the coming morn shot
through the tapestry that well nigh concealed the
casement of the maiden's bower.

Annabel had fallen into a welcome slumber,
and the soft beams of the lamp fell upon her calm
and innocent face, revealing each feature in the
mildest light, and softest shade.

A figure emerged from the tapestry, and advanced
to the light. Adrian stood beside the
sleeping maiden. His face was exceedingly pale
and covered with blood, as also was the helmet,
and the plates of the armour of azure steel. In
one hand he grasped the furled banner of the
Winged Leopard.

He turned and sought his place of concealment
with a heavy heart; but ere he turned, he
cast one deep, one agonizing look upon the lovely
maiden.

“She is happy!—my wrongs shall not disturb
her innocent soul—Farewell—my own loved—
Annabel—farewell.”

A kiss that told of heart-felt affection he impressed
upon her ruby lips, and as he took a last
fond, ardent gaze, a burning tear fell upon the
unstained cheek of the Ladye Annabel.