  The day appointed for Alice's ill-starred nuptials draws near with ill-omened celerity. Anxious consultations and meetings at the trysting-place with her Saxon lover become most frequent as the fatal day approaches. To-night, as she climbs the rough stone stairs which lead to the tower, her heart seems to grow lighter in the toilsome ascent. When she reaches the top night has already asserted its sway over the face of nature, and deep silence broods solemnly everywhere around. On the turret she paces to and fro in deep meditation, whilst occasionally she steps upon the stone platform and peers anxiously towards the adjacent wood, and waves her handkerchief. But the night is dark, and she knows not whether any one is there to heed her signal. Then she steps down and listens at the head of the stair for the sound of the welcome footsteps. Though this most serious and portentous crisis in her life is approaching, and dark-browed Fate seems from day to day to frown more darkly upon her path, and though she recognises most vividly the perilousness of the enterprise which Oswald is entering upon for her deliverance, yet to-night none but pleasant thoughts dance through her mind, and ever and anon also pleasant smiles persist in wreathing her countenance in sweet hopefulness, for she conjures up some pleasing dream of a possible escape from the dreaded union designed for her. But the wonderful secret of this hopeful spirit is this: her champion, the Saxon chieftain, will be here to-night. Here it must be confessed was the chief inspiration of those pleasant thoughts and pleasant smiles. When he was nigh fear and doubt and dismay never oppressed her. But alas! this buoyancy of hopefulness was just as surely followed by cruel depression of spirit, and a dread sense of loneliness and helplessness, when he was far away—when the hated presence of Vigneau was obtruded upon her especially. Worst of all, as the appointed time of marriage drew near, he presumed more and more to thrust himself upon her; and she must needs hide, as best she could, the feelings of abhorrence and deep loathing with which she regarded him. She had come to see the futility of resistance, and of manifesting dislike to him; for she had no hope that he would abate one jot of his determination to force the fulfilment of this marriage contract. Presently, as she listens, a feeble grating sound strikes her ear, and she strains anxiously to hear further. Soon a distinct sound of movement in the winding stair is heard. She rushes to the spot where the steps reach the platform of the tower, and anxiously peers into the dark beneath. One moment more and Oswald clasps her to his heart. "Ah, you lonely watcher," said he, tremulous with emotion. "How long have you been waiting here alone? are you not afraid to watch here in the darkness?" "I am not afraid to-night, dearest. I am only a woman, you know, with a woman's weakness; but I have always fortitude enough to dare anything for you. Why should I be afraid of darkness, which is only God's coverlet, drawn with infinite gentleness over tired and sleeping nature?" "Ah! there is a good angel watching over you, Alice dear, whether 'tis dark or light, and whether I am near or far. So be of good courage." "I have faith in God, and I have faith in my Saxon lover; but alas! my heart fails me often as the fateful day draws nigh. Sometimes I am almost paralysed with fear, lest some cruel fate should, after all, doom me to a hated meeting of Vigneau at the altar; but I have a little friend which I keep sharp and bright, and there is a step beyond which I go no farther with him." "Hush, dearest! such thoughts are cruel; that dreadful alternative you will never resort to. Vigneau, in his gross attempt to force your hand, in the face of earth and heaven, will rush upon a fate he recks not of, but which he richly merits. No more of this, dearest; this hour we will dedicate to more welcome topics. So a truce to all unpleasant thoughts. How does the question of questions wear apace? Have you become more reconciled to my project?" "Dearest, do not think me foolish; but since you intimated your intention of appearing in the lists, I have been engaged in a little enterprise of my own. I have still my forebodings that you will be discovered if you venture to enter the lists of the tournament, without some more effectual disguise than you seem to possess. So, excuse me, I have been taxing my poor woman's wit in the matter. Would it be wrong to practise a little ruse upon my father, think you? I have a cousin, who, some years ago, joined the ranks of the king of Spain, and has gone to war with him against the Moors in the south. He is much commended by the king of Spain for his valour. If we could dare to convey to my father a message that this knight would be present at the festival, and take part in the joust and feat of arms, you yourself might then assume this disguise. You would, I think, pass easily for this valiant southern knight, providing you could arrive opportunely, so as to preclude as much as possible previous intercourse. Your followers also might be prepared to enact their part. It would disarm suspicion effectively, I think." "Ah! to be sure, set love a-plotting and the thing is done at once." "Nonsense! you jest with me. Now listen! I have already set about embroidering you handsome trappings for your horse, with quaint, southern devices, which I learnt under the tuition of the good sisters of the convent. Now, don't laugh, you think it a mad whim, I can see." "Nay, nay! my Lady Suspicion," said Oswald, stooping and kissing her, and giving her a tighter squeeze. "I almost begin to fear you as I think of the dark plots you are capable of weaving. I never for a moment dreamed I had found such a subtle schemer. Now, go on; you have got your finger on the weak point in the plot. I certainly feared the ordeal of exposure on the field myself; and you have been taxing your 'poor woman's wit,' and have anticipated my one difficulty. Now for the rest, dearest." "Come down with me to my room. All is perfectly quiet." So together they descended the winding stair, and sought Alice's room. Here she and Jeannette had been deftly plying their fingers in embroidering most quaint devices upon the trappings of the horses of the knight and his esquire, and a couple of men-at-arms. Oswald's were most gorgeously embroidered with silk and gold, upon the finest Bayeaux cloth, by the fingers of Alice alone. Most beautiful and chaste was the workmanship, for she had lavished not only her skill, but her love in the equipment of her champion. The figures were so quaint, the design so original, and the whole so rich in quality, that no prince could hope to ride with more tasteful and imposing housings for his steed. Jeannette also had done her best, it can easily be imagined, to equip her valiant squire like his master. Oswald took the garments in his hands. "Well, dearest," said he, "no one will expect a boorish Saxon outlaw to appear like a Norman prince, that is certain; and I dare warrant no curious eyes will penetrate a disguise so complete as you are preparing. Love is not blind in this case, Alice dear, I avouch it; but it has the gift of prevision also. There remains but one condition to give point and consummation to this, and it is that your valiant cousin shall prove himself worthy of such a lady love. But, darling, can you answer this question,—if Vigneau should be overthrown ignominiously, will the spoils of war, the fair queen of this high festival, be the lawful prize of the victor? Now, beware! if you escape the toils of Vigneau, there is another ominous figure hovering near, who is ready to pounce down upon you and carry you off." "So, I suppose, like an unhappy maiden, I may sing— "Well, if only the 'fair queen' may have the option of choice, I think in that case the Norman cousin will have it. But do not cherish any vain hopes; I am sure that Vigneau will gulp down his humiliation, if he cannot avenge it; and there is no hope of his relinquishing any claims to myself, though I believe malignant hatred is the only feeling he cherishes towards me." "It were an easy matter to sweep him out of the way; that would be an easy task; but here comes in a tax upon my conscience, for in spite of the fact that he richly merits it, to compass his overthrow in cold blood is abhorrent to my feelings. If I should worst him in the encounter, he will probably claim satisfaction, and if he does not, but persists in his determination to claim you as his bride, then, in accordance with the laws of chivalry, I also will claim your hand, and challenge him to mortal combat. So, honour and my conscience will be appeased. May Heaven nerve the arm that battles for the right!" "I am afraid the complications will not end even if Heaven rid us of the Baron, for his brother at the Abbey is fully conversant with my father's ill-starred confidence." "Well, enough, dearest; one step at once. Are there many knights expected in this tourney?" "I scarcely think there will be many. My father is very half-hearted in the matter, and you may be sure he has no encouragement from myself. The fewer who are witness of my humiliation the better." "Well, I am sure that so far as Vigneau is concerned, the feebler the opponents the better he will like it; I daresay, though, he counts upon an easy conquest in any case. Well, now, dearest, don't be discouraged; I must be away, but I shall look daily for the signal. May happier days soon dawn for you, and for this unhappy country. Au revoir, darling." So saying, with a parting kiss Oswald sped him for the home on the hills. |
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