Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XI.

Two notes, or, as they were then called, mots, upon his horn, formed the only signal that Robin Hood gave of his return; but in an instant those sounds brought forth a head from one of the windows, at the height of about twelve or thirteen feet from the ground. That it was apparently a human head, Hugh could distinguish, and also that it was a very large one, somewhat strangely shaped; but he was not a little surprised when the body began to follow after, with an extraordinary serpent-like suppleness, till the knees were brought upon the window sill; and then, the feet being swung over, the body was suddenly dropped, and hung against the side of the house, while one hand retained its hold of the stone work, and the other waved, what seemed to be, an odd-looking cap, round and round in the air. The next instant the being who had thought fit to employ this unusual method of descent, let go the grasp of its left hand, and came down upon its feet, bounding up again from the earth like a ball, and cutting a curious caper in the air.

Although well accustomed to all the monsters which were then much sought for in courts and castles, Hugh de Monthermer at first imagined that the creature before him was an enormous ape, so extraordinary was its agility, and such the pliancy of all its limbs. The arms, too, like those of the Simia tribe, were of an extraordinary length, and the one which attached it to the window as it hung from above, seemed to be longer than the whole body. The moment after it descended, however, the young knight was undeceived, for a human voice proceeded from the supposed ape, of remarkable sweetness.

"Ho! Robin, Ho!" it said in English.[^[3]] "So you have come home at length, wicked wanderer. You have been feasting in the forest, I know, and carried off little Harry with you to pamper him on wine and comfits, and left Tangel behind with the women."

"Did I not take thee at Christmas," asked Robin, "and leave Harry behind? It was but fair, Tangel!"

"Ay, but he's the favourite," said the dwarf, "though he can't do half that I can. Pretty looks, Robin, pretty looks! You're like all the world, beauty's fool. Pretty looks are everything! But I'll comb him into worsted when he comes back again."

"Nay; thou wilt not hurt him," replied Robin; "thou lovest him as well as we do, Tangel."

"I love him!" exclaimed the dwarf. "Scurvy little monster of whiteness! I love him not--out upon him! I'll carve his pink cheeks for him, and bore a hole in each of his eyes. Take care what you do with him, Robin, and look well to your meat; for if I find you kinder to him than to me, I'll roast him before a slow fire, baste him in his own fat, and serve him up to you as a barbecued pig. Ha! ha! ha!--that will be fine sport!--Come, give me the horses.--Who have you got here in the purfled jerkin?--Give you good day, sir," and with his cap in his hand, he made a low and grotesque bow to the young lord.

"He will take your horse, my lord," said Robin. "Now let us in," and approaching the door, he shook it with his hand. It was locked, however, and the stout forester was obliged to have recourse to an instrument, in use during many centuries in England, which served the purpose of a knocker. It consisted merely of a large ring with sundry notches in it; and, a small iron bar, hanging beside it by a chain, being rapidly run over the indented surface, produced a sharp and unpleasant sound, which soon called the attention of those within, who enquired who was there.

The door was speedily thrown open at Robin's well-known voice, and Hugh de Monthermer followed his guide through a long dark passage into a room at the back of the house. There were lights in it, though it was vacant; and it was hung with tapestry, which was stained in some places as if with damp, though in general the colours were as fresh as when first the texture was wrought.

"Here, Cicely," said Robin Hood, pausing at the door after his guest had entered, and speaking to a pretty young woman who had given them admission--"Bid them prepare a chamber for this young lord; and hark! tell old Martha--"

The rest of the sentence was lost to the ears of the young gentleman, and after the girl had tripped away, the Outlaw remained upon the ground, apparently in a meditative mood, till at length the sound of some one singing seemed to rouse him from his reverie. It was a remarkably sweet voice, and the air was one but little known in England at the time, coming from those Southern lands where music had made greater progress than with us.

Robin listened for a moment or two, and then said aloud, though evidently speaking to himself--"It is scarcely just, after all, to punish the innocent for the guilty; and it must be a punishment, though she bears it lightly. I must speak with him first, however."

"Remember, you are not alone, good Robin," said Hugh of Monthermer, unwilling to be a partaker in the Outlaw's counsels.

Robin Hood laughed--"It was ever a fault of mine," he replied, "that my tongue was a false gaoler to my thoughts. One would sometimes fancy I was an old doating woman, to mumble to myself the fragments of half-digested purposes. But come, my lord, you have not supped, I have; and as there is much business to do, I must leave you for a time. I go to see a young friend of yours and mine, in order to hold with him some counsel of importance; and I beseech you, quit not this house till I return, which will be in about two hours' time."

"I will not," answered Hugh, "and in the meantime, rather than sup, I will lie me down and take some rest, having first, with your good leave, seen to the accommodation of my horse."

"Trust him to my people, trust him to my people," replied Robin Hood--"and follow my advice. Take some supper: you may have to ride far to-night, for aught you know; and meat and drink in moderation, is strength, if not courage. Hunger is a sad tamer of stout limbs."

As he spoke, he lighted a small silver lamp at one of the candles, which hung in a large polished brass sconce against the wall, and bidding the young lord follow, he led the way through another of those long narrow passages which occupied so much space in all ancient houses. No doors appeared on either side till a sudden turn to the right brought them to the foot of a heavy wooden staircase, the steps of which seemed to be composed of solid blocks of wood, piled round a common centre. There was a rope on either hand fastened by stanchions of iron let into the stonework of the wall.

"There," said Robin Hood, giving the young lord the lamp, "if you go up and open the door just before you, at the top, you will find some supper ready. When you are tired, and wish to go to bed, call for Cicely or Tangel, and they will show you the way. I must hasten away, or I may miss my time."

Hugh de Monthermer took the lamp and bidding God speed him for the present, ascended the stairs with a slow step. At the top he found himself in a large sort of vestibule, lighted from one end, and containing three doors; one immediately opposite to him, as Robin had said; another a little farther down, and another upon his left hand; but although the directions of the Outlaw had been very distinct, Hugh de Monthermer paused and hesitated, for he heard the sound of voices speaking within, and the tongues seemed those of women.

Although he was by no means averse to the society of the fair, the young knight imagined that there must be some mistake, as the Outlaw had given him no cause to suppose that any one was waiting for him. After a moment of suspense, however, he approached and knocked; and a voice answered, "Come in, for we have no means of keeping any one out."

The sight that presented itself to Hugh de Monthermer made him pause suddenly in surprise not unmingled with pleasure. The room was a small low-roofed chamber, covered with dark-coloured painted cloth instead of arras, but well lighted, and with a blazing log on the hearth, which might be needed in that old dwelling, notwithstanding the month being May. Although the furniture was ancient even in those times, yet everything was most comfortable according to the usages of the day. The floor was thickly strewed with dry rushes, and a table was in the midst, on which pretty Cicely was arranging, in haste, a number of dishes, and plates, and drinking-cups.

But it was neither on the maid nor on the table that the eyes of Hugh rested, for in a chair, at some distance from the fire, sat a fair lady, amusing herself with an old embroidery frame, while on two seats somewhat lower, engaged in winding and unwinding silks, sat two girls of about the same age as their mistress, one of whom was evidently the person who had spoken, as her eyes were fixed upon the door, and her pretty little lips still apart.

If the surprise of Hugh de Monthermer was great, that of the party within seemed not less so. The lady at once dropped the embroidery frame, started up and ran towards him with her hands extended, as if she would have cast herself into his arms, exclaiming, with a glowing cheek and sparkling eye--"Hugh!" Then, suddenly stopping herself, she turned her eyes to the ground, and the colour became still brighter in her face than before. She recovered herself in a moment; but neither of the maids of Lucy de Ashby ever jested with their mistress afterwards upon her wearing the colours of the House of Monthermer.

Hugh, however, did not hesitate, but advancing, with a quick step, took the hand that was held out to him, and pressed his lips upon it. "Lucy!" he cried, "have I then found you at last?"

"Have you been seeking me, my lord?" asked Lucy de Ashby, glancing her eyes timidly towards the two maids; "I trust you are come to deliver us--though, to say sooth," she added, with a gay look, "we have been so well treated in the forest, and so thoroughly despaired of gaining our freedom, that we had well-nigh chosen ourselves husbands from the bold rangers."

"You might do worse, Lady," said Cicely, scarcely liking the subject to be jested with; "there are honest hearts in the forest!"

"Doubtless, my good girl," replied Lucy; "but you forget, we have not tried them yet. Now, my good Lord Hugh, let us know, in a word, whether you are come to deliver us or not.--On my life, one would think that he was the man who goes about preaching patience: to keep a lady one whole minute without an answer!"

"Nay," replied Hugh, "I am so surprised to find you here, that my wonder must have time to cool. But, in reply to your question, fairest lady, I must own, though I certainly came into Sherwood to seek you, I came not here to deliver you."

"Why, how is that, Sir Knight?" demanded Lucy, a shade of disappointment coming over her bright countenance, at the thought of being detained longer in the forest; for, however gaily we may bear it, the loss of liberty is always painful, and the exercise of that gift which has brought so much misery to every man--our own free will--is not the less dear under any circumstances--"Why, how is that? Surely, if you came to seek me, you came to deliver me! You speak in riddles but to tease me a little longer."

"Nay, Heaven forbid!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, "that I should tease you at all! But, to explain what I mean, I must tell you the whole story."

"Oh, tell it, tell it then!" cried the lady; "that is quite according to every ballad in the land! The knight always finds the lady in the wood, and then narrates his lamentable history."

"Mine shall be a short one, at all events," said Hugh, and he proceeded, as briefly as possible, to relate all that had occurred to him during the last six-and-thirty hours.

Every one, of course, in this world tells his story in his own way, and his manner of telling it is not alone modified by his own peculiar character, but by the circumstances in which he is placed, and the passions that are within him at the moment. This truism may be trite enough, but it was applicable to the case of Hugh de Monthermer, for his own sensations at the time affected the method of telling his tale even more than any of the peculiarities of his own nature. The feelings that he entertained towards Lucy de Ashby--the difficulty of restraining those feelings, and yet the fear of suffering them to appear too openly, circumstanced as he then was, all modified his history, and made it very different from what it would have been had he been indifferent to the person whom he addressed. Love, however, has ever been considered a skilful teacher of oratory, and without any actual intention of doing so, every word that Hugh de Monthermer uttered showed the fair girl beside him something more of the passion which she already knew was in his heart.

He paused but little upon the anxiety of her father, or the indignation of her brother, but he detailed at length the whole of his own course while seeking her, the grief he had felt, the apprehensions he had entertained, and the disappointment he had experienced when frustrated in his endeavours; and, although there appeared from time to time flashes of his own gay and sparkling disposition--though he told his tale jestingly, with many a light figure and playful illustration, there was an undertone of deep tenderness running through the whole, which showed Lucy that the sportive tone was but as a light veil cast over the true feelings of his heart.

The reader need hardly be told, after the traits that we have given--which, though they be few, were significant enough--that Lucy was not by any means displeased with the discoveries which she made in Hugh de Monthermer's bosom. That she loved him we have not attempted to conceal, but the history of her love is somewhat curious, and worth inquiring into, as it displays some of the little secrets of the human heart.

Lucy de Ashby was by no means a coquette; her nature was too tender--too sensitive, her mind too imaginative for cold arts. She knew that she was beautiful, it is true; indeed she could not doubt it, for she saw it in every mirror, and heard it from every tongue; but she was far less anxious for admiration than for love. Indeed, to persons not naturally vain, who aim at higher objects than merely to please the eye, personal admiration, although they may know that they deserve it, may sometimes become even burdensome. Lucy, for one, was tired of hearing that she was beautiful, and to tell her that she was so, in whatever courtly forms the intimation might be conveyed, was no way of winning her favour. It was the general mode, however adopted by the young nobles who frequented the Court of England, and were admitted to her father's house. They thought they could never too much praise her loveliness or extol her grace. It was the custom of the day, the only mode of winning lady's love then known; and the world were much surprised to find that for one or two years she remained very cold and insensible to all who strove by such means to raise a warmer feeling in her bosom.

During the greater part of that time the House of Monthermer had been at open enmity with that of Ashby, and Hugh himself was the object of many a bitter and an angry speech on the part both of her father and her brother. Now it may seem that the fair lady was a little animated by the spirit of contradiction, when we acknowledge that the hatred which her family entertained towards the young Lord Hugh was one of the first causes that created in Lucy's bosom a feeling in his favour. But the reader must not forget, Lucy had no reason to suppose that the animosity of her family was well-founded, or their harsh censure just. On the contrary, from every indifferent person whom she was inclined to respect and esteem, she heard the highest praises of him whom her father and brother delighted to decry. She saw, also, that they themselves had no slight difficulty in finding matter for blame in the conduct of the rival house; and when occasionally the two families met, either at the Court or at any of the chivalrous pageants of the day, it seemed to her that in demeanour, at least, Hugh de Monthermer was very different from that which the voice of angry passion represented him. All these things sunk into her mind; and although she said nothing upon the subject, but remained equally silent when he was condemned or praised, the conviction forced itself upon her that he was the object of injustice; and where is the woman's heart without that latent chivalry which instantly takes arms in favour of the oppressed?

Thus went on the history of Lucy's love till that reconciliation was brought about between the families, of which we have already spoken. Circumstances then led them into frequent communication, and a great change took place in her father's opinion of the young lord. He made no longer any difficulty of acknowledging that Hugh was one of the most distinguished gentlemen of the day; and though her brother Alured did not forget his enmity so easily--for in his case there was a touch of envious jealousy in it--yet he suffered the motives too plainly to appear; and Lucy, seeing, esteeming, and admiring, had always ready a champion in her own breast to defend the cause of Hugh de Monthermer. Had anything been wanting to lead her onward to that state in which the whole heart is given--where there is no retreat, and where all other sensations are swallowed up in love--some of the events of the first few months succeeding the reconciliation of the two families would have speedily furnished it.

For some time Hugh de Monthermer paid only such attention to Lucy de Ashby as the courtesy of the day required. She was certainly surprised--perhaps a little disappointed, that the only man for whose admiration she had ever wished, should not at once be captivated by her beauty, as others had been. Many a woman, under such circumstances, would have thrown out every lure, would have used every art to win his attention; but Lucy did not so: she retired to her own chamber, and fell into deep meditation. "He may love some one else," she said to herself, and as she said so, she felt inclined to weep; but she repressed her tears, and determined never to let her thoughts rest for a moment upon him again. She chid herself for unwomanly rashness, even for the preference she felt; but with poor Lucy the time for good resolutions or self-chiding to be of any avail, was past. She loved already--loved truly, and those who have so loved, well know that, like the garment imbued with the blood of Nessus, true affection, when once it clothes the human heart, can never be torn off, and that even in the effort to do so the very veins and flesh are rent away along with it.

She was not destined long to suffer any doubt, however: a single day brought her relief, and changed sorrow into joy. The Earl of Monthermer and his nephew were then at her father's castle of Lindwell, enjoying the sports of the brown autumn, and cementing the newly-revived friendship between the two houses in the intimate communication of domestic life. The day after she had indulged in the melancholy thoughts, and made all the vain resolutions, and addressed to her own heart the idle reproaches we have mentioned, Hugh and Lucy were seated next each other at the table, and at first their conversation was cold and commonplace. At length, however, as so often happens, something was said--some accidental word--some mere casual observation--some sentence, apparently as light as air, but accompanied by smile, or glance, or tone, indicative of feelings deeper than the words implied, and the heart of each seemed to open to the other as if by magic.

I recollect once visiting a house where the scenery around appeared tame and monotonous enough. The rooms were stately, fine pictures hung upon the walls, and many objects of art and interest lay scattered round, but still when one looked forth there was nothing beautiful before the eye, till suddenly, in a dark, dull chamber, in a remote part of the mansion, a servant drew back a blind from a small window, and one of the most magnificent scenes in nature burst instantly upon the view.

What it was that Lucy de Ashby said to Hugh de Monthermer I know not, but it drew back the veil from her heart and showed him a new world, such as he had never dreamt was near at hand. He had certainly not been without warm admiration of her beauty: he had felt its power, and somewhat dreaded its effects; but the master spell was now added, and the harmony between her person and her mind left him no power to resist. His whole manner towards her changed at once; admiration and regard were thenceforward in every look and in bright interchange of thoughts and feelings; and when Lucy laid her head down upon her pillow, her brain reeled with the memory of a thousand sweet sensations crowded into the short space of a few hours.

Her brother was absent--there is reason to believe purposely--and on the following day her father's horse fell in the chase and injured him, though not dangerously. It was Hugh who brought her the tidings, who soothed her apprehensions, who calmed and consoled her, and every hour added something to the intimacy that grew up between them. They rode forth in the woods together, they walked side by side upon the battlements; and, though the words of love that might be spoken, were all vague and shadowy, yet each understood the feelings of the other; and Hugh only waited till the friendship of their houses should be more confirmed, to demand the hand of Lucy as a new bond of union between their families.

The man who delays even for an hour in love is a fool, or has no experience. The latter was the case of Hugh de Monthermer. Had he asked for Lucy de Ashby then, the old Earl would have granted her to him at once; but in a few days Alured de Ashby returned, bringing his cousin Richard with him; and it soon became evident to the lover that the favourable moment was past for the time.

Such is the history of the affection which had grown up between Hugh and Lucy to the time when last they parted. Some months had intervened, and it may well be supposed that it was not a little soothing to the sweet girl's heart to mark that strain of tenderness which, as we have said, ran through the whole of Hugh de Monthermer's story. So pleasant was it, indeed, that for a short time the disappointment of her hopes of deliverance was forgotten in the gratification of other feelings. She paused and mused; but at length her mind reverted to the more painful consideration. She at once saw, when she reflected on all he had just told her, that Hugh was bound by his promise to the Outlaw to take no step whatever to set her free. He had sworn that all he beheld and heard there should be to him as if it were not; and Lucy herself had too much of the chivalrous spirit in her nature to wish that one she loved should ever evade, even were it possible, the sincere execution of an engagement he had formed. She looked in his face for a moment or two in silence, and in the end asked him simply, "What then do you intend to do?"

"Good faith, dear lady," he replied, "I see but one thing to be done, which is, as I cannot take you away with me, to stay here with you; and, if this terrible enchanter of Sherwood will not set you free, why we must spend our days here under the green leaves, chasing the wild deer, and singing the hours away."

Lucy smiled gaily, for the images were not unpleasant ones that Hugh de Monthermer's reply called up. She thought it would be a very happy life; and if those sad bonds of circumstances which continually tie down the noblest energies of the mind and the best, and strongest feelings of the heart had permitted it, she would willingly have cast off high rank and station, and all the gawds and gewgaws of society, to remain with Hugh de Monthermer in the forest of Sherwood and pass the rest of her days in low estate.

His reply threw her into a new fit of musing, however, and their farther conversation was interrupted, for the moment, by the pretty maid, Cicely, calling their attention to the supper, which was spread upon the table. The two lovers sat down side by side; Lucy's maidens took their seats opposite, and the meal passed over partly in gay, partly in serious conversation; but, between Lucy and Hugh, there was of course a degree of restraint from the presence of others, which was sufficiently evident to those who caused it.

There is a general sympathy in every woman's heart for love, but, of course, that sympathy is more active in the young, who feel, than in the old, who only remember the passion. With unchilled hearts ready to thrill at the first touch, Lucy de Ashby's two maids having so lately been enlightened fully in regard to their mistress's feelings for Hugh de Monthermer, were only anxious for an excuse to leave the lady and her lover alone; and not finding any ready to their hand, they dispensed with all pretexts whatever, first the one and then the other quitting the room, and betaking themselves to the sleeping-chamber which had been assigned to them and their lady.

There can be but little doubt that Lucy was well satisfied with their departure; but yet a sort of timid panic took possession of her, and she had well-nigh called them back. The next moment she smiled at her own fears, and would have given a great deal to renew the conversation, which had come to a sudden halt, upon some indifferent topic; but words were wanting, and Lucy sat with the colour a little heightened in her cheek, and the silky fringes of her soft dark eyes drooping so as to veil half their light.

Hugh de Monthermer gazed at her with admiration and love, and although he felt very certain that she was not without her share of tenderness towards him, he determined to make "assurance double sure," and not lose the opportunity which fortune had presented.

"Well, Lucy," he said, breaking the long pause at length, "as I cannot deliver you, shall I remain with you to protect you?"

"Assuredly!" she answered, covering a certain degree of agitation with a gay look, "you are a faithless knight, even to dream of quitting a lady in this enchanted castle! Did you not say that you were to stay here; and that we were to live a woodland life--chasing the wild deer, and making the groves and dells echo with our horns? I declare it is quite delightful to think of!"

"And you are to be my lady, and I am to be your knight?" asked the lover. "Is it not so, Lucy?"

"To be sure!" replied his fair companion. "I will have you my most devoted servant, as in duty bound. You shall train my hawks for me, and teach my dogs, and ride by my side, and be ever ready to couch your lance in my defence. In short, as I have said, you shall be my very humble servant on all occasions."

"And nothing more?" inquired Hugh de Monthermer. "May I not sometimes have a dearer title?" Lucy blushed deeply and was silent, and Hugh de Monthermer went on; "May I not be called your lover, Lucy?--may I not some time, perhaps, be called your husband? Dear girl," he continued, taking her hand, which trembled a little in his,--"Dear girl, if we are to remain here, depend upon it, we shall soon have to look for a priest in the forest. What say you, Lucy, shall it be so?"

Lucy crushed a bright drop through her eyelashes, and giving her pretty brow a wild fawnlike shake, she turned her glowing face towards him with a look of gay daring, saying, "I dare say we could find one, Hugh, if it were needful."

Her lover drew her somewhat nearer to him, whispering a few low words in her ear.

"Hush, hush!" she said, "be satisfied, I will tell you no more!"

"But listen, dearest Lucy," said Hugh de Monthermer, "we have here a few moments to ourselves: it may be long ere we have the same again. It is right that we should clearly understand how we are placed. I love you, dearest Lucy, as well as woman was ever loved! Do you believe me?"

"I dare say you do," replied Lucy, laughing, "I think it is quite natural you should--How could you help yourself, poor youth!"

"And you love me as much, Lucy," added the young knight; "Is it not so?"

"No!" cried Lucy, "I hate you! You know it quite well, and I shall hate you still more if you tease me about it!"

"Hate me in the same way ever," replied Hugh de Monthermer, kissing her cheek, "and I will forgive you, my sweet mistress.--But the case is this, Lucy," he added, in graver tone; "there are difficulties and dangers before us. Why they have brought you here, I do not know. How long they may keep you, I cannot tell; but the moment that I dare to leave you, I must march with all speed towards Wales. Battle and peril are in my way--perhaps I may never see you more. A thousand evils may occur, a thousand dark mischances may separate us for long, if not for ever, and I would fain----"

"Say no more, Hugh, say no more," cried Lucy, at once rendered serious by his words; "I do love you, if it will make you happy to hear it. I have never loved any but you--There, I can say no more, can I?"

Hugh rewarded the confession as such an acknowledgment may best be rewarded; but still he went on, after a few minutes, in the same tone.

"No one can tell dear girl," he proceeded, "what events the future may have in store; but I see clouds gathering in the sky, portending storms which may well dash down the blossom of our hopes, if we put it not under shelter. What I mean is, that we must not fancy our affection will meet with no opposition."

"But my father loves you, Hugh," exclaimed Lucy; "he loves, esteems, and praises you."

"But your brother does not," replied her lover. "It is in vain, Lucy, that I have sought his regard, by every honest means that a true heart could take. Still he loves me not; and I am apprehensive lest in the coming events some cause of dissension should arise, which might induce him, and perhaps your father also, to endeavour to separate us for ever."

Lucy bent down her eyes thoughtfully, and remained for several moments without answering. "One cannot resist the will of a father," she said, at length, "but I am not bound to obey the will of a brother. What is it you would have me to do, Hugh?--I am in a foolish mood for complying," she added, with a smile. "I know not what you men would do, if we women did not sometimes become as soft as wax when the sun shines on it."

Hugh de Monthermer paused, for there was a strong temptation at his heart, and, to say the truth, he could scarcely resist it. He saw that Lucy was in a yielding mood--he saw that, taking advantage of the opportunity, he might, perhaps, win her even to give him her hand at once. There were excuses for such a step, which, probably, no other moment would furnish. In a situation of danger and captivity, where she required the protection of one invested with some sacred right--far from her own relatives, and having every reason to believe that her father would approve her choice, a thousand motives for yielding to such a request might easily be urged; and when pleaded by the voice of love would doubtless prevail.

These were strong temptations to Hugh de Monthermer, whose heart was not of the most icy nature; but, on the other hand, there were those chivalrous feelings of honour in which he had been educated, which but too few, indeed, of the nobles of his own day entertained, but which were rooted in his mind as principles that even passion could not overthrow. He demanded of himself, Would it be honourable? would it be just?--Treated with kindness and trust as he had lately been by the Earl of Ashby, ought he not to return confidence for confidence, and boldly ask her father for Lucy's hand without taking advantage of her unprotected situation to induce her to grant what might otherwise be refused?

"It is like stealing a treasure," said Hugh to himself, "which we have found by chance, but which we know belongs to another man."

Lucy looked up, wondering that he did not reply; and her lover, believing that he risked nothing to show her both the passion which was in his heart, and the principles which restrained that passion, answered, at length, "Dear girl, I am sorely tempted--tempted to ask you to be mine at once--tempted to ask you to send for that same priest we talked of but now, and to give me this fair hand before we quit these greenwood shades."

"Nay, nay, Hugh," cried Lucy, colouring brightly.

"Hear me, Lucy," said her lover; "I only said I was sorely tempted; but I know I must not yield. Yet one thing, Lucy, I may seek, and that fairly, for it is what I would ask were we now in the midst of the gayest hall,--ay! or in that sweet oriel window of your father's castle, where we have whiled away so many an hour with idle words that covered deeper thoughts within. Will you promise to be mine?--Will you promise to be mine whatever betide!"

Lucy gazed somewhat sadly in his face--"Sooner or later, Hugh," she said; "sooner or later, I will. I must not resist my father's will. If he oppose, I must obey so far, as to deny you for the time; but never--believe me, Hugh, for I promise by all I hold most sacred--never shall this hand rest as a bride in that of another man. They can but send me to a convent; and that my father will not do, for I know that often, when my brother's rash mood frets him and brings a cloud over the calm evening sunshine of his days, he finds a comfort in my presence, which he would not willingly be without."

"But, dear Lucy," said Hugh, "were your father dead, might not your brother doom you to the dark cold shade of the cloister?"

"He cannot, Hugh--he dare not!" replied Lucy. "He has no power. The lands I hold are not from him, nor from the King of England. However, they might strip me of them, Hugh, it is true, and Lucy de Ashby might be a dowerless bride, but----"

"But the more welcome, dearest Lucy!" replied Hugh. "Would that your father even now would give me this fair hand, with nothing on it but the ring that makes you mine! and should the time ever come when, after his death, your brother opposes our union, but bring me that sweet smile, and the kind word, 'Yes,' at the altar, and I shall think my Lucy dowered well enough."

"It is sad, Hugh," said Lucy, "even to look forward to future joys when one of those we love shall be no longer here; and, therefore, I will still trust that my father's eyes may see our wedding, and his voice give us a blessing. But my proud brother, Alured, shall never stand between you and me.--Hark! there are steps upon the stairs!" she exclaimed; "before they come, let me bind myself by bonds that cannot be broken.--I promise you that, sooner or later, I will be yours, Hugh; and that I will never be the bride of another; so help me Heaven at my need!"