Then he knelt; he could pray now—
"Oh God, direct me—help me—show some token of Thine approval this night. Even now I believe in Thee as my grandfather did. Oh save me, and help Thy poor oppressed ones this night; deliver them from darkness and the shadow of death, and break their bonds asunder."
Then he went to attend at the supper of the Lady Maude, where he was received with marked attention. He had of course been trained in all the etiquette exacted from pages and squires, and was expected to make himself agreeable in a hundred ways, to carve the joints with elegance, and to wait upon the ladies.
This part of his duty he had often delighted to execute, but to-night he was "distrait." The poor lady was in so much grief herself at the danger of her sons, whom she had not seen for five years, that she did not notice his abstraction, as she otherwise certainly would have done.
Then it fell ordinarily to the province of the squires and pages to amuse the party,—to sing songs, recite romaunts, play the troubadour, or to join in such games as chess and draughts, lately imported from the East, with the fair ladies of the little court,—when they dined, or rather supped, in private as now. But no songs were sung this night—no tales of valour or chivalry recited; and the party broke up early. Compline was said by the chaplain who was present, for in the bower of so great a lady there must be respect for forms; and then the fair ones went to bed.
Osric was now at liberty.
"Art thou for a composing draught to-night, my squire?" said the chaplain. "I can compound a fair night-cap for an aching head, if thou wilt come to my cell."
"Nay, my calls are urgent now; I have been detained too long by my duties as a squire of dames. I have orders for our worthy gaoler Tustain and his sons."
"Not to put any prisoners on the rack to-night? it is late for that; let the poor things rest till to-morrow."