“He is abroad, I hope,” said Aram, calmly. “Yes, let me think; by this time he must be in France. Dearest, let us rest here on this dry mossy bank for a little while;” and Aram drew his arm round her waist, and, his countenance brightening as if with some thought of increasing joy, he poured out anew those protestations of love, and those anticipations of the future, which befitted the eve of a morrow so full of auspicious promise.
The heaven of their fate seemed calm and glowing, and Aram did not dream that the one small cloud of fear which was set within it, and which he alone beheld afar, and unprophetic of the storm, was charged with the thunderbolt of a doom, he had protracted, not escaped.
CHAPTER IX.
WALTER AND THE CORPORAL ON THE ROAD.—THE EVENING SETS IN.—
THE GIPSEY TENTS.—ADVENTURE WITH THE HORSEMAN.—THE CORPORAL
DISCOMFITED, AND THE ARRIVAL AT KNARESBOROUGH.
Long had he wandered, when from far he sees
A ruddy flame that gleamed betwixt the trees.
.... Sir Gawaine prays him tell
Where lies the road to princely Corduel.
—The Knight of the Sword.
“Well, Bunting, we are not far from our night’s resting-place,” said Walter, pointing to a milestone on the road.
“The poor beast will be glad when we gets there, your honour,” answered the Corporal, wiping his brows.
“Which beast, Bunting?”
“Augh!—now your honour’s severe! I am glad to see you so merry.”
Walter sighed heavily; there sat no mirth at his heart at that moment.