It chanced upon a time, a very great many years ago, while fairies and magicians still dwelt upon earth, that a youth and maiden—brother and sister—were walking in a forest, talking about their recent misfortunes, and laying plans for their future. The youth was clad in armor, according to the warlike fashion of those times. But he had under his arm a book, which was not in accordance with the fashion of those times. The maiden wore a dress of some coarse woolen stuff; and, in her hands she held a sheet of parchment, and a pen.
Suddenly there broke into their quiet talk the sound of clashing arms, and the mad plunging of horses. Sybil, the maiden, stopped terrified.
“Oh!” she cried, “it is the noise of battle! Too well I know those sounds. Let us go quickly back!”
“Let us go forward a little way,” said Maghar, the youth, “to yon opening in the woods. Or, stop here, if you fear, and I will go alone and look out.”
“No,” said Sybil, “if you go I will follow.”
Together they looked out upon the open plain. Two hostile armies had met unexpectedly, and a fierce conflict had commenced.
“Alas!” said Sybil, shuddering. “There are the savage infidels that laid waste our home!”
“Yes,” said Maghar, excitedly, “and here, on this side, are our countrymen, and neighbors! I must bear a hand in this fight!”
“And leave me alone!” cried Sybil. “I have only you left! Your single arm will not count for much in a battle!”
“It would be a shame to me,” said Maghar, “to sneak off, like a coward, and leave our friends and Christian soldiers, when their forces are few, and every warrior counts. Have I not my armor? I shall find shield and spear on the battle-field on some poor fellow who has already fallen in the fray. Do not fear, sister! Go back to Christern’s cottage. There you will be safe; and I will return in a few hours.”