Tales out of school

by Frank R. Stockton

So saying, he led Sybil back into the forest to the path leading to Christern’s cottage; gave the book into her hands; and, kissing her good-bye, he ran out of the woods as fast as the weight of his armor would allow.

SYBIL’S WATCH.

But Sybil did not return to the cottage. She was too anxious about her brother; and, going to the entrance of the wood, she crouched among the trees, where she was hidden from view, and watched the progress of the fight. She was ready to fly if the tide of battle brought the armies too near. But they seemed to be gradually moving away from her. She soon singled out her brother. He had secured a spear and shield, and mounted a riderless horse. In a few minutes he was lost in the throng, and she saw him no more.

Her mind was filled with sad forebodings. This Infidel army had invaded the country, and laid it waste; had killed her parents, and overthrown, and utterly ruined the beautiful castle that had been her home. A few things had been saved by old Christern, a much loved servant of the family, and these constituted the property of Maghar and Sybil. Old Christern’s cottage, in the depths of the forest, was the refuge of the orphans. There they had lived for several weeks, and no way of retrieving their fortunes seemed open to them. Maghar was a fine scholar. His father had had him taught to read his own language and Latin, and to write a very beautiful hand. That was the extent of his knowledge; and it was a great deal at a time when very few of the richest people knew their letters.

And now, in their poverty, there seemed to be very little use for his learning. Nobody cared anything about it. He might copy manuscript for some learned man, and get a living this way, for printing and paper had not then been invented; and all books were written on parchment. But Maghar had a contempt for a clerk, as he called a copyist, and did not fancy this method of supporting his sister and himself. Nevertheless, the two were that day on their way to the abode of a great and learned man to see if he wished anything of this kind done; and if he would buy their only book—a Latin volume, written on parchment, and beautifully illuminated and bound in wooden covers.

Sybil went over these things in her mind as she watched the battle, trying, in vain, to distinguish the form of her brother. She soon saw to her dismay, that the Infidel forces had turned the flank of the Christian army, and that the ranks of the latter were broken, and they were retreating, closely followed by their enemies. She stood up now, and strained her eyes to watch them until they had all disappeared over the crest of a hill. Then she sadly returned to Christern’s cottage to tell the old man of this new and terrible misfortune.

Days passed away, and Maghar did not return. Christern learned that the Christian army was broken, and the soldiers scattered. Some had returned to their homes. The wounded were cared for among their friends. The dead were buried. But Maghar was with none of these. No one could tell anything about him, except that he had fought bravely.

Then Sybil determined to seek out the great and learned man to whom Maghar had intended to offer his services as copyist. She was somewhat afraid of him, for he was known to be a powerful magician. But he could, no doubt, tell her the fate of Maghar, and she would try to overcome her fears.

She took off the coarse peasant’s dress she had been wearing, and arrayed herself in her best robe of fine white cashmere, which was one of the things that Christern had managed to save. She loosened her beautiful hair, which fell nearly to her feet. This last she did to show the deep sorrow she was in. She also took with her the Latin volume, as a present, to propitiate the powerful magician.