[THE FOREIGN LAND.]
The night had fallen nearly an hour ere Richard of Woodville, Ella Brune, and the young Englishman's attendants, were seated for the first time round the table of a small Flemish inn, on the day after they had left the shores of their native land. Strange as it may seem, that with a wind not unfavourable, somewhat more than twenty-four hours should be occupied by a voyage of less than sixty miles; yet such had been the case between Dover and Nieuport; for it was more than five hours past noon, on the evening following that on which they set sail, when the bark that bore Richard of Woodville entered the mouth of the little river on which that port is situated. But the art of navigation was little known in those times; and the wind, which, though directly fair at first, was never strong enough to give the ship much way through the water, veered round soon after midnight, not to a point exactly contrary, but to one which favoured the course of the voyagers very little; so that if it had not again changed before night, another twelve hours might have been passed upon the sea. At length, however, the land, which had been for some time in sight, grew clear and more strongly marked; the towers of village churches were seen, distinct; and, anchoring as near the town as possible, the disembarkation was commenced without delay, in order to accomplish the task before nightfall. Nevertheless, ere horses and baggage were all safely on the shore, the day had well nigh come to an end; so that, as I have said, it was dark before the young Englishman, Ella Brune, and his attendants, were seated round the table of the poor hostel, which was the only place of entertainment that the town afforded.
Here first the services of the poor minstrel girl became really valuable to her protector; for notwithstanding the proximity of the English coast, not a soul in the hostel could speak aught else but the Flemish tongue. There were evidently numerous other guests, all requiring entertainment; though with a strange exclusiveness, hardly known in those days, they kept themselves closely shut up in the rooms which had been retained for their own accommodation; and as neither Woodville nor any of his train, not even excepting the learned Ned Dyram, knew one word of the language, the whole party would have fared ill, had not Ella, in tones which rendered even that harsh jargon sweet, given, in the quality of interpreter, the necessary orders for all that was required.
The greatest difficulty seemed to be in obtaining chambers, in which the somewhat numerous party of the young cavalier could find repose. The stable and the adjoining barn were full already of horses and mules, even to overflowing, otherwise they might have afforded accommodation to men who were accustomed in their own country to lie hard, and yet sleep lightly; and only one room of any size was vacant, with a small closet hard by, containing a low pallet. The latter, Richard of Woodville at once assigned to Ella Brune; the former he reserved for himself and three of his men, of whom Ned Dyram was one; and it was finally arranged that the rest should be provided with dry hay, mown from the neighbouring sandy ground, in the hall where they supped.
As soon as the meal was over, the board was cleared, the hay brought in, Ella retired to her pallet, Richard of Woodville to his; straw was laid down across his door for the three men; and the whole party were soon in the arms of slumber. Richard of Woodville dreamed, however, with visions coming thick and fast, and changing as they came, like the figures in a phantasmagoria. Now he was in the King's court, defying Simeon of Roydon to battle; now at the old hall at Dunbury, with Isabel, and Dacre, and Mary, and poor Catherine Beauchamp herself. Then suddenly the scene changed, and he was by the moonlight stream near Abbot's Ann, with Hal of Hadnock. He heard a voice call to him from the water: "Richard! Richard!" it seemed to cry, "Save me! Revenge me!--Richard, Richard of Woodville!"
He started suddenly up; but the voice still rang in his ears: "Richard of Woodville," it said, or seemed to say.
"I hear," he exclaims. "Who calls?"
"What maiden is this thou hast with thee?" asked the voice. "Beware! Beware! Love will not be lightlied."
"Who is it that speaks?" demanded Richard of Woodville, rubbing his eyes in surprise and bewilderment. But no one answered, and all was silence. "Surely, some one spoke," said the young gentleman; "if so, let them speak again."
There was no reply; and Woodville was inclined to believe that his dream had been prolonged after he had fancied himself awake; but, as he sat up and listened, he heard the movement of some one amongst the straw at the end of the room; and, well aware that, if any of the men were watchful, it must be he who had the most mind, he exclaimed, "Ned Dyram! are you asleep?"