"But you are of English birth?" inquired Richard of Woodville; "if not, you speak our tongue rarely."
"Oh, yes! I am English," she cried, eagerly; "English in heart, and spirit, and birth; but yet, my mother was from a distant land."
"And was that poor old man your father?" demanded her companion; "come, let me hear something of your former life, that I may think what can be done for the future."
The girl evidently hesitated; she coloured, and then turned pale; and Richard of Woodville began to fear that, in the interest he had taken in her, he had been made the fool of imagination. "She is probably like the rest," he thought; "and yet, her very shame to speak it, shows that she has some good feelings left."
But, while he was still pondering, the girl exclaimed, clasping her hands, "Oh, yes! I am sure I may tell you. You are not one who--whatever might be his errors--would deprive a poor old man of blessed ground to rest in, or the prayers of good men for his soul."
"Not I, indeed," replied the young gentleman; "methinks, we have no right to carry justice or punishment beyond the grave. When the spirit is called to its Creator, let him be judge--not man. But speak; I do not understand you clearly."
"I will make my tale short," she answered. "That old man was my father's father; a minstrel once in the house of the great Earl of Northumberland--I can just remember the Earl--and a gay and happy household it was. He was well paid and lodged, much loved by the good lord, and wealthy by his bounty. My father was stout and tall, a brave man, and skilful in arms; and he was the Percy's henchman. Once, when one of the Earl's kinsmen went to the court of the Emperor, my father was sent with him, I have heard; and he returned with my mother, a native of a town called Innsbruck in the mountains. I know not whether you have heard of it; but it is a fair city, in good truth."
"You have seen it, then?" asked Richard of Woodville.
"Not a year since," answered the girl; "but, to my tale. When I was still young, my father fought and fell with Hotspur; and, not long after, the Duke's household was dispersed, and he himself obliged to fly to Wales, or Scotland, I know not which. My mother pined and died, for the people there loved not a stranger amongst them; and, after my father's death, called her nought but the foreigner. They laughed, too, at her language, for she could speak but poor English; and, what between their gibes and her own grief, she withered away daily, till her eyes closed. She taught me her own language, however; and I have not forgot it. She taught me her own faith, too; and I have not abandoned it."
"And that was--" exclaimed Richard.