Nearly opposite to the cross already mentioned appeared two horsemen, one of whom allowed his beast to drink where the water, gurgling over the basin of the fountain, formed a little streamlet across the road, while the other held in his rein about a pace behind, as if waiting with some degree of respect for his companion. As soon as the horse raised its head, the first cavalier turned round, and presented to Sir Osborne's view a fine and princely countenance, whose every feature, whose every glance, bespoke a generous and noble spirit.
In complexion the stranger was of a deep tanned brown, with his eyes, his hair, and his mustachio nearly black; his brow was broad and clear; his eyes were large and full, though shaded by the dark eyelashes that overhung them; his nose was straight, and perhaps somewhat too long; while his mouth was small, and would have been almost too delicate, had it not been for a certain marked curl of the upper lip, which gave it an expression, not of haughtiness nor of sternness, but of grave, condescending dignity. His dress was a rich hunting suit, which might well become a nobleman of the day, consisting of a green pourpoint laced with gold and slashed on the breast, long white hose half covered by his boots, and a short green cloak not descending to his horse's back. His hat was of velvet, with the broad brim slightly turned up round it, and cut in various places so as somewhat to resemble a moral crown, while from the front, thrown over to the back, fell a splendid plume of ostrich feathers which almost reached his shoulder. His only arms appeared to be a dagger in his girdle, and a long heavy sword, which hung from his shoulder in a baldrick of cloth of gold. The other stranger was habited nearly like the first, very little difference existing either in the fashion or the richness of their apparel. Both also were tall and vigorous men, and both were in the prime of their days; but the countenance of the second was very different from that of his companion. In complexion he was fair, with small blue eyes and rather sandy hair; nor would he have been otherwise than handsome, had it not been for a certain narrowness of brow and wideness of mouth, which gave a gaunt and eager expression to his face, totally opposed to the grand and open countenance of the other.
As we have said, when his horse had done drinking, the first traveller turned towards the spot where Sir Osborne stood, and seemed to listen for a moment. At length he said, "Hear you the hunt now, Count William?"
"No, your highness," replied the other; "it has swept away towards Aire."
"Then, sir," rejoined the first, "we are alone!" and drawing his sword from the scabbard, he laid it level before his companion's eyes, continuing abruptly, "what think you of that blade? is it not a good one?" At the same time he fixed his eye upon him with a firm, remarking glance, as if he would have read into his very soul. The other turned as pale as death, and faltered something about its being a most excellent weapon.
"Then," continued the first, "I will ask you, sir count, should it not be a bold man, who, knowing the goodness of this sword, and the strength of this arm, and the stoutness of this heart, would yet attempt anything against my life? However, Count William of Firstenberg, let me tell you, that should there be such a man in this kingdom, and should he find himself alone with me in a wild forest like this, and fail to make the attempt he meditated, I should look upon him as coward as well as traitor, and fool as well as villain." And his dark eye flashed as if it would have struck him to the ground.
Count William[[16]] faltered, trembled, and attempted to reply, but his speech failed him; and, striking his hand against his forehead, he shook his bridle-rein, dug his spurs into his horse's sides, and darted down the road like lightning.
"Slave!" cried the other, as he marked him go; "cowardly slave!" and, turning his horse, without further comment he rode slowly on the other way.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light.--Shakspere.