“How will you avoid the bridal?”
“God only knows,” said Annabel, as she stood erect, “to his care do I confide myself. I have read legends of dames and damsels who have raised the dagger against their own lives when terrors such as threaten me, rose before their eyes,—but I cannot—cannot do it! All I can do”—and her head sunk low upon her bosom, and her arms drooped by her side—“all I can do is, to pray, earnestly pray; upon my bended knees beseech the Virgin that I may die!”
“Cheer thee up, fair ladye—cheer thee up,” thus Robin spoke, “by the troth of an honest soldier, I swear that I will be near thee when the hour of thy peril draws nigh. I swear that my life shall be sacrificed to save thee!—And now I must be gone. This castle can no longer be Rough Robin’s home. God be with ye!”
The Ladye Annabel placed a purse of gold in Robin’s hand, and with many blessings on his head, she beheld him disappear into the ante-room.
Rosalind entered the room—Annabel exclaimed—
“Retire for a little while, fair coz: I would be alone.”
As the black-eyed maiden retired, the Ladye Annabel sank down into a seat, and gave herself up to the wild and agitating thoughts that flashed through her brain.
The first beams of the coming morn shot through the tapestry that well nigh concealed the casement of the maiden’s bower.
Annabel had fallen into a welcome slumber, and the soft beams of the lamp fell upon her calm and innocent face, revealing each feature in the mildest light, and softest shade.
A figure emerged from the tapestry, and advanced to the light, Adrian stood beside the sleeping maiden. His face was exceedingly pale and covered with blood, as also was the helmet, and the plates of the armor of azure steel. In one hand he grasped the furled banner of the Winged Leopard.