—Thus in his own enthusiastic way speaks the Chronicler of the Ancient MSS. His words, it is true are somewhat redundant, but yet there is heart in them after all.—
The cheeks of the youth were strangely puffed out, his lips were gathered like the mouth of a purse, while he whistled with an earnestness that was certainly wonderful. Presently he spoke—
“By’r Ladye, but that was the most exquisite thing of all. Eh? Good Robin? The idea of thy carcass being perched upon the back of the Demon Statue in that pestilent cavern. And frightening the old Count into fits, too! Ha! ha! ha! ’Twas rich! By the Saints it was! Oh, Robin, thou art certainly the very devil for mischief! That prank of gagging the old Israelite, and stealing his beard, coat, pack and all, was cruel, by my troth it was! Where didst thou leave the old gripefist?”
“As I told thee before, thou rattlebrained popinjay!” the other replied with a good natured smile. “With a heavy heart I wended along the highway, on the eve of the bridal, thinking of the fair Ladye Annabel, when who should I behold trudging before me, but this good son of Moses. I laid him upon the earth in a wink—gagged him, and concealed him in the cottage of a peasant, whose ears I filled with a terrible tale of the Jew’s roguery; how he had stolen the plate of the castle, and so on. I then disguised myself in the Hebrew’s attire; with what success you are already aware.—After I had effected the deliverance of the Ladye Annabel, I released the Jew who ran beardless and affrighted, as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the demesnes of Albarone!”
“Where didst leave the Ladye Annabel, Robin? Who was the Arab Mute? Where is he now?”
“I left her in safety, most sagacious Guiseppo. And as for the Mute—I’ll tell thee anon. How didst feel when I came to release thee from the dungeon? eh?”
‘O! St. Peter! By my troth it would make a picture. There I sat, upon the bench of stone; the taper flinging its beams around the dreary walls, my elbows resting upon my knees, and my face supported by my clenched hands; my mind full of dark and gloomy thoughts, and my fancy forming various pleasant pictures of the gibbet, which was to bear my figure on the morrow. Imagine this delicate form swinging on a gibbet—ugh! Thus was I employed, when I heard a noise like the drawing of bolts. I started, expecting to behold the Count Aldarin; he had visited the cell an hour or so past, and informed that I had the honor of being—mark ye, my soldier—his son. I started and beheld—thy welcome visage, my good Robin.”
“Marry, it was well for thee that the secret passage was known to me. How sayst thou? Did the murderer aver that he was thy father?”
“Even so. The Count Aldarin, has ever been kind to me, yet I never thought I was connected with him by any ties of blood. I have always been known throughout the castle as the foundling. Pleasant name—eh, Robin? The tale runs that a peasant returning home, on an autumn night, discovered a child some three years old, crying in the forest. That child the Scholar Aldarin adopted, and called Guiseppo; which title was occasionally varied by the servitors of Albarone, to that of Guiseppo Stray-Devil, Lost-Elf, and others of like pleasing character. But whither are we wandering now, good Robin? This is the second day of our flight; whither are we bound?”
“Thou wilt know ere long. Didst ever hear of Sir Geoffrey O’ Th’ Longsword?”