"The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrain flocks,
The nine men's morris is filled up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green,
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable;
Whilst on old Hyem's chin and icy crown,
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds,
Is, as in mockery, set."
Sir Hugh, after conferance with his man of business, is preparing in a few days again to set off for London. A journey of such extent is, however, matter of some consideration and considerable danger at such a season, with weather so unpropitious.
As the old knight looks out upon the chase, the gloom of the aspect adds to the gloom of his spirits.
Such a prospect is always calculated to beget a certain share of despondency, even in the most cheerful temper, and Sir Hugh has had enough of sorrow in his time to make him rather a grave than a merry companion.
The old knight, however, is not the man to give way to despair under circumstances like the present.
"Goods news, an Heaven will," he said, as he suddenly descried a horseman, with head bent to the saddle-bow, come sparring against the driving wind, his cloak blown into a balloon, the mire and water flying into the air as he dashed across the chase towards the mansion.
During the prevalence of heavy and continued rain, any object which enlivens the wet landscape, even in our own dull times, becomes of interest. In Elizabeth's day, when so many events of import were transpiring, and when news came but rarely to a country place, the arrival of a post as tho armed and heavily-accoutred horseman was called was of peculiar interest. He brought, perhaps, intelligence of the danger or death of those nearest and dearest, and now heard for the first time. He bore, perchance, some secret intelligence of warning, some caution against an imminent, deadly foe, some hint to put the seas between the receiver and his native land.
To Sir Hugh the sight of the coming horseman, as he emerged from the belt of plantation, and dashed into the open chase, was fraught almost with alarm.
"God grant," he said, an he strained his eyes to observe if he could recognize the features of the rider, "that this new comer may bring me good tidings of our Walter."
The increasing gloom, however, for it was now evening, hindered the knight from recognizing the person of the horseman. He heard the clatter of the hoofs of the steed along the approach, and, as he threw open the door, the rider having dismounted, unceremoniously entered the room. The next moment his hand was caught in the iron gripe of Captain Fluellyn.