"Thanks, Edith; but, quick! quick! help me save the falcon, lest the heronshaw hurt him. My life was at stake on his flight, and he has saved my life!"
"The heronshaw is dead enough, lady, he will hurt nothing more," said the Saxon, following her lady, nevertheless, to secure the gallant gosshawk, which in a moment sat pluming his ruffled feathers, and glaring at her triumphantly with his clear golden eye, as he arched his proud neck to her caresses, on the wrist of his fair mistress.
It seemed as though he knew that he had won her wager.
The hour of the noonday meal had now fully arrived, and the sumpter mules were soon brought up, and carpets spread on the turf, and flasks and barrels, pasties and brawns, and huge boars' heads unpacked in tempting profusion, and all preparations made for a meal in the open air.
But Edith pleaded so hard that her dear lady, to whom she owed more than life, whom she loved more than her own life, would honor her humble roof, would suffer the choicest of the viands to be borne into her pleasant, sunny room, and taste her home-brewed mead, that Guendolen, who was in rapture at her triumph, readily consented, and Aradas, who was pleased to see Guendolen happy, made no opposition.
So, while amid loud merriment, and the clang of flasks and beakers, and the clash of knives and trenchers, their train fared jovially and lustily without, they feasted daintily and happily within the Saxon's cottage.
And the sunny room was pleasant; and the light played cheerfully on the polished pewter trenchers on the dresser, and the varnished holly and scarlet berries, and bright wild-flowers on the wall; and the sparkling wood fire was not amiss after the gallop in the clear air; and Guendolen preferred the light, foaming mead of the Saxon housewife, to the wines of Gascony and Bordeaux; and all went happily and well.
Above all, Edith gained her point. She got occasion to tell the tale of Eadwulf's flight, arrival, and departure, and obtained a promise of protection for her husband, in case he should be brought in question for his share in his brother's escape; and even prevailed that no search should be made after Eadwulf, provided he would keep himself aloof, and commit no offense against the pitiless forest laws, or depredations on the people of the dales.
Many strange emotions of indignation, sympathy, horror, alternately swept through the mind of Guendolen, and were reflected from her eloquent eyes; and many times did Aradas twirl his thick mustache, and gripe his dagger's hilt, as they heard the vicissitudes of that strange tale—the base and dastardly murder of the noble and good Sir Philip de Morville; the slaying of the bailiff by the hand of Eadwulf, which thus came to look liker to lawful retribution than to mere homicide; the strange chances of the serf's escape; the wonderful wiles by which he had baffled the speed of horses and the scent of bloodhounds; and the final catastrophe of the sands, swallowing up, as it would seem, well-nigh all the slaughterers of Sir Philip, while sparing the panting and heart-broken fugitive. It was indeed a tale more strange and horrible than any thing, save truth.
They sat some time in silence, musing. Then suddenly, as by an impulse, their eyes met. Their meaning was the same.