"Why; the message was whispered in my ear. A stranger brought it together with a dismal threat should I not bring you at the time appointed."
Here the miller again became uneasy and alarmed. A cold shudder crept over him, and he looked imploringly upon her.
"But they say, my trusty miller, that this chapel of the fairies may not be visited, forbidden as it is to all catholic and devout Christians, after nightfall."
At this intimation the peccant miller displayed his broad thumbs, and looked so dolorous and apprehensive, sprawling out his large ungainly proportions, that Eleanor, though not prone to the indulgence of mirth, was mightily moved thereto by the cowardly and dismal aspect he betrayed.
"Nay, lady, I beseech you," he stammered out. "I am a dead dog—a piece of useless and unappropriated carrion, if you go not. Ha' pity on your poor knave, and deliver me from my tormentors!"
"Then to-morrow I will deliver thee," said the maiden, "and break thine enchantment. But the hour?"
"Ere the moonbeam touches the pillar in the Fairies' Hall."
"Agreed, knave. So begone. Yet—and answer truly for thy life—was no pledge, no token, sent with this message?"
Ralph unwillingly drew forth the token from his belt. Fearful that it might divulge more than he wished, the treacherous messenger had kept back the tablets entrusted to him. He suspected that should she be aware it was the good people who were a-wanting her, he would have but a slender chance of success.
She glanced hastily, anxiously, over the page, though with great surprise.