"That is the coat-of-arms of our family. The earliest records speak of them as occupying the Lyonnesse country, which is now under the sea beyond Land's End. Sir Trembath, the head of the family, was overtaken by the flood, that happened about in the eighth century, and just had to gallop and swim his horse to the hills for refuge. He was the only one who escaped the inroads of the ocean. All the lands of his barony, together with others, and a hundred and forty parish churches, are now covered by the deep. My ancestry is as noble as any, and it is not presumption for me to speak to you on a subject that is very important to me. As my ancestry was then, so am I now. Mistress Alice, the last heir of the Trembaths needs a star of hope to guide him." He was speaking rapidly, although only loud enough for her to hear. The wild tempest of feeling was at length breaking forth.
"Listen," said the girl, demurely, "Uncle Billy is speaking now of the Lyonesse and Arthur."
The unruly tongue was silenced. Ande, though he listened, heard not. His eyes were on the squire's daughter, but seeing that she kept her gaze riveted on the harper, he grew moody and silent.
Whether she listened or not to the song of the droll is a question. Certainly there was nothing in the narrative of the droll, just then, to cause her cheek to glow with a damask hue.
The harper's song and tale was ended, and since the hour was late there was bustle and confusion to be gone.
"I have been unjust in dictating to you," said Ande, humbly.
"And I can have whatever knights I please?" archly.
"You are the best judge. But I would rather not," said he, with slightly woeful look.
"Then you choose to let me be my own judge?"