There were several of the girls also in character costumes. “Maid Marian,” the “Queen of the May,” and other popular personages of the rural fancy, were personified.
The morris dancers soon became the centre of general attraction. The humbler guests of Sir Marmaduke—having partaken of the cheer which he had so liberally provided for them—had returned into the camp; and now stood clustered around the group of Terpsichoreans, with faces expressing the liveliest delight.
Balloons, bowls, wrestling, and single-stick were for the time forsaken: for the morris dance was tacitly understood, and expected, to be the chief attraction of the day.
It is true, that only peasant girls were engaged in it; but among these was more than one remarkable for a fine figure and comely face—qualities by no means rare in the cottage-homes of the Chilterns.
Two were especially signalised for their good looks—the representatives of Maid Marian and the Queen of the May—the former a dark brunette of the gipsy type—while the queen was a contrasting blonde, with hazel eyes, and hair of flaxen hue.
Many a young peasant among their partners in the dance—and also in the circle of spectators—watched the movements of these rustic belles with interested eyes. Ay, and more than one cavalier might have been observed casting sly glances towards Maid Marian, and the Queen of the May.
While those were bestowing their praises upon the peasant girls, in stereotyped phrases of gallantry, some of the stately dames standing around might have found cause to be jealous; and some were so.
Was Marion Wade among the number?
Alas! it was even so. New as the feeling was, and slight the incident that called it forth, that fell passion had sprung up within her heart. It was the first time it had been touched with such a sting: for it was her first love, and too recent to have met with a reverse. A pang never felt before, she scarce comprehended its nature. She only knew its cause. Holtspur was standing in the front rank of spectators—close to the ring in which the morris dancers were moving. As the beautiful Bet Dancey—who represented Maid Marian—went whirling voluptuously through the figures of the dance, her dark gipsy eyes, gleaming with amorous excitement, seemed constantly turned upon him. Marion Wade could not fail to observe the glance: for it was recklessly given. It was not this, however, that caused that pain to spring up within her bosom. The forest maiden might have gazed all day long upon the face of Henry Holtspur, without exciting the jealousy of the lady—had her gaze failed to elicit a return. But once, as the latter turned quickly towards him, she fancied she saw the glance of the girl given back, and the passionate thought reciprocated!
A peculiar pang, never felt before, like some poisoned dart, pierced to the very core of her heart—almost causing her to cry out. In the rustic belle she recognised a rival!