“Indeed!” scornfully retorted the latter. “What a misfortune that would be for me!”
Marion made no rejoinder. It was at this moment that Scarthe had flung out his taunt, about the glove in the hat of his antagonist.
Maid Marian heard the speech, and saw the action.
“Whose glove?” muttered she, as a pang passed through her heart.
Marion Wade heard the speech, and saw the action.
“My glove!” muttered she, as a thrill of sweet joy vibrated through her bosom.
The triumphant emotion was but short-lived. It was soon supplanted by a feeling of anxious apprehension, that reached its climax, as the two cavaliers, each bestriding his own steed, spurred their horses towards the centre of the camp—the arena of the intended combat.
With the exception of that made by the horsemen, as they rode trampling over the turf, not a movement could be observed within or around the enclosure of the camp. The dark circle of human forms, that girdled the ground, were as motionless, as if they had been turned into stones; and equally silent—men and women, youths and maidens, all alike absorbed in one common thought—all voicelessly gazing.
The chirrup of a grasshopper could have been heard throughout the encampment.
This silence had only commenced, as the combatants came forth upon the ground, in readiness to enter upon action. While engaged in preparation, the merits of both had been loudly and freely discussed; and bets had been made, as if the camp were a cockpit, and the cavaliers a main of game birds about to be unleashed at each other.