The voice made Assueton’s heart bound with joy, for it was the voice of the Lady Isabelle Hepborne.
“Who knocks there?—who comes thus to break the hour of rest, the only one I have been blest with since I entered these wicked and impure walls? If it be thou, false and traitorous knight, know thou mayest kill, but thou canst never subdue me.”
“Lady Isabelle,” cried Assueton, in transport, “it is no traitor; it is I, who will dare to call myself thy true and humble slave, thine own humble slave, thine own faithful knight, who, by God’s blessing, has come to undo the bars of thy prison and to set thee free.
“Sir John Assueton,” cried the fair Isabelle, overpowered by amazement and joy—“Sir John Assueton!—Blessed Virgin!—and how camest thou here?—But thou art in dreadful danger. For mercy’s sake—for my sake—I entreat thee not to speak so loud,” continued she, tripping lightly towards the door, and whispering softly through the keyhole; “speak not so loud, lest [[162]]thou shouldst be overheard and surprised by some of the caitiff knight’s cruel followers. I will brave all danger to fly with thee.”
“Nay, fairest lady,” said Assueton, “thou hast now but little cause of dread. The Castle, and everything in it, is in my power; but I am rather meagrely attended, and ’twere better we should lose as little time as may be. I shall unlock thy door, and keep watch for thee in the hall hard by, until thou art ready to wend with me.”
The knight accordingly passed into the hall, where he found a long board, covered with the wrecks of feast and wassail, everything in the apartment betokening the riotous and reckless life that was led by the libertine owner of the place. The walls were hung round with arms of various kinds, and, to his great surprise, he perceived the very armour he had worn, and which he had left with his people when he changed his dress, together with his shield, lance, and trusty sword, all forming a grand trophy, at one end. He soon removed them from their place, and speedily equipped himself like a knight as he was; and he had hardly done so, when his eye caught the very baldrick and bugle worn by the leader of the foresters who had acted as his guide. He took them also down, and hung them from his own neck, in memorial of the treachery he had suffered. He then stood anxiously listening, nor did he wait long until he heard the light step of the Lady Isabelle dancing merrily along the passage. He flew to meet her, and the joy of both was too great to be controlled. Yet they trifled not long to give way to their feelings. Assueton gave his arm to the fair prisoner, and they descended the stair together. On reaching the courtyard, he found Riddel and Lindsay busy in the stable. His squire was employed in putting the furniture and harness on the very steed the knight had ridden from Hailes; but what gave rise to most unpleasant speculation in the mind of Assueton, was the discovery that the horses and equipments of his whole party were there. As he looked at the steeds and trappings of his brave spearmen, his heart sank within him at the thought of the cruel death that treachery had probably wrought on the gallant fellows who had used them. A palfrey was soon selected and prepared for the Lady Isabelle; and the other three horses being ready, Assueton ordered them to be led out. Before they mounted, however, Roger Riddel, who never gave himself the trouble of speaking except when he had something of importance that compelled him to use his tongue, addressed his master.
“Methinks, your worship,” said he, “we should be the [[163]]better of a lantern to light us on our way till the moon rises.”
“Go seek one then,” said Assueton; “but do not lose time, for it is but a chance thou shalt find one.”
“Fasten the horses to that hook, then, Bob,” said Riddel to Lindsay; “I shall want thee to help me to light it.”
The two men went into the keep-tower together, where they remained some time, and at length they came out, each bearing a burden on his back.