“By St. George, ’tis an animated colossal monument,” said the Lord Welles.
“If it be cast down, we cannot choose but have an earth-quake,” cried Sir Piers Courtenay.
“Who or what can he be?” said Sir John Constable.
“We shall doubtless hear anon,” replied the Lord Welles.
“Hath not the brave esquire been rash in selecting so huge a monster for his coup d’essai in the lists?” said the Countess of Moray. “To what knight may he be attached?”
“To me, my noble lady,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne from a place behind, where he had sat unnoticed by the Countess. “Trust me, he will acquit himself well—his heart is as stout as it is true.”
“Sayest thou so, Sir Knight?” said the Countess, turning round and looking at him with some severity. “Then do I give thee joy that thou hast at least one leal heart in thy company.”
“Oh, my lady,” cried the alarmed Katherine Spears, “Squire Mortimer can never stand against yonder terrible giant. What will become of him? Holy St. Andrew protect us, I dare not look!”
“Nay, fear thee not, gentle damsel,” said Sir Patrick, with assumed composure; “though yonder living tower look so big and so threatening, trust me I have no dread for friend Sang. He hath much good thew and muscle packed into reasonable compass, and they are nerved by a heart withal that nothing can danton. Fear ye not for Sang. By St. Baldrid, I begin to feel a stirring interest in this coming shock.”
“May the blessed Virgin guard and aid him!” cried Katherine Spears, half covering her eyes.