“Nay, then, thine eyes must be like those of an owl, if thou canst tell by this light,” replied Assueton.
“I tell thee I caught one glance of her face but now, as the moonbeam fell on it,” said Hepborne; “’twas beauteous as that of an angel. But hold, they come this way.”
The minstrel arose, and the lady and he came slowly along the wall in the direction where the two knights were standing.
“Tush, Adam of Gordon,” said the lady, in a playful manner, [[36]]as if in reply to something the harper had urged, “thou shalt never persuade me; I have not yet seen the knight—nay, I doubt me whether the knight has yet been born who can touch this heart. I would not lose its freedom for a world.”
“So, so,” whispered Assueton, “thou wert right, Master Barton; a haughty spirit enow, I’ll warrant me.”
“Hush,” said Hepborne, somewhat peevishly; “the minstrel prepares to give us music.”
The minstrel, who had again seated himself, ran his fingers in wild prelude over his chords, and graduating into a soft and tender strain, he broke suddenly forth in the following verses, adapted to its measure:—
Oh think not, lady, to despise
The all-consuming fire of Love,
For she who most his power defies