“Nay, speak not so mystically, old man,” replied Hepborne; [[512]]“I am already well aware of the story of the Lady Beatrice, and heartily do I curse mine own folly for permitting jealousy so to hoodwink mine eyes as to make me run blindly away from mine own happiness. I already guess that it was she whom thou didst accompany hither, and I know that she is now an inmate of those apartments, with the Lady de Vere, the daughter of the late Sir Walter de Selby.”
“Nay, nay, so far thou art wrong, Sir Knight,” replied the Minstrel. “She to whom these apartments do belong is not the daughter of Sir Walter de Selby. True it is, indeed, that when the Lady Eleanore did leave Norham Castle, she did call the companion of her flight by the name of Sir Hans de Vere, a Zealand knight, kinsman to the Duke of Ireland; but some strange mystery doth yet hang over this affair, for he who doth own these gay lodgings, and who is the husband of this gay madam, is the identical Sir Hans de Vere I have just described, and yet he knoweth nought of the Lady Eleanore de Selby.”
“Thy speech is one continued riddle, good Adam,” said Hepborne; “canst thou not explain to me?”
“Nay, of a truth, Sir Knight, thou dost know as much as I do,” said the minstrel. “What hath become of the Lady Eleanore de Selby no one can tell. If he that she married be indeed a De Vere, he is at least no kin to the Duke of Ireland, as he or she would have us believe. There have been De Veres enow about the English Court since this King Richard began his reign, albeit that the day may be gone by with many of them, sith that their chief, the Duke of Ireland, hath been forced to flee into Zealand, where his race had its origin. But of all the De Veres, none doth answer the description of him whom the Lady Beatrice and I did see carry off the Lady Eleanore de Selby from Norham.”
“Strange, most strange,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne; “but knowest thou aught of this Lady de Vere? Men’s tongues do talk but lightly of her.”
“Nay, in good truth, I have begun to entertain strange notions of her myself,” replied Adam. “By’r Lady, she would have had me sing some virelays to-night that were light and warm enow, I promise thee, had I not feigned that I knew them not; and, by my troth, she spared not to chide me for my sober minstrelsy, the which she did tauntingly compare to the chanting of monks. My Lady, quoth I, consider I am but a rude Border——”
“But say, old man,” cried Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him, “how did the Lady Beatrice seek shelter with such a [[513]]woman? Quick, tell me, I beseech thee, for I must hasten to rescue the poor and spotless dove from the clutch of this foul howlet.”
“In the name of the Virgin, then, let us lose no time in thinking how it may best be done,” said Adam of Gordon earnestly; “St. Andrew be praised that thou, Sir Knight, art so willing to become the protector of an angel, who——Yet I dare not say how much thou art beloved. But, hush! we may be overheard here in the open air. Let us retreat to my garret yonder, where I will tell thee all I can, and then we may, with secrecy and expedition, concert what steps thou hadst best take.”
Hepborne readily followed the minstrel to his small chamber, and there he learned the following particulars.
The Lady Beatrice had no sooner recovered from the swoon into which she had been thrown by the appearance of the Franciscan at Sir Walter de Selby’s funeral, than she sent for the Minstrel, of whose attachment and fidelity she had already had many a proof, and imparted to him her design of quitting Norham Castle immediately. Without communicating her intention to any one else, she mounted that milk-white palfrey which had been the gift of Hepborne, and travelled with all speed to Newcastle, where she sought shelter in the house of a widowed sister of Sir Walter de Selby. There she lived for a short time in retirement, until at last she adopted the resolution of visiting London in search of her friend the Lady Eleanore, whom she believed now to be the Lady de Vere, that she might communicate to her the death of her father, if she had not already heard of that event, and entreat from her a continuance of that protection which she had so long afforded her. She and the Minstrel, therefore, went on board a ship sailing for the Thames; but having been tossed about by contrary winds, and even compelled to seek safety more than once in harbours by the way, they had only arrived in the metropolis three days before that of which we are now speaking.