The Ancient had been for many years plunged in the study of necromancy. His uncouth appearance, and awkward ungainly port, rendered him so unfit for the gay parade of war, that Sir Walter de Selby had more than once refused him that promotion to which he was entitled in the natural course of [[53]]things, and of which he had been very ambitious. This rankled at his heart, and made him shun his fellows, slight the profession of arms, and take to those studies that, in so superstitious a period, met with the readiest belief and reverence, and from which he hoped to discover the means of gratifying both his ambition and his avarice. His necromantic fame, increased by tales hatched or embellished by the fertile imaginations of weak and superstitious minds, rapidly grew among all ranks; and Sir Walter de Selby was as firm a believer in his powers as the meanest soldier under his command. He readily excused the Ancient from all duty; so that, being thus left to the full and undisturbed possession of that solitary cap-house he had himself selected for his habitation, he became so immersed in his work that he rarely left it, except when driven by hunger to seek food. Living so entirely secluded as he did, it is not to be wondered at that he had hardly seen a female face. As for Lady Eleanore, he had never beheld her since her childhood, until a few days previous to the time we are now speaking of, when, having been led by some extraordinary accident beyond the walls of the keep, he had met her by chance in the court-yard; and the young lady was alarmed by the appearance of the strange monster, who blocked up her way to the bridge, and stood surveying her with his horrible eyes, that she fled from him precipitately. It must be admitted, then, that he was but little calculated to produce any favourable change on her mind in behalf of Sir Rafe Piersie, unless, indeed, it were by the art magic. With that brave old soldier of fortune, Sir Walter de Selby, he was much more likely to be successful, since the chief wish of his heart was that his daughter and his wealth should be the means of allying him with some family eminent for the grandeur of its name, as well as for its power and influence. It was a grievous disappointment to him that he had had no son; but as he had been denied this blessing, he now looked forward to having a grandson, who might give him good cause to be proud, from the high rank he should be entitled to hold in the splendid galaxy of English chivalry. He was far from being without affection for his daughter; yet his affection was in a great measure bottomed upon these his most earnest wishes and hopes; and of all this the Ancient, Mr. Haggerstone Fenwick, was very sufficiently aware. [[54]]
CHAPTER VI.
Making Love on the Ramparts.
When Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton arose in the morning, they found their own squires and lacqueys in attendance. The busy note of preparation was in the Castle-yard, and they were told that the Bishop of Durham was just taking his departure.
The mitred ecclesiastic went off on an ambling jennet, accompanied by the knights and churchmen who had come with him, and followed by a long cavalcade of richly-attired attendants; and he was saluted by the garrison drawn up in array, and by the guards as he passed outwards. He was, moreover, attended by Sir Walter and his principal officers, who rode half a day’s journey with him. The two friends were thus left to entertain themselves until the evening. Assueton occupied himself in studying the defences of the place, whilst Hepborne loitered about the exterior of the keep, and the walls commanding a view of its various sides, in the hope of being again blessed with a sight of the Lady Eleanore.
As he was surveying the huge mass of masonry, so intently that a bystander might have supposed that he was taking an account of the number of stones it was composed of, the lady appeared at one of the high windows on the side facing the Tweed. The knight had his eyes turned in a different direction at the moment, so that she had a full and undisturbed view of him, as he stood nearly opposite to her on the rampart, for some time ere he perceived her. He turned suddenly round, and she instantly withdrew; but not before he had enjoyed another transient glimpse of that face which had already created so strong a sensation in his breast.
“Provoking!” thought Hepborne; “yet doth the very modesty of this angelic lady lead me the more to admire her. Unbending spirit, said that knave at the hostel? She is as gentle as a dove. Would I could behold her again.”
Sir Patrick stepped back upon the rampart so as to have a better view inwards, and he was gratified by observing that her figure was still within the deep window, though her face was obscured by its shade. He recognized the rose-coloured mantle she had formerly appeared in. He kissed his hand and bowed. He saw her alabaster arm relieve itself from the mantle, and [[55]]beheld the falcon he had rescued seated on her glove. She stepped forward in such a manner to return his salute, that he enjoyed a sufficient view of her face to make him certain that he was not mistaken in the person. The lady pointed with a smile to her falcon, kissed it, waved an acknowledgment of his courtesy, and again retreating, disappeared.
As Sir Patrick was standing vainly hoping for her re-appearance, the old minstrel, Adam of Gordon, chanced to come by. Hepborne saluted him courteously.