“Tell me, oh tell me, most excellent Ancient,” said he, in the agony of despair, “tell me, I entreat thee, how this awful mass of approaching misery may be averted.”
“There is only one way to shield yourself and mankind from the threatened curse,” replied the Ancient tardily, and rather as if he felt difficulty in bringing it out; “there is only one course to pursue, but it is such that, slave as thou art to the prejudices of the world, it is vain to hope that even the dread of these impending calamities will induce thee to adopt it.”
“Talk not so, good Ancient, talk not so,” cried the old knight impatiently, “There is nothing I would not do—Holy Virgin, forgive me!—there is nothing I would not do honestly to prevent this threatened curse from arising, to the destruction of my family and my country.”
“Sayest thou so?” said the Ancient, calmly shaking his head, as if in doubt; “I will put thee to the proof then. It is written, as I have already declared, in the Book of the Fates of men, that this marriage shall take place, and that from it shall proceed this two-edged sword, to smite both thee and England, unless thou shalt bestow thy daughter on one whom—but thou wilt never condescend——” [[67]]
“Nay,” impatiently interrupted the knight, “better she should marry any honest man of good family than that she should be suffered to match so proudly only to be the mother of destruction to herself, to me, and to her country.”
“Thou sayest well,” calmly replied the Ancient; “but the Fates have not left the choice of her mate to thee or to her. Yet hear me patiently, and thou shalt know all. Thou art not ignorant that I have long abjured the pitiful affairs of men. ’Tis now more than fifteen years since, quitting their society, I have devoted myself to those studies by which thou hast more than once benefited. I have sacrificed all earthly prospects and enjoyments for the sake of that sublime knowledge which doth enable me to foresee and control coming events; and it is to me a reward in itself so great, as to make every other appear despicable in comparison with it. But though I have forsworn the world, yet cannot I rid myself of attachment to thee; my early feelings must tie me to thee and thine for ever. Thou hast had proofs of this devotion too often, to require me to repeat that it doth exist; but I am now prepared to give thee a demonstration of it yet stronger than any thou hast hitherto received from me.”
“Kind, excellent Ancient,” exclaimed the grateful Sir Walter, “I well know the care with which thou hast watched over the welfare of my house; I feel the magnitude of the debt I owe thee, and ’tis with gratitude I acknowledge it. What is it, I beseech thee, thou canst do?”
“Yes,” exclaimed the Ancient, with a show of much feeling, “yes; I will sacrifice myself. I will come forth again into the haunts of deceitful and cold-blooded men. I will give up all I prize—my quiet, my solitude—to save thee and thine from the destruction that impendeth. On my part there shall be no failure, however at war with my habits and inclinations the sacrifice may be. ’Tis upon thyself, therefore—upon thine own decision—that thine own fate, and the fate of thy daughter, and of thy country, must depend.”
“Name, name, I entreat thee, the terms!” cried the anxious old knight; “name the conditions that I must fulfil; tell me what I must do, and no time shall be lost in carrying it into effect.”
The Ancient paused for some moments, during which he looked into the face of the knight with his fiery inexpressive eyes, and then, with slow and solemn, though harsh utterance—“I must espouse thy daughter, the Lady Eleanore!” said he. “The Fates have willed it so; no other remedy doth now [[68]]remain against the overwhelming destruction thou art doomed to behold.”