“My mind has indeed been made up, Sir Rafe Piersie,” said the old knight, “and would to Heaven, beausir, that it could have been made up differently; for, certes, it doleth me sorely to be driven to answer thee as I must of needscost do. I should not have broached this matter till privacy had put the seal on our converse: but, since thou hast opened it, I am forced to tell thee that, since I saw the Bishop of Durham, obstacles have appeared which render it impossible for me to give thee my daughter, the Lady Eleanore, to wife. She is affianced to another.”
“So,” thought Hepborne, the ideas passing rapidly through his mind, “her father knows of the attachment between her and the knight who left her this morning. Then, perhaps, she has been less to blame than I thought; yet why were her words and manner such, last night, towards me, as to mislead me into the idea that I had reason to hope? Oh, deceitful woman, never satisfied with the success of thy springes as long as there is a foolish bird to catch. So! thou must have me limed to? But, grammercy, I have escaped thy toils.”
Such were Hepborne’s thoughts; but what Sir Rafe Piersie’s were during the pause of astonishment he was thrown into, may be best gathered from the utterance he gave them.
“What is this I hear? has a limb of the noble Piersie been brought here to be insulted? Thou art a false old papelarde; and were it not for those hoary hairs of thine, by the beard of St. Barnabas, I would brain thee with this gauntlet;” and saying so, he dashed it down on the board, making it ring again.
Hepborne and Assueton both started up, and stretched out their hands eagerly to seize it.
“Ah, thou art always lucky, Hepborne,” said Assueton, much disappointed to see that his friend had snatched it before him.
“Sir Rafe Piersie,” said Hepborne, “in behalf of this good old knight, whom thou hast so grossly insulted at his own board, I defy thee to instant and mortal debate; and in thy teeth I return the opprobrious epithets thou didst dare to throw in his face; and here, I say, thou liest!” and with these words he threw down his gauntlet.
“And who art thou?” said his antagonist, taking it up; “who art thou, young cockerel, who crowest so loud? By St. George, but thou showest small share of wisdom to pit thyself thus against Sir Rafe Piersie. But fear not, thou shalt have thy [[77]]will. Was thy darreigne for instant fight, saidst thou? In God’s name, let us to horse then without farther parley. Let Sir Richard de Lacy here, and thine eager friend there, be the judges of the field; and as for the place, the Norham meadow below will do as well for thine overthrow as any other; thou wilt have easy galloping ere thou dost meet it. What, defy Sir Rafe Piersie to combat of outrance, and give him the lie, too! Thou art doomed, young man, thou art doomed; thine insolence hath put thee beyond the pale of my mercy. By the holy Rood, thou must be the young cock-sparrow the old dotard hath chosen as a mate for his pretty popelot, else thou never couldst have been so bold.”
“I am not so fortunate,” replied Hepborne, with calm and courteous manner.
“And what may thy name and title be, then?” demanded Piersie, with yet greater hauteur.