“And now let us go look for Isabelle and thy friend Sir John Assueton,” said the elder Sir Patrick. “Sound thy bugles, my merry men, and let us down to the broad-lawnde, where we shall have the best chance of meeting.”
They had no sooner entered the beautiful glade among the woods alluded to by the elder knight, than the younger Sir Patrick descried his sister, the Lady Isabelle, coming riding on her palfrey, and his friend Assueton leading her bridle-rein. He ran forward to embrace her, and she, instantly recognizing him, sprang from the saddle into his arms. The meeting between the brother and sister was rendered as affecting by the remembrance of the loss of their mother, as that of the father and son had been. But the elder Sir Patrick having mastered his feelings, soon contributed to soothe theirs. The younger Sir Patrick introduced his friend Assueton to his father, and after their compliments of courtesy were made, the adventures of both parties detailed, and mutual congratulations had taken place between them—
“Come,” said the elder Sir Patrick, “come Isabelle, get thee to horse again, and let us straightway to the Castle. The welkin reddens i’ the west, and the sun is about to hide his head among yonder amber clouds; let us to the Castle, I say. I trow we shall have enow of food for talk for the rest of the evening. We shall have the spoils of these wolves hung up in the hall, in memorial of the strange events of this day—of the gallantry of the Lady Isabelle, who so nobly rescued Sir John Assueton, and of the courage and fidelity of [[97]]the attached old allounde Flo, who so nobly died in defence of his master.”
The bugles sounded a mot, and the elder Sir Patrick, with his son walking by his side, moved forward at the head of the troop. The Lady Isabelle sprang into her saddle, and Sir John Assueton, never choosing to resign the reign he had grasped, led her palfrey as before, and again glided into the same train of conversation with her which he had formerly found so fascinating. The foresters, grooms, and churls who formed the hunting suite, some on foot and others on horseback, armed with every variety of hunting-gear, followed in the rear of march, and in this order they returned to the Castle.
CHAPTER XII.
The Freaks of Love at Hailes Castle—The Tournament at Tarnawa announced.
The affliction which had so lately visited the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne had made him avoid company, and Hailes Castle had consequently been entirely without guests ever since his lady’s death. But it must not be imagined that the evening of the hunting day passed dully because the board was not filled. The sweet and soothing sorrow awakened by tender and melancholy reflections soon gave way before the joy arising from the return of Sir Patrick the younger. In those days letters could not pass as they do now, with the velocity of the winds, by posts and couriers, from one part of Europe to another; and, during Hepborne’s absence, his father had had no tidings of his son, except occasionally through the medium of those warriors or pilgrims who, having fought in foreign fields, or visited foreign shrines, had chanced during their travels to see or hear of him, and who came to Hailes Castle to receive the liberal guerdon of his hospitality for the good news they brought. The elder Sir Patrick, therefore, had much to ask, and the son much to answer; so that the ball of conversation was unremittingly kept up between them.
The Lady Isabelle was seated between her brother and his friend Sir John Assueton, in the most provoking position; for she was thus placed, as it were, between two magnets, so as to be equally attracted by both. Her affection for Sir Patrick made her anxious to catch all he said, and to gather all his adventures; whilst, on the other hand, Sir John Assueton’s conversation, [[98]]made up, as it in a great measure was, of the praises of his friend, intermixed with many interesting notes on the accounts of battles and passages of arms her brother was narrating to her father, proved so seducing that she found it difficult to turn away her ear from him. Nor were Assueton’s illustrations the less gratifying that they often brought out the whole truth, where her brother’s modesty induced him to sink such parts of the tale as were the most glorious to himself. As for Assueton himself, he seemed to have become a new man in her company. He was naturally shrewd, excessively good-humoured, and often witty in his conversation, but he never in his life before bestowed more of it on a lady than barely what the courtesy of chivalry required. This night, however, he was animated and eloquent; and the result was, that the Lady Isabelle retired to her couch at an unusually late hour, and declared to her handmaiden, Mary Hay, as she was undressing her, that Sir John Assueton was certainly the most gallant, witty, and agreeable knight she had ever had the good fortune to meet with.
“But thou dost not think him so handsome as thy brother Sir Patrick, Lady?” said the sly Miss Mary Hay.