“Yes—sweet one,” said the youth, as if continuing a conversation, “we may have much to overcome before we triumph, if indeed we ever may; and I almost wish that we had never met.” His companion looked at him chidingly. “No, not that either, dearest. But yet I would I could remove this uncertainty that hangs around my birth. I am at least a gentleman born—of that I have always been assured—I am, moreover a knight; but whether the son of a peer, or of one with only a single fee, I know not. Until this uncertainty can be removed, I cannot pretend openly to aspire to your hand. I almost fear me that my honor may be questioned, thus to plight my vows with you, dear Eleanor; yet fate, which has thrown us thus together, has some meaning in her freak.”
“May it prove indeed so,” said the maiden. “But you say you were always told you were noble born. Who assured you of this? Indeed, I must hear your history, for who knows,” continued she archly, “but I may unravel your riddle?”
“Of my early life I know little, for though I remember events as far back even as infancy, yet it is but faintly, as we often remember incidents in a dream. Indeed I have often thought that these memories may be nothing more than vague recollections of dreams themselves happening so far back in my childhood as to seem like realities. Be that as it may, I have these shadowy impressions of living when very young in a large old castle, with hosts of retainers, and being served as if I was the owner of all. I remember also a fine noble looking man, and a lovely lady who used to take me in her arms and smile upon me. One day—it seems but yesterday, and I remember this more distinctly than any thing else—I was taken out by my attendants, who were, I suspect, attacked and overpowered, for I found myself rudely seized by a rough soldier, at whom I cried, and by whom I was carried off. I never saw any of my attendants more. Every face around me was new, and for days I thought my heart would break. I think I must have been carried into Scotland, for as I grew up the country around looked barren like it, and my protectors were continually returning from forays over the border on the Southron as they call us. Besides even yet I have somewhat of their accent in my speech.
“I could not have been but a very young child, however, when I changed my protectors, and went beyond sea. For two or three years we travelled much; but finally settled in France. Those with whom I resided were of the better sort of peasants, and consisted of an old woman and her daughter. We were often visited by a stern, dark man, whom I was told was a knight. He indeed must have been the person who was my real protector, for after a while, my habitation was again changed, and I became the resident of an old decayed fortalice, where a warden and one or two servants constituted the whole household. Here I remained for many years, and until I was past my boyhood. I saw no more of my imagined protector, but I have every reason to believe he owned the old castle, where, by-the-bye, I picked up some knowledge of war-like-exercises; sufficient indeed to fit me, at the age of eighteen, to be sent to the army as a man-at-arms. I served a campaign under the banner of the Sieur de Lorenge, to whom I had been recommended by, I suppose, my unknown protector. His secret agency I have no doubt was exerted in procuring me to be knighted. Since then I have been thrown upon my own resources, and for a couple of years have served in Flanders, but wishing to discover, if possible, my real birth, I left the continent, and reaching England, set out on this apparently insane search. I have been engaged in it more than a half a year, and have yet obtained no clue to my parentage. I judge it, however, to be English, from my having been brought up in Scotland, for I was certainly taken prisoner in a foray. And now, dearest, you have my history—and what, alas! do you know of me, except that I am a penniless unknown knight, hunting through this broad realm for a parentage?”
The maiden did not answer the question of her lover directly, but seemed lost in thought. She gazed wonderingly upon the speaker, and said,—
“Strange!—if it should prove to be so.”
Wondering at her inexplicable question, her lover said,—
“What is strange, dearest?” But scarcely had this inquiry been made, when a servant appeared, informing the lovers, that the uncle of the lady Eleanor had arrived unexpectedly from court, and begged at once to be allowed to pay his thanks to the brave knight who had rescued his niece.
It was a fortnight later in our history. A small cavalcade was winding along a romantic road, late in the afternoon. At its front rode two knights, completely armed, except as to their heads, which were covered with light caps, instead of helmets. A palfrey, upon which rode a lady, and the numerous handmaidens in the group, showed the cavalcade to be that of a woman of rank.