“What signifies it?” said the dwarf. “Ought fidelity to reckon furlongs, or miles, or leagues—like the poor courier, who is paid for his labour by the distance which he traverses? Nevertheless, thou soul of suspicion, I tell thee, the fair owner of the ring now sent to so unworthy a vassal, in whom there is neither truth nor courage, is not more distant from this place than this arblast can send a bolt.”
The knight gazed again on that ring, as if to ascertain that there was no possible falsehood in the token. “Tell me,” he said to the dwarf, “is my presence required for any length of time?”
“Time!” answered Nectabanus, in his flighty manner; “what call you time? I see it not—I feel it not—it is but a shadowy name—a succession of breathings measured forth by night by the clank of a bell, by day by a shadow crossing along a dial-stone. Knowest thou not a true knight's time should only be reckoned by the deeds that he performs in behalf of God and his lady?”
“The words of truth, though in the mouth of folly,” said the knight. “And doth my lady really summon me to some deed of action, in her name and for her sake?—and may it not be postponed for even the few hours till daybreak?”
“She requires thy presence instantly,” said the dwarf, “and without the loss of so much time as would be told by ten grains of the sandglass. Hearken, thou cold-blooded and suspicious knight, these are her very words—Tell him that the hand which dropped roses can bestow laurels.”
This allusion to their meeting in the chapel of Engaddi sent a thousand recollections through Sir Kenneth's brain, and convinced him that the message delivered by the dwarf was genuine. The rosebuds, withered as they were, were still treasured under his cuirass, and nearest to his heart. He paused, and could not resolve to forego an opportunity, the only one which might ever offer, to gain grace in her eyes whom he had installed as sovereign of his affections. The dwarf, in the meantime, augmented his confusion by insisting either that he must return the ring or instantly attend him.
“Hold, hold, yet a moment hold,” said the knight, and proceeded to mutter to himself, “Am I either the subject or slave of King Richard, more than as a free knight sworn to the service of the Crusade? And whom have I come hither to honour with lance and sword? Our holy cause and my transcendent lady!”
“The ring! the ring!” exclaimed the dwarf impatiently; “false and slothful knight, return the ring, which thou art unworthy to touch or to look upon.”
“A moment, a moment, good Nectabanus,” said Sir Kenneth; “disturb not my thoughts.—What if the Saracens were just now to attack our lines? Should I stay here like a sworn vassal of England, watching that her king's pride suffered no humiliation; or should I speed to the breach, and fight for the Cross? To the breach, assuredly; and next to the cause of God come the commands of my liege lady. And yet, Coeur de Lion's behest—my own promise! Nectabanus, I conjure thee once more to say, are you to conduct me far from hence?”
“But to yonder pavilion; and, since you must needs know,” replied Nectabanus, “the moon is glimmering on the gilded ball which crowns its roof, and which is worth a king's ransom.”