Things remained in this disagreeable position for some minutes, when the blowing of a horn, and a loud talking and shouting without, announced that something had taken place. Presently, accompanied by a crowd of peasants half accoutred for the pursuit, Lothaire entered the hall. Leofwyn raised his head, and being in some measure recalled to his recollection by the sight of his son, repeated his inquiry, “Is my daughter well?”
“She is well!” said Lothaire, “and I am well! No thanks to my new friend, the doughty Sir Richard de Mallory, from whom, to say truth, mine headpiece hath received a most mischievous contusion. Thanks to thee, good steel,” he continued, taking off his helmet, and surveying the deep indenture which appeared on its summit; “had not thy temper been true, thy master’s head had lain on the couch from which no man lifteth himself up.” He was interrupted by a thousand interrogatories, a great proportion of which proceeded from Leofwyn, who had by this time recovered from the effects of his sudden shock, and began to feel great curiosity to know the particulars of the story.
“I know but little of the matter,” said Lothaire; “ye see I have been overthrown in no light fashion”—(they perceived for the first time that his apparel bore marks of a recent fall)—“and in truth had it not been for the intervention of my good friend in the ragged doublet, I had hardly lived to tell ye the tale.”
“Of whom dost thou speak?” said Leofwyn.
“That is more than I can tell,” replied the young Saxon. “Not many paces hence did I encounter the valorous Sir Richard, who is now, peace be with him, no longer a man[Pg 129] of this world. I had a heavy stroke, as ye may witness; nevertheless, it was my horse’s fault, or I had not been so foiled. I believe another minute would have caught the last breath of Lothaire, but for the help of the aforesaid knight of the ragged doublet. By the sword of Harold! he overthrew that proud Norman as if he were wrestling with a child. I saw not his features, but by his apparel he seemed to be the esquire of thine hopeful son-in-law, Reginald d’Arennes. But ye will see him presently.”
Lothaire was supported from the hall, and put under the care of the leech; for his wound, although he made so light of it in his story, wore a dangerous appearance.
As he retired, another loud acclamation announced the arrival of Elfrida’s deliverer. A tall, well-made figure advanced towards the daïs, clad, as Lothaire had intimated, in a short ragged doublet, with a small cap which was quite insufficient to confine the long dark tresses that floated luxuriantly down his neck. His arm supported the real Elfrida, whose personal charms amply deserved the encomium which had been lavished upon them in the forest. Animation seemed hardly restored to that beautiful form. Her eyes were half closed and her cheek very pale.
“Providence be thanked,” cried Leofwyn, “that my child is restored to me!”
Now it has been already hinted that Elfrida was possessed of a disposition somewhat untractable; in fact, loth as I am to speak aught ill of the fair sex, I must confess that the Lady Elfrida partook, in no trifling degree, both of the fantastic whims of her father Leofwyn and the violent obstinacy of her brother Lothaire. The reader, therefore, will not be surprised when he hears that the Saxon beauty, bowing respectfully to her father, thus addressed him:
“Not to thee, my father, not to thee is thy daughter restored; in good and in evil, in life and in death, she shall abide with her preserver—with him who hath delivered her from the grasp of the spoiler.”