The hall was nearly cleared; yet the palmer sat, as if still awaiting
audience, behind a distant pillar, and deeply pondering, as it might
seem, the transactions he had witnessed. The last of their suppliants
had departed ere he rose, bending lowly as he approached. The eye of the
noble dame suddenly became rivetted on him. She was leaning in front of
her maidens, beside a richly-carved canopy of state, underneath which,
on days of feudal hospitality and pomp, presided the master of the
banquet. Behind, a long and richly-variegated window poured down a
chequered halo of glory around her form. She seemed an angel of light,
issuing from that fountain of splendour, and irradiating the whole group
with her presence.
"Reverend pilgrim, thy behest?" She said this with a shudder of
apprehension, as if dreading an answer to her inquiry. The pilgrim spoke
not, but advanced.
The attendants drew aside. A silence, chill and unbroken as the grave,
pervaded the assembly. He took from his vest a silver ring. The Lady
Mabel grasped the well-known signet. With agony the most heartrending
and intense she exclaimed--
"My husband's signet!--Where?--Whence came this pledge?--Speak!"
A pause ensued.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142