Chapter THE SECOND: The Lady and the Yeoman

When the Ladye Annabel opened her fair blue eyes, she gazed hurriedly around the apartment until her glance was met by that of the bold yeoman. She gave a faint scream, and her form trembled with affright.

“St. Withold!” exclaimed the yeoman--“but I do seem to frighten every one that looks at me, into fits. Fear me not, Ladye Annabel--’Tis I--Rough Robin--I would speak a few words to thee. The import of what I have to say is of a fearful nature.”

“Ah!” said Annabel, “of what would you speak?”

Robin whispered a word in her ear.

The maiden gave a convulsive start. She clasped her hands and looked wildly in the yeoman’s face, as she exclaimed--

“How was’t done!--The doer of this deed--who was’t?”

“Pardon me, Lady. For three long days and nights have I been without sustenance--I am faint--my brain burns, and mine hands tremble.”

The Ladye Annabel made a sign to Rosalind, who was leaving the room, when she was met at the door by Guiseppo, bearing a wine flask in one hand, while the other supported a dish containing the fragments of a venison pasty.

“Bold Robin,” said Guiseppo, “I contrived to abstract these from the wine cellar and the kitchen, without being noticed. I thought your business might require secrecy.”

“Thanks, Sir Page, thanks--and now,” continued the yeoman--“an’ thou lovest thy Lord Adrian, wait in the ante-chamber, and see that no one enters. Fair Rosalind, I am waiting to close the door.”

As he said this he gently pushed the damsel through the doorway, and carefully drawing the bolt he seated himself opposite Annabel. He then placed the pasty on his knee, and with a trembling hand filled a silver goblet to the very brim with wine. With all the nervous eagerness of famine, he lifted the capacious vessel to his lips, when he beheld a pale, cadaverous, spectre-like face dancing in the ruddy glow of the wine.

“St. Withold! ’Tis no wonder I have scared every body with my dried up visage!” He drained the goblet to the last drop. “S’ death I’m frightened at that death’s head myself.”

He then plunged one hand into the pasty, and raising a piece of the rich crust, he devoured it in an instant; then lifting the flask to his mouth, he poured the luscious liquid down his throat, and his sinews and veins began to rise and swell, a ruddy glow ran over his ashy face, while the supernatural brightness of his eyes, gave place to a healthy, twinkling glance.

There was a pause of some ten minutes.

“St. Withold! but I thank thee!” cried the yeoman, as his eyes filled with a liquid which bore a strange resemblance to tears of joy--“Holy Mary, Holy Peter, and Holy Paul, ye shall have a wax candle apiece; instead of one to all of ye!”

The Ladye Annabel who had watched his movements with the greatest impatience, now exclaimed--

“For heaven’s sake, good Robin, speak. What dost thou know of the fearful deed”--she looked hurriedly around the room--“_Of the murder?_”

“Ladye” replied the yeoman, “I’m a rough, blunt soldier--I know little of courtly manners, but so help me St. Withold, I would peril--I would sacrifice my life, to serve thee and--Lord Adrian--”

“Adrian? What knowest thou of Adrian? For heaven’s sake speak.” Her very soul glanced from her eyes as she continued.--“Oh, God! thou surely wilt not say that he--Adrian--is--is--THE MURDERER?”

“St. Withold!” muttered Robin, “but I have got myself into a nice predicament. Ladye I would say no such falsehood.”

“It is a falsehood then?--Thanks--Holy Mary, from my soul, unfeigned thanks?”

“It is not Adrian: but Ladye--heaven help thee to bear it--the murderer is one who is mayhap as beloved of thee, as is Lord Adrian.”

“_One as beloved?_” murmured Annabel--“surely there is no one as beloved as Adrian, no one save my father. Thou triflest with me, Robin.”

“Nay Ladye I trifle not--again I say it is _the_ one who is as dear to thee as Lord Adrian.”

One word came from the maiden’s lips.

“MY FATHER--” she shrieked, as if some awful thought had riven her brain.

She said never a word more, but her bosom which a moment past rose and fell convulsively, now became stilled; the excited flush of her cheeks died away into an ashy paleness, her lip lost its eager expression, her eyelids closed stiffly, and she fell heavily as a corse from her seat.

Robin sprang forward and extended his arms in time to prevent her from falling to the floor.

“I am a very fool,” he said, bitterly reproaching himself--“a dolt, an idiot--a mere wearer of the motley doublet--a jingler of the belled cap would have known better. St. Withold, but _I am_ an ass!”

Having his own reasons for not calling assistance from the ante-room, he used all kinds of expedients to restore the Ladye Annabel to consciousness. He chafed the fair and delicate hands, he deluged the brow as white as snow, with perfumed liquids contained in silver flagons standing upon the table; and after a lapse of a quarter of an hour he had the gratification of seeing her eyes unclose, and feeling her heart beat as he held her form in his arms.

The Ladye Annabel faintly spoke--“I have had a fearful--fearful dream. The Virgin save me from the dark spirits that inspire such fancies. I thought of _thee_--of _thee_, my father!”

She paused suddenly as she caught a view of the yeoman’s face.

“_Thou_ here!” she exclaimed in surprise, “wherefore is this?”

“St. Withold!” muttered the confused Robin, fearful of again referring to the late subject of horror. “Why Ladye, in truth I am here--because I am--not here--that is to say--s’death Ladye, I came here to serve ye.”

“To serve _me_?” said Annabel wonderingly, “how wouldst thou serve _me_?”

“Ladye,” cried the yeoman in utter despair of his ability to convey his ideas in a circuitous manner. “Ladye would you wed this Duke of Florence?”

“Sooner would I die!”

“How will you avoid the bridal?”

“God only knows,” said Annabel, as she stood erect, “to his care do I confide myself. I have read legends of dames and damsels who have raised the dagger against their own lives when terrors such as threaten me, rose before their eyes,--but I cannot--cannot do it! All I can do”--and her head sunk low upon her bosom, and her arms drooped by her side--“all I can do is, to pray, earnestly pray; upon my bended knees _beseech_ the Virgin that I may _die_!”

“Cheer thee up, fair ladye--cheer thee up,” thus Robin spoke, “by the troth of an honest soldier, I swear that I will be near thee when the hour of thy peril draws nigh. I swear that my life shall be sacrificed to save thee!--And now I must be gone. This castle can no longer be Rough Robin’s home. God be with ye!”

The Ladye Annabel placed a purse of gold in Robin’s hand, and with many blessings on his head, she beheld him disappear into the ante-room.

Rosalind entered the room--Annabel exclaimed--

“Retire for a little while, fair coz: I would be alone.”

As the black-eyed maiden retired, the Ladye Annabel sank down into a seat, and gave herself up to the wild and agitating thoughts that flashed through her brain.

The first beams of the coming morn shot through the tapestry that well nigh concealed the casement of the maiden’s bower.

Annabel had fallen into a welcome slumber, and the soft beams of the lamp fell upon her calm and innocent face, revealing each feature in the mildest light, and softest shade.

A figure emerged from the tapestry, and advanced to the light, Adrian stood beside the sleeping maiden. His face was exceedingly pale and covered with blood, as also was the helmet, and the plates of the armor of azure steel. In one hand he grasped the furled banner of the Winged Leopard.

He turned and sought his place of concealment with a heavy heart; but ere he turned, he cast one deep, one agonizing look upon the lovely maiden.

“She is happy!--my wrongs shall not disturb her innocent soul--Farewell--my own loved--Annabel--farewell.”

A kiss that told of heart-felt affection he impressed upon her ruby lips, and as he took a last fond, ardent gaze, a burning tear fell upon the unstained cheek of the Ladye Annabel.