shed, for something familiar in the tone or look of the speaker
so struck the false heart that he was speechless.

Before his troubled imagination rose a vision of the lovely Constance,
beautiful and pure as when, trusting his treacherous words, she left the
peaceful walls of her convent. He knew she was now a captive in convent
cell, and the strange words of the Palmer, added to the song of the
squire, had made him unhappy. "Alas!" he thought, "would that I had left
her in purity to live, in holiness to die." Twice he was ready to order,
"To horse," that he might fly to Lindisfarne and command that not one
golden ringlet of her fair head be harmed, and twice he thought, "They
dare not. I gave orders that she should be safe, though not at large."

While thus love and repentance strove in the breast of the lord, the
landlord began a weird tale, suggested by the speech of the Palmer. As
Marmion listened, he gathered from the legend that not far from where
they sat, a knight might learn of future weal or woe. He might,
perchance, meet "in the charmed ring" his deadliest foe, in the form of
a spectre, and with it engage in mortal combat. If victorious over this
supernatural antagonist, the omen was victory in all future
undertakings.

"Marmion longed to prove his chance;
In charmed ring to break a lance."

The yeomen had drunk deep; the ale was strong, and at a sign from their
master, all sought rest on the hostel floor before the now dying embers.
For pillow, under each head, was quiver or targe. The flickering fire
threw fitful shadows on the strange group. Marmion and his squires
retired to other quarters. Where the Palmer had disappeared, none knew
or cared.

Alone, folded in his green mantle and nestling in the hay of a waste
loft, lay Fitz-Eustace, the pale moonlight falling upon his youthful
face and form. He was dreaming happy dreams of hawk and hound, of ring
and glove, of lady's eyes, when suddenly he woke. A tall form, half in
the moonbeams, half in the gloom, stood beside him; but before he could
draw his dagger, he recognized the voice of Marmion, who said:

"Fitz-Eustace, rise, and saddle Bevis! I cannot rest. The air must cool
my brow. I fain would ride to view the elfin scene of chivalry of which
we heard to-night. Rouse none from their slumbers, for I would not have
those prating knaves know that I could credit so wild a tale as our
landlord has told."

Softly down the steps they stole. Eus