in his steed."

A swallow does not more lightly skim the air, than Marmion's steed flew
along the drawbridge. The man drew rein when he had reached the train,
turned, clenched his fists, shouted defiance, and shook his gauntlet at
the towers where so lately he had been a guest.

"To horse! to horse!" cried Douglas. "Let the chase be up." Then
relenting, he smiled bitterly, saying, "He came a royal messenger. Bold
can he talk and fairly ride, and I doubt not he will fight well."

Slowly the Earl sought the castle walls, that frowned still more
gloomily, no longer brightened by the young and beautiful Lady Clare.

As the day wore on, Marmion's passion wore off, and scanning his little
band, he missed the Palmer. From young Blount he demanded an explanation
of the guide's absence.

"The Palmer, in good sooth, parted from Douglas at dawn of day. If a
Palmer he is, he set out in strange guise," replied the youth.

"What mean you?" quickly demanded Marmion.

"My Lord, I can ill interpret what I say. All night I was disturbed in
my sleep, as if by workmen forging armor. At dawn, hearing the
drawbridge fall, I looked from a loophole and saw old Bell-the-Cat,
wrapped in sables, come from Tantallon keep. The wind blew aside the fur
mantle, and I beheld beneath it, a suit of rusty mail, which I am sure
must have done bloody work against Saracen and Turk. Last night that
armor did not hang in Tantallon hall. Next, I saw Old Cheviot, Douglas's
matchless steed, led forth, sheathed in bright armor. The Palmer sprang
to the saddle, Lord Angus wished him speed, and as he bowed and bent in
graceful farewells, I could but think how strongly that Palmer resembled
the young knight you overthrew at Cottiswold."

A sudden light broke upon Marmion. "Dastard! fool! I, to reason lost,
when I rode to meet a fay, a ghost, on Gifford's moor. It was this
Palmer fiend, De Wilton in disguise, I met. Had I but fought as is my
wont, one thrust had placed him where he would never cross my path
again. Now he has told my tale to Douglas. This is why I was treated
with scorn. I almost fear to meet my Lord Surrey. I must avoid the Lady
Clare, and separate Constance from the nuns.

"O, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive!
A Palmer too!--no wonder why
I felt rebuked beneath his eye:
I might have known there was but one
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion!"

Stung with these thoughts, he urged