What! fair and young-, and faithful too?

A miracle if this be true.

WALLER.

Rose, by nature one of the most disinterested and affectionate maidens that ever breathed, was the first who, hastily considering the peculiar condition in which her lady was placed, and the marked degree of restraint which had hitherto characterized her intercourse with her youthful guardian, became anxious to know how the wounded knight was to be disposed of; and when she came to Eveline’s side for the purpose of asking this important question, her resolution well-nigh failed her.

The appearance of Eveline was indeed such as might have made it almost cruelty to intrude upon her any other subject of anxious consideration than those with which her mind had been so lately assailed, and was still occupied. Her countenance was as pale as death could have made it, unless where it was specked with drops of blood; her veil, torn and disordered, was soiled with dust and with gore; her hair, wildly dishevelled, fell in, elf-locks on her brow and shoulders, and a single broken and ragged feather, which was all that remained of her headgear, had been twisted among her tresses and still flowed there, as if in mockery, rather than ornament. Her eyes were fixed on the litter where Damian was deposited, and she rode close beside it, without apparently wasting a thought on any thing, save the danger of him who was extended there.

Rose plainly saw that her lady was under feelings of excitation, which might render it difficult for her to take a wise and prudent view of her own situation. She endeavoured gradually to awaken her to a sense of it. “Dearest lady,” said Rose, “will it please you to take my mantle?”

“Torment me not,” answered Eveline, with some sharpness in her accent.

“Indeed, my lady,” said Dame Gillian, bustling up as one who feared her functions as mistress of the robes might be interfered with —“indeed, my lady, Rose Flammock speaks truth; and neither your kirtle nor your gown are sitting as they should do; and, to speak truth, they are but barely decent. And so, if Rose will turn herself, and put her horse out of my way,” continued the tire-woman, “I will put your dress in better order in the sticking in of a bodkin, than any Fleming of them all could do in twelve hours.”

“I care not for my dress,” replied Eveline, in the same manner as before.

“Care then for your honour — for your fame,” said Rose, riding close to her mistress, and whispering in her ear; “think, and that hastily, how you are to dispose of this wounded young man.”

“To the castle,” answered Eveline aloud, as if scorning the affectation of secrecy; “lead to the castle, and that straight as you can.”

“Why not rather to his own camp, or to Malpas?” said Rose — “dearest lady, believe, it will be for the best.”

“Wherefore not — wherefore not?— wherefore not leave him on the way-side at once, to the knife of the Welshman, and the teeth of the wolf?-Once — twice — three times has he been my preserver. Where I go, he shall go; nor will I be in safety myself a moment sooner than I know that he is so.”

Rose saw that she could make no impression on her mistress, and her own reflection told her that the wounded man’s life might be endangered by a longer transportation than was absolutely necessary. An expedient occurred to her, by which she imagined this objection might be obviated; but it was necessary she should consult her father. She struck her palfrey with her riding-rod, and in a moment her diminutive, though beautiful figure, and her spirited little jennet, were by the side of the gigantic Fleming and his tall black horse, and riding, as it were, in their vast shadow. “My dearest father,” said Rose, “the lady intends that Sir Damian be transported to the castle, where it is like he may be a long sojourner;— what think you?-is that wholesome counsel?”

“Wholesome for the youth, surely, Roschen,” answered the Fleming, “because he will escape the better risk of a fever.”

“True; but is it wise for my lady?” continued Rose.

“Wise enough, if she deal wisely. But wherefore shouldst thou doubt her, Roschen?”

“I know not,” said Rose, unwilling to breathe even to her father the fears and doubts which she herself entertained; “but where there are evil tongues, there may be evil rehearsing. Sir Damian and my lady are both very young-Methinks it were better, dearest father, would you offer the shelter of your roof to the wounded knight, in the stead of his being carried to the castle.”

“That I shall not, wench,” answered the Fleming, hastily —“that I shall not, if I may help. Norman shall not cross my quiet threshold, nor Englishman neither, to mock my quiet thrift, and consume my substance. Thou dost not know them, because thou art ever with thy lady, and hast her good favour; but I know them well; and the best I can get from them is Lazy Flanderkin, and Greedy Flanderkin, and Flemish, sot —— I thank the saints they cannot say Coward Flanderkin, since Gwenwyn’s Welsh uproar.”

“I had ever thought, my father,” answered Rose, “that your spirit was too calm to regard these base calumnies. Bethink you we are under this lady’s banner, and that she has been my loving mistress, and her father was your good lord; to the Constable, too, are you beholden, for enlarged privileges. Money may pay debt, but kindness only can requite kindness; and I forebode that you will never have such an opportunity to do kindness to the houses of Berenger and De Lacy, as by opening the doors of your house to this wounded knight.”

“The doors of my house!” answered the Fleming —“do I know how long I may call that, or any house upon earth, my own? Alas, my daughter, we came hither to fly from the rage of the elements, but who knows how soon we may perish by the wrath of men!”

“You speak strangely, my father,” said Rose; “it holds not with your solid wisdom to augur such general evil from the rash enterprise of a Welsh outlaw.”

“I think not of the One-eyed robber,” said Wilkin; “although the increase and audacity of such robbers as Dawfyd is no good sign of a quiet country. But thou, who livest within yonder walls, hearest but little of what passes without, and your estate is less anxious;— you had known nothing of the news from me, unless in case I had found it necessary to remove to another country.”

“To remove, my dearest father, from the land where your thrift and industry have gained you an honourable competency?”

“Ay, and where the hunger of wicked men, who envy me the produce of my thrift, may likely bring me to a dishonourable death. There have been tumults among the English rabble in more than one county, and their wrath is directed against those of our nation, as if we were Jews or heathens, and not better Christians and better men than themselves. They have, at York, Bristol, and elsewhere, sacked the houses of the Flemings, spoiled their goods, misused their families, and murdered themselves.— And why?— except that we have brought among them the skill and industry which they possessed not; and because wealth, which they would never else have seen in Britain, was the reward of our art and our toil. Roschen, this evil spirit is spreading wider daily. Here we are more safe than elsewhere, because we form a colony of some numbers and strength. But I confide not in our neighbours; and hadst not thou, Rose, been in security, I would long ere this have given up all, and left Britain.”

“Given up all, and left Britain!”— The words sounded prodigious in the ears of his daughter, who knew better than any one how successful her father had been in his industry, and how unlikely one of his firm and sedate temper was to abandon known and present advantages for the dread of distant or contingent peril. At length she replied, “If such be your peril, my father, methinks your house and goods cannot have a better protection than, th............