The knights could not have moved at all under the weight if they had
not been trained from infancy, and had nearly reduced themselves to
the condition of great tortoises.
It was no small surprise when, very late on a July evening, when,
though twilight still prevailed, all save the warder were in bed, and
he was asleep on his post, a bugle-horn rang out the master's note,
at first in the usual tones, then more loudly and impatiently.
Hastening out of bed to her loophole window, Grisell saw a party
beneath the walls, her father's scallop-shells dimly seen above them,
and a little in the rear, one who was evidently a prisoner.
The blasts grew fiercer, the warder and the castle were beginning to
be astir, and when Grisell hurried into the outer room, she found her
mother afoot and hastily dressing.
"My lord! my lord! it is his note," she cried.
"Father come home!" shouted Bernard, just awake. "Grisly! Grisly!
help me don my clothes."
Lady Whitburn trembled and shook with haste, and Grisell could not
help her very rapidly in the dark, with Bernard howling rather than
calling for help all the time; and before she, still less Grisell,
was fit for the public, her father's heavy step was on the stairs,
and she heard fragments of his words.
"All abed! We must have supper--ridden from Ayton since last
baiting. Aye, got a prisoner--young Copeland--old one slain--great
victory--Northampton.
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