I am ready!"
"It is well!" said Lord Whitburn. "Ho, you there! Bring the horses
to the door."
Grisell, in all the strange suspense of that decision, had been
thinking of Sir Gawaine, whose lines rang in her head, but that look
of grief roused other feelings. Sir Gawaine had no other love to
sacrifice.
"Sir! sir!" she cried, as her father turned to bid her mount the
pillion behind Ridley. "Can you not let him go free without? I
always looked to a cloister."
"That is for you and he to settle, girl. Obey me now, or it will be
the worse for him and you."
"One word I would say," added the mother. "How far hath this matter
with the Audley maid gone? There is no troth plight, I trow?"
"No, by all that is holy, no. Would the lad not have pleaded it if
there had been? No more dilly-dallying. Up on the horse, Grisly,
and have done with it. We will show the young recreant how promises
are kept in Durham County."
He dragged rather than led his daughter to the door, and lifted her
passively to the pillion seat behind Cuthbert Ridley. A fine horse,
Copeland's own, was waiting for him. He was allowed to ride freely,
but old Whitburn kept close beside him, so that escape would have
been impossible. He was in the armour in which he had fought, dimmed
and dust-stained, but still glancing in the morning sun, which
glittered on the sea, though a heavy western thunder-cloud, purple in
the sun, was rising in front of this strange bridal cavalcade.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123