"Oh, I am very glad!" exclaimed Iola, in a tone so confiding, so
joyful, that it made Chartley's heart thrill.
There is certainly something in trust and confidence that is
wonderfully winning. Even with man--fierce, bloody, all-devouring
man--it is hardly possible to resist sacred confidence. The birds, the
beasts which trust us, and show their trust by cheerful familiarity,
we spare and cherish. The robin hops upon the window sill, and we feed
it with the crumbs from our table; and--to go from the least to the
greatest--we are told, that if we too trust in God, He will feed us,
as we feed the bird.
Yes, there is something very winning in confidence; and Lord Chartley,
though he could not see the fair face of Iola distinctly, thought her
more beautiful at that moment than when she had been sitting by his
side at the abbey.
"Dear lady," he said, taking her hand and speaking in a low voice, "it
rejoices me that you are glad; and right glad am I too, believe me, to
find you, though I did not rightly expect it. I have seen our friend
the woodman but now, and him whom you wot of. They are safely across
the road; but I could not be satisfied, when I heard that you had gone
back alone, without following you, to assure myself of your safety.
Why did you--"
"But who is that--who is that up there?" demanded Iola, pointing with
her left hand, in the direction of the spot where she had seen another
figure standing, but not withdrawing her right from that of the young
nobleman, and, on the contrary, creeping closer to him.
"Fear not," replied Chartley; "it is only my good slave. I stationed
him there, to warn you there was danger on that path, while I crept
through the trees, to see you safely to the cell. Why did you turn
back? Are you afraid to go through the passage alone?"
"No, no," she answered; "but, alas, the door is closed, and cannot be
opened from this side."
"Unfortunate indeed!" exclaimed Lord Chartley. "What is to be done
now?--Where are you to pass the night?"
"Oh," replied Iola, in a frank cheerful tone, "I fear not now when you
are with me. I will go at once to the good woodman's cottage, if you
will but kindly take care of me till I reach it. I shall be quite safe
there."
"It would be indeed a pleasant task," replied her young companion;
"but it is impossible, either for you or me, dear lady, to reach the
cottage without danger, to which you must not be exposed. There is
already one troop of these men upon the road; and, if I judge rightly
by the trumpet I heard just now, others will soon follow. It would
seem that they have discovered our good friend's escape, and are
pursuing him hither. Besides, the woodman will not be at his dwelling
for several hours. I saw him across the road, just before the head of
the troop came up the hill; and then, after watching for a moment, and
perceiving that they sent parties forward, as if to patrol, I came on
hither, fearful for you."
"You are very kind," said Iola, in a low and sweet but sad tone. "What
I am to do now, I know not. I must pass the night in the wood, I
fancy, like the poor children that they tell of. Would that I had
brought warmer garments; for in truth it is not warm; and, what
between fear and cold, I am shaking already.--What will become of me,
I wonder?"
"Nay, the cold shall be soon remedied," answered the young nobleman.
"This furred surcoat could not serve a fairer purpose or a fairer
maid, though in truth it might hold two such slight fairy forms as
this.--Nay, I insist upon it," he continued, as he wrapped the warm
garment round her: "and as for fear, dear lady, tremble not for that.
I will defend you with my life, and will not part with you, till I see
you safely back within the walls of the abbey, or at least under your
good aunt's protection. Besides, I have strong help at need, in the
strength of my good Arab's arm. Woe be to the rover who meets the edge
of his scimitar. Nevertheless, we must find out some place of refuge
for the night, if it be but a bower of green boughs, where you can
sleep while I guard you as your sentinel."
"It were better to seek some more secure hiding-place," answered Iola,
"where these people will not find us. There is what they call Prince
Edward's cave, I know not why; but that is on the other side of the
road."
"The woodman spoke of an old castle on the hill," said the young
nobleman. "I saw the keep too, towering up from below; but now I
cannot tell which way it lies."
"Oh, I can find the way," cried Iola gladly. "I know every path
thither, and almost every stone in the building. It lies on this side
of the hill too, though it is more than a mile off."
"Then let us thither if you can find the way," replied Chartley.
"Should we be pursued, we can play at hide and seek there, or, at the
worst, make good some tower or staircase till help comes. Were I sure
that there is any officer or man of repute with these bands, I should
not fear for you, but so fair a flower must not be trusted in the rude
hands of lawless soldiery."
Iola did not, or would not, notice the last words. Indeed, it is rare,
when a phrase contains several parts, that more than one is attended
to by any individual. She fixed at once upon what he had said
regarding the old castle, and answered, "Oh, we can play at hide and
seek with them there, for a year, if we can but reach it safely; and I
think I can lead you thither by a path they will never dream of; for
still, while approaching, it seems to be turning away from the object
at which it aims."
"Somewhat like woman's wit, dear lady," answered Lord Chartley,
laughing, "which I must say often takes the prettiest ways imaginable
to its ends, in gay meanderings round and round. But come. There is no
fear of their attempting to search the wood, this night at least,
though they may try to watch all the outlets. We shall pass safe
enough, if we enter upon no high roads."
"No, no," answered Iola, with a little spice of vengeance. "They shall
be all crooked, narrow, and obscure, like man's policy. Here, we must
turn up here, and take up your Moor by the way."
"Lean upon my arm then," said Chartley, drawing hers through his own.
"You will need some support on this long journey."
"It will be like the journey of life," she answered, "where sometimes
we must tread the narrow path singly and unsupported; sometimes
guiding and helping each other."
Thus saying, she walked on with him, leaning lightly on his arm, but
musing as she went. Chartley spoke a few words to Ibn Ayoub, bidding
him follow a few steps behind, and keep a watchful ear for any sounds
of pursuit; and thus he and his fair companion proceeded for about
five minutes in silence, till at length Iola broke from her fit of
musing, saying abruptly, "Heaven help me! What would my poor aunt
think if she knew that I was wandering here alone with you, my lord?"
Lord Chartley thought he perceived in those words a certain portion of
doubt and fear, which he could not but own was natural, but yet he was
very anxious to remove. "I trust she would be glad," he replied, "that
you had met with one, by a strange accident, in whom you and she can
fully trust, to guard and defend you against all wrong. I think you
know that such a one is by your side."
"Oh that I do," she answered, looking up towards his face, though she
could not see it. "Do not suppose I have any fears of you, my lord;
for I feel as if I had known you many a year; and, though they say we
should judge no man rashly, yet I am right sure you would neither
wrong me nor see me wronged, for any good the world could give. My
aunt, however, might be more suspicious; for she has strange notions
of the world, and I trust not true ones."
Chartley was silent for a moment or two, and then laughed gaily.
"It were easy," he replied at length, "to say as I was just going to
say--Trust me, and doubt all other men; but I had better say nothing
of the kind, however, for I can neither tell you rightly why you
should suspect others, nor give you a good reason why you should trust
me. Happy is it, in my case, that you have no choice. Trust me you
must, sweet girl, whether you will or not; but believe me," he added,
thinking he felt a certain tendency to withdraw her arm from his,
"believe me, that trust is not misplaced, and never will be. So now I
will make no more professions. There is another blast of the trumpet;
but it is farther off than before."
"It comes down the hill," answered Iola. "They have got farther on
than we have; but yet we shall beat them, I trust; for the many are
ever outwitted by the few, I hear, though, good sooth, I know nothing
of life, and but repeat such sage sayings as an old nurse's songs,
without being sure if they be to the right tune or not.--Oh, prudery,"
she continued gaily, "what would the dear nuns, and sister Bridget
especially, say, if they could hear me thus chattering with a young
lord, in a dark wood, when there is so much sad and sober earnest
going on near?--You too, perhaps, think it strange; but I have had so
little practice in concealing what I think, that my foolishness ever
rushes to my lips before my slow wit can start forth to stop it."
"Nay, I think no such thing," replied Lord Chartley, "for, by my
faith, the case is much the same with me. Besides, did we not make a
bargain at supper time, that the casket was not to be closed, but all
the jewels of the heart were to be left unveiled?"
"True," she answered. "It was a rash promise; but like all promises, I
suppose, it must be kept; and indeed, had it not been made, I am
afraid the course would have been the same; for the key of that casket
which you talk of is seldom to be found when needed; and the lock is
somewhat rusty, from being left always open.--Think not, however, I
would act or speak thus to all men; for had you, as did the only young
man I ever saw twice before yourself, talked of my beautiful eyes or
my charming fingers--or even, like the friend who was with you, had
you thrown out a pretty neat-turned compliment upon bright and
beautiful looks, to be picked up by any one who thought it worth the
stooping for, I should have been as grave and silent as a deaf
canoness, or have run away from you as fast as my feet could carry me;
but you spoke of better things, though gaily, and seemed to me to know
what is due, from knight and gentleman, to a woman and a lady, and
therefore, my good lord, I trust you as a friend, and speak to you as
a brother."
Whatever were the feelings of Lord Chartley--whether he felt inclined
to remain in the cool relationship of friend and brother, or whether
there were not growing upon him sensations towards his fair companion
of a somewhat warmer nature, he was well aware that fraternal regard
is one of the very best and most serviceable trenches for attacking
the citadel of a woman's heart, and consequently he thanked Iola
gracefully for her trust, and did nothing in the world to scare the
timidity of early confidence. Perhaps his was a character to win it
more quickly than that of most men; gay, cheerful, brave, apparently
thoughtless, but in reality considerate and reflective, light-hearted
from strong corporeal health, fair fortunes, and self-reliance, as
well as from a hopeful and sanguine heart, one seemed at once to see
clear and distinct from the act to the motive, from the words to the
emotions in which they originated. There was none of that misty
clouded policy, none of that obscure and twilight art, which is sure
to create suspicion and place the minds of others on their guard; but
all was frank, open, free; and though people might judge him to be
more rash than he really was, and heedless of consequences when he was
in reality quite the reverse, no one ever for a moment suspected half
the deep feeling that was in his heart, or the cool though rapid
reflection which went on in his mind.
We are inclined to imagine that when a man acts quickly and decidedly,
even in cases where there is no need of haste, that he acts
imprudently and without due consideration. We say--"he might have
taken time for thought."
But thought is a very different thing in the minds of different men.
With one, it is the cart-horse which plods slowly along with its heavy
load from one point of the road to another. With others, it is the
race-horse, darting like an arrow shot from a bow to the object in
view. The distance and the path are the same, but only they are
travelled more rapidly in the one instance than in the other.
Undoubtedly the race-horse was the illustration of Chartley's mind. It
would have foamed and fretted to be restrained to the slow progress
which many another man preferred; and when forced to proceed tardily,
in order to keep the same pace as others, like the same horse, it
would curvet and passage, showing its impatience by a thousand wild
gambols.
Short specimens of conversations are enough upon all ordinary
occasions; and therefore I will only say, that the young nobleman and
his fair companion, followed by the Arab, at the distance of eight or
ten yards, threaded their way through the wood paths, lightly and
easily, talking as they went. It may seem strange that they so soon
lost the sense of apprehension, and could converse on other things,
while dangers were round about; but it was a part of the characters of
both, to be little and but transiently impressible by any thing like
fear. Hope was ever predominant in the heart of each, and hope is
certainly a great element of courage. Danger was thought of only while
it was actually present; and imagination was fonder of plucking
flowers than looking out for thorns. True, they stopped and listened
from time to time, to make themselves sure that no enemies were near.
True, that when Iola had to lead the way through one of those narrow
paths, where two could not go abreast, she sometimes looked back to
assure herself that Chartley was near her; but when they were
together, they generally conversed gaily, and often even laughed,
although Iola felt some apprehensions for her good aunt and her
cousin, which could not be altogether removed, even by Chartley's
assurances that the burning of the houses upon the green was the
strongest proof of Richard's bands not having got into the abbey.
"Besides," he said, "I am quite sure that the commanders of these men,
as long as they have the troops under their own eye, would not suffer
them to commit any violence in a religious house; for the king himself
is devout, as we all know, and though he might wink at a violation of
sanctuary, for his own purpose, he would punish severely any
unnecessary injury done in effecting it."
These arguments certainly were consolatory to Iola, and left the fears
which still lingered, only as passing shades, coming across her mind
for a moment, and soon disappearing, like those cast by light clouds
floating over the sun in a summer's day.
Onward they walked then, amidst the branches of the wood, and along
the paths out in the thick underwood, still covered by the brown
leaves of the preceding year. The thaw which had prevailed since the
night before had penetrated even into the depths of the wood; and the
grass was covered with unfrozen drops which rendered it almost as
white as under the hoar frost. This was peculiarly the case upon what
may be called the first step of the hill; but the path soon began to
ascend, at first winding gently about upon the upland slope, and then,
spreading out to a greater width, ran along under some high cliffy
banks, somewhat too steep to surmount in a direct line. Here, from
time to time, a beautiful view of the abbey, with the lower grounds
surrounding it, might have been obtained, had there been daylight; and
even in the darkness of the night, aided by a faint light from the
smoking ruins of the cottages on the green, the eye could distinguish
the sombre masses of the old pile, rising above all the surrounding
objects.
"You see the abbey is safe," said Chartley, in a low tone; "and the
fires are going out. I hear no sound.--Perhaps these troops are
withdrawn."
"We could soon see," said Iola, "if we turned to the westward, for
there is a little point, which commands a view of the road."
Perhaps Chartley did not very much wish to see; for, to say the truth,
he had no great inclination to part with his fair companion so soon.
He had made up his mind, by this time, to the not unpleasant task of
passing the rest of the night with her in the old castle. There was a
spirit of adventure in it--a touch of that romance which is agreeable
to almost every young man's mind. Nevertheless, he thought it more
proper to follow the suggestion, although the result might be to
convey her back to the abbey, and send him onward on his way to
Hinckley. They turned then in the direction she indicated, and, at the
distance of about a hundred and fifty yards, came to a spot where a
small stream welled from the high bank, and the waters were gathered,
before they crossed the road, into a small clear pool; a beautiful
object and beautifully situated. The rugged cliff from which the
spring flowed, like a parent looking into a child's eyes, bent over
the fountain, and caught the image of itself. The stars were mirrored
in it; and a light birch that grew beside it bent its head down to
drink.
"I will sit here," said Iola, "upon this stone, where I have often sat
before, if you will run up the bank by that little path, which will
lead you to a spot where a greater part of the road can be seen. Stop
where the path stops; and do not be long, for I shall be frightened. I
do not know whether you can see anything upon the road in this dark
night; but the sand is light of colour, so as to show anything dark
moving upon it, I think."
"I will leave the Arab with you," said Chartley. "You can trust him
fully. Stay with the lady, Ibn Ayoub," he continued, "and guard her as
you would the prophet's tomb."
The man folded his arms upon his breast, and remained precisely in the
same attitude, at the distance of three or four paces, while his lord
ran lightly up the path; and Iola, seating herself by the fountain,
gazed down upon the limpid water, from which a dim shadowy form looked
up at her again. What were her thoughts then? Perhaps, she too
contemplated the result of all obstacles to her return to the abbey
being removed, the consequent parting with her young and kind
companion, and the probability of her never meeting with him again. It
was not without a feeling of regret. She almost wished that she had
not proposed to Chartley to see whether the troops were still there or
not; and then she was angry with herself for entertaining such
feelings. Then she meditated upon the passing the night with him in
the ruins; and certainly she did not regard such a thing in the same
way that he did. She felt a little alarmed, of she knew not what, a
hesitation, a doubt. It would feel very strange, she thought--almost
wrong. While there had seemed no other choice, such feelings had never
presented themselves, but now they were strong. It would be very
pleasant, she could not deny, to have his society for some time
longer--with friends and companions about them; but alone, in a remote
place, with the world's eye afar--that eye which acts as a bond but a
safeguard, a restraint but a justification--the matter was very
different. Yet--strange human nature!--when, a moment after, she heard
a blast of a trumpet coming from the road, and a loud voice shouting
forth some orders, it was a relief to her. Perhaps she feared the
parting with Chartley so soon, even more than passing of a night with
him in the old castle. Dear girl, she could not help it. It was no
fault of hers. Nature taught her to cling to that which had protected
her. Nature taught her to love that which came upon her hitherto dull
existence like the first gleam of summer's returning sunshine into the
wintry sky.
A moment after, Chartley's step was heard returning; and, running down
the bank, he said:
"They are upon the road still, and moreover, preparing to surround the
wood by patrols, probably with the intention of searching it
thoroughly to-morrow. Let us on, sweet Iola, and seek our place of
refuge, for we have no choice left; and they may perchance push some
of their parties along these broader paths to-night. I should not like
to come into collision with them, if I can help it. Here, let me stay
your steps;" and once more he drew her arm through his.
"I had hoped," answered Iola--little hypocrite--"that they were all
gone, and that you might be spared farther trouble on my account
to-night."
"Trouble!" said Chartley; and he laughed. "I know not what you feel,
dear lady; but I cannot, for my life, think all this night's adventure
so very disastrous. I grieve, of course, that you should be alarmed or
pained in any way; but yet a few hours of such sweet society, the
power of protecting, assisting, supporting you, the linking of
feelings, and sympathies, and associations with yours, even for so
short a space, has something very pleasant in it. Whatever may be our
fate hereafter, Lady Iola, we shall both remember this night, as one
of those high points of time, which raise their heads out of the ocean
of the past, and glitter afar in the light of memory."
"I must tell him about myself and my fate," thought Iola; but Chartley
pursued the subject no farther; and turning back upon their steps,
they renewed their ascent towards the castle, winding along amongst
the trees, which were there farther apart and less encumbered by
underwood.
How rapidly the wild encroaches upon the cultivated, when the hand of
man is once withdrawn. In former years--not very long before,
certainly not a century--the detached elevation in the wood, on which
the castle stood, had been covered with smooth clean-shaven green
turf, without tree or shrub, which could cover an approaching enemy
from the shafts of the garrison. It had its road winding round it from
the principal gate, and passing, till it approached the edge of the
neighbouring forest, within bow shot of some loop-hole or battlement,
at every turn. Now the trees had grown over the whole mount, as thick
and close as anywhere in the wood--over road and all; and nothing but
a pathway remained, where bands of retainers had formerly ridden up
and down on horseback. The self-sown oaks, indeed, were small and
thin; but there were some enormous ash trees, and large fine elms and
beeches, which no one would have supposed of so late a growth. A great
number of birches--"the ladies of the wood,"--mingled their slight
silvery stems with the sturdier and more lordly forest trees, and the
winged seeds of the ash, wafted to the walls, had planted themselves
here and there, wherever a fallen stone had left a vacant space in the
mortar, and had shot up into feathery shrubs, fringing the ancient
battlements and cresting the tall tower. Thus, in the early summer
time, when leaves are green, the castle at a distance could hardly be
distinguished from the forest.
Up the small path I have mentioned, Iola and Chartley took their way,
and at length stood under the old arch of the barbican. One of the
towers which had flanked it had fallen down, and, filling up the
fosse, afforded a firmer path than the drawbridge, which, partly
broken down, I know not whether by age or war, offered but an insecure
footing. One of the long beams indeed, and two or three of the planks,
still hung by the heavy chain used formerly to raise the bridge; but
Iola hesitated, although she had often crossed before, fearing, in the
darkness, to lose her footing on the bridge, or to stumble amongst the
stones, if she chose the path over the fallen tower. Chartley
instantly divined her doubt, and going on part of the way over the
drawbridge, held out his hand, saying: "Let me steady your steps. It
is quite firm."
Iola followed at once; and the Arab came after; but when they reached
the great gate, the lady again paused, saying, "It is so dark, I fear
we shall never find our way about the building, without the risk of
some accident, for many of the steps are broken down, and fragments of
the walls encumber the doorways, although some of the rooms in the
keep are almost as if they had been just inhabited. I wonder how long
it is to daybreak."
"I have not heard the bell for lauds," replied Chartley, "and
therefore, probably, three or four hours may elapse before we see the
face of day. Perhaps, however, we can contrive to light a fire
somewhere in the court, for the high trees and walls would screen it
from the eyes of the men upon the road."
"Let us find our way into the great court first," said Iola. "There is
plenty of dry wood about the place, if we could but find a light."
"That will be soon obtained," answered Lord Chartley, "and, perhaps,
something that may serve the purpose of a torch or candle also;" and,
speaking a few words to the Arab, which Iola did not understand, he
led the way forward, stretching out his hands, like a blind man, to
make sure of the path he trod; for, if the night was dark without, the
darkness was doubly deep under the shadow of the arch. After passing
through the gateway, the great court seemed light enough by
comparison. In the centre rose the large keep or donjon tower,
frowning heavily over the scene below; and forth from the side of the
keep came a pile of very ancient buildings, now silent and desolate
like the rest.
Chartley and Iola are now alone; for the Arab had left them. But yet
she did not and she would not fear, for she had great confidence in
her companion, and woman's confidence is of a very capacious measure.
Nor did he wrong it--shame upon him who does--but, guiding her quietly
to the flight of steps leading into the keep, he made her sit down
upon the dilapidated stairs, and stood beside her, talking about
subjects which could awake no emotion, or a very slight one, and,
informing her that he had sent the slave to seek for materials to
light a fire. None of those events, however, occurred, which
continually happen to people cast upon a desert island. There were
none of those appliances or means at hand, with which wandering
sailors are usually supplied accidentally. No bituminous pine was
found to fulfil the office of a torch; and at length after the Arab's
return, the only resource of the fugitives was to light a fire, after
the most ancient and approved fashion, by a flint and steel. This,
however, was accomplished with less difficulty than might have been
expected, the young lord's dagger supplying the steel, and flints
being numerous in the neighbourhood. The old brown leaves, and the
young but well-dried shoots, soon caught the flame; and in a few
minutes the joyous light was spreading round the old court yard, and
raising Iola's spirits by the very look.
"Ah, now we can rest here in comfort," said, the young lady gazing
around her; "but the light is not yet sufficient to see the inside of
the hall."
"But still you cannot sleep here, sweet Iola," answered her companion.
"I and the slave will go in and light a fire in the hall, if you will
tend this in the meanwhile."
"Nay," she answered, "I want not to sleep;" and she detained him
gently by the arm. "Let us sit down here. See here is a stone bench
bowered in the ivy. We can pass the night in telling tales; and first
you shall inform me how you came hither on foot in the forest, when I
thought you had gone away for Leicester."
Lord Chartley easily satisfied her on that point; and seated on the
stone bench by her side, as near as possible, gazing from time to time
on her bright countenance, by the gleams of the firelight, he related
to her all that had occurred to him since he had left the abbey.
"As to my being on foot," he said, "your good friend the woodman
judged it best that I and my Arab should leave our horses at his hut,
for fear of attracting attention. All I hope is, that they will not be
found there by these good gentlemen, who are watching the wood; for it
might be dangerous if they were recognised as my property."
"There is a great risk indeed," said Iola anxiously. "What will you do
if such should be the case?"
"As best I can," answered Chartley. "I never premeditate, dear lady;
for I always remark that those who go lightly and carelessly through
the world go the farthest. The circumstances of the moment determine
my conduct; and as I have no ties to bind me but those of honour and
truth, no ambitious schemes to be frustrated or executed, no deeds
done that I am ashamed of, so I have never any great store of fears
for the future, nor much need of forming plans at any time for after
action."
"Happy are those," answered Iola, with a sigh, "who, as you say, have
no ties to bind them."
Her reply was a natural one, springing at once from what was passing
in her own heart. Something had whispered that it would be better to
tell her companion, that her own fate was linked to another, that she
had been contracted in fact in infancy, by her relations, to a person
of whom she knew nothing. The thought of informing him of her fate,
however, led her to think of that fate itself; and thence came the
sigh and the answer that she made. But as soon as it was uttered, she
felt that it rendered more difficult, nay impossible, the task of
telling the circumstances as she had meditated. The words she had just
spoken, the sigh she had just breathed, expressed too clearly the
regret that she really felt; but to explain to him the source of that
regret, to show him the nature of the tie that oppressed her, would,
she thought, be unwomanly and indecent.
Her words, however, had not been unmarked; and Chartley, reading them
wrongly, pressed her gaily for explanation.
"Nay," he said, "you have no ties to regret. Your good aunt, the
abbess, told me herself, that you are not destined for the life of the
convent. If you do take the veil, it must be from some fancied
resolution of your own heart, against which it is the duty of every
knight and gentleman to war. Fie, fie! Let those who have tasted the
world and found it bitter; let those to whom it has pleased Heaven to
deny beauty, and grace, and mind, and kindly feeling; let those who
have sorrows to mourn, or evil acts to repent, seek the shades of the
convent; but do not bury there charms of person, and mind, and heart,
such as yours, intended by Heaven to be the blessing and the hope and
the comfort of another. I must not, I will not have it."
He spoke so eagerly, so warmly, and his eyes looked so bright, that
Iola felt glad the Arab was standing near piling fresh wood upon the
fire. She knew not how to answer; but at length she said, "I am not
destined for a convent; but there may be other ties as binding as the
vow to the veil."
"You are not married," exclaimed Chartley, starting; and then he
added, with a laugh--a gladsome laugh, "No, no. You told me yourself
that you had only seen one other young man twice in life besides
myself."
"No, not married--" answered Iola, casting down her eyes, and speaking
in a low and sad tone. But her farther reply was interrupted; for the
Arab suddenly lifted his finger with a warning gesture, and said in a
low voice:
"Steps come."
"Let us into the old hall," said Chartley, rising, and taking a
burning brand from the fire. "This will give us some light at least.
Ibn Ayoub, stay you in the archway till I return. I will come
directly; but let no one pass."
The Arab drew a long sharp pointed knife from his girdle, saying; "I
will take care;" and the young lord and Iola hurried, through the
gateway of the keep, into the interior of the building.