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.”