This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen
and David Widger
Fair are thy fields, O England; fair the rural farm and the orchardsin which the blossoms have ripened into laughing fruits; and fairerthan all, O England, the faces of thy soft-eyed daughters!
From the field where Sibyll and her father had wandered amidst thedead, the dismal witnesses of war had vanished; and over the greenpastures roved the gentle flocks. And the farm to which Hastings hadled the wanderers looked upon that peaceful field through its leafyscreen; and there father and daughter had found a home.
It was a lovely summer evening; and Sibyll put aside the broideryframe, at which, for the last hour, she had not worked, and gliding tothe lattice, looked wistfully along the winding lane. The room was inthe upper story, and was decorated with a care which the exterior ofthe house little promised, and which almost approached to elegance.The fresh green rushes that strewed the floor were intermingled withdried wild thyme and other fragrant herbs. The bare walls were hungwith serge of a bright and cheerful blue; a rich carpet de cuircovered the oak table, on which lay musical instruments, curiouslyinlaid, with a few manuscripts, chiefly of English and Provencalpoetry. The tabourets were covered with cushions of Norwich worsted,in gay colours. All was simple, it is true, yet all betokened acomfort—ay, a refinement, an evidence of wealth—very rare in thehouses even of the second order of nobility.
As Sibyll gazed, her face suddenly brightened; she uttered a joyouscry, hurried from the room, descended the stairs, and passed herfather, who was seated without the porch, and seemingly plunged in oneof his most abstracted reveries. She kissed his brow (he heeded hernot), bounded with a light step over the sward of the orchard, andpausing by a wicket gate, listened with throbbing heart to theadvancing sound of a horse's hoofs. Nearer came the sound, andnearer. A cavalier appeared in sight, sprang from his saddle, and,leaving his palfrey to find his way to the well-known stable, spranglightly over the little gate.
"And thou hast watched for me, Sibyll?"
The girl blushingly withdrew from the eager embrace, and saidtouchingly, "My heart watcheth for thee alway. Oh, shall I thank orchide thee for so much care? Thou wilt see how thy craftsmen havechanged the rugged homestead into the daintiest bower!"
"Alas! my Sibyll! would that it were worthier of thy beauty, and ourmutual troth! Blessings on thy trust and sweet patience; may the daysoon come when I may lead thee to a nobler home, and hear knight andbaron envy the bride of Hastings!"
"My own lord!" said Sibyll, with grateful tears in confiding eyes;but, after a pause, she added timidly, "Does the king still bear sostern a memory against so humble a subject?"
"The king is more wroth than before, since tidings of Lord Warwick'srestless machinations in France have soured his temper. He cannothear thy name without threats against thy father as a secret adherentof Lancaster, and accuseth thee of witching his chamberlain,—as, intruth, thou hast. The Duchess of Bedford is more than ever under theinfluence of Friar Bungey, to whose spells and charms, and not to ourgood swords, she ascribes the marvellous flight of Warwick and thedispersion of our foes; and the friar, methinks, has fostered and yetfeeds Edward's susp