Chapter 31 - Page 2

briskly forward, and were speedily out of sight.

It was now four hours past noon, and the sun was declining, yet
there was more than three hours' space to the time of rendezvous,
and the distance from the place did not now exceed four miles.
Vidal, therefore, either for the sake of rest or reflection,
withdrew from the path into a thicket on the left hand, from which
gushed the waters of a streamlet, fed by a small fountain that
bubbled up amongst the trees. Here the traveller sat himself down,
and with an air which seemed unconscious of what he was doing,
bent his eye on the little sparkling font for more than half an
hour, without change of posture; so that he might, in Pagan times,
have represented the statue of a water-god bending over his urn,
and attentive only to the supplies which it was pouring forth. At
length, however, he seemed to recall himself from this state of
deep abstraction, drew himself up, and took some coarse food from
his pilgrim's scrip, as if suddenly reminded that life is not
supported without means. But he had probably something at his
heart which affected his throat or appetite. After a vain attempt
to swallow a morsel, he threw it from him in disgust, and applied
him to a small flask, in which he had some wine or other liquor.
But seemingly this also turned distasteful, for he threw from him
both scrip and bottle, and, bending down to the spring, drank
deeply of the pure element, bathed in it his hands and face, and
arising from the fountain apparently refreshed, moved slowly on
his way, singing as he went, but in a low and saddened tone, wild
fragments of ancient poetry, in a tongue equally ancient.

Journeying on in this melancholy manner, he at length came in
sight of the Battle-bridge; near to which arose, in proud and
gloomy strength, the celebrated castle of the Garde Doloureuse.
"Here, then," he said--"here, then, I am to await the proud De
Lacy. Be it so, in God's name!--he shall know me better ere we
part."

So saying, he strode, with long and resolved steps, across the
bridge, and ascending a mound which arose on the opposite side at
some distance, he gazed for a time upon the scene beneath--the
beautiful river, rich with the reflected tints of the western sky--
the trees, which were already brightened to the eye, and saddened
to the fancy, with the hue of autumn--and the darksome walls and
towers of the feudal castle, from which, at times, flashed a
glimpse of splendour, as some sentinel's arms caught and gave back
a transient ray of the setting sun.

The countenance of the minstrel, which had hitherto been dark and
troubled, seemed softened by the quiet of the scene. He threw
loose his pilgrim's dress, yet suffering