Page:Stories from Old English Poetry-1899.djvu/159

Rh jest) take your favor from me. You cannot, for a jest, give up my love and me. Even now the prince delays his nuptials with Elinor, that thou and I may grace them together.”

“Too late, Lord Lacy. Better heaven’s glories than earth’s fading joys. Leave me, I beseech you, and trouble my repose no more.”

Lacy, fearful of her long denial, turned an imploring look to Ernsby.

“Come, come,” said that bluff old soldier. “Think well of it, maiden. The time is but short, and we soldiers are not patient. You can not mean your words. Exchange the pleasures of the court for a grave nunnery? Choose now. Heaven or Lord Lacy, which contents you best? To be a nun, or be Lord Lacy’s wife?”

Margaret’s resolution wavered, and seeing her hesitation, Lacy again threw himself at her feet.

“You will forgive the cruel trial of your faith,” he pleaded.

“The heart is weak, my lord,” said Margaret, “and when you come with your beguiling voice, you know well I cannot say you nay.”

So ends our story amid the rapture of wedding bells, which chime all over London. Our last glimpse of our rustic daisy is in the splendor of the court, beside the lovely Princess Elinor, who thanks the Earl of Lincoln, that he has given her as chief attendant, his new-made Countess, the “fair star of Fresingfield.”