Page:Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry - 1887.djvu/70

66 these northern warriors, but was led into Preston, and carried into a house, half-dead, where several of the ladies who followed the fortune of their lords in this unhappy expedition endeavoured to soothe and comfort me. But I soon was the gayest of them all; for in came Walter Selby and his companion, soiled with blood and dust from helmet to spur. I leaped into my cousin's bosom, and sobbed with joy: he kissed my forehead, and said: 'Thank him, my Eleanor—the gallant knight, Sir Thomas Scott; but for him I should have been where many brave fellows are.' I recovered presence of mind in a moment, and turning to him, said: 'Accept, sir, a poor maiden's thanks for the safety of her kinsman, and allow her to kiss the right hand that wrought this deliverance.' 'Bless thee, fair lady,' said the knight, 'I would fight a dozen such fields for the honour thou profferest; but my hand is not in trim for such lady courtesy; so let me kiss thine as a warrior ought.' I held out my hand, which he pressed to his lips; and washing the blood from his hands, removing the soils of battle from his dress, and resuming his mantle, he became the gayest and most cheerful of the company.

"It was evident, from the frequent and earnest consultations of the leaders of this rash enterprise, that information had reached them of no pleasing kind. Couriers continually came and went, and some of the chiefs began to resume their weapons. As the danger pressed, advice and contradiction, which at first were given and urged with courtesy and respect, now became warm and loud; and the Earl of Derwentwater, a virtuous and amiable man, but neither warrior nor leader, instead of overawing and ruling the tumultuary elements of his army, strode to and fro, a perfect picture of indecision and dismay, and uttered not a word.

"All this while Sir Thomas Scott sat beside Walter Selby and me, calm and unconcerned; conversing about our ancient house, relating anecdotes of the lords of Selby in the court and in the camp, quoting, and in his own impressive way of reciting verse lending all the melody of music to, the old minstrel ballads which recorded our name and deeds. In a moment of less alarm I could have worshipped him for this; and my poor Walter seemed the child of his companion's will, and forgot all but me in the admiration with which he contemplated him.

"The conference of the chiefs had waxed warm and