--"I know it not; he has some reason for keeping it secret, I
suppose; but his deeds will not shame it, be it what it may. I can bear
witness to more than one foeman falling beneath his battle-axe." "Indeed!" --"Yes; and he took a banner from the enemy in the last battle
that was fought." "Ah, well! he deserves a better fortune to-morrow. Who is to be the
bridegroom of the beautiful Bertha, daughter of Lord de Cauci?" --"That
will have to be decided: but it is presumed that Sir Guthrie de Beaumont
is the intended." "Ah! but should he not prove the victor?" --"It's understood; because
it's known he is intended by the parents of the lady, and none would be
ungallant enough to prevail against him,--save on such conditions as
would not endanger the fruits of victory." "No?" --"Certainly not; they would lay the trophies at the foot of the
beauty worshipped by the knights at the tournament." "So, triumphant or not, he's to be the bridegroom; bearing off the prize
of valour whether or no,--in fact, deserve her or not,--that's the
fact." --"So it is, so it is." "And a shame, too, friends; but so it is now; but yet, if the knight's
horse recovers from the strain, and is fit for work to-morrow, it
strikes me that the Green Shield will give some work to the holiday
knight." *       *       *       *       *

There had been a grand tournament held near Shrewsbury Castle, in honour
of the intended nuptials of the beautiful Lady Bertha de Cauci. She was
the only daughter of the Earl de Cauci, a nobleman of some note; he was
one of an ancient and unblemished name, and of great riches. The lady was beautiful, but, at the same time, she was an unwilling
bride,--every one could see that; but the bridegroom cared not for that. There was a sealed sorrow on her brow,--a sorrow that seemed sincere and
lasting; but she spoke not of it to any one,--her lips were seldom
parted. She loved another. Yes; she loved one who was far away, fighting
in the wars of his country,--one who was not so rich in lands as her
present bridegroom. When he left her, she remembered his promise; it was, to fight on till
he earned a fortune, or name that should give him some right to claim
her hand, even from her imperious father. But alas! he came not; and
what could she do against the commands of one who would be obeyed? Her
mother, too, was a proud, haughty woman, one whose sole anxiety was to
increase the grandeur and power of her house by such connections. Thus it was pressed on by circumstances, she could no longer hold out,
more especially as she heard nothing of her knight. She knew not where
he was, or indeed if he were living or dead. She knew not he was never
named. This last circumstance, indeed, gave her pain; for it assured her
that he whom she loved had been unable to signalize himself from among
other men. That, in fact, he was unknown in the annals of fame, as well
as the probability that he had been slain in some of the earlier
skirmishes of the war. This, if it had happened, caused her some pain to
think upon; not but such events were looked upon with almost
indifference by females, save in such cases where their affections were
engaged, as on this occasion. But the event was softened by the fact
that men were continually falling by the hand of man in such encounters,
but at the same time it was considered an honourable and praiseworthy
death for a soldier. He was wounded, but not with the anguish we now
hear of; for the friends were consoled by the reflection that the
deceased warrior died covered with glory. Bertha, however, was young, and as yet she knew not the cause of her
absent knight's silence, or why he had not been heard of among the most
forward in the battle. "Heaven's will be done," she exclaimed; "what can I do? I must submit to
my father's behests; but my future life will be one of misery and
sorrow." She wept to think of the past, and to dream of the future; both alike
were sorrowful to think upon--no comfort in the past and no joy in the
future. Thus she wept and sorrowed on the night of the first tournament; there
was to be a second, and that was to be the grand one, where her intended
bridegroom was to show himself off in her eyes, and take his part in the
sport. *       *       *       *       *

Bertha sat late--she sat sorrowing by the light of the lamps and the
flickering flame of the fire, as it rose and fell on the hearth and
threw dancing shadows on the walls. "Oh, why, Arthur Home, should you thus be absent? Absent, too, at such a
time when you are more needed than ever. Alas, alas! you may no longer
be in the land of the living. Your family is great and your name
known--your own has been spoken with commendation from the lips of your
friend; what more of fame do you need? but I am speaking without
purpose. Heaven have mercy on me." As she spoke she looked up and saw one of her women in waiting standing
by. "Well, what would you?" --"My lady, there is one who would speak with
you," said the hand-maiden. "With me?" --"Yes, my lady; he named you the Lady Bertha de Cauci." "Who and what is he?" she inquired, with something like trepidation, of
the maiden.--"I know not, my lady." "But gave he not some token by which I might know who I admit to my
chamber?" --"None," replied the maiden. "And what does he bear by way of distinguishing himself? What crest or
device doth he bear?" --"Merely a green shield." "The unsuccessful knight in the tournament to-day. Heaven's! what can he
desire with me; he is not--no, no, it cannot be--it cannot be." --"Will
you admit him, lady?" "Indeed, I know not what to do; but yet he may have some intelligence to
give me. Yes, yes, admit him; but first throw some logs on the fire." The attendant did as she was desired, and then quitted the room for the
purpose of admitting the stranger knight with the green shield. In a few
moments she could hear the stride of the knight as he entered the
apartment, and she thought the step was familiar to her ear--she thought
it was the step of Sir Arthur Home, her lover. She waited anxiously to
see the door open, and then the stranger entered. His form and bearing
was that of her lover, but his visor was down, and she was unable to
distinguish the features of the stranger. His armour was such as had seen many a day's hard wear, and there were
plenty of marks of the battle about him. His travel-worn accoutrements
were altogether such as bespoke service in the field. "Sir, you desired to see me; say wherefore you do so, and if it is news
you bring." The knight answered not, but pointed to the female
attendant, as if he desired she would withdraw. "You may retire," said
Bertha; "be within call, and let me know if I am threatened with
interruption." The attendant retired, and then the knight and lady were left alone. The
former seemed at a loss how to break silence for some moments, and then
he said,--

"Lady ----" "Oh, Heavens! 'tis he!" exclaimed Bertha, as she sprang to
her feet; "it is Sir Arthur Home!"