sage from his friend Lord
Lovel, to come to him at the castle; that he stood at the gate and
received him, that he strove to embrace him, but could not; but that he
spoke to this effect:--"Though I have been dead these fifteen years,
I still command here, and none can enter these gates without my
permission; know that it is I that invite, and bid you welcome; the
hopes of my house rest upon you." Upon this he bid Sir Philip follow
him; he led him through many rooms, till at last he sunk down, and
Sir Philip thought he still followed him, till he came into a dark
and frightful cave, where he disappeared, and in his stead he beheld
a complete suit of armour stained with blood, which belonged to his
friend, and he thought he heard dismal groans from beneath. Presently
after, he thought he was hurried away by an invisible hand, and led into
a wild heath, where the people were inclosing the ground, and making
preparations for two combatants; the trumpet sounded, and a voice called
out still louder, "Forbear! It is not permitted to be revealed till
the time is ripe for the event; wait with patience on the decrees of
heaven." He was then transported to his own house, where, going into an
unfrequented room, he was again met by his friend, who was living, and
in all the bloom of youth, as when he first knew him: He started at the
sight, and awoke. The sun shone upon his curtains, and, perceiving
it was day, he sat up, and recollected where he was. The images that
impressed his sleeping fancy remained strongly on his mind waking; but
his reason strove to disperse them; it was natural that the story he
had heard should create these ideas, that they should wait on him in his
sleep, and that every dream should bear some relation to his deceased
friend. The sun dazzled his eyes, the birds serenaded him and diverted
his attention, and a woodbine forced its way through the window, and
regaled his sense of smelling with its fragrance. He arose, paid his
devotions to Heaven, and then carefully descended the narrow stairs, and
went out at the door of the cottage. There he saw the industrious wife
and daughter of old Wyatt at their morning work, the one milking her
cow, the other feeding her poultry. He asked for a draught of milk,
which, with a slice of rye bread, served to break his fast. He walked
about the fields alone; for old Wyatt and his two sons were gone out to
their daily labour. He was soon called back by the good woman, who told