nkness of a
soldier.

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished with a golden
broach, representing St Michael trampling down the Prince of Evil. With
this, he gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained
her standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned
to conduct her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the
proffered compliment, and replied, "If I be in the presence of
my jailor, Sir Knight--nor will circumstances allow me to think
otherwise--it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she
learns her doom."

"Alas! fair Rowena," returned De Bracy, "you are in presence of your
captive, not your jailor; and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy
must receive that doom which you fondly expect from him."

"I know you not, sir," said the lady, drawing herself up with all the
pride of offended rank and beauty; "I know you not--and the insolent
familiarity with which you apply to me the jargon of a troubadour, forms
no apology for the violence of a robber."

"To thyself, fair maid," answered De Bracy, in his former tone--"to
thine own charms be ascribed whate'er I have done which passed the
respect due to her, whom I have chosen queen of my heart, and lodestar
of my eyes."

"I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that no man
wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude himself upon the presence
of an unprotected lady."

"That I am unknown to you," said De Bracy, "is indeed my misfortune;
yet let me hope that De Bracy's name has not been always unspoken, when
minstrels or heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the
lists or in the battle-field."

"To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, Sir Knight,"
replied Rowena, "more suiting for their mouths than for thine own; and
tell me which of them shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the
memorable conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an old man,
followed by a few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate maiden,
transported against her will to the castle of a robber?"

"You are unjust, Lady Rowena," said the knight, biting his lips in
some confusion, and speaking in a tone more natural to him than that of
affected gallantry, which he had at first adopted; "yourself free from
passion, you can allow no excuse for the frenzy of another, although
caused by your own beauty."

"I pray you, Sir Knight," said Rowena, "to cease a language so common