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 signa