gly, with recollections
of pain; he glanced off to a fair face, with eyes that looked tender
pity whenever he writhed or groaned under the tortures that, no doubt,
that old accursed carle had inflicted upon him. But even this face
did not dwell with pleasure in his memory,--it woke up confused and
labouring associations of something weird and witchlike, of sorceresses
and tymbesteres, of wild warnings screeched in his ear, of incantations
and devilries and doom. Impatient of these musings, he sought to leap
from his bed, and was amazed that the leap subsided into a tottering
crawl. He found an ewer and basin, and his ablutions refreshed and
invigorated him. He searched for his raiment, and discovered it all
except the mantle, dagger, hat, and girdle; and while looking for these,
his eye fell on an old tarnished steel mirror. He started as if he had
seen his ghost; was it possible that his hardy face could have waned
into that pale and almost femininely delicate visage? With the
pride (call it not coxcombry) that then made the care of person the
distinction of gentle birth, he strove to reduce into order the tangled
locks of the long hair, of which a considerable portion above a part
that seemed peculiarly sensitive to the touch had been mercilessly
clipped; and as he had just completed this task, with little
satisfaction and much inward chafing at the lack of all befitting
essences and perfumes, the door gently opened, and the fair face he had
dreamed of appeared at the aperture.

The girl uttered a cry of astonishment and alarm at seeing the patient
thus arrayed and convalescent, and would suddenly have retreated; but
the Nevile advanced, and courteously taking her hand--

"Fair maiden," said he, "if, as I trow, I owe to thy cares my tending
and cure--nay, it may be a life hitherto of little worth, save to
myself--do not fly from my thanks. May Our Lady of Walsingham bless and
reward thee!"

"Sir," answered Sibyll, gently withdrawing her hands from his clasp,
"our poor cares have been a slight return for thy generous protection to
myself."

"To thee! ah, forgive me--how could I be so dull? I remember thy face
now; and, perchance, I deserve the disaster I met with in leaving thee
so discourteously. My heart smote me for it as my light footfall passed
from thy side."

A slight blush, succeeded by a thoughtful smile--the smile of one who
recalls and caresses some not displeasing remembrance--passed over
Sibyll's ch