Читать книгу The Fortunate Island, and Other Stories - Charles Heber Clark - Страница 6

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As Sir Dinadan led the Professor and Miss Baffin along the lovely path which went winding through the woods toward the castle, the Professor lighted another cigar, and in response to Sir Dinadan, he entered upon an explanation of the nature of tobacco, the methods and extent of its use, and its effect upon the human system.

“The Lady Tilly, of course she smokes sometimes, also?” asked Sir Dinadan.

“Oh, no,” replied Miss Baffin, “ladies in my country never do.”

“Of course not,” added the Professor.

“And yet, if it is so pleasing and so beneficial as you say,” responded the youth, “why should not ladies attempt it?”

The Professor really could not say; Sir Dinadan was pressing him almost too closely. He compromised further discussion by yielding promptly, although with a melancholy reflection that his store of cigars was small, to a request to teach Sir Dinadan, at the earliest opportunity, to smoke.

As they neared the castle, the Professor’s attention was absorbed in observing the details of the structure. It was a massive edifice of stone, having severe outlines and no ornamentation worthy of the name, but presenting, from the very grandeur of its proportions, an impressive and not unpleasing appearance. It was surrounded by a wide fosse filled with water; and the Professor was delighted to observe, as they drew near, that the entrance was protected with a portcullis and a drawbridge. The bridge was drawn up, and the iron portcullis, made of bars of huge size, was closed.

“Magnificent, isn’t it, Tilly?” exclaimed the Professor, gleefully. “It is probably the most perfect specimen of early English architecture now upon earth. Most fortunately I have in my trunks a photographic apparatus with which to obtain a picture of it.”

Sir Dinadan seized a curved horn which hung upon the branch of a tree, and blew a blast loud and long upon it.

The Professor regarded the performance with intense interest and not a little enthusiasm.

The warder of the castle appeared at the grating, and, perceiving Sir Dinadan, saluted him; then lowering the drawbridge and lifting the portcullis, which ascended with many hideous creaks and groans from the rusty iron, Sir Dinadan and his companions entered.

Leaving the Professor and Miss Baffin comfortably seated in a great hall, the walls of which were adorned with curious tapestries dark with age, with swords and axes and trophies of the chase, Sir Dinadan went in search of the Baron.

“Little did we think, Tilly,” said the Professor, looking around, “when we left New York four weeks ago—it seems more like four years—that we should find ourselves, within a month, in such a place as this.”

“I can hardly believe it yet,” responded Miss Baffin.

“It does seem like a dream. And yet we are certainly wide awake, and we are in the hall of a real castle, waiting for real people to come to us.”

“Sir Dinadan seems very real, too,” said Miss Baffin, timidly.

“Very! There can be no doubt about it.”

“And he behaves like a real young man, too,” continued Miss Baffin. “He proposed to me this morning.”

“What! Proposed to you! Incredible! Why, the boy has not known you more than an hour or two.”

“He is a man, pa; not a boy,” said Miss Baffin, a little hurt. “It was rather sudden; but, then, genuine affection sometimes manifests itself in that way.”

The Professor smiled; he perceived the exact situation of things. Then he looked very serious again. This was a contingency of which he had not taken account.

“Well, Tilly,” he said, “I hardly know what to say about the matter. It is so completely unexpected. You didn’t accept him?”

“No; not exactly, but—”

“Very well, then. We will leave the situation as it is for the present. When we have been here longer we can better determine what we should do.”

Sir Dinadan entered with the Baron. The Baron greeted his guests with warmth, making no allusion to the occurrences in the Hermit’s cell, and appearing, indeed, to have forgotten them.

“It is enough, sir, and fair damsel, that misfortune has thrown you upon our shores. You shall make this your home while you live.”

“A thousand thanks,” responded the Professor.

“I cherish the belief that I can be of service to you. By the way, may I ask how is the noble Lady Bors?”

“Suffering greatly. My son tells me you are a wise leech, and can give her release from her pain.”

“I hope I can. If you will permit my daughter, here, to see the lady and to follow my directions, we may be able to help her.”

“There,” said the Baron, waving his hand, “are your apartments. When you have made ready we will summon you to our banquet.”

“Your property, which was upon the beach, will be placed before you very soon,” said Sir Dinadan.

The Professor and Miss Baffin entered the rooms, and the Baron withdrew with his son.

When the trunks came and were opened, the guests arrayed themselves in their finest costumes, and Miss Baffin contrived to give to her beauty a bewildering effect by an artistic arrangement of frippery, which received its consummation when she placed some lovely artificial flowers in her hair.

Then the Professor, giving her certain plasters and a soothing drug or two, requested a servant, who stood outside the door, to announce to Lady Bors that Miss Baffin was ready to give her treatment.

Sir Dinadan came forward and gallantly escorted Miss Baffin to his mother’s room; where, after presenting her, he left her and returned to the Professor.

The young man led the Professor about the castle, showing him its apartments, its furniture and decorations, with an earnest purpose to try to find favor in the eyes of the father of the woman he loved. The Professor, for his part, was charmed with his companion, and his interest in the castle and its appurtenances increased every moment.

“This,” said Sir Dinadan, pausing before a large oaken door, barred with iron, “is the portal to the upper room of the south tower. In this chamber the Baron has confined Ysolt, my sister, until she consents to think no more of Sir Bleoberis.”

“Locked her up, has he? That seems hard.”

“Cruel, is it not?”

“You favor the suit of the Knight, do you?” inquired the Professor.

“I would let Ysolt choose for herself. He is a worthy man; but he has poverty.”

“We must try to help him,” said the Professor.

“You would act differently in such a case; would you not?” asked Sir Dinadan, rather eagerly.

“Why, yes, of course; that is, I mean,” said the Professor, suddenly recollecting himself, and what Miss Baffin had told him, “I mean, I would think about it. I would give the matter thoughtful consideration.”

Sir Dinadan sighed, and asked the Professor if he would come with him to the dining-hall.

It was a noble room. As the Professor entered it with Sir Dinadan, as he looked at the vast fireplace filled with burning logs, because the air of the castle was chilly even in summer time, at the rudely carved beams that traversed the ceiling, at the quaint curtains and curious ornaments upon the walls, at the long table which stretched across the floor and bore upon its polished surface a multitude of vessels of strange and often fantastic shapes, he could hardly believe his senses. These things, this method of existence, he had read about myriads of times, but they had never seemed very real to him until he encountered them here face to face.

These people among whom he had come by such strange mischance actually lived and moved here, amid these scenes, and they were as common and as prosy to them as the scenes in his own home in the little enclosure hard by the walls of the university building at Wingohocking.

It was that home and its equipment that seemed strange and incongruous to him now. As he thought about it, he felt that he would experience an actual nervous shock if he should suddenly be plumped down in his own library. Very oddly, as his mind reverted to the subject, his memory recalled with peculiarly vivid distinctness an old and faded dressing-gown in which he used to come to breakfast; and a blue cream-jug with a broken handle, which used to be placed before him at the meal.

It seemed to him that the dressing-gown and the defective jug were as far back in the misty past as such a social condition as that with which he had now been brought into contact would have seemed if he had thought of it a month ago.

As the servants entered, bearing the viands upon large dishes, the Baron made his appearance at the upper end of the room, and a moment later Lady Bors walked slowly in, leaning upon the arm of Miss Baffin.

“Your sweet daughter,” she said, when the Professor had been presented to her, “has eased my pain already. I think she must be an angel sent to me by Heaven.”

“She is an angel,” said Sir Dinadan, emphatically, so that his mother looked at him curiously. Miss Baffin blushed.

“Angels, my lady, do not come with porous plasters,” said the Professor, smiling.

“I love her already, whether she is angel or woman,” replied Lady Bors, patting Miss Baffin’s arm.

“So do—,” Sir Dinadan did not complete the sentence. It occurred to him that he might perhaps be getting a little too demonstrative.

“The Lady Tilly,” said the Baroness, “has told me something of the adventure which brought you here. Will you be so courteous as to tell us more, and to inform us of that strange and wonderful land from which you have come?”

“Willingly, madam,” replied the Professor. And so, while the meal was in progress, the Professor,—not neglecting the food, for he was really hungry,—tried, in the plainest language he could command, to convey to the minds of his hearers some notion of the marvels of modern civilization. The Baron, Lady Bors, and Sir Dinadan asked many questions, and they more than once expressed the greatest astonishment at the revelations made in the Professor’s narrative.

“I will show you some of these wonders,” said Professor Baffin. “Most happily I have with me in my trunks quite a number of instruments, such as those I have told you of.”

“In your trunks!” exclaimed the Baron. “You do not wear trunks, as we do.”

The Professor at once explained the misapprehension. When he had done, there was heard in the room the twanging of the strings of a rude musical instrument.

“It is the minstrel,” said Sir Dinadan, as the Professor and Miss Baffin looked around.

The Professor was delighted.

“He is going to sing,” said the Baron.

The bard, after a few preliminary thrums upon an imbecile harp, burst into song. He occupied several moments in reciting a ballad of chivalry, and although his manner was dramatic, his voice was sadly cracked and out of tune.

“Tilly,” said the Professor, “remember to note in your journal that the musical system here is constructed from a defective minor scale, with incorrect intervals. I observed precisely the same characteristics in the song that our Irish nurse, Mary, used to put you to sleep with when you were a baby. I stood outside the chamber door one night, and wrote the strain down as she sang it. This proves that it is very ancient.”

“You like the song, then?” asked the Baron.

“It is very interesting, indeed—very!” replied the Professor. “I think we shall obtain a great deal of valuable information here. No, Tilly, you had better refuse it,” said the Professor, observing that Sir Dinadan, who appeared to be animated by a resolute purpose to stuff Miss Baffin, was pressing another dish upon her, “you will spoil your night’s rest.”

“Do you sing, Sir Baffin?” inquired Lady Bors.

“Never in company, my lady,” replied the Professor; “my vocalization would excite too much alarm.”

The Baron and his wife manifestly did not comprehend the pleasantry.

“My daughter sings very nicely; but you can hear her sing without her lips being opened. Excuse me for a moment.”

The Professor went to his apartment, and presently returned, bringing with him a phonograph. Placing it upon the table, he turned the crank. From the funnel at once issued a lovely soprano voice, singing, with exquisite enunciation and inflection, a song, every word of which was heard by the listeners.

Lady Bors looked scared, Sir Dinadan crossed himself, the Baron eyed the Professor doubtfully, the minstrel over in the corner laid down his harp, and relieved his overcharged feelings by bursting into tears, which he wiped away with the sleeve of his tunic.

“It must be magic,” said the Baron, at last; “no mere man could hide an angelic spirit in such a place, and compel it to sing.”

“Allow me to explain,” said the Professor; and then he unfolded the mechanism, and showed the method of its operation. “My daughter sang up several songs for me before we left home. They were stored away here for future use. Tilly, my love, sing something, so that our friends can perceive that it is the same voice.”

Miss Baffin, after some hesitation, began “The Last Rose of Summer.” While she sang, Sir Dinadan looked at her with rapture depicted on his countenance. When she had done he reflected for an instant, and then, rising and walking over to the place where the minstrel sat, he seized by the ear that unfortunate operator with defective minor scales, and, leading him to the door, he kicked him into the hall.

This appeared to relieve Sir Dinadan’s feelings.

When he returned, the Professor persuaded him to have his voice recorded by the phonograph; and by the time the Baron and Lady Bors had also tried the experiment, the faith of the family in the powers of Professor Baffin had risen to such a pitch that the Baron would have been almost ready to lay wagers in favor of his omnipotence.

The Professor that evening accepted for himself and his daughter a very urgent invitation to make the castle their home, at least until Fate and the future should determine if they were to remain permanently upon the island. The chance that they would ever escape seemed indeed, exceedingly slender; and the Professor resolved to accept the promise with philosophical resignation.

He employed much of his time during the first weeks that he was the Baron’s guest in making the Baron familiar with some of the wonders of modern discovery and invention. The Baron also was deeply interested in an exhibition given by the Professor of the powers of his patent india-rubber life-raft, which the Professor brought up from the beach folded into a small bundle. After inflating it, to the amazement of the spectators, he put it into the fosse that surrounded the castle and paddled about upon it. The raft was allowed to remain in the ditch ready for use.

The Professor often went outside the castle walls to talk with Sir Bleoberis, and to comfort him. The Professor explained the telegraph and the locomotive to the Knight; and when the Knight assured him that the armorers of the island could make the machinery that would be required, if they should receive suitable instructions, the Professor arranged to build a short railroad line and a telegraph line in partnership with Sir Bleoberis, if the latter would obtain the necessary concession from King Brandegore. Professor Baffin was of the opinion that the Knight, by such means, might ultimately acquire great wealth.

Meantime Sir Dagonet had been seen several times of late in the vicinity of the castle, and once he had made again a formal demand upon the Baron for Ysolt’s hand. This the Baron refused, whereupon Sir Dagonet returned an insolent reply that he would have her in spite of her father’s objection. The Professor sincerely pitied both Ysolt and Sir Bleoberis, but as the Baron always became violently angry when the suffering of the lovers was alluded to, the Professor disliked to plead their cause.

It occurred to him, however, one day that there could be no possible harm in arranging to permit the forlorn creatures to converse with each other; and so, with the help of Miss Baffin, who was allowed to enter the captive’s room, he fixed up a telephone, the machinery of which he had in one of his trunks, with a wire running from Ysolt’s window to a point some distance beyond the castle wall.

The battery with which the instruments were supplied was placed in an iron box furnished by Sir Bleoberis, and hidden behind a huge oak tree.

The lovers were delighted with the telephone and its performances; but the Professor’s ingenious kindness caused him a great deal of serious trouble.

It seems that Miss Baffin one morning had been showing her father’s umbrella to Ysolt, and making her acquainted with its peculiarities and uses.

When Miss Baffin had withdrawn, Sir Bleoberis began to breathe through the telephone protestations of his undying love, and finally he appealed to Ysolt to fly with him. Of course he expected nothing to come of this appeal, for he had not the slightest conception of any method by which Ysolt could escape from her prison. He merely threw it in, in a general sort of a way, as an expression of the intensity of his affection.

But it suggested to the mind of Ysolt an ingenious thought; and she responded through the telephone that if Sir Bleoberis would keep out of sight and have his gallant steed ready, she would join him in a few moments. The Knight’s heart beat so fiercely at this news that it fairly made his armor vibrate.

Obeying the orders of Ysolt, he went behind the oak and sat upon the iron box containing the Professor’s battery and electrical apparatus.

Ysolt’s window was but twenty feet from the surface of the water in the fosse. Directly beneath it, by a most fortunate chance, floated the life-raft of Professor Baffin. The brave girl, climbing upon the stone sill of the window, hoisted the umbrella, and sailing swiftly downward through the air, she alighted safely upon the raft. A single push upon the wall sent it to the further side of the ditch, whereupon Ysolt leaped ashore, unperceived by the warder or by any one in the castle.

A moment more, and seated upon the steed of her cavalier, with his strong arm around her, she would be flying to peace and happiness and love’s sweet fulfilment, far, far beyond the reach of the angry Baron’s power.

But, alas, human life is so full of mischances! As Ysolt neared the great oak behind which her lover sat, Sir Dagonet came riding carelessly across the lawn. Seeing her he spurred his horse forward, and, right before the eyes of Sir Bleoberis, he grasped her by the arm, tossed her to his saddle and dashed away across the country.

Why Sir Bleoberis did not Leap to the Rescue.

But why did not Sir Bleoberis leap to the rescue?

Sir Bleoberis tried with all his might to do so; but he had on a full suit of steel armor, and the Professor’s battery, by some means even yet unexplained, so charged the cover of the box with magnetism that it held the Knight close down. He could not move a muscle of his legs. He writhed and twisted and expressed his fury in language that was vehement and scandalous; but the Professor’s infamous machine held him fast; and he was compelled to sit by, imbecile and raging, while the wind bore to his ears the heart-rending screams of his sweetheart as she cried to him to come and save her from an awful fate.

The shrieks of the unhappy Ysolt penetrated to the castle, and at once the Baron ran out, followed by Sir Dinadan, Professor Baffin, and a host of the Baron’s retainers, all of them armed and ready for war. The first act of the Professor was to capture his expanded umbrella, which was being blown about wildly by the wind. Furling it, he proceeded to the place where Sir Bleoberis sat, trying to explain to the infuriated Baron what had happened.

“There!” said Sir Bleoberis, savagely, pointing to the Professor, “is the vile wretch that did it all! Seize him! He, he alone is to blame.”

The Professor was amazed.

“Yes!” exclaimed Sir Bleoberis, “it was he who persuaded the fair Ysolt to leap from the window; it was he who notified Sir Dagonet, and it is his wicked enchantment that held me here so that I could not fly to her succor. I cannot even get up now.”

“The man,” said the Professor to the Baron, “appears to be suffering from intellectual aberration. I can’t imagine what he means. Why don’t you rise?”

“You, foul wizard, know that I am held here by your infernal power!”

“Try to be calm,” said the Professor, soothingly. “Your expressions are too strong. Let me see—. Why, bless my soul, the electrical current has magnetized the box. There, now,” said the Professor as he snipped a couple of the wires, “try it again.”

Sir Bleoberis arose without effort. Baron Bors stepped forward and said sternly:

“What, you, Sir Bleoberis, were doing here I do not know. I suspect you of evil purposes. But it is clear you had nothing to do with the seizure of my daughter, if, indeed, she has been carried off by Sir Dagonet. You may go. But as for you,” shouted the Baron, turning to the Professor, “I perceive that your devilish arts have been used against me and my family while you have been eating my bread. The world shall no longer be burdened by such a monster. Away with him to the scaffold!”

“This,” said the Professor, as the perspiration stood in beads upon his pallid face, “is painful; very painful. Allow me to explain. The fact is I—”

“Away!” said the Baron, with an impatient gesture. “Off with his head as quickly as possible!”

“But, my dear sir,” contended the Professor, as the Baron’s retainers seized him, “this is simply awful! No court, no jury, no trial, no chance to tell my story! It is not just. It is not fair play. Permit me, for one moment, to—”

“To the block with him!” screamed the Baron. “Have no more parley about it!”

Sir Bleoberis came forward.

“Sir Bors,” he said, “this, in a measure, is my quarrel. It falls to me by right to punish this wretch. Will you permit me?” and then Sir Bleoberis struck the Professor in the face with his mailed gauntlet.

Professor Baffin would have assailed him upon the spot, but for the fact that he was a captive.

“He means that you shall fight him,” said Sir Dinadan, who retained his faith in the Professor, remembering his own affection for Miss Baffin.

“Certainly I will,” said the Professor. “Where, and when, and how? I would like to have it out right here on the spot.”

It is melancholy to think what would have been the sorrow of the members of the Universal Peace Society, of which the Professor was the first vice-president, if they could have observed the eagerness with which that good man seemed to long for the fray, and the fiery rage which beamed from his eyes until the sparks almost appeared to fly from his spectacles.

Miss Baffin at this moment rushed upon the scene, and in wild affright flung her arms about her father.

“The contest shall be made,” said the Baron, sternly. “Unhand him!”

The Professor hurriedly explained the matter to Matilda, who sobbed piteously.

“You shall have my armor, my horse, and my lance,” said Sir Dinadan in a kindly voice to the Professor. “Go and get them,” he continued, speaking to some of the servants.

“Thank you,” said the Professor. “I am much obliged. You are a fine young man.”

“But, pa,” said Miss Baffin through her tears, “surely you are not going to fight?”

“Yes, my love.”

“And you a member of the Peace Society, too.”

“I can’t help it, my child. You may omit to note this extraordinary occurrence in your journal. The Society may as well remain in ignorance of it. But I must conform to the customs of the place.”

“How can you ever do anything upon a horse, with armor and a lance? It is dreadful!”

“No, my child, it may perhaps be regarded as fortunate. For many years I have longed to observe the practices of ancient chivalry more closely; that opportunity has now come. I am about to have actual practical experience with them.”

Miss Baffin wiped her eyes as Sir Dinadan came to her side and tried to comfort her. Sir Agravaine, who had ridden up during the excitement, dismounted when he saw Miss Baffin, and pulling Sir Dinadan by the sleeve, he whispered:

“You are acquainted with that lady?”

“Yes.”

“Would you mind ascertaining for me if I am to understand her remarkable conduct to me as tantamount to a refusal? I don’t want to trouble you, but—”

Sir Dinadan turned abruptly away, leaving Sir Agravaine still involved in doubt.

When the armor came, Sir Dinadan helped the Professor to put it on. It was a size or two too large for him, and the Professor had a considerable amount of difficulty in adjusting the pieces properly, but, with the help of Sir Dinadan, he at last succeeded.

“Bring me my lance!” he exclaimed, with a firm voice, as he stepped forward.

“It is here,” said Sir Dinadan.

“Farewell, my child,” said the Professor to Miss Baffin, making a futile attempt to bend his elbows so that he could embrace her. “Farewell!” and the Professor tried to kiss her, but he merely succeeded in injuring her nose with the visor of his helmet.

“O pa!” said Miss Baffin, weeping, “if you should be killed.”

“No danger of that love, none at all. I am perfectly safe. I feel exactly as if I were a cooking-stove, to be sure; but you may depend upon my giving a good account of myself. And now, dear, adieu! Ho, there!” exclaimed the Professor, with faint reminiscences of the tragic stage coming into his mind. “Bring me my steed!”

The determined efforts of four muscular men were required to mount the Professor upon his horse. And when he was fairly astride, with his lance in his hand, he felt as if he weighed at least three thousand pounds, and the weapon seemed quite as large as the jib-boom of the “Morning Star.”

The warrior did his best to sit his horse gracefully; but the miserable beast pranced and curveted in such a very unreasonable manner that his spectacles were continually shaking loose, and in his efforts to fix them, and at the same time to hold his horse, he lost control of his lance, and came near impaling two or three of the spectators.

Sir Dinadan’s own groom then took the bridle-rein, and leading the horse quietly to the jousting-ground put him in place directly opposite to Sir Bleoberis, whose lance was in rest, and who evidently intended to spit the Professor through and through at the first encounter.

The Professor really felt uncomfortably at a disadvantage in his iron-clad condition, and he began to think that the sports and combats of the olden time were perhaps not so interesting after all, when brought within the range of practical experience.

Suddenly the herald’s trumpet sounded a blast. The Professor had not the least notion of the meaning of the sound, but Sir Bleoberis started promptly towards him, and the Professor’s horse, trained at jousting, also started. The Professor was not quite ready, and he pulled the rein hard while trying to fix his lance in its rest. This caused the horse to swerve sharply around, whereupon the warrior’s spectacles came off, and the horse dashed at full speed to the side of the jousting-ground, bringing the half-blinded Professor’s lance up against a tree, into which the point stuck fast. The Professor was hurled with some violence to the ground, and the horse ran away.

When they picked him up and unlatched his helmet, he was bleeding at the nose.

“It is of no consequence, Matilda, of no consequence, I assure you,” he said. “I am shaken up a little, but not hurt. I think, perhaps, I need practice at this kind of thing.”

The Professor, while speaking, felt about him in a bewildered way for the pocket in which he was used to keep his handkerchief. But as the armor baffled his efforts to find it, Miss Baffin offered him her kerchief with which to stanch the blood.

“The ancients, Matilda,” said the Professor, as he pressed the handkerchief to his nose, “must have possessed great physical strength, and they could not have been near sighted. By the way, where are my glasses?”

Sir Dinadan handed them to him.

“You will not attempt to get on that horrid horse, again, pa, will you?” said Miss Baffin, entreatingly.

“I think not, my child, unless I am forced to do so. Jousting is interesting to read about; but as a matter of fact it is brutal. I think, Sir Dinadan, I should be more comfortable if I could get this cast-iron overcoat off, so that I could move my elbows without creaking.”

Sir Dinadan helped him to remove his armor, and said:

“My noble mother has insisted that Sir Bleoberis shall not fight with you, and the Baron has yielded to her wish.”

“How can I thank you?” exclaimed Miss Baffin.

Sir Dinadan looked at her as if he would like to tell her how, if he dared venture. But he only said:

“I deserve no thanks. My mother is upon your side and that of your father. She asks me to bring him to her.”

The Baron was with his wife, and Sir Bleoberis stood before them.

“Sir Bamn,” said the Baron, “Lady Bors insists that you are innocent of any wrong-doing; and Sir Bleoberis, seeing that you are unskilled, has resolved not to have a combat with you. I am willing to pardon you upon one condition: that you find my daughter and bring her back to me.”

“That I should be willing to try to do under any circumstances,” said the Professor. “I regret her loss very deeply. But, you see, I know nothing of the country. I am afraid I should not discover her if I should go alone.”

“I will go with you,” said Sir Bleoberis.

“That is first-rate,” said the Professor. “Give me your hand.”

“We will keep your daughter in the castle as a hostage,” said the Baron. “When you return with Ysolt you shall have the Lady Tilly, and Sir Bleoberis shall have Ysolt.”

“I am profoundly grateful,” replied Sir Bleoberis, bowing.

“My dear,” said the Professor to Miss Baffin, “does the arrangement suit you?”

“It suits me,” muttered Sir Dinadan.

“I must stay whether I wish to or not,” replied Miss Baffin. “But I shall worry about you every moment while you are gone.”

“Sir Dinadan may be able to soothe her,” said Sir Bleoberis, with a smile.

“I think I could, if I were allowed to try,” insinuated Sir Agravaine.

“I charge Sir Dinadan and his noble parents with the task,” said the Professor.

The entire party, with the exception of Sir Agravaine, then returned to the castle, so that the Professor could make ready for the journey.