In an agony of grief and terror, Robert de Bethune tore the helmet from his brow. "Oh, my own Matilda!" he cried, "you do not know me: I am your father whom you love so much, and for whose sorrows you have wept so many bitter tears. Heavens! she thrusts me from her!"
A smile of triumph curled Matilda's lip as she exclaimed:
"Now you tremble, vile ravisher! now fear seizes upon your base and coward heart! But there is no mercy for you. The Lion, my father, will avenge me; and not with impunity shall you have put affront upon the blood of the Counts of Flanders. Hark! I hear the Lion's roar; I hear his tread; my father comes! To me he brings his dear embrace, and death to you."
Not one of these words but pierced the father's heart like a venomed arrow, and filled it with untold anguish. Burning tears ran down his furrowed cheeks; in despair he smote his breast.
“But, my poor child," he cried, "do you not know me? Laugh not so bitterly; you strike my soul with death. I am your father—I am the Lion, whom you love, whom you call to help you."
"You the Lion!" she replied in accents of contempt; "you the Lion! say rather, liar! Is it not the tongue of the Queen Joanna that I hear you speak with—the tongue that flatters to betray? The Lion, too, went with them. They said, 'Come'; and what found he? A dungeon! and soon, perhaps, poison and a grave!"
In a transport of grief the knight pressed her in his arms. "But do you not hear, my child," he cried, "that it is the speech of our fathers that is upon my lips? What unheard-of sufferings have thus unhinged your mind? Do you not remember that our friend Sir Adolf of Nieuwland has procured my liberty? Oh, talk not thus; your words wring my very heart!"
At the name of Adolf, the convulsive strain of the features somewhat relaxed, and a soft smile replaced their painful expression, while she answered more gently, and this time without repulsing her deliverer:
"Adolf, say you? Adolf is gone to fetch the Lion. Have you seen him? He told you of the poor Matilda, did he not? Oh, yes! he is my brother! He has composed a new song for me. Listen! I hear the tones of his harp. How sweet are those sounds! But what is that? Ah, my father comes! I see a ray of light—a blessed beam of hope! Begone, caitiff!"
Her words died away into inarticulate sounds, while her countenance was overshadowed with an expression of the deepest melancholy.
Half-distracted now with alarm and grief, the knight felt his heart sink within him, and he knew not what to do. Silently he took the maiden's hand within his own, and bathed it with his tears; but almost instantly she snatched it back, exclaiming:
"No; this hand is not for a Frenchman! A false knight may not touch it. Go, your tears defile it; but the Lion will wash out the stain with blood. Look! there is blood upon my garment too —French blood! See how black it is!"
Again the knight endeavored to make his wandering child comprehend who he was; again he took her in his arms, and would have pressed her to his bosom; but she violently pushed him from her, while in piercing tones she exclaimed:
"Begone! away with those arms! They coil around me like envenomed serpents; their very touch is dishonor. Release me, villain! Help! help!"
With a sudden and desperate effort she disengaged herself from her deliverer, and sprang shrieking from the couch, the knight hastily pursuing her to prevent her egress from the chamber. A heartrending scene here ensued. Beside himself with grief and alarm, he caught the unhappy maiden in his arms, and strove to carry her back to the couch; while she, nerved by all the energy of delirium and despair, resisted his utmost endeavors. Great as was the strength of the knight, she seemed for a while almost a match for him; but at last, making a gigantic effort, he succeeded in bearing her back to the couch. She now ceased from all further resistance; her mood appeared suddenly to change. She sat still, and, looking reproachfully on the knight, said with bitter tears:
"It well beseems you to set your strength against that of a maiden, false knight. And why do you delay to complete your crime? No one sees—only God! But God has placed death between us; a yawning grave divides us. Therefore do you weep, because—"
The unhappy father was too much overcome by his grief to catch the last words of the maiden. Full of despair, he had seated himself upon a stone, and was gazing upon her with eyes moist with' tears, unconscious of aught but a sensation of unutterable anguish.
Presently Matilda's eyes closed, and she appeared to sleep. As he perceived this, a beam of hope lighted up the heart of the afflicted father. Sleep might restore her; and finding in this thought support and consolation, he sat noiselessly by her side, watching with tenderness and anxiety every breath she drew.
CHAPTER VI
After the destruction of the Castle of Male, a short march brought the Dean of the Butchers and his comrades back to St. Cross, Already, on their way thither, they had received intelligence from Bruges that the French garrison was under arms, and prepared to fall upon them as they entered the city; but elated by their recent victory, and deeming themselves sufficiently strong to oppose any force the enemy could bring against them, they nevertheless continued
