, 1888-10-23

Singing the strongest and best;
Never shall they
Greet the glad day;
Low in the dust lies their crest.
Lonely and mournful is Sko;
YEARLY idle days go;
All in the land
Fear his strong hand,
Meier can he find q stout foe'
As ndwy finished the song, he lifted his
eyes and squarely encountered an intent
gaze, which he seemed to have felt before
he turned. He saw a mere boy, whose
fair, floating hair and gravely sweet face
made him seem as apart from these dark
visaged men of blood as a saint stepped
down from the stained windows of some
cathedral.
Once before the boyish face with its
halo of golden hair had held Edwy's eye,
and with a lightning flash of memory that
earlier meeting was recalled. 1t was a
lonely spot on the mountain side. and the
fearless boy, with failing strength. was
holding at bay an antlered stag Had
Edwy's trusty spear swerped then or lin
gered. no morrow had ever smiled on the
brave hunter Now in the deep look,
more potent than speech. that held their
eyes locked for q moment ere they
swerved aside. Edwy read that he was
known.
His fingers trembled as he struck slow
fragments of music from the obedient
strings. and there was a ringing in his
ears that sounded like the battle cry of
the Branksomes. Then the blood surged
back to his heart. and he lifted his daunt-
less Tynedale face to his foes. Trapped
and at their mercy he knew himself, but
at least be could show them how the
T~ynedales were wont to die. The
liquid drops of music shivered
into q sharp silence as his hand
forsook the strings to rest lightly on
the short sword at his belt. while his
naughty glance swept the hall. But there
was no answer to his silent challenge, and
now in the averted face of the boy he read
not the triumph of an enemy, but the
grieved perplexity Of q child.
Edwy understood That the boy TO
mcmbered his benefactor's face was
proved past doubt in that first long
gaze, and now his troubled. silence
revealed that he remembered the
benefaction also. But silence WIS hard
for Edwy's beating heart to bear, and
striking the chords sharply, he rave TO
measured music the tumultuous words
that throbbed in his brain. The carouse
about the board was somewhat hushed,
but Edwy sang only for the boy, whose
dropping eyes could not bear the steadfast
gaze he bent upon them.
Lone is the mountain path,
Dark is the glen,
Fierce is the antlered stag,
Halter of men
Hapless the hunter now,
Lacking his spear,
Woe TO the hunter lad,
Death draweth near.
Long may the maiden wait
Sitting her means;
In the mountain glen
Whiten his bones.
The boy shuddered and met Edwy's
look pleadingly. One word from those
beardless lips and the minstrel had sung
his last strain, but the word was not
spoken. Edwy read the conflicting emo
lions that held him passive, and with
strong souls, he knew his own domination
over the heart he had preserved.
Armed men ringed him in, sleeping,
drinking or shouting fragments of merry
song, but he who reused them from their
careless mood would find that he had
wakened the sleeping cobra Those
sheathed daggers were used to flash
ing out at q word. In their midst
sat the boy, with whom he dare not
speak-his judge-looking into eyes the
Branksome men had good reason to fear,
and meeting the glance of his savior.
And here stood he, Edwy, the heir of
Tynedale, with no hand raised against
him, yet face to face with death. They
were no strangers. Oft had they meas.
ured strength with strength before, where
steel flashed keen between them, or the
precipice waited hungrily for a needless
step, but never yet had they met in the
breath of q song.
In one feroe moment be grasped the
full strength of life. The little band
waiting his signal without, the walls
that ven now echoed to the laughter
of the foes of his house, all rested
on his power to hold and control the
will of the child who now raised cues.
tioning eyes to his, as asking counsel.
The battle courage flushed his dark cheek
as he once moro touched his harp. He
must sing, as he had fought. for his life
N the honor of Tynedale.
Faithless are lovers, but lovers are many:
Maidens are cruel, but hearts heal amain;
lnankleSS are beggars who take the drink penny,
Few hold remembrance while one moon may
wane.
Choicest in infamy whom may we calf
Migrate of ingrctes and king Of them ally
Who but the traitor TO friend and to honorf
Who but the bastard that, drunken with strife,
Strikes at the bosom that succored and saved him
offers him death who hath rendered him llfeY
Dead In dishonor of living In shame.
Bards shall remember the dastardly name.
Ldwy ceased. Had he lost or won IN