Los Angeles herald., 1892-03-29
MAID SYBIL'S LOVER.

It was q sweet summers afternoon,
toward the middle of the Fifteenth CEN
tury, and the inhabitants of the little
village Of Friars Holt were all assembled
upon the green, watching the attempts
of some OF the younger men to send their
arrows straight to the center of the butts
which stood at one end of the chosen
place Of recreation.
Another shaft missed the clout,"
laughed an old man, as the arrow stuck
Quivering in the turf, falling three yards
short Of the butt. "The king will never
complain that lads of Wainwood make
havoc among his deer if he hears of such
shooting as this"
Hold your pirate, CATER Jenkyn,"
said the young man who had discharged
the last shot, pettishly unstringing his
bow; ''it was u cross wind which marred
my shooting, unless, indeed, it was the
wizards ward" he added, crossing him
self devoutly as he cast glance Of scorn
and adherence at a young maiden
standing some little distance apart from
the group of rustics-a fair haired girl
Of middle height, with a pair of laugh
ing gray eyes.
Her age could scarcely have exceeded
eighteen years, and the merry express
sion of her face as she smiled at the
woebegone look of the discounted bow
man had no more wizards glamour
about it than is always to be found in
the ripping laughter of pretty girl
Eyes, there she be, sure enough"
muttered CATER Jenkyn, with a glance
Of malevolent hatred at the young girl.
What business has she down here
among us? Even if she can't cast spells
herself she can tell all about us to that
old warlock who lives in the ruined
tower in Cairnstone Chase"
By this time general attention was
drawn to the beautiful intruder, and
threats and execrations were leveled at
her head.
At first the girl appeared unconscious
of her danger, but all at once stone
thrown by lad grazed her arm, and as
she perceived the threatening attitude
of the crowd look of intense terror
passed across her face and she turned to
fly.
''Do not let the witch escape" cried
an old crone. II lost two sweet grand
children last autumn. They said it was
the falling sickness, but l know better.
It was through the devilments of the
old wizard and his ward"
menacing circle soon formed around
the poor girl, whose entreaties for mercy
were received with shouts of derisior,
and she would have been seriously NAL
treated had not a figure burst through
the ranks of her assailants and loudly
asked the meaning of their cowardly
conduct.
The man who interposed in the girls
behalf was attired in the picturesque
dress of forester, though he wore no
badge or cognizance to show that he
was the retainer Of any noble house,
and the cloth of which his Lincoln green
doublet was composed was of finer
character than that in which servitors
were attired.
"Hullo, my masters" cried he, step
ping between the maiden and her assail-
ants; "what wit is this? By the bones
Of Jonathan the Archer, call ye your
selves Englishmen to behave in such
manner?'
A confused chorus of explanation rose
from the little crowd, but the smith,
who had first suggested violent meas
ures, strobe to the front.
''This is no business of thine, Hob of
the Butts" growled he. "Get ye to
your own business of stealing the kings
deer and leave honest men to look after
their own affairs.
1--WE will have no witches or warlocks
among us, and this wench, who lives up
at Cairnstone Chase with old Michael
Rexthorpe, shall not come down here
casting her spell over us and ours"
AS he spoke he laid rough, sinewy
hand upon the shoulder of the shrinking
girl, but in a moment staggered back
under the effects of heavy blow dealt
him by the man called Hob Of the Butts,
who, placing the girls arm in his, drew
her through the crowd, not one of
which ventured to manifest any opposi-
ton.
Neither spoke word until they had
left Friars Holt some little distance be-
hind them, and then the girl said tim
idly:
81 thank you, fair sir, for your kind
ness in rescuing me from that dreadful
man. l thought l should have died
with terror when he laid his hand
on me-"
The forester laughed merrily. "Matt
Clink and l understand each other,
pretty one," said he. "But tell me, who.
are you? Why did they call you witch
and want to throw you into the pondr
Tears started to the girls eyes. 81
am called Sybil Tressider," answered
she, land am no witch, though I live
up in Cairnstone Chase with that fearful
man, Michael Rexthorpe.
.'My father, Reginald Tressider, who
believed that he could find the philoso-
piers stone, was the owner of the house
in the Chase and Michael Rexthorpe
was his trusted familiar and acolyte
but my poor father died and the fear
some man Michael has taken every
thing. He says am his ward, and
though / am not absolutely prisoner,
yet he has forbidden me to go beyond
certain limits"
Hob of the Butts stroked his chin
thoughtfully. "a sad tale" said he.
"But what doth he up in tho lonely