"She took from forth her wardrobe Her dress of mourning hue-- Whoever for a scarf before Such weight of sorrow knew? "In robes of deepest mourning, Three nights and days she sate; On the third night, the warder's horn Was sounded at the gate-- "A messenger stands at the door, And sad news bringeth he; The king and all his gallant ships Are wreck'd upon the sea. "And now the tide is rising, And casts upon the shore Full many a gallant hero's corse, And many a golden store. "Then up rose the king's daughter, Drew to her window near; 'What is it glitters on thine arm, In the moonlight so clear?' "'It is a scarf of silver, I brought it from the strand; I took it from the closed grasp Of a strong warrior's hand.' "That feat thou ne'er shouldst boast of If but alive were he; Go take him back thy trophy To the blue rolling sea. "And when that knight you've buried, The scarf his grave shall grace; And next to where you've laid him, Oh, leave a vacant place!" "Here, you cursed old piper! leave off frightening the crows, and open the gate this moment. Who the devil, do you think, is to burst a bloodvessel by hollowing here all day?" Mr Lorimer, though used to considerable indignities, as we have already seen, had still a little of the becoming poetical pride about him, and looked rather angrily over the wall. "Nobody wishes you to break bloodvessels, or have their own ears disturbed by your screaming," he said. "What do you want?" "To get into your infernal house, to be sure. Where did you get such unchristian roads? My bones are sore with the jolting. Send somebody to open the gate." "The drawbridge is up, and Mr Peeper must have his twopence." "Who the devil is Mr Peeper?" said the stranger. "I sha'n't give him a fraction. Who made the drawbridge his? Is Mr Belfront at home?" "Yes, he is in Mr Peeper's study." "And Mrs Belfront?"-- "Pickling cod. It is Mr Peeper's favourite dish; so we all live on it sometimes for weeks together." "With such a trout-stream at your door? He'll be a cleverer fellow than I think him if he gets me to eat his salted carrion. Open the door, I say, or you'll have the worst of it when my stick gets near your head. Tell Mrs Belfront her uncle is here--her Uncle Samson." Phil Lorimer saw no great resemblance to the Jewish Hercules in the little, dapper, bustling-mannered man in a blue coat with bright brass buttons, pepper-and-salt knee-breeches, and long gaiters, who thus proclaimed his relationship to the lady of the castle. He hurried down from the wall to make the required announcement. "My uncle Samson, the manufacturer, from Leeds! Oh, let him in, by all means!" exclaimed Jane; "he was always so kind to me when I was a child!" "He can't get in, madam, unless Mr Peeper orders the drawbridge to be lowered; and he is now busy with Mr Belfront."