A dozen sturdy voices were lifted up at once, in commendation of the Lady Elfrida. Her tall and commanding stature--her long flaxen hair--her dignified countenance--her cheeks, whose bright complexion invited the flattery which they blushed to hear--and her light blue eye, whose glance beamed so mildly on the meek, and met so proudly the gazes of the proud--were alternately the themes of admiration. At last the chieftain, impatient of these rapturous effusions, which he began to think were endless, poured out his last cup “To the health of the Rose of Kennet Hold,” and deserted the board. He busied himself for a time in giving the necessary orders for their departure early in the ensuing morning; and then, calling Eustace aside, exclaimed: “We will ourselves look upon this Saxon beauty: by our Lady, if she deserve but one half of the praises of these boors, she may haply be the companion of our onward march.” And with these words, attended by his esquire, De Mallory strode from the enclosure. While this scene was going on, Reginald and his companion had made considerable progress on their journey, and were within a few miles of its termination; yet not a word had been exchanged between them. They looked from time to time towards each other, apparently with a mutual feeling of dislike, if not of apprehension. At last Lothaire led the way to conversation, in a tone which betrayed a strong disposition to offer an insult, although the disposition appeared to be checked or subdued for a time by the counter-agency of some equally powerful motive. “Sir Reginald,” said he, “knowest thou the qualities which are required in him who would sue for the hand of my sister Elfrida?” “I have doubts touching this matter,” replied Reginald. “Methinks,” rejoined his companion, “it were worth the while to instruct thyself further, ere thou settest foot on my father’s threshold; for, of a truth, Elfrida hath a right Saxon spirit and a right Saxon speech: she hath proud eyes, that smile on whom they list and frown on whom they will; and proud thoughts, that respect not so much the glittering of the corselet as the valour of the knight that wears it.” This was somewhat like a thunderclap to poor Reginald. He had anticipated no difficulties of this nature: the timidity of his nature would have shrunk back with horror from the mention of a protracted courtship. In short, he had expected a path strewn with roses, and he found it beset with briars; he came to wed an obedient and passive bride, and he began to suspect she was little better than an intractable virago. After having spent some moments in reflections of this nature, he gave utterance to his secret musings in a brief soliloquy: “I am doubting whether or no I shall proceed.” He was answered by a loud laugh from his intended brother-in-law, who proceeded forthwith to dispel the apprehensions which he had himself excited.