Wondering, yet fearing to demand, Why to these towers from distant land, The knight had come, without his train, Pondered the youth his doubts again; Again, as though his thoughts he read, The knight look’d sternly down and said, “My squire and my foot-page I missed At night-fall, when the woods betwixt. But they perchance may shelter find, From this bitter-blowing wind, In the deep hollow of some hill, Till the dawn break, and the storm be still.” XXVII. “But the wolf bays in the blast afar; Sir knight, how may they scape such war? I hear him now—he nearer howls! Mercy! mercy! save their souls!” “Hark!” said the knight, and stood aghast; It was no wolf-howl in the blast; It was a blood-hound’s dreadful bay, The stranger heard, with such dismay— The blood-hound at the tower below; That over pathless hill and dale, Had tracked a murderer in the gale, And came to claim his master’s foe. While listening to the lengthen’d yell, The stranger seemed to hear his knell. “A blood-hound loose, and at this hour! Your rest, sir knight, had ill been kept; Nor one within these gates had slept, Had I been in my distant tower.” The page he lighted a lamp on high; The stranger stifled scarce a sigh, That heavily for utterance pressed. He heard the page’s steps descend, And go where the long chambers bend, Down to the halls, and th’ outer walls. The page knew not the chance he ran; He was marked with the blood of a murder’d man! XXVIII. The knight, he listened in silent dread, Till now, the blood-hound’s voice was stilled; But soon a low voice near him sped, That every nerve with horror thrilled. He looked the way that lone voice came, And saw, by the lamp’s tall spiring flame, A portraiture on the wall beneath, Of noble dame, that seemed to breathe. Robed in sable weeds was she: The gleam fell on that lady’s brow; There, written dimly, you might see, The characters of hopeless woe. XXIX.