One advantage, indeed, he had in his imprisonment; for the window of his chamber commanded a prospect of the vale of the Kennet, and barred as the window was, he could catch glances of the world from a distance, and sometimes even see not only peaceful travellers, but bands of armed men, passing and repassing. Still this only reminded him of his own sad plight, for everybody and everything seemed free but himself. The river flowed on; the trout leaped in the clear water; the heron perched on the stones by the grassy margin; the eagle soared over the castle; the squirrel climbed the trees; and the deer ran free in the chase. Even the serf who toiled in the fields around Chas-Chateil appeared to enjoy a happy lot, in comparison with the only son of the woman to whom Chas-Chateil rightfully belonged. But there was consolation at hand. It happened that the chamber appropriated to Oliver was on a level with a battlement or outer gallery constructed to resemble a terrace, and known as “the ladies’ walk.” Nobody, however, seemed to frequent it; and Oliver, whose knowledge of feudal strongholds enabled him to comprehend its purpose, had concluded that Hugh de Moreville’s daughter was being educated in a convent, or under the roof of some noble matron; for, proud as they were, the feudal dames did not disdain to undertake the tuition of their sex; and he had concluded, moreover, that there were no ladies under the roof of Chas-Chateil, not, perhaps, without speculating whether or not there might be in the event of its becoming his own, when he was unexpectedly convinced that, on this point at least, he was mistaken. It was the evening of a long, bright, merry summer day, about the close of July, and Oliver was standing at his window looking out on the landscape, now watching the men-at-arms engaged in athletic exercises, and now brooding dismally over his evil fortune, and cursing his cruel captivity, when his ear suddenly caught the sound of soft voices, and his eye was attracted by an apparition which instantly changed the whole current of his thoughts. And what was this apparition? A very lovely Norman demoiselle, dressed in a simple robe of white, and attended by two maidens almost as captivating as herself. CHAPTER XXI DE MOREVILLE’S DAUGHTER A girl not more than seventeen, with eyes of deep blue, fair face, features slightly aquiline, a soft and somewhat pensive, but still noble expression, her auburn hair not almost entirely concealed, as was the fashion of the court ladies of the period, but flowing free over her shoulders; and her graceful figure not decorated or deformed as theirs were with meretricious ornaments, but arrayed in a simple robe of white, girdled at the slender waist with a belt of blue--such was the Norman demoiselle who suddenly appeared before the eyes of Oliver Icingla and put his melancholy musings to flight. Nor could he doubt who she was, seeing her where he did.