For the second time that night Sir Richard awakened with a violent start. Upon doing so he raised his head from off his pillow. Hearing no sound, however, he attributed this second awakening to a fanciful dream of a ponderous battle-ax striking upon his helm, and had just composed himself for the purpose of resuming his interrupted rest when he became aware of a distinct rapping upon the headboard of his bed. As he threw aside the covering and sat erect the strange tapping ceased. With every sense upon the alert he listened for a repetition of the sound. It came soon again, distinct, deliberate, unmistakable. He passed his hand carefully over the smooth headboard, but went altogether unrewarded for his pains. Concluding, therefore, that the sounds emanated from between the wall and the bed, he sprang to the floor and pulled aside the heavy piece of furniture. The inexplicable rapping was then followed by a dry, scraping noise, which seemed almost impossible to locate. The room being cast in utter darkness, his sense of touch was required to answer for his useless sense of sight. In the passing of his hand along the wall it met with a slight protuberance. This he instantly grasped, and a part of it came away within his clutched fingers. He discovered it to be a wisp of paper, neatly rolled, and surmised it to be a written message. By the side of the basin upon the floor he found tinder, flint, and steel. Contriving speedily to have a light, he thereupon read the following message: "Whoever or whatever thou art, an semblance of heart of man beats within thy brave bosom, rescue a maiden from a living death." This was the message from Isabel. She had been careful to sign no name, and Sir Richard had no means of knowing by whom it had been inscribed. But, even so, he was entirely equal to the occasion, and felt his heart leaping in deepest sympathy with the unknown maiden in distress. So, then and there, upon the cross of his sword, he made a sacred vow to adventure her rescue, repeating in a solemn manner the usual form of oath: "So may God and St. George prosper me at my need, as I will do my devoir as thy champion, fair maid, knightly, truly, and manfully." This ceremony concluded, he hurried again to the wall. Protruding from a narrow aperture in the mortar he noted a thin piece of steel, such as he fancied was used by women in the shaping of their apparel. Upon withdrawing it, he discovered it to be of about a length with his forearm. Then, placing his lips to the opening thus disclosed, "Courage, fair maiden," he whispered. "An wilt thou grant the boon of sending a most willing champion thy colors?" "Yea, gladly," came back the answer, sweet and low; "and a kiss, too, my brave knight."