He then leaned his head upon his hand, as he lay stretched out by the fire, and seemed to fall asleep, while Iola and Chartley conversed in low tones. But, though his eyes were closed, it was not with slumber; and at length, after an hour or somewhat more had passed, he and the Arab both started up at once, the woodman exclaiming: "Hark! there is our messenger! Come forth with me, my lord, and meet him. Your trusty infidel can stay and protect the lady." Chartley followed at once, and the woodman strode rapidly across the court, but suddenly stopped, under the old arch of the gateway; and, laying his hand upon Lord Chartley's arm, he said, in a low serious tone: "Are you aware, my lord, that the Lady Iola St. Leger is contracted in marriage to Arnold Lord Fulmer?" Chartley stood and gazed at him in silence, with his brow contracted and his lip quivering. He could not or he would not reply, and the woodman went on saying: "I am sorry, you did not know this. It should have been told you before." "It should, indeed," replied Chartley; and then, after a pause, he added: "But it matters not, she is not to blame. More than once I have seen something hanging on her lips as if seeking utterance but afraid to venture forth. If I had told her what was growing upon my heart, she would have spoken." "Most likely," answered the woodman; "for hers is a heart very soon seen through. 'Tis like a clear well, where one can trace all the pebbles in the bottom--their shape, their colour, and if anything obscures them, it is but a light ripple from a passing wind." "And yet she said but now that she had so love," replied Chartley, moodily. "And that is true also," answered the woodman; "contracted in infancy, how can she love a man she does not even recollect?" "Well, 'tis no matter," answered Chartley; "the vision of happiness will pass away, and it is something to have served, protected, comforted her. Hark, the man is drawing near with a low and solemn dirge, as if we were all to be slain and buried ere noon. There is the dawn too, coming in the east, if I mistake not. Let us go on, and stop the piper's melancholy squeaking." "'Tis but a sign he is not followed," replied the woodman, detaining him. "Let us stay here, we might miss him in some of the turnings; I will whistle, however, to show him that we hear, and then perhaps he will stop." But the inveterate piper droned on, till he was within sight of the gates, and Chartley and the woodman went down to meet him. "What news, what news?" they both demanded, eagerly. "Bad tidings," answered the piper, shaking his head. "First, my lord, you owe me a gold angel." "There are two," answered Chartley, sharply. "Now for the rest."