Jacques, with his head over his friend's shoulder, chuckled. "Now farewell," said Sir Asinus; "perhaps some day I may return--farewell." And covering his eyes, he turned away. Jacques took out his pocket-handkerchief--pressed his friend's hand for the last time, and departed. He mounted his horse, gathered up the reins, and set forward again toward Shadynook, leaving the disconsolate Sir Asinus to finish his preparations for departure in his beautiful sail-boat the _Rebecca_. Poor Sir Asinus! He had not the courage to call it the _Martha_: disappointed in love and politics, he no longer clung to either, and thought the best name after all would be the MARTYR. CHAPTER XXIX. THE MAY FESTIVAL. If not as splendid as the great ball at the Raleigh, the festival at Shadynook was declared by all to be far more pleasant. At an early hour in the forenoon bevies of lovely girls and graceful cavaliers began to arrive, and the various parties scattered themselves over the lawn, the garden, through the grove and the forest, with true sylvan freedom and unrestraint. Shadynook, thanks to the active exertions of Belle-bouche and Philippa, was one bower of roses and other flowers. All the windows were festooned with them--the tables were great pyramids of wreaths; and out upon the lawn the blossoms from the trees showered down upon the animated throng, and made the children laugh--for many little girls were there--and snowing on the cavaliers, made them like heralds of the spring; and lying on the earth, a rosy velvet carpet, almost made the old poetic fiction true, and gave the damsels of the laughing crowd an opportunity to walk "ankle-deep in flowers." The harpsichord was constantly in use; and those old Scottish songs, which echo now like some lost memory to our grandfathers and grandmothers--we are writing of those personages--glided on the air from coral lips, and made the spring more bright; and many gallant hearts were there enslaved, and sighed whenever they heard sung again those joyous or sad ditties of the Scottish muse. Books lay about with lovely poems in them--written by the fine old Sucklings and Tom Stanleys--breathing high chivalric homage to the fair; and volumes of engravings, full of castles or bright pictures of Arcadian scenes--brought thither by the melancholy Jacques as true-love offerings--or sunset views where evening died away a purple margin on the blue Italian skies. And here and there, on mantelpieces and side-tables, were grotesque ornaments in china; and odd figures cut in glass of far Bohemia; and painted screens and embroidery. And through the crowd ran yelping more than one small lap-dog, trodden on by children, who cried out with merriment thereat.