Wyseby

OF THE FIRST IRVINGS, 33
CHAPTER VII.
METHVEN.
In the halls of Wyseby, though weeks had passed,
the mysterious warrior was still the theme of con-
verse. His sudden appearance, his irresistible might,
his unceremonious departure, — of such materials as
these, wonder builds up those airy or sombre struc-
tures, which rise manifold in the empire of the
Past. Who was he ? Whence came he ? Whither
went he ? Questions these which nor chief nor re-
tainers can answer. This only is certain, that he
came to deliver, contemning thanks or reward. " It
is in vain," said the chief, rising from the board
round which the principal warriors of his clan were
assembled, and at which they had sat in earnest con-
versation, long after the mid-day meal was past.
" We waste time in idle conjectures. The whole
affair is involved in impenetrable mystery. This,
however, is certain, — our foe is strong and subtle ;
be we, then, vigorous and vigilant. The unknown
has saved us once, let us be grateful. But," said he,
rising to leave the hall, "pleasant is the remembrance
of aid to the good when feeble ; but victory self-
achieved, is the rapture of heroic souls."
After leaving the hall, the chief bent his way to
the apartments of his sister ; — but he paused at the
western embrasure, arrested by the beauty of the
prospect. Evening stood in the west, bowing down