In point of variety, they a little overdid it; sometimes mingling wine, cheese, honey, raisins, olives, eggs, yea, and vinegar, all in one grand dish.  It sets the teeth on edge to think of it.

As for the wines, there were Bordeaux (Gascon), and Malmsey (Rhenish), and Romeneye, Bastard and Osey (very sweet the last two); and for liquors hippocras and clary (not claret).

All was profusion, not to say waste, but the poor had a good time afterwards.  And when the desire of eating and drinking was satisfied, the harpers and gleemen began; and first the chief harper, with hoary beard, sang his solo: 

Sometimes in the night watch,
Half seen in the gloaming,
Come visions advancing, advancing, retreating
All into the darkness.

And the harps responded in deep minor chords: 
All into the darkness.

We dream that we clasp them,
The forms of our dear ones. 
When, lo, as we touch them,
They leave us and vanish
On wings that beat lightly
The still paths of slumber.

Very softly the harps: 
The still paths of slumber.

They left in high valour
The land of their boyhood,
And sorrowful patience
Awaits their returning
While love holds expectant
Their homes in our bosoms.

Sweetly the harps: 
Their homes in our bosoms.

In high hope they left us
In sorrow with weeping
Their loved ones await them. 
For lo, to their greeting
Instead of our heroes
Come only their phantoms.

The harps deep and low: 
Come only their phantoms.

We weep as we reckon
The deeds of their glory—­
Of this one the wisdom,
Of that one the valour: 
And they in their beauty
Sleep sound in their death shrouds.

The harps dismally: 
Sleep sound in their death shrouds {22}.

“Stop! stop!” said Sir Nicholas, for tears rose to his lady’s eyes.  “No more of this.  Strike up some more hopeful lay.  What mean you by such boding?”

“Let the heir stay with us,” cried the guests.

“Nay; I have striven in vain that so it might be, but his father, Sir Roger, wills otherwise, and the son can but obey.  I see you love him for his own fair face;” (Hubert blushed), “for the deed of valour by which he won his spurs; and for his blood and kindred.  But go he will and must, and there is an end of it.

“One more announcement I have to make.  The father of our Hubert, mindful of the past, wishes to make what reparation is in his power.  He bids me announce that he intends to take the life vows in the Priory of Saint Pancras, and to be known from henceforth as Brother Roger; and that his son should be formally adopted by us.  He is so in our hearts already, and should bear from henceforth the name of ‘Radulphus,’ or ‘Ralph,’ in memory of his grandfather.

“Now I have said all.  Render him your homage, swear to be faithful, and acknowledge no other lord when I am gone and while he lives.”