Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke obediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed upon the sunshiny river.

“Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune, for he had nothing but his sword and his shield.  He traveled a long while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to anyone who could tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he was very fond.  The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely, for the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master, though he was freakish and wild.  Every day, when he gave his lessons to this pet of the king’s, the knight rode him through the city, and as he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, but never found.  One day, as he went prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous castle the lovely face.  He was delighted, inquired who lived in this old castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty.  The knight wished intensely that he could free them, but he was poor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face and longing to see it out in the sunshine.  At last he resolved to get into the castle and ask how he could help them.  He went and knocked.  The great door flew open, and he beheld . . .”

“A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, ‘At last!  At last!’” continued Kate, who had read French novels, and admired the style. “‘Tis she!’ cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an ecstasy of joy.  ‘Oh, rise!’ she said, extending a hand of marble fairness.  ’Never!  Till you tell me how I may rescue you,’ swore the knight, still kneeling.  ’Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain here till my tyrant is destroyed.’  ‘Where is the villain?’ ’In the mauve salon.  Go, brave heart, and save me from despair.’  ’I obey, and return victorious or dead!’ With these thrilling words he rushed away, and flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when he received . . .”

“A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a black gown fired at him,” said Ned.  “Instantly, Sir What’s-his-name recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow, found the door locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got halfway down when the ladder broke, and he went headfirst into the moat, sixty feet below.  Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to a little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their heads together till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling exertion of his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss March.  At the top of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and chilled his blood . . .”