The first day passed, and there was no answer to his
summons. The second day came and went, but no champion had risen to
defend. The taunt of his shrill clarion remained without answer; and the
sun went down upon the wretchedest father and daughter in all the land
of Christendom.
The trumpets sounded an hour after sunrise, an hour after noon, and an
hour before sunset. The third day came, but with it brought no hope. The
first and second summons met no response. At five o'clock the old Prince
called his daughter and blessed her. "I go to meet this Rowski," said
he. "It may be we shall meet no more, my Helen--my child--the innocent
cause of all this grief. If I shall fall to-night the Rowski's victim,
'twill be that life is nothing without honor." And so saying, he put
into her hands a dagger, and bade her sheathe it in her own breast so
soon as the terrible champion had carried the castle by storm.
This Helen most faithfully promised to do; and her aged father retired
to his armory, and donned his ancient war-worn corselet. It had borne
the shock of a thousand lances ere this, but it was now so tight as
almost to choke the knightly wearer.
The last trumpet sounded--tantara! tantara!--its shrill call rang over
the wide plains, and the wide plains gave back no answer.
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