Again!--but
when its notes died away, there was only a mournful, an awful silence.
"Farewell, my child," said the Prince, bulkily lifting himself into his
battle-saddle. "Remember the dagger. Hark! the trumpet sounds for the
third time. Open, warders! Sound, trumpeters! and good St. Bendigo guard
the right."
But Puffendorff, the trumpeter, had not leisure to lift the trumpet to
his lips: when, hark! from without there came another note of another
clarion!--a distant note at first, then swelling fuller. Presently, in
brilliant variations, the full rich notes of the "Huntsman's Chorus"
came clearly over the breeze; and a thousand voices of the crowd gazing
over the gate exclaimed, "A champion! a champion!"
And, indeed, a champion HAD come. Issuing from the forest came a knight
and squire: the knight gracefully cantering an elegant cream-colored
Arabian of prodigious power--the squire mounted on an unpretending gray
cob; which, nevertheless, was an animal of considerable strength and
sinew. It was the squire who blew the trumpet, through the bars of his
helmet; the knight's visor was completely down. A small prince's
coronet of gold, from which rose three pink ostrich-feathers, marked
the warrior's rank: his blank shield bore no cognizance. As gracefully
poising his lance he rode into the green space where the Rowski's tents
were pitched, the hearts of all present beat with anxiety, and the poor
Prince of Cleves, especially, had considerable doubts about his new
champion.
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