When she returned, attired to welcome her defender,
her young cheek was as pale as the white satin slip and orange sprigs
she wore.
She was scarce seated on the dais by her father's side, when a huge
flourish of trumpets from without proclaimed the arrival of THE
CHAMPION. Helen felt quite sick: a draught of ether was necessary to
restore her tranquillity.
The great door was flung open. He entered,--the same tall warrior, slim,
and beautiful, blazing in shining steel. He approached the Prince's
throne, supported on each side by a friend likewise in armor. He knelt
gracefully on one knee.
"I come," said he in a voice trembling with emotion, "to claim, as per
advertisement, the hand of the lovely Lady Helen." And he held out a
copy of the Allgemeine Zeitung as he spoke.
"Art thou noble, Sir Knight?" asked the Prince of Cleves.
"As noble as yourself," answered the kneeling steel.
"Who answers for thee?"
"I, Karl, Margrave of Godesberg, his father!" said the knight on the
right hand, lifting up his visor.
"And I--Ludwig, Count of Hombourg, his godfather!" said the knight on
the left, doing likewise.
The kneeling knight lifted up his visor now, and looked on Helen.
"I KNEW IT WAS," said she, and fainted as she saw Otto the Archer.
But she was soon brought to, gentles, as I have small need to tell ye.
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