Alone, folded in his green mantle and nestling in the hay of a waste loft, lay Fitz-Eustace, the pale moonlight falling upon his youthful face and form.  He was dreaming happy dreams of hawk and hound, of ring and glove, of lady’s eyes, when suddenly he woke.  A tall form, half in the moonbeams, half in the gloom, stood beside him; but before he could draw his dagger, he recognized the voice of Marmion, who said: 

“Fitz-Eustace, rise, and saddle Bevis!  I cannot rest.  The air must cool my brow.  I fain would ride to view the elfin scene of chivalry of which we heard to-night.  Rouse none from their slumbers, for I would not have those prating knaves know that I could credit so wild a tale as our landlord has told.”

Softly down the steps they stole.  Eustace led forth the steed arrayed for the ride, and Marmion, armed to meet the elfin foe, sprang into the saddle.  The young squire listened to the resounding hoof-beats as they grew more and more faint, and wondered as he fell asleep that one held to be so wary, so wise, so incredulous, should ride forth at midnight to meet a ghost in mail and plate.

The moon was bright, and as Marmion reached the elfin camp, halting, he fearlessly blew his bugle.  An answer came, so faint and hollow, that it might have been an echo; but suddenly he saw a distinct form appear, a mounted champion.  The sight of the unexpected foe made to tremble with horror him who never had feared knight or noble.  His hand so shook, he could scarce couch spear aright.  The combat began; the two horsemen ran their course; and in the third attack Marmion’s steed could not resist the unearthly shock—­he fell, and the flower of England’s chivalry rolled in the dust.

High over the head of the fallen foe, the supposed spectre shook his sword.  Full on his face fell the moonlight, a face never to be mistaken.  It was the wraith of Ralph de Wilton, who had been sent by Marmion to exile and to death.  Thrice over his victim did the grim, ghast spectre shake his blade, but when Marmion, white with terror, prayed for life, the seeming vision dashed his sword into its sheath, sprang lightly to his saddle, and vanished as he came.  The moon sank from sight, and the poor, shivering, wretched English knight lay groveling on the plain.  Could it be his mortal enemy had left the grave to strike down a living foe, and to stare in derisive hatred from a raised visor?  Whether dead or alive, the elfin foe had little reason to spare the life of so dastardly an enemy!

Sweetly sleeping, or patiently listening, Eustace waited for the return of his knight, waited till he heard a horse coming, spurred to its utmost speed.  The rider hastily threw the rein to his squire, but spoke not a word.  In the dim light the youth plainly saw that the armor and the falcon crest on his lord’s helmet were covered with clay, that the knees and sides of the noble charger were in sad plight.  It was evident the beast and his rider had been overthrown.  To broken and brief rest Eustace returned and never did he more gladly welcome the light of day.