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,