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I would not turn my back on her, but face her manfully. Look at her picture, Dick. Was ever countenance sweeter than hers lips more tempting, or eyes more melting! Is she not adorable? Zounds!" he exclaimed, suddenly pausing, and staring at the portrait "Would you believe it, Dick? The fair Isole winked at me I'll swear she did.
Most of them were familiar with different versions of it; but to Master Potts it was altogether new, and he made rapid notes of it, questioning the narrator as to one or two points which appeared to him to require explanation. Nicholas, as may be supposed, was particularly interested in that part of the legend which referred to Isole de Heton.
Her eyes seem to flash fire, and she bounds like the wild roe." "Does she resemble the portrait of Isole de Heton?" asked Richard, shuddering. "She does she does," replied Mistress Nutter. "See! she whirls past us now." "I can see no one but Nicholas," cried Richard. "Nor I," added Alizon, who shared in the young man's alarm.
Besides these records of an elder people, there was another memento of bygone days and creeds, in a little hermitage and chapel adjoining it, founded in the reign of Edward III., by Henry, Duke of Lancaster, for the support of two recluses and a priest to say masses daily for him and his descendants; but this pious bequest being grievously abused in the subsequent reign of Henry VI., by Isole de Heton, a fair widow, who in the first transports of grief, vowing herself to heaven, took up her abode in the hermitage, and led a very disorderly life therein, to the great scandal of the Abbey, and the great prejudice of the morals of its brethren, and at last, tired even of the slight restraint imposed upon her, fled away "contrary to her oath and profession, not willing, nor intending to be restored again;" the hermitage was dissolved by the pious monarch, and masses ordered to be said daily in the parish church for the repose of the soul of the founder.
Left to himself, Nicholas tossed off another cup of the miraculous Rhenish, which improved in flavour as he discussed it, and then, placing a chair opposite the portrait of Isole de Heton, filled a bumper, and, uttering the name of the fair votaress, drained it to her.
Monstrous beasts, like tiger-cats, with rough black skins and flaming eyes, are moving about, and looking as if they would spring upon the captive. Two gravestones are now pushed aside, and from the cold earth arise the forms of Blackburn, the robber, and his paramour, the dissolute Isole de Heton.
This was the fair votaress, Isole de Heton, who brought such scandal on the Abbey in the reign of Henry VI. The other portrait was that of an abbot, in the white gown and scapulary of the Cistertian order. The countenance was proud and stern, but tinctured with melancholy.
Women have these cantines in all the éclopé and isolé stations where permission of the War Office can be obtained, and not only give freely of hot coffee and cocoa, bread, cakes and lemonade, to those weary men as they come in, but also have made their little sheds look gaily hospitable with flags and pictures.
"Perhaps you are not aware that your crowning act was whisking wildly round the room by yourself, like a frantic dervish." "I was dancing with Isole de Heton," said Nicholas. "With whom?" inquired Dewhurst, in surprise. "With a wicked votaress, who has been dead nearly a couple of centuries," interposed Sir Ralph; "and who, by her sinful life, merited the punishment she is said to have incurred.
"She will whirl him round till he expires," cried Richard; "I must free him at all hazards." "Stay," said Mistress Nutter; "it is I who have been deceived. Now I look again, I see that Nicholas is alone." "But the nun's dress the wondrous beauty the flashing eyes!" cried Richard. "You described Isole exactly." "It was mere fancy," said Mistress Nutter.
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