He related his adventure
with the young count. He told how he had hastened to the castle
to deliver the unwelcome tidings, but that the eloquence of the
baron had interrupted him in every attempt to tell his tale. How
the sight of the bride had completely captivated him and that to
pass a few hours near her he had tacitly suffered the mistake to
continue. How he had been sorely perplexed in what way to make a
decent retreat, until the baron's goblin stories had suggested
his eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudal hostility of the
family, he had repeated his visits by stealth--had haunted the
garden beneath the young lady's window--had wooed--had won--had
borne away in triumph--and, in a word, had wedded the fair.
Under any other circumstances the baron would have been
inflexible, for be was tenacious of paternal authority and
devoutly obstinate in all family feuds; but be loved his
daughter; he had lamented her as lost; he rejoiced to find her
still alive; and, though her husband was of a hostile house, yet,
thank Heaven! he was not a goblin. There was something, it must
he acknowledged, that did not exactly accord with his notions of
strict veracity in the joke the knight had passed upon him of his
being a dead man; but several old friends present, who had served
in the wars, assured him that every stratagem was excusable in
love, and that the cavalier was entitled to especial privilege,
having lately served as a trooper.
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