"
After exhausting his voice in entreaties and threats, which were
equally unattended to by Peter of the Brig, as he was called, Father
Philip at length moved down the river to take the ordinary ford at the
head of the next stream. Cursing the rustic obstinacy of Peter, he
began, nevertheless, to persuade himself that the passage of the river
by the ford was not only safe, but pleasant. The banks and scattered
trees were so beautifully reflected from the bosom of the dark stream,
the whole cool and delicious picture formed so pleasing a contrast to
his late agitation, to the warmth occasioned by his vain endeavours to
move the relentless porter of the bridge, that the result was rather
agreeable than otherwise.
As Father Philip came close to the water's edge, at the spot where he
was to enter it, there sat a female under a large broken scathed
oak-tree, or rather under the remains of such a tree, weeping,
wringing her hands, and looking earnestly on the current of the river.
The monk was struck with astonishment to see a female there at that
time of night. But he was, in all honest service,--and if a step
farther, I put it upon his own conscience,--a devoted squire of dames.
After observing the maiden for a moment, although she seemed to take
no notice of his presence, he was moved by her distress, and willing
to offer his assistance. "Damsel," said he, "thou seemest in no
ordinary distress; peradventure, like myself, thou hast been refused
passage at the bridge by the churlish keeper, and thy crossing may
concern thee either for performance of a vow, or some other weighty
charge.
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