It was not a dream, now he knew.

There was a secret abroad.
The woods were full of it; the waters rolled with it, and the winds.

Oh, why could not one in these days do some high knightly deed which should draw down ladies' eyes from their heaven, as in the days of Arthur! To such a meaning breathed the unconscious sighs of the youth, when he had pulled through his first feverish energy.
He was off Bursley, and had lapsed a little into that musing quietude which follows strenuous exercise, when he heard a hail and his own name called.

It was no lady, no fairy, but young Ralph Morton, an irruption of miserable masculine prose.

Heartily wishing him abed with the rest of mankind, Richard rowed in and jumped ashore.