dust, and stained with travel, yet chattering merrily between themselves. He in the midst was young and comely, with boyish open face and bright grey eyes, which glanced from right to left as though he found the world around him both new and pleasing. To his right walked a huge red-headed man with broad smile and merry twinkle, whose clothes seemed to be bursting and splitting at every seam, as though he were some lusty chick who was breaking bravely from his shell. On the other side, with his knotted hand upon the young man's shoulder, came a stout and burly archer, brown and fierce-eyed, with sword at belt and long yellow yew-stave peeping over his shoulder. Hard face, battered head-piece, dinted brigandine, with faded red lion of St. George ramping on a discoloured ground, all proclaimed as plainly as words that he was indeed from the land of war. He looked keenly at Sir Nigel as he approached, and then, plunging his hand under his breast-plate, he stepped up to him with a rough uncouth bow to the lady.
'Your pardon, fair sir,' said he, 'but I fear you forget one who was once your humble friend and comrade.'
'Nay, it is Samkin Aylward,' cried the knight. 'Often have I wondered what cheer you made, for it is indeed many years since I last set eyes upon your face.'
'Aye, my master; it is other days since we set forth together from Tilford with our faces towards the wars,' said the archer.
'It is great joy to see you once again. Rest awhile, and you shall come to the hall anon and tell us what is passing in France, for I have heard that it is likely that our pennons may flutter to the south of the great Spanish mountains ere another year be passed.'
'There was talk of it in Bordeaux,' answered the archer, 'and I saw myself that the armourers and smiths were as busy as rats in a wheat-rick. But I bring you this letter from the valiant Gascon knight, Sir Claude Latour. And to you, lady,' he added after a pause, 'I bring from him this
