that

reason why you should molest me on the king's ground?"

"i give not the pip of an apple for king or for noble," cried the

serf passionately. "ill have i had from them, and ill i shall

repay them. i am a good friend to my friends, and, by the

virgin! an evil foeman to my foes."

and therefore the worst of foemen to thyself," said alleyne.

"but i pray you, since you seem to know him, to point out to me

the shortest path to my brother's house."

the serf was about to reply, when the clear ringing call of a

bugle burst from the wood close behind them, and alleyne caught

sight for an instant of the dun side and white breast of a lordly

stag glancing swiftly betwixt the distant tree trunks. a minute

later came the shaggy deer-hounds, a dozen or fourteen of them,

running on a hot scent, with nose to earth and tail in air. as

they streamed past the silent forest around broke suddenly into

loud life, with galloping of hoofs, crackling of brushwood, and

the short, sharp cries of the hunters. close behind the pack

rode a fourrier and a yeoman-pricker, whooping on the laggards

and encouraging the leaders, in the shrill half-french jargon

which was the language of venery and woodcraft. alleyne was

still gazing after them, listening to the loud "hyke-a-bayard!

hyke-a-pomers! hyke-a-lebryt!" with which they called upon their

favorite hounds, when a group of horsemen crashed out through the

underwood at the very spot where the serf and he were standing.

the one who led was a man between fifty and sixty years of age,

war-worn and weather-beaten, with a broad, thoughtful forehead

and eyes which shone brightly from under his fierce and overhung

brows, his beard, streaked thickly with gray, bristled forward

from his chin, and spoke of a passionate nature, while the long,

finely cut face and firm mouth marked the leader of men. his

figure was erect and soldierly, and he rode his horse with the

careless grace of a man whose life had been spent in the saddle.

in common garb, his masterful face and flashing eye would have

marked him as one who was born to rule; but now, with his silken

tunic powdered with golden fleurs-de-lis, his velvet mantle lined

with the royal minever, and the lions of england stamped in

silver upon his harness, none could fail to recognize the noble

edward, most warlike and powerful of all the long line of

fighting monarchs who had ruled the anglo-norman race. alleyne

doffed hat and bowed head at the sight of him, but the serf

folded his hands and leaned them upon his cudgel, looking with

little love at the knot of nobles and knights-in-waiting who rode

behind the king.

"ha!" cried edward, reining up for an instant his powerful black

steed. "le cerf est passe? non? ici, brocas; tu parles

anglais."

"the deer, clowns?" said a hard-visaged, swarthy-faced man, who

rode at the king's elbow. "if ye have headed it back it is as

much as your ears are worth."

"it passed by the blighted beech there," said alleyne, pointing,

"and the hounds were hard at its heels."

"it is well," cried edward, still speaking in french: for, though

he could understand english, he had never learned to express

himself in so barbarous and unpolished a tongue. "by my faith,

sirs," he continued, half turning in his saddle to address his

escort, "unless my woodcraft is sadly at fault, it is a stag of

six tines and the finest that we have roused this journey. a

golden st. hubert to the man who is the first to sound the mort."

he shook his bridle as he spoke, and thundered away, his knights

lying low upon their horses and galloping as hard as whip and

spur would drive them, in the hope of winning the king's prize.

away they drove down the long green glade--bay horses, black and

gray, riders clad in every shade of velvet, fur, or silk, with

glint of brazen horn and flash of knife and spear. one only

lingered, the black-browed baron brocas, who, making a gambade

which brought him within arm-sweep of the serf, slashed him

across the face with his riding-whip. "doff, dog, doff," he

hissed, "when a monarch deigns to lower his eyes to such as

you!"--then spurred through the underwood and was gone, with a

gleam of steel shoes and flutter of dead leaves.

the villein took the cruel blow without wince or cry, as one to

whom stripes are a birthright and an inheritance. his eyes

flashed, however, and he shook his bony hand with a fierce wild

gesture after the retreating figure.

"black hound of gascony," he muttered, "evil the day that you and

those like you set foot in free england! i know thy kennel of

rochecourt. the night will come when i may do to thee and thine

what you and your class have wrought upon mine and me. may god

smite me if i fail to smite thee, thou french robber, with thy

wife and thy child and all that is under thy castle roof!