he cried, "the cause of quarrel? why, mon petit, it

was years ago in limousin, and how can i bear in mind what was

the cause of it? simon there hath it at the end of his tongue."

"not i, in troth," replied the other; "i have had other things to

think of. there was some sort of bickering over dice, or wine,

or was it a woman, coz?"

"pasques dieu! but you have nicked it," cried aylward. "it was

indeed about a woman; and the quarrel must go forward, for i am

still of the same mind as before."

"what of the woman, then?" asked simon. "may the murrain strike

me if i can call to mind aught about her."

"it was la blanche rose, maid at the sign of the 'trois corbeaux'

at limoges. bless her pretty heart! why, mon gar., i loved

her."

"so did a many,"quoth simon. "i call her to mind now. on the

very day that we fought over the little hussy, she went off with

evan ap price, a long-legged welsh dagsman. they have a hostel

of their own now, somewhere on the banks of the garonne, where

the landlord drinks so much of the liquor that there is little

left for the customers."

"so ends our quarrel, then," said aylward, sheathing his sword.

"a welsh dagsman, i' faith! c'etait mauvais goot, camarade, and

the more so when she had a jolly archer and a lusty man-at-arms

to choose from."

"true, old lad. and it is as well that we can compose our

differences honorably, for sir nigel had been out at the first

clash of steel; and he hath sworn that if there be quarrelling in

the garrison he would smite the right hand from the broilers.

you know him of old, and that he is like to be as good as his

word."

"mort-dieu! yes. but there are ale, mead, and wine in the

buttery, and the steward a merry rogue, who will not haggle over

a quart or two. buvons, mon gar., for it is not every day that

two old friends come together."

the old soldiers and hordle john strode off together in all good

fellowship. alleyne had turned to follow them, when he felt a

touch upon his shoulder, and found a young page by his side.

"the lord loring commands," said the boy, "that you will follow

me to the great chamber, and await him there."

"but my comrades?"

"his commands were for you alone."

alleyne followed the messenger to the east end of the courtyard,

where a broad flight of steps led up to the doorway of the main

hall, the outer wall of which is washed by the waters of the

avon. as designed at first, no dwelling had been allotted to the

lord of the castle and his family but the dark and dismal

basement storey of the keep. a more civilized or more effeminate

generation, however, had refused to be pent up in such a cellar,

and the hall with its neighboring chambers had been added for

their accommodation. up the broad steps alleyne went, still

following his boyish guide, until at the folding oak doors the

latter paused, and ushered him into the main hall of the castle.

on entering the room the clerk looked round; but, seeing no one,

he continued to stand, his cap in his hand, examining with the

greatest interest a chamber which was so different to any to

which he was accustomed. the days had gone by when a nobleman's

hall was but a barn-like, rush-strewn enclosure, the common

lounge and eating-room of every inmate of the castle. the

crusaders had brought back with them experiences of domestic

luxuries, of damascus carpets and rugs of aleppo, which made them

impatient of the hideous bareness and want of privacy which they

found in their ancestral strongholds. still stronger, however,

had been the influence of the great french war; for, however well

matched the nations might be in martial exercises, there could be

no question but that our neighbors were infinitely superior to us

in the arts of peace. a stream of returning knights, of wounded

soldiers, and of unransomed french noblemen, had been for a

quarter of a century continually pouring into england, every one

of whom exerted an influence in the direction of greater domestic

refinement, while shiploads of french furniture from calais,

rouen, and other plundered towns, had supplied our own artizans

with models on which to shape their work. hence, in most english

castles, and in castle twynham among the rest, chambers were to

be found which would seem to be not wanting either in beauty or

in comfort.

in the great stone fireplace a log fire was spurting and

crackling, throwing out a ruddy glare which, with the four

bracket-lamps which stood at each corner of the room, gave a

bright and lightsome air to the whole apartment. above was a

wreath-work of blazonry, extending up to the carved and corniced

oaken roof; while on either side stood the high canopied chairs

placed for the master of the house and for his most honored

guest. the walls were hung all round with most elaborate and

bri