ake back the words either, nor would

she grant the veil. has it seemed to thee, alleyne, that she

loves any one?"

"nay, i cannot say," said alleyne, with a wild throb of sudden

hope in his heart.

"i have thought so, and yet i cannot name the man. indeed, gave

myself, and walter ford, and you, who are half a clerk, and

father christopher of the priory, and bertrand the page, who is

there whom she sees?"

"i cannot tell," quoth alleyne shortly; and the two squires rode

on again, each intent upon his own thoughts.

next day at morning lesson the teacher observed that his pupil

was indeed looking pale and jaded, with listless eyes and a weary

manner. he was heavy-hearted to note the grievous change in her.

"your mistress, i fear, is ill, agatha," he said to the tire-

woman, when the lady maude had sought her chamber.

the maid looked aslant at him with laughing eyes. "it is not an

illness that kills," quoth she.

"pray god not!" he cried. "but tell me, agatha, what it is that

ails her?"

"methinks that i could lay my hand upon another who is smitten

with the same trouble," said she, with the same sidelong look.

"canst not give a name to it, and thou so skilled in leech-

craft?"

"nay, save that she seems aweary."

"well, bethink you that it is but three days ere you will all be

gone, and castle twynham be as dull as the priory. is there not

enough there to cloud a lady's brow?"

"in sooth, yes," he answered; "i had forgot that she is about to

lose her father."

"her father!" cried the tire-woman, with a little trill of

laughter. "oh simple, simple!" and she was off down the passage

like arrow from bow, while alleyne stood gazing after her,

betwixt hope and doubt, scarce daring to put faith in the meaning

which seemed to underlie her words.

chapter xiii.

how the white company set forth to the wars.

st. luke's day had come and had gone, and it was in the season of

martinmas, when the oxen are driven in to the slaughter, that the

white company was ready for its journey. loud shrieked the

brazen bugles from keep and from gateway, and merry was the

rattle of the war-drum, as the men gathered in the outer bailey,

with torches to light them, for the morn had not yet broken.

alleyne, from the window of the armory, looked down upon the

strange scene--the circles of yellow flickering light, the lines

of stern and bearded faces, the quick shimmer of arms, and the

lean heads of the horses. in front stood the bow-men, ten deep,

with a fringe of under-officers, who paced hither and thither

marshalling the ranks with curt precept or short rebuke. behind

were the little clump of steel-clad horsemen, their lances

raised, with long pensils drooping down the oaken shafts. so

silent and still were they, that they might have been metal-

sheathed statues, were it not for the occasional quick, impatient

stamp of their chargers, or the rattle of chamfron against neck-

plates as they tossed and strained. a spear's length in front of

them sat the spare and long-limbed figure of black simon, the

norwich fighting man, his fierce, deep-lined face framed in

steel, and the silk guidon marked with the five scarlet roses

slanting over his right shoulder. all round, in the edge of the

circle of the light, stood the castle servants, the soldiers who

were to form the garrison, and little knots of women. who sobbed

in their aprons and called shrilly to their name-saints to watch

over the wat, or will, or peterkin who had turned his hand to the

work of war.

the young squire was leaning forward, gazing at the stirring and

martial scene, when he heard a short, quick gasp at his shoulder,

and there was the lady maude, with her hand to her heart, leaning

up against the wall, slender and fair, like a half-plucked lily.

her face was turned away from him, but he could see, by the sharp

intake of her breath, that she was weeping bitterly.

"alas! alas!" he cried, all unnerved at the sight, "why is it

that you are so sad, lady?"

"it is the sight of these brave men," she answered; "and to think

how many of them go and how few are like to find their way back.

i have seen it before, when i was a little maid, in the year of

the prince's great battle. i remember then how they mustered in

the bailey, even as they do now, and my lady-mother holding me in

her arms at this very window that i might see the show."

"please god, you will see them all back ere another year be out,"

said he.

she shook her head, looking round at him with flushed cheeks and

eyes that sparkled in the lamp-light. "oh, but i hate myself for

being a woman!" she cried, with a stamp of her little foot.

"what can i do that is good? here i must bide, and talk and sew

and spin, and spin and sew and talk. ever the same dull round,

with nothing at the end of it