d how far the love

of brave and knightly deeds could rise above the rivalries of

race.

"by my soul! john," cried the prince, with his cheek flushed and

his eyes shining, "this is a man of good courage and great

hardiness. i could not have thought that there was any single

arm upon earth which could have overthrown these four champions."

"he is indeed, as i have said, sire, a knight from whom much

honor is to be gained. but the lower edge of the sun is wet, and

it will be beneath the sea ere long."

"here is sir nigel loring, on foot and with his sword," said the

prince. "i have heard that he is a fine swordsman."

"the finest in your army, sire," chandos answered. "yet i doubt

not that he will need all his skill this day."

as he spoke, the two combatants advanced from either end in full

armor with their two-handed swords sloping over their shoulders.

the stranger walked heavily and with a measured stride, while the

english knight advanced as briskly as though there was no iron

shell to weigh down the freedom of his limbs. at four paces

distance they stopped, eyed each other for a moment, and then in

an instant fell to work with a clatter and clang as though two

sturdy smiths were busy upon their anvils. up and down went the

long, shining blades, round and round they circled in curves of

glimmering light, crossing, meeting, disengaging, with flash of

sparks at every parry. here and there bounded sir nigel, his

head erect, his jaunty plume fluttering in the air, while his

dark opponent sent in crashing blow upon blow, following

fiercely up with cut and with thrust, but never once getting past

the practised blade of the skilled swordsman. the crowd roared

with delight as sir nigel would stoop his head to avoid a blow,

or by some slight movement of his body allow some terrible thrust

to glance harmlessly past him. suddenly, however, his time came.

the frenchman, whirling up his sword, showed for an instant a

chink betwixt his shoulder piece and the rerebrace which guarded

his upper arm. in dashed sir nigel, and out again so swiftly

that the eye could not follow the quick play of his blade, but a

trickle of blood from the stranger's shoulder, and a rapidly

widening red smudge upon his white surcoat, showed where the

thrust had taken effect. the wound was, however, but a slight

one, and the frenchman was about to renew his onset, when, at a

sign from the prince, chandos threw down his baton, and the

marshals of the lists struck up the weapons and brought the

contest to an end.

"it were time to check it," said the prince, smiling, "for sir

nigel is too good a man for me to lose, and, by the five holy

wounds! if one of those cuts came home i should have fears for

our champion. what think you, pedro?"

"i think, edward, that the little man was very well able to take

care of himself. for my part, i should wish to see so well

matched a pair fight on while a drop of blood remained in their

veins."

"we must have speech with him. such a man must not go from my

court without rest or sup. bring him hither, chandos, and,

certes, if the lord loring hath resigned his claim upon this

goblet, it is right and proper that this cavalier should carry it

to france with him as a sign of the prowess that he has shown

this day."

as he spoke, the knight-errant, who had remounted his warhorse,

galloped forward to the royal stand, with a silken kerchief bound

round his wounded arm. the setting sun cast a ruddy glare upon

his burnished arms, and sent his long black shadow streaming

behind him up the level clearing. pulling up his steed, he

slightly inclined his head, and sat in the stern and composed

fashion with which he had borne himself throughout, heedless of

the applauding shouts and the flutter of kerchiefs from the long

lines of brave men and of fair women who were looking down upon

him.

"sir knight," said the prince, "we have all marvelled this day at

this great skill and valor with which god has been pleased to

endow you. i would fain that you should tarry at our court, for

a time at least, until your hurt is healed and your horses

rested.."

"my hurt is nothing, sire, nor are my horses weary," returned the

stranger in a deep, stern voice.

"will you not at least hie back to bordeaux with us, that you may

drain a cup of muscadine and sup at our table?"

"i will neither drink your wine nor sit at your table," returned

the other. "i bear no love for you or for your race, and there

is nought that i wish at your hands until the day when i see the

last sail which bears you back to your island vanishing away

against the western sky."

"these are bitter words, sir knight," said prince edward, with an

angry frown.

"and they come from a bitter heart," answered the unknown knight.

"how long is it since there has been pe