a bright, crisp winter's day when the little party set off

from bordeaux on their journey to montaubon, where the missing

half of their company had last been heard of. sir nigel and ford

had ridden on in advance, the knight upon his hackney, while his

great war-horse trotted beside his squire. two hours later

alleyne edricson followed; for he had the tavern reckoning to

settle, and many other duties which fell to him as squire of the

body. with him came aylward and hordle john, armed as of old,

but mounted for their journey upon a pair of clumsy landes

horses, heavy-headed and shambling, but of great endurance, and

capable of jogging along all day, even when between the knees of

the huge archer, who turned the scale at two hundred and seventy

pounds. they took with them the sumpter mules, which carried in

panniers the wardrobe and table furniture of sir nigel; for the

knight, though neither fop nor epicure, was very dainty in small

matters, and loved, however bare the board or hard the life, that

his napery should still be white and his spoon of silver.

there had been frost during the night, and the white hard road

rang loud under their horses' irons as they spurred through the

east gate of the town, along the same broad highway which the

unknown french champion had traversed on the day of the jousts.

the three rode abreast, alleyne edricson with his eyes cast down

and his mind distrait, for his thoughts were busy with the

conversation which he had had with sir nigel in the morning. had

he done well to say so much, or had he not done better to have

said more? what would the knight have said had he confessed to

his love for the lady maude? would he cast him off in disgrace,

or might he chide him as having abused the shelter of his roof?

it had been ready upon his tongue to tell him all when sir oliver

had broken in upon them. perchance sir nigel, with his love of

all the dying usages of chivalry, might have contrived some

strange ordeal or feat of arms by which his love should be put to

the test. alleyne smiled as he wondered what fantastic and

wondrous deed would be exacted from him. whatever it was, he was

ready for it, whether it were to hold the lists in the court of

the king of tartary, to carry a cartel to the sultan of baghdad,

or to serve a term against the wild heathen of prussia. sir

nigel had said that his birth was high enough for any lady, if

his fortune could but be amended. often had alleyne curled his

lip at the beggarly craving for land or for gold which blinded

man to the higher and more lasting issues of life. now it

seemed as though it were only by this same land and gold that he

might hope to reach his heart's desire. but then, again, the

socman of minstead was no friend to the constable of twynham

castle. it might happen that, should he amass riches by some

happy fortune of war, this feud might hold the two families

aloof. even if maude loved him, he knew her too well to think

that she would wed him without the blessing of her father. dark

and murky was it all, but hope mounts high in youth, and it ever

fluttered over all the turmoil of his thoughts like a white plume

amid the shock of horsemen.

if alleyne edricson had enough to ponder over as he rode through

the bare plains of guienne, his two companions were more busy

with the present and less thoughtful of the future. aylward rode

for half a mile with his chin upon his shoulder, looking back at

a white kerchief which fluttered out of the gable window of a

high house which peeped over the corner of the battlements. when

at last a dip of the road hid it from his view, he cocked his

steel cap, shrugged his broad shoulders, and rode on with

laughter in his eyes, and his weatherbeaten face all ashine with

pleasant memories. john also rode in silence, but his eyes

wandered slowly from one side of the road to the other, and he

stared and pondered and nodded his head like a traveller who

makes his notes and saves them up for the re-telling

"by the rood!" he broke out suddenly, slapping his thigh with his

great red hand, "i knew that there was something a-missing, but i

could not bring to my mind what it was."

"what was it then?" asked alleyne, coming with a start out of his

reverie.

"why, it is the hedgerows," roared john, with a shout of

laughter. "the country is all scraped as clear as a friar's

poll. but indeed i cannot think much of the folk in these parts.

why do they not get to work and dig up these long rows of black

and crooked stumps which i see on every hand? a franklin of

hampshire would think shame to have such litter upon his soil."

"thou foolish old john!" quoth aylward. "you should know better,

since i have heard that the monks of beaulieu could squeeze a

good cup of wine from their own grapes. know then that if these

rows were dug