tten your former habits when in command here. But Sir Eustace
intrusts the care of changing the guard to none but me; so I will not
trouble you to disturb yourself another night." And the baffled
miscreant retreated.

In this manner passed day after day, in a tacit yet perpetual war
between the Knight and the garrison. Not a step could be taken, scarce
a word spoken, without some instant reminder that either Sir Eustace or
Gaston was on the watch. On the borders of the enemy's country, there
was so much reason for vigilance, that the garrison could not
reasonably complain of the services required of them; the perpetual
watch, and numerous guards; the occupations which Knight and Squire
seemed never weary of devising for the purpose of keeping them
separate, and their instant prohibition of any attempt at the riotous
festivity which was their only consolation for the want of active
exercises. They grew heartily weary, and fiercely impatient of
restraint, and though the firm, calm, steady strictness of the Knight
was far preferable to the rude familiarity and furious passions of many
a Castellane, there were many of the men-at-arms who, though not
actually engaged in the conspiracy, were impatient of what they called
his haughtiness and rigidity. These men were mercenaries from
different parts of France, accustomed to a lawless life, and caring
little or nothing whatever whether it were beneath the standard of King
Charles or King Edward that they acquired pay and plunder. The
Englishmen were, of course, devoted to their King and Prince, and
though at times unruly, were completely to be depended upon. Yet,
while owning Sir Eustace to be a brave, gallant, and kind-hearted
Knight, there were times when even they felt a shudder of dread and
almost of hatred pass over them, when tales were told of the
supernatural powers he was supposed to possess; when Leonard Ashton's
adventure with the cats was narrated, or the story of his sudden
arrival at Lynwood Keep on the night before the lady's funeral. His
own immediate attendants might repel the charge with honest
indignation, but many a stout warrior slunk off in terror to bed from
the sight of Sir Eustace, turning the pages of one of his heavy books
by the light of the hall fire, and saw in each poor bat that flitted
about within the damp depths of the vaulted chambers the familiar
spirit which brought him exact intelligence of all that passed at
Bordeaux, at Paris, or