ght of one
exempted from feudal service in the camp, by our noble Knight, being
deficient in his dues in his absence. I told him we should see how he
liked to be sent packing to Bordeaux with a sheaf of arrows on his
back, instead of the sheaf of wheat which ought to be in our granary by
this time. But you are too gentle with them, my Lady, and they grow
insolent in Sir Reginald's long absence."

"All goes ill in his absence," said the Lady. "It is a weary while
since the wounded archer brought tidings of his speedy return."

"Therefore," said the youth, turning round, "it must be the nearer at
hand. Come sweet sister Eleanor, cheer up, for he cannot but come
soon."

"So many _soons_ have passed away, that my heart is well-nigh too sick
for hope," said Eleanor. "And when he comes it will be but a bright
dream to last for a moment. He cannot long be spared from the Prince's
side."

"You must go with him, then, sister, and see how I begin my days of
chivalry--that is, if he will but believe me fit to bear shield and
lance."

"Ah! Master Eustace, if you were but such as I have seen others of your
race," said Ralph, shaking his head. "There was Sir Henry--at your age
he had made the Scottish thieves look about them, I promise you. And
to go no further back than Sir Reginald himself--he stood by the
Prince's side at Crecy ere he was yet fifteen!"

"It is not my fault that I have not done as much, Ralph," said Eustace.
"It is not for want of the will, as you know full well."

"No. Thanks to me, I trust you have the will and the teaching, at
least, to make a good Knight," said Ralph. "And yet, while I think of
the goodly height and broad shoulders of those that have gone before
you--"

"But hark! hark!" cried Eustace, cutting short a comparison which did
not seem likely to be complimentary. "Dost not hear, Ralph? A horn!"

"The Lynwood note! My husband's note! O thanks, thanks to the
Saints!" cried the Lady, clasping her hands, whilst Eustace, vaulting
into the saddle behind his little nephew, rode across the drawbridge as
fast as the stiffened joints of old Blanc Etoile could be prevailed on
to move. Gaining the summit of a rising ground, both at once shouted,
"Our own pennon! It is himself!" as they beheld the dark blue crosslet
on an argent field floating above a troop of horsemen, whose armour
glanced in the setting sun.

"There are the Lances of Lynwood, Arthur," said Eustace, leaping to the
g