if such it were, as to be almost regardless of
the horse, which Eustace was pressing forward upon them. He looked
over their heads to see Leonard, but in vain. He thought of retreat,
but found himself completely entangled in the throng. At that moment,
a cry was heard, "The Provost Marshal!" The crowd suddenly, he knew
not how, seemed to melt away from around him, in different directions,
and he found himself left, on horseback, in the midst of the little
village green, amongst scattered groups of disreputable-looking yeomen,
archers, and grooms, who were making what speed they could to depart,
as from the other side the Provost, the archers of the guard, and Sir
John Chandos entered upon the scene.

"Ha! What is all this? Whom have we here?" exclaimed the old Baron.
"Sir Eustace Lynwood! By my life, a fair commencement for your dainty
young knighthood!"

"On my word, my Lord Chandos," said Eustace, colouring deeply, "I am no
loiterer here; I came but to seek my Squire, Leonard Ashton, and found
myself entangled in the crowd."

"Ay, ay! I understand," said Chandos, without listening to him; "I see
how it will be. Off to your troop instantly, Master Knight. I suppose
they are all seeking Squires in the wine-shops!"

"You do me wrong, my Lord," said Eustace; "but you shall be obeyed."

The bugles had already sounded before he reached his own quarters,
where he found that, thanks to Gaston, all was right. The tent had
been taken down and packed on the baggage mules, the men were mounted,
and drawn up in full array, with his banner floating above their heads;
and Gaston himself was only waiting his appearance to mount a stout
mule, which Martin, the horse-boy, was leading up and down.

"This is well. Thanks, good Gaston," said Eustace, with a sigh of
relief, as he took off his heavy helmet, which had become much heated
during his hasty ride in the hot sun.

"No news of the truant?" asked Gaston. "Who but you would have thought
of going after him? Well did I know you would never prosper without me
at your elbow."

Eustace smiled, but he was too much heated and vexed to give a very
cheerful assent. He had only time to load Ferragus with his armour,
and mount a small pony, before the signal for the march was given, and
all set forth. Early in the year as it was, the sun already possessed
great force, and the dry rocky soil of Castile reflected his beams, so
that, long before noon, it seemed to Eustace a