wards his lady-love,' said Elizabeth; 'not
bearing the least stain on what he loved or honoured.'

'But he is not our earliest knight,' said Anne; 'I begin with our own
Alfred, with his blue shield and golden cross.'

'King Alfred!' exclaimed Elizabeth, 'do you consider him a knight?'

'Certainly,' said Anne; 'besides that I care more for the spirit of
chivalry than for the etiquette of the accolade and golden spurs; we
know that Alfred knighted his grandson Athelstane, so that he must have
been a knight himself.'

'By-the-bye,' said Elizabeth, 'I think I have found out the origin of
the golden spurs being part of a knight's equipment. Do you remember
when the Cid's beloved king Don Sancho was killed, that Rodrigo could
not overtake the traitor Bellido Dolfos, because he had no spurs on,
whereupon he cursed every knight who should for the future ride without
them. Now that was at the time when the laws of chivalry were
attaining their perfection, but--'

'Not so fast,' said Anne; 'I have a much earlier pair of golden spurs
for you. Do not you remember Edmund, the last King of East Anglia,
being betrayed to the Danish wedding-party at Hoxne, by the glitter of
his golden spurs, and cursing every new married pair who should ever
pass over the bridge where he was found. I think that makes for my
side of the question. Here is Edmund, a knight in golden spurs when
Alfred was a child. Ah ha, Miss Lizzie!'

Before Elizabeth could answer, Winifred came to tell her that her mamma
wanted her, and she was forced to leave the question of King Alfred's
and King Edmund's chivalry undecided; for, to her praise be it spoken,
she was much too useful a person ever to be able to pursue her own
peculiar diversions for many minutes together. She had to listen to
some directions, and undertake some messages, so that she could not
return to her own room till after Anne had gone down-stairs. She
herself was not ready till just as the elders were setting off to the
dinner-party at Marlowe Court, and rejoicing in the cessation of the
rain and the fineness of the evening.

About half an hour afterwards, the young ladies assembled in the inner
drawing-room to drink tea. Helen, however, remained in the outer
drawing-room, practising her music, regardless of the sounds of mirth
that proceeded from the other room, until Elizabeth opened the door,
calling out,

'"Sweet bird, that shunnest the noise of folly,
Most musical,