e are three strangers, and
one, as I take it, a soldier fresh from service. It is likely that he
may give us word of what is stirring over the water."

Lady Loring, glancing up, saw in the fading light three companions
walking abreast down the road, all gray with dust, and stained with
travel, yet chattering merrily between themselves. He in the midst was
young and comely, with boyish open face and bright gray eyes, which
glanced from right to left as though he found the world around him both
new and pleasing. To his right walked a huge red-headed man, with
broad smile and merry twinkle, whose clothes seemed to be bursting and
splitting at every seam, as though he were some lusty chick who was
breaking bravely from his shell. On the other side, with his knotted
hand upon the young man's shoulder, came a stout and burly archer, brown
and fierce eyed, with sword at belt and long yellow yew-stave peeping
over his shoulder. Hard face, battered head piece, dinted brigandine,
with faded red lion of St. George ramping on a discolored ground, all
proclaimed as plainly as words that he was indeed from the land of war.
He looked keenly at Sir Nigel as he approached, and then, plunging his
hand under his breastplate, he stepped up to him with a rough, uncouth
bow to the lady.

"Your pardon, fair sir," said he, "but I know you the moment I clap eyes
on you, though in sooth I have seen you oftener in steel than in velvet.
I have drawn string besides you at La Roche-d'Errien, Romorantin,
Maupertuis, Nogent, Auray, and other places."

"Then, good archer, I am right glad to welcome you to Twynham Castle,
and in the steward's room you will find provant for yourself and
comrades. To me also your face is known, though mine eyes play such
tricks with me that I can scarce be sure of my own squire. Rest awhile,
and you shall come to the hall anon and tell us what is passing in
France, for I have heard that it is likely that our pennons may flutter
to the south of the great Spanish mountains ere another year be passed."

"There was talk of it in Bordeaux," answered the archer, "and I
saw myself that the armorers and smiths were as busy as rats in a
wheat-rick. But I bring you this letter from the valiant Gascon knight,
Sir Claude Latour. And to you, Lady," he added after a pause, "I bring
from him this box of red sugar of Narbonne, with every courteous and
knightly greeting which a gallant cavalier may make to a fair and noble
dame."

T