lleyne to think of that scene of the
wayside inn of Auvergne. The shadows of evening had fallen, and the
corners of the long, low, wood-panelled room were draped in darkness.
The sputtering wood fire threw out a circle of red flickering light
which played over the little group of wayfarers, and showed up every
line and shadow upon their faces. Sir Nigel sat with elbows upon knees,
and chin upon hands, his patch still covering one eye, but his other
shining like a star, while the ruddy light gleamed upon his smooth white
head. Ford was seated at his left, his lips parted, his eyes staring,
and a fleck of deep color on either cheek, his limbs all rigid as one
who fears to move. On the other side the famous French captain leaned
back in his chair, a litter of nut-shells upon his lap, his huge head
half buried in a cushion, while his eyes wandered with an amused gleam
from his dame to the staring, enraptured Englishmen. Then, last of
all, that pale clear-cut face, that sweet clear voice, with its high
thrilling talk of the deathlessness of glory, of the worthlessness of
life, of the pain of ignoble joys, and of the joy which lies in all
pains which lead to a noble end. Still, as the shadows deepened, she
spoke of valor and virtue, of loyalty, honor, and fame, and still they
sat drinking in her words while the fire burned down and the red ash
turned to gray.

"By the sainted Ives!" cried Du Guesclin at last, "it is time that we
spoke of what we are to do this night, for I cannot think that in this
wayside auberge there are fit quarters for an honorable company."

Sir Nigel gave a long sigh as he came back from the dreams of chivalry
and hardihood into which this strange woman's words had wafted him. "I
care not where I sleep," said he; "but these are indeed somewhat rude
lodgings for this fair lady."

"What contents my lord contents me," quoth she. "I perceive, Sir Nigel,
that you are under vow," she added, glancing at his covered eye.

"It is my purpose to attempt some small deed," he answered.

"And the glove--is it your lady's?"

"It is indeed my sweet wife's."

"Who is doubtless proud of you."

"Say rather I of her," quoth he quickly. "God He knows that I am not
worthy to be her humble servant. It is easy, lady, for a man to ride
forth in the light of day, and do his devoir when all men have eyes for
him. But in a woman's heart there is a strength and truth which asks no
praise, and can but be known to him whose