y employs herself."

"To answer this I would fain lay hand upon one whose thoughts turn
strongly to this castle which you have named. Nay, my Lord Loring, it is
whispered to me that there is another here who hath thought more deeply
of it than you."

"Thought more of mine own home?" cried Sir Nigel. "Lady, I fear that in
this matter at least you are mistaken."

"Not so, Sir Nigel. Come hither, young man, young English squire with
the gray eyes! Now give me your hand, and place it here across my brow,
that I may see that which you have seen. What is this that rises before
me? Mist, mist, rolling mist with a square black tower above it. See it
shreds out, it thins, it rises, and there lies a castle in green plain,
with the sea beneath it, and a great church within a bow-shot. There are
two rivers which run through the meadows, and between them lie the tents
of the besiegers."

"The besiegers!" cried Alleyne, Ford, and Sir Nigel, all three in a
breath.

"Yes, truly, and they press hard upon the castle, for they are an
exceeding multitude and full of courage. See how they storm and rage
against the gate, while some rear ladders, and others, line after line,
sweep the walls with their arrows. They are many leaders who shout and
beckon, and one, a tall man with a golden beard, who stands before the
gate stamping his foot and hallooing them on, as a pricker doth the
hounds. But those in the castle fight bravely. There is a woman, two
women, who stand upon the walls, and give heart to the men-at-arms. They
shower down arrows, darts and great stones. Ah! they have struck down
the tall leader, and the others give back. The mist thickens and I can
see no more."

"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, "I do not think that there can be any
such doings at Christchurch, and I am very easy of the fortalice so long
as my sweet wife hangs the key of the outer bailey at the head of her
bed. Yet I will not deny that you have pictured the castle as well as I
could have done myself, and I am full of wonderment at all that I have
heard and seen."

"I would, Lady Tiphaine," cried the Lady Rochefort, "that you would use
your power to tell me what hath befallen my golden bracelet which I wore
when hawking upon the second Sunday of Advent, and have never set eyes
upon since."

"Nay, lady," said du Guesclin, "it does not befit so great and wondrous
a power to pry and search and play the varlet even to the beautiful
chatelaine of Villefranche.