perilous. The effect of his appearance was aggravated by
his dress, which consisted of a jack, or jacket, composed of thick buff
leather, on which small plates of iron of a lozenge form were stitched,
in such a manner as to overlap each other and form a coat of mail, which
swayed with every motion of the wearer's body. This defensive armour
covered a doublet of coarse gray cloth, and the Borderer had a few
half-rusted plates of steel on his shoulders, a two-edged sword, with a
dagger hanging beside it, in a buff belt; a helmet, with a few iron bars,
to cover the face instead of a visor, and a lance of tremendous and
uncommon length, completed his appointments. The looks of the man were as
wild and rude as his attire; his keen black eyes never rested one moment
fixed upon a single object, but constantly traversed all around, as if
they ever sought some danger to oppose, some plunder to seize, or some
insult to revenge. The latter seemed to be his present object, for,
regardless of the dignified presence of Lord Lacy, he uttered the most
incoherent threats against the owner of the house and his guests.

"We shall see--ay, marry shall we--if an English hound is to harbour and
reset the Southrons here. Thank the Abbot of Melrose and the good Knight
of Coldingnow that have so long kept me from your skirts. But those days
are gone, by St. Mary, and you shall find it!"

It is probable the enraged Borderer would not have long continued to vent
his rage in empty menaces, had not the entrance of the four yeomen, with
their bows bent, convinced him that the force was not at this moment on
his own side.

Lord Lacy now advanced towards him. "You intrude upon my privacy,
soldier; withdraw yourself and Your followers. There is peace betwixt our
nations, or my servants should chastise thy presumption."

"Such peace as ye give such shall you have," answered the moss-trooper,
first pointing with his lance towards the burned village, and then almost
instantly levelling it against Lord Lacy. The squire drew his sword, and
severed at one blow the steel head from the truncheon of the spear.

"Arthur Fitzherbert," said the baron, "that stroke has deferred thy
knighthood for one year; never must that squire wear the spurs whose
unbridled impetuosity can draw unbidden his sword in the presence of his
master. Go hence, and think on what I have said."

The squire left the chamber abashed.

"It were vain," continued Lord Lacy, "to expect th