his face visible; but his surcoat was slashed and covered
with mire and blood, so that the eye could no longer discern the device
embroidered on it. A scallop-shell fastened to his helmet, intimated
that he had at some past time been a pilgrim to the shrine of Saint
James of Compostella; while the red cross upon his shoulder was an
indisputable indication that he "came from the East Countrie." His age
would have been difficult to guess. It did not seem to be years which
had blanched the hair and beard, and had given to the face a wearied,
travel-worn look--a look which so changed the countenance from what it
might otherwise have been, that even

"--The mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
She had not known her child." Marmion.

Close to the dying man lay, apparently, his squire--dead; and beside him
was a shield, turned with its face to the ground.

"The very same knight whom we saw a-riding down the knoll!" said one of
the squires, with an oath. A man was thought very pious in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries if he did not swear pretty freely.
"At least I ween it be the same--I should wit well the shield an' I
could see it."

King Henry and his nobles were attentively contemplating the wounded
knight.

"Light down, my Lord Marnell," said the King, "and see what is the
device upon yon shield. We would know which of our faithful servants we
have unhappily lost."

As the King spoke, the eyes of the dying man suddenly turned to Geoffrey
Marnell, who sprang lightly from his horse to fulfil the royal order.
He knelt down by the shield, and lifted it up to examine the arms; and
as he turned it, the well-known cognisance of Pynson of Pynsonlee--the
three silver arrows--met his eye. An exclamation of mingled sorrow and
surprise burst from Geoffrey's lips.

"Who is he?" said Henry, eagerly.

"Sir Richard Pynson of Pynsonlee, an't please your Grace."

"Ha! the Lollard knight!" cried the King. "Better he than another! I
had bruit of him, and, truly, I looked to have him to the stake when he
should return from his Eastern travel. It is well."

The King and his suite rode on; but Geoffrey was not one of them. He
had thrown down the shield, and had turned to the dear friend of his
youth, who lay dying before him.

"Richard! dear, dear Richard!" he said, in trembling accents. "How came
you here? Have you only come home to die? O Richard, die not just now!
But perchance it we