st, with a
lance-thrust in the throat; and there was Kitson over him, his shield
over his head, and his own cleft open with an axe! They laid them side
by side--so I was told--in their grave; and sure 'twas as strange and as
true a brotherhood as ever was between two brave men.'

'The good fellows!' cried Malcolm. 'Nay, after what I saw I can hardly
grieve. I went to Kitson's home, where they knew as little as I did of
his death, and verily his place had closed up behind him, so that I
scarce think his mother even cared to see him more, and the whole of them
seemed more concerned at his amity with Trenton than proud of his feats
of arms. I was marvelling if their friendship would be allowed to
subsist at home, even when they, poor fellows, were lying side by side in
their French grave.'

'We warriors should never come home,' said Percy; 'we are spoilt for
aught but our French camp. I am wearying to get back once more, but so
long as I cannot swing my sword-arm I must play the idler here.'

'It must have been a fearsome wound,' said Malcolm. 'The marvel is your
overgetting it.'

'So say they all; and truly it has lasted no small time. They shipped me
off home so soon as I could leave my bed, and bade me rest. Nay, and my
mother herself came even to London, when my brother was summoned to
Parliament,--she who had never been there since the first year after she
was wedded!'

'You can scarce complain of such kin as that,' said Malcolm.

''Tis not the kin, but this petty Border life, that frets me. Here we
move from castle to castle, and now and then come tidings of a cattle
lifting, and Harry dons his helm and rides forth, but nine times out of
ten 'tis a false alarm, or if it be true, the thieves have made off, and
being time of peace, he, as Warden, cannot make a raid in return. I'm
sick of the life, after the only warfare fit for a knight, with French
nobles instead of Border thieves; and back I will. If my right arm will
not serve me, the left shall. I can use a lance indifferent well
already.'

As Sir Ralf Percy spoke, a bugle-call rang through the castle. He
started. 'Hark! that's the warder's horn,' and flying to the door, he
soon returned crying--'Your king is in sight, Malcolm!'

'How soon will he be here?'

'In less than half an hour. There's time to array yourself. I'll take
you to my chamber.'

'Thanks,' said Malcolm; 'but this gown is no disguise to me. I had
rather meet the King t