l on to Farnham; but you will see me here
again on the day that the King comes."

So Chandos went his way that evening, walking his horse through the
peaceful lanes and twanging his citole as he went, for he loved music
and was famous for his merry songs. The cottagers came from their huts
and laughed and clapped as the rich full voice swelled and sank to the
cheery tinkling of the strings. There were few who saw him pass that
would have guessed that the quaint one-eyed man with the yellow hair was
the toughest fighter and craftiest man of war in Europe. Once only, as
he entered Farnham, an old broken man-at-arms ran out in his rags and
clutched at his horse as a dog gambols round his master. Chandos threw
him a kind word and a gold coin as he passed on to the castle.

In the meanwhile young Nigel and the Lady Ermyntrude, left alone with
their difficulties, looked blankly in each other's faces.

"The cellar is well nigh empty," said Nigel. "There are two firkins of
small beer and a tun of canary. How can we set such drink before the
King and his court?"

"We must have some wine of Bordeaux. With that and the mottled cow's
calf and the fowls and a goose, we can set forth a sufficient repast if
he stays only for the one night. How many will be with him?"

"A dozen, at the least."

The old dame wrung her hands in despair. "Nay, take it not to heart,
dear lady!" said Nigel. "We have but to say the word and the King would
stop at Waverley, where he and his court would find all that they could
wish."

"Never!" cried the Lady Ermyntrude. "It would be shame and disgrace to
us forever if the King were to pass our door when he has graciously said
that he was fain to enter in. Nay, I will do it. Never did I think that
I would be forced to this, but I know that he would wish it, and I will
do it."

She went to the old iron coffer, and taking a small key from her girdle
she unlocked it. The rusty hinges, screaming shrilly as she threw back
the lid, proclaimed how seldom it was that she had penetrated into the
sacred recesses of her treasure-chest. At the top were some relics of
old finery: a silken cloak spangled with golden stars, a coif of silver
filigree, a roll of Venetian lace. Beneath were little packets tied in
silk which the old lady handled with tender care: a man's hunting-glove,
a child's shoe, a love-knot done in faded green ribbon, some letters in
rude rough script, and a vernicle of Saint Thomas. Then from the