t on either side, and as he
looked it seemed to him that wander where he might he would never see a
fairer scene than that of his own home. Far to the westward, glowing
in the morning light, rolled billow after billow of ruddy heather land,
until they merged into the dark shadows of Woolmer Forest and the pale
clear green of the Butser chalk downs. Never in his life had Nigel
wandered far beyond these limits, and the woodlands, the down and the
heather were dear to his soul. It gave him a pang in his heart now as
he turned his face away from them; but if home lay to the westward, out
there to the eastward was the great world of adventure, the noble stage
where each of his kinsmen in turn had played his manly part and left a
proud name behind.

How often he had longed for this day! And now it had come with no shadow
cast behind it. Dame Ermyntrude was under the King's protection. The old
servants had their future assured. The strife with the monks of Waverley
had been assuaged. He had a noble horse under him, the best of weapons,
and a stout follower at his back. Above all he was bound on a gallant
errand with the bravest knight in England as his leader. All these
thoughts surged together in his mind, and he whistled and sang, as he
rode, out of the joy of his heart, while Pommers sidled and curveted in
sympathy with the mood of his master. Presently, glancing back, he
saw from Aylward's downcast eyes and Puckered brow that the archer was
clouded with trouble. He reined his horse to let him come abreast of
him.

"How now, Aylward?" said he. "Surely of all men in England you and I
should be the most blithe this morning, since we ride forward with all
hopes of honorable advancement. By Saint Paul! ere we see these heather
hills once more we shall either worshipfully win worship, or we shall
venture our persons in the attempt. These be glad thoughts, and why
should you be downcast?"

Aylward shrugged his broad shoulders, and a wry smile dawned upon his
rugged face. "I am indeed as limp as a wetted bowstring," said he. "It
is the nature of a man that he should be sad when he leaves the woman he
loves."

"In truth, yes!" cried Nigel, and in a flash the dark eyes of Mary
Buttesthorn rose before him, and he heard her low, sweet, earnest voice
as he had heard it that night when they brought her frailer sister back
from Shalford Manor, a voice which made all that was best and noblest
in a man thrill within his soul. "Yet, be