aoul de Tubiers, de Pestels, de
Grimsard, de Mersac, de Leoy, de Bastanac, who also writes himself Lord
of Pons. It is his order that I ride always a mile in front of him to
prepare all to receive him, and he desires me to blow upon a trumpet not
out of vainglory, but out of greatness of spirit, so that none may be
ignorant of his coming should they desire to encounter him."

Nigel sprang from his horse with a cry of joy, and began to unbutton his
doublet. "Quick, Aylward, quick!" he said. "He comes, a knight errant
comes! Was there ever such a chance of worshipfully winning worship?
Untruss the harness whilst I loose my clothes! Good sir, I beg you to
warn your noble and valiant master that a poor Squire of England would
implore him to take notice of him and to do some small deed upon him as
he passes."

But already the Lord of Pons had come in sight. He was a huge man upon
an enormous horse, so that together they seemed to fill up the whole
long dark archway under the oaks. He was clad in full armor of a brazen
hue with only his face exposed, and of this face there was little
visible save a pair of arrogant eyes and a great black beard, which
flowed through the open visor and down over his breastplate. To the
crest of his helmet was tied a small brown glove, nodding and swinging
above him. He bore a long lance with a red square banner at the end,
charged with a black boar's head, and the same symbol was engraved upon
his shield. Slowly he rode through the forest, ponderous, menacing, with
dull thudding of his charger's hoofs and constant clank of metal, while
always in front of him came the distant peal of the silver trumpet
calling all men to admit his majesty and to clear his path ere they be
cleared from it.

Never in his dreams had so perfect a vision come to cheer Nigel's heart,
and as he struggled with his clothes, glancing up continually at this
wondrous traveler, he pattered forth prayers of thanksgiving to the good
Saint Paul who had shown such loving-kindness to his unworthy servant
and thrown him in the path of so excellent and debonair a gentleman.

But alas! how often at the last instant the cup is dashed from the lips!
This joyful chance was destined to change suddenly to unexpected and
grotesque disaster--disaster so strange and so complete that through
all his life Nigel flushed crimson when he thought of it. He was busily
stripping his hunting-costume, and with feverish haste he had doffed
boots,