he purple lion of de Lacy, and the black crosses of Clinton.

A friendly Squire at Nigel's elbow whispered the names of the famous
warriors beneath. "You are young Loring of Tilford, the Squire of
Chandos, are you not?" said he. "My name is Delves, and I come from
Doddington in Cheshire. I am the Squire of Sir James Audley, yonder
round-backed man with the dark face and close-cropped beard, who hath
the Saracen head as a crest above him."

"I have heard of him as a man of great valor," said Nigel, gazing at him
with interest.

"Indeed, you may well say so, Master Loring. He is the bravest knight
in England, and in Christendom also, as I believe. No man hath done such
deeds of valor."

Nigel looked at his new acquaintance with hope in his eyes. "You speak
as it becomes you to speak when you uphold your own master," said he.
"For the same reason, Master Delves, and in no spirit of ill-will to
you, it behooves me to tell you that he is not to be compared in name
or fame with the noble knight on whom I wait. Should you hold otherwise,
then surely we can debate the matter in whatever way or time may please
you best."

Delves smiled good-humoredly. "Nay, be not so hot," said he. "Had you
upheld any other knight, save perhaps Sir Walter Manny, I had taken you
at your word, and your master or mine would have had place for a new
Squire. But indeed it is only truth that no knight is second to Chandos,
nor would I draw my sword to lower his pride of place. Ha, Sir James'
cup is low! I must see to it!" He darted off, a flagon of Gascony in
his hand. "The King hath had good news to-night," he continued when he
returned. "I have not seen him in so merry a mind since the night when
we took the Frenchmen and he laid his pearl chaplet upon the head of
de Ribeaumont. See how he laughs, and the Prince also. That laugh bodes
some one little good, or I am the more mistaken. Have a care! Sir John's
plate is empty."

It was Nigel's turn to dart away; but ever in the intervals he returned
to the corner whence he could look down the hall and listen to the words
of the older Squire. Delves was a short, thick-set man past middle age,
weather-beaten and scarred, with a rough manner and bearing which showed
that he was more at his ease in a tent than a hall. But ten years of
service had taught him much, and Nigel listened eagerly to his talk.

"Indeed the King hath some good tidings," he continued. "See now, he
has whispered it to Chandos a