as merely a game between gorgeously equipped
princes and nobles, afforded little scope for adventure worthy of
record, though it gave great diversion to the spectators. Stephen gazed
like one fascinated at the gay panoply of horse and man, with the huge
plumes on the heads of both, as they rushed against one another, and he
shared with Edmund the triumph when the lance from their armoury held
good, the vexation if it were shivered. All would have been perfect but
for the sight of his uncle, playing off his drolleries in a manner that
gave him a sense of personal degradation.

To escape from the sight almost consoled him when, in the pause after
the first courses had been run, Tibble told him and Burgess to return,
and send Headley and another workman with a fresh bundle of lances for
the afternoon's tilting. Stephen further hoped to find his brother at
the Dragon court, as it was one of those holidays that set every one
free, and separation began to make the brothers value their meetings.

But Ambrose was not at the Dragon court, and when Stephen went in quest
of him to the Temple, Perronel had not seen him since the early morning,
but she said he seemed so much bitten with the little old man's
scholarship that she had small doubt that he would be found poring over
a book in Warwick Inner Ward.

Thither therefore did Stephen repair. The place was nearly deserted,
for the inhabitants were mostly either artisans or that far too numerous
race who lived on the doles of convents, on the alms of churchgoers, and
the largesses scattered among the people on public occasions, and these
were for the most part pursuing their vocation both of gazing and
looking out for gain among the spectators outside the lists. The door
that Stephen had been shown as that of Ambrose's master was, however,
partly open, and close beside it sat in the sun a figure that amazed
him. On a small mat or rug, with a black and yellow handkerchief over
her head, and little scarlet legs crossed under a blue dress, all
lighted up by the gay May sun, there slept the little dark, glowing
maiden, with her head bent as it leant against the wall, her rosy lips
half-open, her long black plaits on her shoulders.

Stepping up to the half-open door, whence he heard a voice reading, his
astonishment was increased. At the table were his brother and his
master, Ambrose with a black book in hand, Lucas Hansen with some
papers, and on the ground was seated a vene