the making of Godwin's broth, followed her father
from the place.

"It would have been kinder had she told us that she was glad,"
said Wulf when she was gone.

"Perhaps she would," answered his brother, "had it not been for
your rough jests, Wulf, which might have a meaning in them."

"Nay, I had no meaning. Why should she not become a knight's
wife?"

"Ay, but what knight's? Would it please either of us, brother,
if, as may well chance, he should be some stranger?"

Now Wulf swore a great oath, then flushed to the roots of his
fair hair, and was silent.

"Ah!" said Godwin; "you do not think before you speak, which it
is always well to do."

"She swore upon the quay yonder"--broke in Wulf.

"Forget what she swore. Words uttered in such an hour should not
be remembered against a maid."

"God's truth, brother, you are right, as ever! My tongue runs
away with me, but still I can't put those words out of my mind,
though which of us--"

"Wulf!"

"I mean to say that we are in Fortune's path to-day, Godwin. Oh,
that was a lucky ride! Such fighting as I have never seen or
dreamed of. We won it too! And now both of us are alive, and a
knighthood for each!"

"Yes, both of us alive, thanks to you, Wulf--nay, it is so,
though you would never have done less. But as for Fortune's path,
it is one that has many rough turns, and perhaps before all is
done she may lead us round some of them."

"You talk like a priest, not like a squire who is to be knighted
at the cost of a scar on his head. For my part I will kiss
Fortune while I may, and if she jilts me afterwards--"

"Wulf," called Rosamund from without the curtain, "cease
talking of kissing at the top of your voice, I pray you, and
leave Godwin to sleep, for he needs it." And she entered the
little chamber, bearing a bowl of broth in her hand.

Thereon, saying that ladies should not listen to what did not
concern them, Wulf seized his crutch and hobbled from the place.

Chapter Three: The Knighting of the Brethren

Another month had gone by, and though Godwin was still somewhat
weak and suffered from a headache at times, the brethren had
recovered from their wounds. On the last day of November, about
two o'clock in the afternoon, a great procession might have been
seen wending its way from the old Hall at Steeple. In it rode
many knights fully armed, before whom were borne their banners.
These went first. Then came old Sir Andrew D'Arcy, also fully
arme