ortant particular.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY.

CHAPTER I: A WAYFARER

It was a bitterly cold night in the month of November, 1330. The rain
was pouring heavily, when a woman, with child in her arms, entered the
little village of Southwark. She had evidently come from a distance, for
her dress was travel-stained and muddy. She tottered rather than walked,
and when, upon her arrival at the gateway on the southern side of London
Bridge, she found that the hour was past and the gates closed for the
night, she leant against the wall with a faint groan of exhaustion and
disappointment.

After remaining, as if in doubt, for some time, she feebly made her way
into the village. Here were many houses of entertainment, for travelers
like herself often arrived too late to enter the gates, and had to abide
outside for the night. Moreover, house rent was dear within the walls of
the crowded city, and many, whose business brought them to town, found
it cheaper to take up their abode in the quiet hostels of Southwark
rather than to stay in the more expensive inns within the walls. The
lights came out brightly from many of the casements, with sounds of
boisterous songs and laughter. The woman passed these without a pause.
Presently she stopped before a cottage, from which a feeble light alone
showed that it was tenanted.

She knocked at the door. It was opened by a pleasant-faced man of some
thirty years old.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I am a wayfarer," the woman answered feebly. "Canst take me and my
child in for the night?"

"You have made a mistake," the man said; "this is no inn. Further up the
road there are plenty of places where you can find such accommodation as
you lack."

"I have passed them," the woman said, "but all seemed full of
roisterers. I am wet and weary, and my strength is nigh spent. I can pay
thee, good fellow, and I pray you as a Christian to let me come in and
sleep before your fire for the night. When the gates are open in
the morning I will go; for I have a friend within the city who will,
methinks, receive me."

The tone of voice, and the addressing of himself as good fellow, at once
convinced the man that the woman before him was no common wayfarer.

"Come in," he said; "Geoffrey Ward is not a man to shut his doors in
a woman's face on a night like this, nor does he need payment for such
small hospitality. Come hither, Madge!" he shouted; and at his voice a
woman came down from t