detain your boat so that it should not come along until dark, and, moreover, he told them that they would know the boat since you would be wrapt in a white mantle.”
The lady sat for some time with her face hidden in her hands.
“It is as I feared,” she said at last, “and it grieves me to the heart to think that one who, although not so nearly related in blood, I regarded as a brother, should have betrayed me to death. My mind is troubled indeed, and I know not what course I shall take, whether to reveal this dreadful secret or to conceal it.”
“I may say, madam,” Walter said earnestly, “that should you wish the matter to remain a secret, you may rely upon it that I will tell no more at the trial than I revealed yesterday; but I would remind you that there is a danger that the leader of yon ruffians, who is probably alone acquainted with the name of his employer, may, under the influence of the torture, reveal it.”
“That fear is for the present past, since a messenger arrived from Kingston but a few minutes since, saying that yester-even, under the threat of torture, the prisoners had pointed out the one among their number who was their chief. This morning, however, it was found that the warder who had charge of them had been bribed; he was missing from his post, and the door of the cell wherein the principal villain had been immured, apart from the others, was opened, and he had escaped.”
“Then,” Walter said, “it is now open to you to speak or be silent as you will. You will pardon my forwardness if I say that my master, in talking the matter over with me, suggested that this evil knight might be scared from attempting any future enterprise against you were he informed that it was known to several persons that he was the author of this outrage, and that if any further attempts were at any time made against you, the proofs of his crime would be laid before the king.”
“Thanks, good lad,” the lady said, “for your suggestion. Should I decide to keep the matter secret, I will myself send him a message to that effect, in such guise that he would not know whence it comes. And now, I would fain reward you for what you have done for us; and,” she went on, seeing a flush suddenly mount upon the lad's face, as he made a half step backwards, “before I saw you, had thought of offering you a purse of gold, which, although it would but poorly reward your services, would yet have proved useful to you when the time came for you to start as a craftsman on your own account; but now that I have seen you, I feel that although there are few who think themselves demeaned by accepting gifts of money in reward for services, you would rather my gratitude took some other form. It can only do that of offering you such good services that I can render with Earl Talbot, should you ever choose the profession of arms; and in the meantime, as a memento of the lives you have saved, you will, I am sure, not refuse this chain,” and she took a very handsome one of gold from her neck; “the more so since it was the gift of her majesty, our gracious queen to myself. She will, I am sure, acquit me of parting with her gift when I tell her that I transferred it to one who had saved the lives of myself and my daughter, and who was too proud to accept other acknowledgment.”
Colouring deeply, and with tears in his eyes at the kindness and thoughtful consideration of the lady, Walter knelt on one knee before her, and she placed round his neck the long gold chain which she had been wearing.
“It is a knight's chain,” the lady said, smiling, “and was part of the spoil gained by King Edward from the French. Maybe,” she added kindly, “it will be worn by a knight again. Stranger things have happened, you know.”
Walter flushed again with pleasure.
“Maybe, lady,” he said modestly, “even apprentices have their dreams, and men-at-arms may always hope, by deeds of valour, to attain a knight's spurs even though they may not be of noble blood or have served as page and squire to a baron; but whether as a 'prentice or soldier, I hope I shall never do discredit to your gift.”
“Edith, come here,” Dame Vernon said, “I have done talking now. And what are you going to give this brave knight of ours who saved us from drowning.”
The girl looked thoughtfully at Walter. “I don't think you would care for presents,” she said; “and you look as if a sword or a horse would suit you better than a girl's gift. And yet I should like to give you something, such as ladies give their knights who have done brave deeds for them. It must be something quite my own, and you must take it as a keepsake. What shall it be, mamma?”
“Give him the bracelet which your cousin gave you last week,” her mother said; “I would rather that you did not keep it, and I know you are not very fond of him.”
“I can't bear him,” the girl said earnestly, “and I wish he would not kiss me; he always looks as if he were going to bite, and I will gladly give his bracelet to this brave boy.”
“Very well, Edith, fetch the bracelet from that coffer in the corner.”
The girl went to the coffer and brought out the little bracelet, then she approached Walter.
“You must go down on your knee,” she said; “true knights always do that to receive their lady's gifts. Now hold out your hand. There,” she went on in a pretty imperious way, “take this gage as a reward of your valour, and act ever as a true knight in the service of your lady.”
Bending down she dropt a kiss upon Walter's glowing cheek, and then, half frightened at her own temerity, ran back to her mother's side.
“And now,” Dame Vernon went on, “will you thank your five comrades for their service in the matter, and give them each two gold pieces to spend as they will.”
“He is a noble lad,” Dame Vernon had said to herself when Walter had taken his leave. “Would he had been the son of one of the nobles of the court! It might have been then, if he distinguished himself in war, as he would surely do, that the king might have assigned Edith to him. As her lord and guardian he is certain to give her hand as a reward for valour in the field, and it may well be to a man with whom she would be less happy than with this 'prentice lad; but there, I need not be troubling myself about a matter which is five or six years distant yet. Still the thought that Edith is a ward of the crown, and that her hand must go where the king wills, often troubles me. However, I have a good friend in the queen, who will, I know, exert what influence she has in getting me a good husband for my child. But even for myself I have some fears, since the king hinted, when last he saw me, that it was time I looked out for another mate, for that the vassal of Westerham and Hyde needed a lord to lead them in the field. However, I hope that my answer that they were always at his service under the leading of my cousin James will suffice for him. Now, what am I to do in that matter? Who would have thought that he so coveted my lands that he would have slain me and Edith to possess himself of them? His own lands a thrice as broad as mine, though men say that he has dipped deeply into them and owes much money to the Jews. He is powerful and has many friends, and although Earl Talbot would stand by me, yet the unsupported word of an apprentice boy were but poor evidence on which to charge a powerful baron of such a crime as this. It were best, methinks, to say nought about it, but to bury the thought in my own heart. Nevertheless, I will not fail to take the precaution which the lad advised, and to let Sir James know that there are some who have knowledge of his handiwork. I hear he crosses the seas tomorrow to join the army, and it may be long ere he return. I shall have plenty of time to consider how I had best shape my conduct towards him on his return; but assuredly he shall never be friendly with me again, or frighten Edith with his kisses.”
“Well, Walter, has it been such a dreadful business as you expected?” the armourer asked the lad when he re-entered the shop. “The great folks have not eaten you at any rate.”
“It has not been dreadful,” Walter replied with a smile, “though I own that it was not pleasant when I first arrived at the great mansion; but the lady put me quite at my ease, and she talked to me for some time, and finally she bestowed on me this chain, which our lady, the queen, had herself given her.”
“It is a knight's chain and a heavy one,” Geoffrey said, examining it, “of Genoese work, I reckon, and worth a large sum. It will buy you harness when you go to the wars.”
“I