She beckoned, and a lady rose up from the window seat near by and came forward.  Truly I had to look twice before I was quite sure that this was she, for here was a wonderfully stately young lady, clad in white and gold and blue, all unlike the maiden who had clung to her father as we rode yestereven.  And if I had thought her fair then, I saw now that she was the fairest of all those who attended this homely and kindly-faced queen.  She held out her hand to me, and I bent and kissed it; and on the white wrist I saw the blue marks of the clutch of the wild men, which made a great wrath rise in my heart straightway.  Yet I must say somewhat or seem mannerless.

“You have fared none the worse for your ride, lady?” I said.  “I fear you were weary.”

“I am black and blue with the claws of those folk,” she said, laughing ruefully; “they were grimy also.  But I meant to try to thank you for much kindness.”

She blushed somewhat, and I made haste to say that I was happy to have served her in aught.  But I would not have her forget my comrades.

“Ay, they helped you,” she said; “I had not forgotten.  And I had the cloak of one of them.  Will you thank him for it?”

I said that I would, and added words about Werbode’s pleasure in the loan, and so on.  One could not say much with all those eyes on us, as it were, if I had had much to say.  I was glad when the king took up the talk and asked after the welfare of the lady.

“I have sent men across that heath,” he said; “at least they will see to those who fell of your party.  I hope they may bring back some not much hurt after all.  A fall from a horse will not be of much account after half an hour.”

But she shook her head and paled, for, as her father had told me, his men who had fallen were not mounted.  The king saw that the matter was hard for her to think of, and so turned the talk by asking how she liked that steed of mine.

“Sire,” she said gravely, “when horse and rider first came suddenly before my eyes, I thought that one of the saints had come to our help.  It was the most welcome sight I have ever seen, and I shall ever love to look on a horse of that—­of those—­”

“Patchwork colours,” laughed the king.

“Wilfrid, so long as you live you will no more be taken for a saint than shall I again.  Make the most thereof.  Of a truth I will even buy me a skew-bald mount and ride round corners in search of the like reputation.  Nay, sell me yours straightway!”

“No, King Ethelbert,” I answered—­“not even to yourself after he has won me that word, and since he has borne so fair a burden.”

“Let us go straightway,” said Ethelbert.  “You will not better that speech if you bide here for an hour.

“Farewell, mother; and farewell, ladies.”