of his faculties by the listlessness it created.  One slight curl of dust had already escaped him, another waved softly above the trees where the path wound upwards from the valley.  Again it was visible, and the watchman seemed to awaken as from a lethargy or a dream.  Strangers were surely approaching, but without retinue, as the wreath of dust, from its slight continuance, would seem to intimate.  Just as he came to this conclusion, two horsemen swept into view, where a broad turn of the road was visible, disappearing again rapidly behind the arched boughs of the forest.

Bounding almost headlong down the narrow stair, he ran immediately to the hall, informing the deputy of what he had seen.  Scarce had he concluded when a hoarse blast from the horn rang at the outer gate.  Adam de Button hurried to the postern, where he saw two horsemen, bearing unequivocal signs of their allegiance to the renowned constable of Chester.  They wore what was then considered a great novelty in dress, the tabord or supertotus, a sleeveless garment, consisting of only two pieces, which hung down before and behind, the sides being left open.[53] Low-crowned yellow caps covered their heads, and the upper tunic was yellow, richly embroidered, reaching only to the knees.  They wore forked beards, well pointed, and gloves and boots of beautiful Spanish leather.  Their horses were low, but of an exquisite symmetry, and the beasts were pawing and champing before the gate when Adam hastened down into the courtyard.  These were avant couriers or messengers from Roger de Fitz-Eustace, whom they announced as being nigh, and to be expected ere nightfall, with his daughter Maud, a maiden much renowned for her beauty.

As the sun sank deeper into the gloom of the woods, and the shadows grew long on the green and sunny slope of the hill, the wild shrill notes of a clarion rung through the forest glades; a distant burst of martial music was heard, together with the roll of a drum—­an instrument borrowed from the Saracens, and in use only after the crusades.

Now went forth Adam de Dutton and his train bareheaded to meet their lord, whom they found riding at a slow pace, conversing familiarly, but attentively, with the Dean of Whalley.  Behind him came the blushing Maud on a beautiful white palfrey, and beside her a comely youth, in a fair hunting-suit, the son of De Whalley, who, by his fervid and impassioned glances, showed himself apt in other and nobler exercises than the upland chase and the forest cover could afford.

Roger de Fitz-Eustace, the terror and scourge of the Welsh, and by them called “Hell,” from the great violence and ferocity of his temper, was then about forty years old.  He was clothed in a light suit of armour, the hauberk, with the rings set edgewise, reaching down to the knees.  His helmet was cylindrical, the avantaille, or face-guard, thrown up.  He wore a coloured surcoat; a fashion that seems to have originated with the Crusaders,