“Now tell me, my good friend, who and what thou art,” said the boy, “and how comes it that thou seekest shelter here, and that thou knowest more of Chad than we its owners do.  That is the thing which has been perplexing me this long while.  I would fain hear from thy story how it comes about.”

“That is soon told, young sir.  Thou dost not, probably, remember the name of Warbel as that of some of the retainers of thy grandsire, but—­”

“I have heard the name,” said the boy.  “I have heard my father speak of them.  But I knew not that there were any of that name now living.”

“I am a Warbel—­I trow the last of my race.  I was born beyond the seas; but I was early brought to England, and I heard munch of the strife that encompassed Chad, because my father and grandfather both knew the place well, and would fain have gone back and lived in the old country had not fortune otherwise decreed it.  To make a long story short, they never returned to the place.  But when I was grown to man’s estate, I was offered a post in the household of the Lord of Mortimer, and as it was the best thing that had fallen in my way, I accepted it very gladly; for I knew that name, too, and I knew naught against the haughty lord, albeit my father and grandsire had not loved the lords of that name who lived before him.

“For many years I have been in his service, and for a while all went well with me.  I was made one of his gentlemen, and he seemed to favour me.  But of late there has been a change towards me—­I know not how or why.  I have offended him without intending it, and he has sometimes provoked me almost beyond endurance by his proud insolence.  But that I might have borne, for he was my master, had it not been for the insolence and insults I had to bear from others amongst his servants, and from one youth in particular, who seemed to me to be trying to oust me from my place, and to get himself the foremost place in his master’s favour.  That made my hot blood boil again and again, until at last the thing I believe they had long planned happened, and I had to fly for my life.”

The man paused, and Bertram, who was drinking in this story, asked eagerly:  “And what was that?”

“It was four days ago now, in the hall where we had supped.  We had drunk much wine in honour of our master’s birthday, and then we began playing and dicing to pass the time till we retired to bed.  My adversary was this youth whom I so greatly distrust.  As we played I detected him in unfair practices.  He vowed I lied, and called upon me to prove my words at the sword’s point; but in my fury and rage I sprang upon him with my bare hands, and would have wrung his neck—­the insolent popinjay—­had I been able.  As it was, we struggled and swayed together till my greater weight caused him to fall over backwards against one of the tables, and I verily believe his back is broken.  I know not whether he is living yet.  But as he is not only a great favourite with the Lord of Mortimer, but a distant kinsman to boot, no sooner was the deed done than all in the hall called to me to save myself by flight, for that the master would revenge such a death upon the perpetrator of it without mercy, and that if I wished to spare my neck I must fly without an instant’s delay.