CHAPTER

     I. Ruddy tresses and great eyes
    II.  Richard of Gloucester
   III.  The voice on the ramparts
    IV.  Trailing chains
     V. The captured favor
    VI.  A wayside skirmish
   VII.  A favor lost
  VIII.  The inn of Northampton
    IX.  The arrest
     X. The lady Mary changes barges
    XI.  On chapel Creek
   XII.  The King’s word
  XIII.  At royal Windsor
   XIV.  The Queen of archery
    XV.  The frown of fate
   XVI.  The flat-nose reappears
  XVII.  In pursuit
 XVIII.  The house in Sheffield
   XIX.  Back to the King
    XX.  In abeyance
   XXI.  Buckingham’s revenge
  XXII.  The knight and the Abbot
 XXIII.  Three chevrons gules
  XXIV.  “When you have topped these stairs”
   XXV.  A page from the past
  XXVI.  The judgment of the King

ILLUSTRATIONS

Cover Art

The Countess raised her hand and pointed at him . . . Frontispiece

The Duke fastened his eyes upon the young knight’s face.

He struck him a swinging right arm blow that sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor.

BEATRIX OF CLARE

I

RUDDY TRESSES AND GREY EYES

Two archers stepped out into the path,—­shafts notched and bows up.

“A word with your worship,” said one.

The Knight whirled around.

“A word with your worship,” greeted him from the rear.

He glanced quickly to each side.

“A word with your worship,” met him there.

He shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the limb of a fallen tree.  Resistance was quite useless, with no weapon save a dagger, and no armor but silk and velvet.

“The unanimity of your desires does me much honor,” he said; “pray proceed.”

The leader lowered his bow.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Sir Aymer de Lacy,” said he, “and particularly to be received so graciously.”

“You know me?”

“We saw you arrive yesterday—­but there were so many with you we hesitated to ask a quiet word aside.”

The Knight smiled.  “It is unfortunate—­I assure you my talk would have been much more interesting then.”

“In that case it is we who are the losers.”

De Lacy looked him over carefully.

“Pardieu, man,” said he, “your language shames your business.”

The outlaw bowed with sweeping grace.

“My thanks, my lord, my deepest thanks.”  He unstrung his bow and leaned upon the stave; a fine figure in forest green and velvet bonnet, a black mask over eyes and nose, a generous mouth and strong chin below it.  “Will your worship favor me with your dagger?” he said.