And Darby was even less pleased, for he was going and De Lacy was coming; but he, too, masked his face, and gave the welcome back in kind.

“Methought you would be with the Duke,” he observed, drawing aside to let his men pass.

“And methought you were by now in London,” De Lacy returned.

Darby smiled at the evasion.  “Are you not for the Coronation?” he asked bluntly.

De Lacy nodded.  “Indeed, yes—­unless I am untowardly prevented.”

“If you fare further to-day,” said Darby, “I will wait and we can ride together to Doncaster—­a short delay will be well repaid by your company.”

It was but a play to know if De Lacy intended to stay the night at Pontefract, and it got its answer instantly.

“Your Lordship tempts me sorely,” said Sir Aymer, “but I am obliged to remain here until the morrow.”  Then he smiled blandly at him; “it is unfortunate you have already started,” he added.

Darby’s black eyes brightened.

“Yes,” said he, “it is.”

He glanced quickly toward his escort, which was now at the foot of the hill, and laid his hand upon his bugle, as though to sound the recall—­then he gave a mocking laugh.

“The luck is yours, this toss,” he said; and with a wave of his hand, that might have been as much a menace as a farewell, he spurred away.

There were no faces at the windows as De Lacy crossed the courtyard, and he despatched a page to acquaint the Countess of Clare of his arrival and of his desire for a short interview.  Presently the boy returned with the information that the Countess was with the Duchess, and that she could not see him before evening.

He sought the presence chamber at the usual hour, but it was deserted; and after waiting a short while he was on the point of leaving when the arras suddenly parted and the Countess entered.

“I am glad to see you,” she said, giving him her hand, “even though you are a laggard and a thief.”

“Why laggard?” De Lacy asked.

“Because you should be with the Duke and not here.”

“Granted,” said he.  “Did you call Lord Darby laggard, too?”

“You will have to ask him; I do not now remember.”

“I passed him at the gate, and from his temper I might guess you called him even worse.”

“At least I know I did not dub him thief.”  Then she held out her hand.  “The kerchief,” she said peremptorily.

De Lacy slowly drew forth the bit of lace.

“Rather would I lose a quartering,” he said very gently, “yet, in honor, I may not keep it against your will.”

“And honor,” said she seriously, as she took the kerchief, “is dearer far than all our quarterings. . .  What brings you back to Pontefract?”

“You,” said De Lacy, smilingly.

“Of course! but what else?—­be serious.”

“I am serious.  But for you I would be riding fast and hard after the Duke.  I stopped at Pontefract for two purposes; of which, one was to deliver to you a message from that gallant Knight, Sir John de Bury.”