“Yet I am unwilling not to attempt to hinder my old comrade from running to ruin.”

“You have quite enough on your own hands already,” said the old Knight; “he would do far more harm in your troop than out of it, and try your patience every hour.”

“He is my old playfellow,” said Eustace, still dissatisfied.

“More shame for him,” said Sir Richard; “waste not another thought on so cross-grained a slip, who, as I have already feared, might prove a stumbling-block to you, so young in command as you are.  Let him get sick of his chosen associates, and no better hap can befall him.  And for yourself, what shall you do with this sick Squire?”

“What can I do, save to give the best attendance I may?”

“Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it.  ’Tis no more than you ought.  And yet—­” He surveyed the young Knight’s slender form and slightly moulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heat of the night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shaded his dark blue thoughtful eyes.  “Is your health good, young man?”

“As good as that of other men,” said Eustace.

“Men!” said Sir Richard; “boys, you mean!  But be a man, since you will, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty.  I had rather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons.”

Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounter with Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.

“I will,” said Sir Richard; “and don’t take old Chandos’s uncourtliness too much to heart, young Eustace.  He means you no ill.  Do your duty, and he will own it in time.”

Eustace thanked the old Knight, and with spirits somewhat cheered, returned to his tent, there to devote himself to the service of his sick Squire.  The report that the fever was in his tent made most persons willing to avoid him, and he met little interruption in his cares.  Of Leonard, all that he heard was from a man-at-arms, who made his appearance in his tent to demand Master Ashton’s arms, horse, and other property, he having entered the service of Sir William Felton; and Eustace was too much engaged with his own cares to make further inquiry after him.

For a day or two Gaston d’Aubricour’s fever ran very high, and just when its violence was beginning to diminish, a fresh access was occasioned by the journey from Burgos to Valladolid, whither he was carried in a litter, when the army, by Pedro’s desire, marched thither to await his promised subsidy.  The unwholesome climate was of most pernicious effect to the whole of the English army, and in especial to the Black Prince, who there laid the foundation of the disorder which destroyed his health.  Week after week passed on, each adding heat to the summer, and increasing the long roll of sick and dying in the camp, while Gaston still lay, languid and feeble by day, and fevered by night; there were other patients among the men-at-arms, requiring scarcely less care; and the young Knight himself, though, owing to his temperate habits, he had escaped the prevailing sickness, was looking thin and careworn with the numerous troubles and anxieties that were pressing on him.