In process of time, Eustace was disencumbered of his heavy armour; but when he stood before him in his plain dress of chamois leather, old Ralph shook his head, disappointed that he had not attained the height or the breadth of the stalwart figures of his father and brother, but was still slight and delicate looking.  The golden spurs and the sword of Du Guesclin, however, rejoiced the old man’s heart, and touching them almost reverentially, he placed the large arm-chair at the head of the table, and began eagerly to invite him to eat.

Eustace was too sorrowful and too anxious to be inclined for food, and long before his followers had finished their meal, he turned from the table, and asked for an account of what had befallen in his absence; for there was at that time no more idea of privacy in conversation than such as was afforded by the comparative seclusion of the party round the hearth, consisting of the Knight, his arm around his little nephew, who was leaning fondly against him; of Father Cyril, of Gaston, and old Ralph, in his wonted nook, his elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, feasting his eyes with the features of his beloved pupil.  In answer to the query, “Who is the enemy you fear?” there was but one answer, given in different tones, “The Lord de Clarenham!”

“Ha!” cried Eustace, “it was justly then that your father, Arthur, bade me beware of him when he committed you to my charge on the battle-field of Navaretta.”

“Did he so?” exclaimed Father Cyril.  “Did he commit the boy to your guardianship?  Formally and before witnesses?”

“I can testify to it, good Father,” said Gaston.  “Ay! and you, Ingram, must have been within hearing—­to say nothing of Du Guesclin.”

“And Leonard Ashton,” said Ingram.

“It is well,” said Father Cyril; “he will be here to-morrow to be confronted with Clarenham.  It is the personal wardship that is of chief importance, and dwelt most on my Lady’s mind.”

“Clarenham lays claim then to the guardianship?” asked Eustace.

Father Cyril proceeded with a narrative, the substance of which was as follows:—­Simon de Clarenham, as has been mentioned, had obtained from King Edward, in the days of the power of Isabel and Mortimer, a grant of the manor of Lynwood, but on the fall of the wicked Queen, the rightful owner had been reinstated, without, however, any formal revocation of the unjust grant.  Knowing it would cost but a word of Sir Reginald to obtain its recall, both Simon and Fulk de Clarenham had done their best to make him forget its existence; but no sooner did the news of his death reach England, than Fulk began to take an ungenerous advantage of the weakness of his heir.  He sent a summons for the dues paid by vassals to their Lord on a new succession, and on Eleanor’s indignant refusal, followed it up by a further claim to the wardship of the person of Arthur himself, both in right of his alleged feudal superiority, and as the next