s father and
brother, and their warlike retainers, by being scared at the dazzling
helm and nodding crest, and preferring the seat at this mother's feet,
the fairy tale of the old nurse, the song of the minstrel, or the book
of the Priest, to horse and hound, or even to the sight of the martial
sports of the tilt-yard.

The last five years had, however, wrought a great change in him; he
began to outgrow the delicacy of his constitution, and with it, to
shake off his timidity of disposition. A diligent perusal of the
romances of chivalry filled him with emulation, and he had applied
himself ardently to all knightly exercises, looking with great
eagerness to the time when he might appear in the Prince's court. He
had invested it with all the glory of the Round Table and of the
Paladins; and though he knew he must not look for Merlin or the Siege
Perilous, the men themselves were in his fancy Rolands and Tristrems,
and he scarcely dared to hope he could ever be fit to make one of them,
with all his diligent attention to old Ralph's instructions.

Some of Ralph's manoeuvres were indeed rather antiquated, and afforded
much amusement to Gaston d'Aubricour, who was never weary of teasing
the old seneschal with descriptions of the changes in the fashion of
weapons, tourneys, and machines, and especially delighted in histories
of the marvellous effects of gunpowder. Ralph would shake his head, vow
that it would soon put an end to all true chivalry, and walk off to
furbish his favourite cross-bow, with many a murmured reflection on the
folly of quitting good old plans, and especially on that of his master,
who must needs bring home a gibing Gascon, when honest English Squires
were not scarce.

Very different was the state of the old Keep of Lynwood from the quiet,
almost deserted condition, in which it had been left so long, now that
the Knight had again taken his wonted place amongst the gentry of the
county. Entertainments were exchanged with his neighbours, hunting and
hawking matches, and all the sports of the tilt-yard, followed each
other in quick succession, and the summer passed merrily away.
Merrily, that is to say, with Sir Reginald, whose stirring life in camp
and court had left him but few and short intervals for enjoying his
home and the society of his wife; with Eleanor, who, relieved from long
anxiety, began to recover the spirits and health which had nearly
failed her; and with Eustace, to whom the arrival of