ipped to the plain to let the river pass through; and
the barons drew slowly in upon him, through the forest in the plain.
Beyond the downs lay the sea, and there in a little port was gathered
the King's navy, that if the last fight went ill with him, as indeed
he feared it would, he might fly for safety to another land.

Now in a house below the down, a few miles from the King's
stronghold, dwelt a knight that was neither old nor young, and his
name was Sir Henry Strange. He lived alone and peevishly, and he did
neither good nor evil. He had no skill in fighting, but neither had he
skill in peaceful arts. He had tried many things and wearied of all.
He had but a small estate, which was grown less by foolish waste. He
could have made it into a rich heritage, for his land was good. But he
had no patience with his men, and confused them by his orders, which
he would not see carried out. Sometimes he would fell timber, and then
leave it to rot in the wood; or he would plough a field, and sow it
not. At one time he had a fancy to be a minstrel, but he had not
patience to attain to skill; he would write a ballad and leave it
undone; or he would begin to carve a figure of wood, and toss it
aside; sometimes he would train a dog or a horse; but he would so rage
if the beast, being puzzled for all its goodwill, made mistakes, that
it grew frightened of him--for nothing can be well learnt except
through love and trust. He would sometimes think that he should have
been a monk, and that under hard discipline he would have fared
better--and indeed this was so, for he had abundant aptitude. He was
alone in the world, for he had come into his estate when young; but he
had had no patience to win him a wife. At first, indeed, his life had
not been an unhappy one, for he was often visited by small joyful
thoughts, which made him glad; and he took much pleasure, on sunshiny
days, in the brave sights and sounds of the world. But such delights
had grown less; and he was now a tired and restless man of forty
years, who lay long abed and went not much abroad; and was for ever
telling himself how happy he would be if this or that were otherwise.
Far down in his heart he despised himself, and wondered how God had
come to make so ill-contented a thing; but that was a chamber in his
mind that he visited not often; but rather took pleasure in the
thought of his skill and deftness, and his fitness for the many things
he might have done.

And now