on my land, and I may
slay you as a common draw-latch."

"Is this your land, then?" gasped Alleyne.

"Would you dispute it, dog? Would you wish by trick or quibble to juggle
me out of these last acres? Know, base-born knave, that you have dared
this day to stand in the path of one whose race have been the advisers
of kings and the leaders of hosts, ere ever this vile crew of Norman
robbers came into the land, or such half-blood hounds as you were let
loose to preach that the thief should have his booty and the honest man
should sin if he strove to win back his own."

"You are the Socman of Minstead?"

"That am I; and the son of Edric the Socman, of the pure blood of
Godfrey the thane, by the only daughter of the house of Aluric, whose
forefathers held the white-horse banner at the fatal fight where our
shield was broken and our sword shivered. I tell you, clerk, that my
folk held this land from Bramshaw Wood to the Ringwood road; and, by the
soul of my father! it will be a strange thing if I am to be bearded upon
the little that is left of it. Begone, I say, and meddle not with my
affair."

"If you leave me now," whispered the woman, "then shame forever upon
your manhood."

"Surely, sir," said Alleyne, speaking in as persuasive and soothing a
way as he could, "if your birth is gentle, there is the more reason that
your manners should be gentle too. I am well persuaded that you did but
jest with this lady, and that you will now permit her to leave your land
either alone or with me as a guide, if she should need one, through the
wood. As to birth, it does not become me to boast, and there is sooth in
what you say as to the unworthiness of clerks, but it is none the less
true that I am as well born as you."

"Dog!" cried the furious Socman, "there is no man in the south who can
say as much."

"Yet can I," said Alleyne smiling; "for indeed I also am the son of
Edric the Socman, of the pure blood of Godfrey the thane, by the only
daughter of Aluric of Brockenhurst. Surely, dear brother," he continued,
holding out his hand, "you have a warmer greeting than this for me.
There are but two boughs left upon this old, old Saxon trunk."

His elder brother dashed his hand aside with an oath, while an
expression of malignant hatred passed over his passion-drawn features.
"You are the young cub of Beaulieu, then," said he. "I might have known
it by the sleek face and the slavish manner too monk-ridden and craven
in spirit