little pointed beard which he
wore, in deference to the prevailing fashion, was streaked and shot with
gray. His features were small, delicate, and regular, with clear-cut,
curving nose, and eyes which jutted forward from the lids. His dress was
simple and yet spruce. A Flandrish hat of beevor, bearing in the band
the token of Our Lady of Embrun, was drawn low upon the left side to
hide that ear which had been partly shorn from his head by a Flemish
man-at-arms in a camp broil before Tournay. His cote-hardie, or tunic,
and trunk-hosen were of a purple plum color, with long weepers which
hung from either sleeve to below his knees. His shoes were of red
leather, daintily pointed at the toes, but not yet prolonged to the
extravagant lengths which the succeeding reign was to bring into
fashion. A gold-embroidered belt of knighthood encircled his loins, with
his arms, five roses gules on a field argent, cunningly worked upon the
clasp. So stood Sir Nigel Loring upon the bridge of Avon, and talked
lightly with his lady.

And, certes, had the two visages alone been seen, and the stranger been
asked which were the more likely to belong to the bold warrior whose
name was loved by the roughest soldiery of Europe, he had assuredly
selected the lady's. Her face was large and square and red, with fierce,
thick brows, and the eyes of one who was accustomed to rule. Taller and
broader than her husband, her flowing gown of sendall, and fur-lined
tippet, could not conceal the gaunt and ungraceful outlines of her
figure. It was the age of martial women. The deeds of black Agnes of
Dunbar, of Lady Salisbury and of the Countess of Montfort, were still
fresh in the public minds. With such examples before them the wives of
the English captains had become as warlike as their mates, and ordered
their castles in their absence with the prudence and discipline of
veteran seneschals. Right easy were the Montacutes of their Castle
of Twynham, and little had they to dread from roving galley or French
squadron, while Lady Mary Loring had the ordering of it. Yet even in
that age it was thought that, though a lady might have a soldier's
heart, it was scarce as well that she should have a soldier's face.
There were men who said that of all the stern passages and daring deeds
by which Sir Nigel Loring had proved the true temper of his courage, not
the least was his wooing and winning of so forbidding a dame.

"I tell you, my fair lord," she was saying,