n enemy--dream that we were in lack of
aught at Harby that could help us to serve the King."

"Your lady is a very brave lady," Evander said, quietly. Halfman
caught at his words with a kind of cheer in his voice.

"Hippolyta was not more valiant, nor Parthian Candace, nor French
Joan. She is the rose of the world, the fairest fair, the valiantest
valor. There is no wine in the world that is worthy to pledge her,
but we must do our best with what we have."

He filled himself a spacious tankard as he spoke and drained it at a
draught. Evander listened to his ebullient praises in silence. He did
not think that the Lady of Harby should be so spoken of and by such
an one. Over-eating and especially over-drinking were ever
distasteful to him, and he took it that Halfman was on the high-road
to becoming drunk. But in this he was wrong. When Halfman set down
his vessel he was as sober as when he had lifted it, but of a sudden
a shade graver, as if Evander's silence had shadowed his boisterous
gayety. He pushed the beaker from him with a sigh, and then, seeing
that Evander's plate was empty, offered to ply him with more food. On
Evander's refusal he pushed back his chair. "Well," he said, "if your
stomach is stayed, are you for a stroll in the gardens--will you see
lawns and parks of fairyland?"

Evander willingly acquiesced, and the strangely assorted pair rose
and quitted the chamber. They met Mistress Satchell on the threshold,
and Tiffany hiding slyly behind her highness. Evander smilingly
complimented Mistress Satchell on the excellence of her table, to the
good dame's great gratification. But much to Tiffany's indignation he
paid little heed to her pretty face.

XIV

A PASSAGE AT ARMS

The vane of Halfman's attitude towards the captive had veered
strongly in the past half-hour. He had been ready to treat him well,
for such was Brilliana's pleasure; he was willing to make friends and
taste the agreeables of the magnanimous victor. But the conquered man
had gained no ground that morning in the heart of one of his
conquerors. He ate little, which Halfman pitied; he drank little,
which Halfman despised; and it was with a much-augmented disdain that
he beheld Evander dash his solitary cup with water.

"Craftily qualified, curse him," he thought; "the fellow's a damned
Cassio, and will be fumbling with his right hand and his left in a
twinkle."

In this he was disappointed; Evander's draught wrought no havoc