for honour, when he threw the lance at my master!"
growled Sholto. "Had I known, I would have driven my bill-point six
inches lower, and then would there have been a most satisfactory
blemish in the joining of his neck-bone."

CHAPTER XXIII

SHOLTO WINS KNIGHTHOOD

The ambassador recovered quickly after he had been left with his
servant Poitou, according to the latter's request. The Lady Sybilla
manifested the most tender concern in the matter of the accident of
judgment which had been the means of diverting her kinsman from his
own opponent and bringing him into collision with the Earl Douglas.

"Often have I striven with my lord that he should ride no more in the
lists," she said, "for since he received the lance-thrust in the eye
by the side of La Pucelle before the walls of Orleans, he sees no more
aright, but bears ever in the direction of the eye which sees and away
from that wherein he had his wound."

"Indeed, I knew not that the Marshal de Retz had been wounded in the
eye, or I should not have permitted him to ride in the tourney,"
returned the Earl, gravely. "The fault was mine alone."

The Lady Sybilla smiled upon him very sweetly and graciously.

"You are great soldiers--you Douglases. Six knights are chosen from
the muster of half a kingdom to ride a _melee_. Four are Douglases,
and, moreover, cousins germain in blood."

"Indeed, we might well have compassed the sword-play," said the Earl
William, "for in our twenty generations we never learned aught else.
Our arms are strong enough and our skulls thick enough, for even mine
uncle, the Abbot, hath his Latin by the ear. And one Semple, a plain
burgher of Dumfries, did best him at it--or at least would have shamed
him, but that he desired not to lose the custom of the Abbey."

"When you come to France," replied the girl, smiling on him, "it will
indeed be stirring to see you ride a bout with young Messire Lalain,
the champion of Burgundy, or with that Miriadet of Dijon, whose arm is
like that of a giant and can fell an ox at a blow."

"Truly," said the young Earl, modestly, "you do me overmuch honour. My
cousin James there, he is the champion among us, and alone could
easily have over-borne me to-day, without the aid of your uncle's
blind eye. Even William of Avondale is a better lance than I, and
young Hugh will be when his time comes."

"Your squire fought a good fight," she went on, "though his
countenance does not commend itself to m