He glanced quickly toward his escort, which was now at the foot of the
hill, and laid his hand upon his bugle, as though to sound the
recall--then he gave a mocking laugh.

"The luck is yours, this toss," he said; and with a wave of his hand,
that might have been as much a menace as a farewell, he spurred away.

There were no faces at the windows as De Lacy crossed the courtyard,
and he despatched a page to acquaint the Countess of Clare of his
arrival and of his desire for a short interview. Presently the boy
returned with the information that the Countess was with the Duchess,
and that she could not see him before evening.

He sought the presence chamber at the usual hour, but it was deserted;
and after waiting a short while he was on the point of leaving when the
arras suddenly parted and the Countess entered.

"I am glad to see you," she said, giving him her hand, "even though you
are a laggard and a thief."

"Why laggard?" De Lacy asked.

"Because you should be with the Duke and not here."

"Granted," said he. "Did you call Lord Darby laggard, too?"

"You will have to ask him; I do not now remember."

"I passed him at the gate, and from his temper I might guess you called
him even worse."

"At least I know I did not dub him thief." Then she held out her hand.
"The kerchief," she said peremptorily.

De Lacy slowly drew forth the bit of lace.

"Rather would I lose a quartering," he said very gently, "yet, in
honor, I may not keep it against your will."

"And honor," said she seriously, as she took the kerchief, "is dearer
far than all our quarterings. . . What brings you back to Pontefract?"

"You," said De Lacy, smilingly.

"Of course! but what else?--be serious."

"I am serious. But for you I would be riding fast and hard after the
Duke. I stopped at Pontefract for two purposes; of which, one was to
deliver to you a message from that gallant Knight, Sir John de Bury."

"My uncle!" she exclaimed. "He is in Scotland."

De Lacy shook his head. "He is now at Craigston Castle, whence I have
just come, and bring you his loving greetings."

"The dear old man! How is he?"

"As strong as an oak, save for a slight wound."

"Wounded! How--where?" she demanded, with sharp concern.

"Only a sword thrust in the thigh, got in a skirmish with some brigands
about this hour yesterday," said De Lacy; and told her the story of the
fray in detail.

At the end the Countess arose.

"I must go no