s, were piled an
assortment of yew staves and arrows of seasoned ash, with cords of deer
hide, wrist gloves, baldrics, and all the paraphernalia essential to
the archer's outfit.

"Let the lots be drawn," he commanded; and a page came forward with the
disc-bag.

As soon as De Lacy saw that Beatrix would participate in the contest,
he chose with much care a stave best adapted for her wrist, and picking
out a string to correspond and three grey-goose-feather shafts of a
proper length and thickness, he brought them to her.

"Do you not shoot?" she asked.

"Yes--but with small hope. The French do not run to the long bow, and
while once I could ring the blanc I am sadly out of practice."

"Ring it now . . . you can," she said softly.

He looked at her hesitatingly. "Tell me," he said, coming a bit
nearer; "tell me . . . will you be sorry if I fail?"

But the old habit held her and she veered off. "Assuredly . . . it
would be poor friendship if I were not." . . . A bowstring twanged and
the crowd applauded. "Come," she exclaimed, "the match has begun."

"And is this my answer?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir Insistent . . . until the ride back," and left him.

The luck of the discs had made the Countess of Clare the last to shoot.
When she came forward to the line the butt was dotted over with the
feathered shafts; but the white eye that looked out from their midst
was still unharmed, though the Duchess of Buckingham and Lady Clifton
had grazed its edge. Beatrix had slipped the arrows through her
girdle, and plucking out one she fitted it to the string with easy
grace. Then without pausing to measure the distance she raised the
bow, and drawing with the swift but steady motion of the right wrist
got only by hard practice, and seemingly without taking aim, she sped
the shaft toward the mark.

"Bravo!" exclaimed the King, as it quivered in the white.

Before the word had died, the second arrow rested beside it; and even
as it struck, the string twanged again and the third joined the others
in the blanc.

"My dear Countess," said Richard, "I did not know we entertained
another Monarch. Behold the Queen of Archery! Hail and welcome to our
Kingdom and our Court! . . . Gentlemen, have you no knee for Her
Majesty?"

Beatrix blushed and curtsied in return, then quickly withdrew to the
side of the Queen.

"Methinks, my lords," Richard said, "you have got a hard score to best.
However, it is but two hundred yards to