h he carried in
his hand, there was something in his appearance and bearing that
impressed even the warlike Richard. His dark hair hung in curls to his
gorget. His hauberk of polished steel was but partially concealed by
the jupon of azure silk emblazoned with a silver stag trippant; his
cuissarts and greaves glistened in the firelight, and his long
sollerets bore on their heels the golden spurs of his rank. Around his
waist was a broad belt wrought in gold, and from it, almost in front,
hung a great two-handed sword whose point reached to within a few
inches of the floor.

"You are welcome," said Gloucester. "A De Lacy should ever find a
ready greeting at Pontefract. Of what branch of the family are you?"

"One far removed from that which built this fortress, most noble Duke,"
returned the Knight, with a peculiarly soft accent. "My own ancestor
was but distantly connected with the last great Earl of Lincoln whom
the First Edward loved so well."

"I do not recall your name among those who fought for either York or
Lancaster. Did your family wear the White Rose or the Red?"

"Neither," said De Lacy. "Providence removed my sire ere the fray
began aright and when I was but a child in arms. When Your Grace won
fame at Tewkesbury I had but turned my thirteenth year."

"Where is your family seat?"

"At Gaillard Castle in the shire of Leicester, close by the River
Weak--or at least it stood there when last I saw it. It is ten long
years since I crossed its drawbridge and not twelve months of my life
have been spent within its walls."

"Your accent smacks of a Southern sun," said the Duke.

"My mother was of a French house, and to her own land she took me when
my father died;" and, observing the Duke glance at his spurs, he added:
"It was from France's Constable that I received the accolade."

"Then right well did you deserve it; St. Pol gave no unearned honors."

"I was favored much beyond my deserts," De Lacy replied, although his
face flushed at a compliment from the renowned Gloucester.

"Your modesty but proves your merit," returned the Duke. . . "And now
your message. From whom come you?"

"From the Duke of Buckingham, my lord," said De Lacy; and the keen look
that accompanied the words did not escape the Prince. But De Lacy did
not know the man before whom he stood, else would he have wasted no
energy in any such attempt. As well try to read the visage of a
granite cliff as to discover the tho