d hurled it after him. The point struck full
in the centre of the neck and sank deep into flesh and bone. With a
gurgling cry he plunged forward and lay still--dead before his body
touched the turf.

"By St. Peter! a neat throw, Sir Squire," said Raynor, as he jerked out
the weapon and handed it to Dauvrey. "I mind never to have seen a
better."

"Toss the other carrion by the roadside," said De Lacy; "we tarry here
no longer."

VII

A FAVOR LOST

When De Lacy, armed for the road, sought his host the following morning
to say farewell, he found him in an easy chair near the fireplace in
the hall, with his wounded leg resting on a stool, and the answer to
Gloucester's letter in his hand. The old Knight made as though to
arise, but the younger quickly placed his hand upon his shoulder and
held him firm in his seat.

"Not so, Sir John," he insisted. "Do you remain quiet; I know the way
to the courtyard."

"It grieves me sore that you cannot stay with me longer," said De Bury,
allowing himself to be persuaded. "Yet I hope that we shall soon meet
again. Craigston Castle is ever ready to receive you."

"And it shall have the chance, I assure you, when I am again in these
parts--though our next meeting is likely to be in London; His Grace
will scarce soon return to the North."

"Mayhap," replied Sir John; "but for the present, my wound and my
duties keep me here. And, to speak truly, I am not unwilling; when you
have reached my age, Sir Aymer, you will care little for the empty
splendor of the Court--and that reminds me: you may meet there my
niece, the Countess of Clare, and if you do--verily, you have met her,"
as De Lacy smiled, "and have been stricken like the rest. Beware, my
son, your corselet is no protection against the shafts of a woman's
eyes."

"In truth, I know it," De Lacy laughed. "I have met the Countess
and . . . it is needless to say more. Yet it was at Pontefract and not
at Windsor that I saw her. She is with the Duchess of Gloucester."

"In sooth! . . . And you are with the Duke of Gloucester," said De
Bury, with a shrewd smile. "It is either fortune most rare or fate
most drear. By St. Luke! I believe the debt has shifted and that you
should thank me for having had the opportunity to save her uncle's
life. Nay, I did but jest," he added hastily. "You have seen many a
face, doubtless, in sunny France fairer far than hers; yet is she very
dear to me and winning to my old