"I offered no advice as to any other."

Aymer sheathed the dagger and adjusted his cloak.

"I suppose," said he, "one may a.s.sume you are not over-fond of Darby."

De Wilton nodded. "That you may--and yet if you were to ask my reasons I could give none, save a thorough detestation."

"And the Countess has asked for the reason?"

"Many times."

De Lacy laughed. "I see," he said. "Now tell me about this Darby--I think you mentioned he was not of the Household."

"Thank Heaven, no--or I would not be of it. He has some power in the West Riding, and came by special summons of the Duke. But that business ended two days ago--it is the Countess that holds him now."

"Well," said De Lacy, "I, too, would linger if it meant a ride with the Countess of Clare and the favor that implies."

"Oh, as to that, he is favored no more than a dozen others. What irks me is that she favors him at all."

"What would you say if I, too, tried for a smile?" De Lacy asked.

De Wilton ran his eyes very deliberately over the handsome figure beside him.

"That you will win it," he said, "and may be more than one--and the chains that trail behind. . . Beware, the chains are very heavy."

De Lacy shook his head. "Strong they may be--strong as life--but heavy, never."

Sir Ralph looked at him in wondering surprise--then clapped him on the shoulder.

"French skies and French blood! Pardieu, man, go in and show this Darby and the others how the game is played."

"But the chains------"

"Wrap them about her also. And by Heaven, why not?--the last of the Lacys and the last of the Clares. St. George, it would be like old times in Merry England."

"Nay, Sir Ralph," said Aymer, laying his hand upon the other's arm, "your words are quite too flattering. I must be content with the smile."

De Wilton raised his eyebrows. "You brought the chains across the Channel with you?"

De Lacy arose. "No, but maybe I have found them since."

Suddenly De Wilton laughed. "My mind surely is getting weak," he said.

"I clean forgot you had never seen the Countess."

"Oh, yes, I have--on the wall last night."

"Was it possible you were near when Darby found her?"

"I was with her."

"With her!" said De Wilton incredulously. "Surely you do not mean it."

De Lacy's face straightened. "Be a little more explicit, please," he said.

"Tut, man, I meant no offence," was the good-natured answer. "You do not understand the matter. The Countess never walks alone on the ramparts after dark with any man save the Duke and me."

"St. Denis, I forgot. It was _you_ she walked with," said Aymer.

De Wilton stared at him. "Are you quite sane?" he asked.

De Lacy linked his arm within the other's. "Come over to the window and I will tell you how, last night, Sir Ralph de Wilton chanced to walk with the Countess of Clare on the ramparts of Pontefract."

"And I suppose then it was you, and not I, who talked with the d.u.c.h.ess in her presence chamber all the time the Countess of Clare was gone."

"No, I was on the ramparts, too," De Lacy answered. "Listen--here is the tale."

"Good!" exclaimed De Wilton at the end. "She punished Darby well--I wish I could have seen it; and it cut him to the raw, for all his suave indifference." Suddenly he struck the wall sharply. "And yet--she rides with him to-day. St. George! We are back where we started.

Women are queer creatures!"

Just then Sir James Dacre stopped at the corridor door.

"Who is for a ride?" he asked.

"I am," said De Lacy, "if Sir Ralph will excuse me."

De Wilton nodded. "Go, by all means; it was good of you to keep me company even for a moment."

"I might venture to guess," said Dacre, as they cantered across the bailey toward the gate, "that that black of yours was never foaled in England."

"I got Selim in Spain," De Lacy answered, "and with him the story that he came from the stables of the Soldan of Granada--but of that I cannot vouch--nor do I care," patting the shining shoulder; "he is my good friend and companion, and he has never failed me."

Dacre looked at the small head, with its bright, full, kind eye, broad forehead, tapered muzzle, thin, sensitive nostrils and ears; at the arched neck, the deep chest, the rather short barrel, the narrow waist, powerful flanks, and sinewy, springy, slender legs.

"He is beautiful," he said. "Methinks I never saw so perfect a horse."

"And his intelligence is in kind," said Aymer. "He has many accomplishments, but the one most satisfactory to me is the way he understands my voice. . . Observe------"

He dropped the reins over the pommel, and at the word, Selim, without touch of knee or shift of bit, went through all the gaits and facings, ending with the most difficult of all--the seven artificial movements of the horse.

Sir James Dacre's rather cold face warmed with admiration and he reined over and stroked the black's soft muzzle.

"You are a wonder, Selim," he said. "Your equal is not in the Kingdom; though, in a short dash, the Countess' bay mare might put you to your speed."

"Very likely," said Aymer, "but I will wager there is none in England can beat him from the Solway to Land's End."

Dacre smiled--"I would rather share the bet than take it."

Then the talk led to the horses of France and Spain, and thence to the life there in general, for Sir James had never crossed the Channel, and he plied his companion with questions. And so they jogged along in pleasant converse, and De Lacy saw that the reserved and quiet Dacre was in fact as sincere and good-hearted as the generously impulsive De Wilton. And he warmed to them both; for he had antic.i.p.ated cold looks, hatred, and jealousy, such as under like conditions he would have met with on the Continent.