Isabel Beauchamp, still laughing; "so you have come back?"

"Yes, sweet cousin," replied Richard of Woodville, advancing up the hall with his companion; "but I have a cause--I should have been half way to Winchester else.--Here is a gentleman, sir," he continued, addressing his uncle, "whom I have met seeking the right way, and finding the wrong; and I failed not in promising him your hospitality for the night."

"Right, Richard--you did right!" replied the old knight, raising his tall form from the seat by the fire. "Sir, you are most welcome. Quick, Hugh of Clatford, leave cutting that bow, and speed to the buttery and the kitchen. Bid them bring wine and meat. I pray you, sir, take the seat by the fire."

"Nay, not so, noble sir," replied Hal of Hadnock, in a courteous tone. "I am not one to take the place of venerable years and high renown. Thanks for your welcome, and good fortune to your roof-tree. I beseech you, let me make no confusion. I will place me here;" and he drew a stool from the table somewhat nearer to the fire, and seated himself, while all eyes were fixed upon him.

Richard of Woodville, too, took a better view of his companion than he had hitherto obtained, and that view satisfied him that he had not introduced to his uncle's hall a guest, who, in point of rank and station, at least, was not well deserving of a place therein.

The stranger was, as I have already said, a tall and somewhat slim young man, perhaps four or five and twenty years of age, with black hair and close-shaved beard, keen dark eyes, long and sinewy limbs, and a chest of great width and depth. His features were remarkably fine, his brow wide and expansive, his forehead high, and the whole expression of his countenance noble and commanding. His dress was rich and costly, without being gaudy. His coat of deep brown, covering the hips, like that of a crossbowman, was of the finest cloth, and ornamented with small lines of gold, in a quaint but not ungraceful pattern. Instead of the hood then commonly worn, his head was covered with a small cap of velvet, and one long pennache, or feather, clasped with a large jewel; his dagger and the hilt of his sword were both studded with rubies, and though his riding-boots of untanned leather were cut square off at the toe, instead of being encumbered with the long points still in fashion, over them were buckled, with a broad strap and flap, a pair of gilt spurs, showing that he had seen service in arms, and had won knightly rank. His tight-fitting hose were of a light philimot, or brownish yellow colour, and round the leg, below the knee, was a mark, as if the impression of a thong, seeming to prove that when not in riding attire, he was accustomed to wear shoes so long, that the horns points were obliged to be fastened up by a gilt chain, as was then not unusual. His manner was highly courteous; but it was remarked, that at first he committed what has, in most ages, been considered an act of rudeness, remaining with his head covered some minutes after he entered the hall. But, at length, seeming suddenly to remember that such was the case, he took off his cap, and laid it on the table.

Sir Philip Beauchamp, without asking any question of his guest, proceeded at once to name to him the different persons assembled round the fire; but as we have already heard who they were, it is needless to give a recapitulation here. Richard of Woodville, however, marked or fancied, that as the old knight pronounced the name of Sir Simeon of Roydon, a brief glance of recognition passed between that personage and his companion of the road; but neither claimed the other as an acquaintance, and Woodville said nothing to call attention to what he had observed.

"It will seem scarcely courteous, sir," said the guest, as Sir Philip ended, "not to give you my own name, though you in your hospitality will not ask it; but yet, for the present, I will beg you to call me simply Hal of Hadnock; and ere I go, Sir Philip, to your own ear I will tell more. And now, pray let me not kill mirth, or break off a pleasant tale, or stop a sweet lay; for doubtless you pass the long eves of March as did the knights and dames in our old friend Chaucer's dreams--