“Because I hope to show you better sport ere you come to Tilford.”
“For the hawk? For the hound?”
“A nobler sport than either.”
“Is this a riddle, John? What mean you?”
“Nay, to tell all would be to spoil all. I say again that there is rare sport betwixt here and Tilford, and I beg you, dear lord, to mend your pace that we make the most of the daylight.”
Thus adjured, the King set spurs to his horse, and the whole cavalcade cantered over the heath in the direction which Chandos showed. Presently as they came over a slope they saw beneath them a winding river with an old high-backed bridge across it. On the farther side was a village green with a fringe of cottages and one dark manor house upon the side of the hill.
“This is Tilford,” said Chandos. “Yonder is the house of the Lorings.”
The King’s expectations had been aroused and his face showed his disappointment.
“Is this the sport that you have promised us, Sir John? How can you make good your words?”
“I will make them good, my liege.”