“I do not see! where, oh where?”
“He is behind the hillock now, but—oh, there again! How fast he comes!”
“It is like the flight of a bird,” said Richard, “fast, fast—”
“If only it be not flight in earnest,” said Alberic, a little anxiously, looking into the warder’s face, for he was a borderer, and tales of terror of the inroad of the Vicomte du Contentin were rife on the marches of the Epte.
“No, young Sir,” said the warder, “no fear of that. I know how men ride when they flee from the battle.”
“No, indeed, there is no discomfiture in the pace of that steed,” said Sir Eric, who had by this time joined them.
“I see him clearer! I see the horse,” cried Richard, dancing with eagerness, so that Sir Eric caught hold of him, exclaiming, “You will be over the battlements! hold still! better hear of a battle lost than that!”
“He bears somewhat in his hand,” said Alberic.
“A banner or pennon,” said the warder; “methinks he rides like the young Baron.”
“He does! My brave boy! He has done good service,” exclaimed Sir Eric, as the figure became more developed. “The Danes have seen how we train our young men.”