One day as Myles, his princely patron, and his friends entered the barriers, leaving their horses at the outer gate, they met the Earl of Alban and his followers, who were just quitting the lists, which they also were in the habit of visiting nearly every day. As the two parties passed one another, the Earl spoke to a gentleman walking beside him and in a voice loud enough to be clearly overheard by the others: “Yonder is the young sprig of Falworth,” said he. “His father, my Lords, is not content with forfeiting his own life for his treason, but must, forsooth, throw away his son's also. I have faced and overthrown many a better knight than that boy.”
Myles heard the speech, and knew that it was intended for him to hear it; but he paid no attention to it, walking composedly at the Prince's side. The Prince had also overheard it, and after a little space of silence asked, “Dost thou not feel anxiety for thy coming battle, Myles?”
“Yea, my Lord,” said Myles; “sometimes I do feel anxiety, but not such as my Lord of Alban would have me feel in uttering the speech that he spake anon. It is anxiety for my father's sake and my mother's sake that I feel, for truly there are great matters for them pending upon this fight. Ne'theless, I do know that God will not desert me in my cause, for verily my father is no traitor.”
“But the Earl of Alban,” said the Prince, gravely, “is reputed one of the best-skilled knights in all England; moreover, he is merciless and without generosity, so that an he gain aught advantage over thee, he will surely slay thee.”
“I am not afraid, my Lord,” said Myles, still calmly and composedly.
“Nor am I afraid for thee, Myles,” said the Prince, heartily, putting his arm, as he spoke, around the young man's shoulder; “for truly, wert thou a knight of forty years, instead of one of twenty, thou couldst not bear thyself with more courage.”
As the time for the duel approached, the days seemed to drag themselves along upon leaden feet; nevertheless, the days came and went, as all days do, bringing with them, at last, the fateful 3d of September.
Early in the morning, while the sun was still level and red, the Prince himself, unattended, came to Myles's apartment, in the outer room of which Gascoyne was bustling busily about arranging the armor piece by piece; renewing straps and thongs, but not whistling over his work as he usually did. The Prince nodded to him, and then passed silently through to the inner chamber. Myles was upon his knees, and Father Ambrose, the Prince's chaplain, was beside him. The Prince stood silently at the door, until Myles, having told his last bead, rose and turned towards him.
“My dear Lord,” said the young knight, “I give you gramercy for the great honor you do me in coming so early for to visit me.”
“Nay, Myles, give me no thanks,” said the Prince, frankly reaching him his hand, which Myles took and set to his lips. “I lay bethinking me of thee this morning, while yet in bed, and so, as I could not sleep any more, I was moved to come hither to see thee.”