Volume One—Chapter Six.
For the first half-mile after crossing the Colne, the thoughts of the young courtier had been given exclusively to his cousin. He recalled the old time—that scene in the silent dell—the kiss among the wild flowers—that proved her partiality for him. He remembered all these occurrences with a strong confidence in Lora’s loyalty.
His fanciful reflections were suddenly, and somewhat rudely, interrupted.
On arriving at an inn that stood by the roadside, a spectacle was presented to his eyes which turned his thoughts into a different channel.
In a wide open space in front of the hostelry was a troop of horsemen. By their armour and equipments, Walter knew them to be cuirassiers, in the service of the king.
There were about fifty in the troop; and from the movements of the men, and the condition of their horses—still smoking from the march—it was evident they had come to a halt only a few minutes before.
The troopers had dismounted. Some of them were still occupied with their horses, helping them to provender; while others, who had already performed this duty, were seated under a huge old elm tree—joyously, as well as noisily, regaling themselves with such cheer as the hostelry afforded.
A glance at these roisterers told the young cavalier who and what they were:—a troop of the returned army from the north, that had been lately, and somewhat clandestinely, brought southward by the king.
This corps had originally been recruited in the Low Countries, and among them were several foreigners. Indeed, the smaller number were Englishmen; while there were many countenances of the true Gallic type, and a still larger proportion of those famed hirelings—who figured so largely in the wars of the time—the Walloons.