"Oh, I am no great lance," replied the Douglas, modestly; "I am yet too young and light. As things go now, the butterfly cannot tilt against the beef barrel when both are trussed into armour. But with the bare sword I will fight all day and be hungry for more. Aye, or rattle a merry rally with the quarter-staff like any common varlet. But at both Sholto there is my master, and doth ofttimes swinge me tightly for my soul's good."
The lady went on quickly, as if avoiding any further mention of Sholto's name.
"Nevertheless, to-morrow I must see you ride in the lists. My uncle says that your father was a mighty lance when he rode at Amboise, on the famous day of the Thirteen Victories."
"Ah, but my father was twice the man that I am," said the Earl, who had not taken his eyes from her face since she began to speak.
"Great alike in love and war?" she queried, smiling.
"So, at least, it is reported of him in Touraine," answered his son, smiling back at her.
"He loved and rode away, like all your race!" cried the girl, with a strange sudden flicker of passion which died as suddenly. "But I think it not of you, Lord William. I know you could be true—that is, where you truly loved."
And as she spoke she looked at him with a questioning eagerness in her eyes which was almost pitiful.
"I do love and I am loyal," said the young man, with a grave quiet which became him well, and ought to have served him better with a woman than many protestations.