said Emma quietly. 'My brother said but the other day that he counted him amongst the best lances he knows.' 

 'Thou wilt remember he rescued my poor gazehound Freya from the fangs of the wolf the day thy Danish hawk was first flown, and leeched her tenderly after, even using on her a talisman which had been given to him by a holy palmer from the East, nursing the poor beast as gently as if she had been a human child.' 

 ''Tis a good sign in a man to show tenderness to the poor beasts who cannot make their wrongs public,' said Emma. 'He who will suffer inconvenience to save a beast pain, will not do less for weak women or feeble children that come under his charge.' 

 Eadgyth looked up with sparkling agreement in her eyes, but bent her head again as she continued,— 

 'This evening, as we drew near the goal of our journey, he took advantage of his duty as escort to ride his destrier close to the side of my palfrey, and asked me what colours I meant to wear at the tourney, and to give him a favour to wear in his helm, with many compliments, saying my good renown was such that the noble Godfrey de Bouillon himself would not disdain to break a lance in my honour.' 

 'And what was thine answer, sweet friend?' asked Emma. 'I know not what in this can find thee food for grief.' 

 Eadgyth continued in a grave and measured voice,— 

 'I thanked him that he should do me such compliment, and said I doubted not his lance and sword would well defend my favour, being plied by a God-fearing knight, and in the cause of a maiden who hath nought to conceal; but I could give no favour, for I had ever held that she who lets a good man risk life and limb in her service, should be ready to guerdon the victor, and that I could not do.' 

 'Now, Eadgyth, why shouldst thou have given such an answer?' asked Emma vehemently. 'Read me thy riddle, I pray thee, for, in good sooth, I deem not thou hast the knight in ill-favour.' 

 'Surely the riddle is plain to read,' answered Eadgyth, 'and thou shouldest know enough of my mind to answer it. Is not Sir Aimand a Norman, and am I not the cousin of Harold Godwinsson?' 

 'I tell thee truly I am sick of thy eternal Harold Godwinsson!' cried Emma, springing up and pacing the room. 'His name is dragged forth in season or out of season. It must be hard for the poor man to rest in his grave! Here 

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