Part 1 (1/2)

Beatrix of Clare.

by John Reed Scott.

I

RUDDY TRESSES AND GREY EYES

Two archers stepped out into the path,--shafts notched and bows up.

”A word with your wors.h.i.+p,” said one.

The Knight whirled around.

”A word with your wors.h.i.+p,” greeted him from the rear.

He glanced quickly to each side.

”A word with your wors.h.i.+p,” met him there.

He shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the limb of a fallen tree.

Resistance was quite useless, with no weapon save a dagger, and no armor but silk and velvet.

”The unanimity of your desires does me much honor,” he said; ”pray proceed.”

The leader lowered his bow.

”It is a great pleasure to meet you, Sir Aymer de Lacy,” said he, ”and particularly to be received so graciously.”

”You know me?”

”We saw you arrive yesterday--but there were so many with you we hesitated to ask a quiet word aside.”

The Knight smiled. ”It is unfortunate--I a.s.sure you my talk would have been much more interesting then.”

”In that case it is we who are the losers.”

De Lacy looked him over carefully.

”Pardieu, man,” said he, ”your language shames your business.”

The outlaw bowed with sweeping grace.

”My thanks, my lord, my deepest thanks.” He unstrung his bow and leaned upon the stave; a fine figure in forest green and velvet bonnet, a black mask over eyes and nose, a generous mouth and strong chin below it. ”Will your wors.h.i.+p favor me with your dagger?” he said.

The Knight tossed it to him.

”Thank you . . . a handsome bit of craftsmans.h.i.+p . . . these stones are true ones, _n'est ce pas_?”

”If they are not, I was cheated in the price,” De Lacy laughed.