"My liege," said the Baron of Gilsland, observing the King's
countenance change, "I fear I have transgressed your pleasure in
lending some countenance to his transgression."

"How, De Multon,
thou?" said the King, contracting his brows, and speaking in a
tone of angry surprise. "Thou countenance his insolence? It
cannot be."

"Nay, your Majesty will pardon me to remind you that I have by
mine office right to grant liberty to men of gentle blood to keep
them a hound or two within camp, just to cherish the noble art of
venerie ; and besides, it were a sin to have maimed or harmed a
thing so noble as this gentleman's dog."

"Has he, then, a dog so handsome?" said the King.

"A most perfect creature of Heaven," said the baron, who was an
enthusiast in field-sports--"of the noblest Northern breed--deep
in the chest, strong in the stern--black colour, and brindled on
the breast and legs, not spotted with white, but just shaded into
grey--strength to pull down a bull, swiftness to cote an
antelope."

The King laughed at his enthusiasm. "Well, thou hast given him
leave to keep the hound, so there is an end of it. Be not,
however, liberal of your licenses among those knights adventurers
who have no prince or leader to depend upon; they are
ungovernable, and leave no game in Palestine.--But to this piece