kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of
all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy.

"My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said
he. "Belike thou would like to see it."

"Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I."

The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of
armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet
of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely
dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed
the smith's honest heart.

"I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my
dagger, Master Gascoyne?"

"Nay," said the squire.

The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted
the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony
and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt.
The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid
with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular
subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and
beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen
than Myles's openly-expressed delight.

"To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail.