A crowd of castle people, all very serious and quiet, were gathered
in the hall, where a number of strange men-at-arms lounged upon the
benches, while two billmen in steel caps and leathern jacks stood
guarding the great door, the butts of their weapons resting upon the
ground, and the staves crossed, barring the door-way.

In the anteroom was the knight in black armor whom Myles had seen from
the window. He was sitting at the table, his great helmet lying upon
the bench beside him, and a quart beaker of spiced wine at his elbow. A
clerk sat at the other end of the same table, with inkhorn in one hand
and pen in the other, and a parchment spread in front of him.

Master Robert, the castle steward, stood before the knight, who every
now and then put to him a question, which the other would answer, and
the clerk write the answer down upon the parchment.

His father stood with his back to the fireplace, looking down upon the
floor with his blind eyes, his brows drawn moodily together, and the
scar of the great wound that he had received at the tournament at
York--the wound that had made him blind--showing red across his
forehead, as it always did when he was angered or troubled.

There was something about it all that frightened Myles, who crept to his
father's side, and slid his little hand into the palm that hung limp and
inert. In answer to the touch, his father grasped the hand tightly,
but did not seem otherwise to notice that he was there. Neither did
the black knight pay any attention to him, but continued putting his
questions to Master Robert.

Then, suddenly, there was a commotion in the hall without, loud voices,