"No, I was on the ramparts, too," De Lacy answered. "Listen--here is
the tale."

"Good!" exclaimed De Wilton at the end. "She punished Darby well--I
wish I could have seen it; and it cut him to the raw, for all his suave
indifference." Suddenly he struck the wall sharply. "And yet--she
rides with him to-day. St. George! We are back where we started.
Women are queer creatures!"

Just then Sir James Dacre stopped at the corridor door.

"Who is for a ride?" he asked.

"I am," said De Lacy, "if Sir Ralph will excuse me."

De Wilton nodded. "Go, by all means; it was good of you to keep me
company even for a moment."

"I might venture to guess," said Dacre, as they cantered across the
bailey toward the gate, "that that black of yours was never foaled in
England."

"I got Selim in Spain," De Lacy answered, "and with him the story that
he came from the stables of the Soldan of Granada--but of that I cannot
vouch--nor do I care," patting the shining shoulder; "he is my good
friend and companion, and he has never failed me."

Dacre looked at the small head, with its bright, full, kind eye, broad
forehead, tapered muzzle, thin, sensitive nostrils and ears; at the