"Every Squire is bound to serve the Knight in whose company he finds
himself," said d'Aubricour. "Know you not thus much of the laws of
chivalry? Come, bestir yourself, that he may be better provided in
future. You must present yourself to the Prince to-morrow, Sir
Eustace."

"One of his Squires bade me to his presence," said the young Knight,
"but I must now write these heavy tidings to my poor sister, and I
am going to Father Waleran's tent to seek parchment and ink."

"And how send you the letter?"

"By the bearer of the Prince's letters to the King. Sir Richard
Ferrars knows him, and will give them into his charge. So farewell,
Gaston, keep quiet, and weary not yourself with my equipment."

With these words he left the tent, and Gaston, shaking his head,
and throwing himself back on his deer-skins, exclaimed, "Tender
and true, brave and loving! I know not what to make of Eustace
Lynwood. His spirit is high as a Paladin's of old, of that I never
doubted, yet is his hand as deft at writing as a clerk's, and his
heart as soft as a woman's. How he sighed and wept the livelong
night, when he thought none could hear him! Well, Sir Reginald
was a noble Knight, and is worthily mourned, but where is the
youth who would not have been more uplifted at his own honours,
than downcast at his loss; and what new-made Knight ever neglected
his accoutrements to write sad tidings to his sister-in-law? But,"
he continued, rising again, "Guy, bring me here the gilded spurs
you will find yonder. The best were, I know, buried with Sir
Reginald, and methought there was something amiss with one rowel