Ingram's comely and stolid face, and then almost smiled at
himself for seeking counsel from him. "Ride you on, John," said
he; "tell Master d'Aubricour of the order to depart--let all be
in readiness by the time I return."

Then turning his horse quickly, Eustace rode back to the village.
All was haste and confusion there--horses were being led forth
and saddled, pages, grooms, and men-at-arms hurrying to and fro
--bugles sounding--everything in the bustle incident to immediate
departure. He could only make his way through the press slowly,
and with difficulty, which ill suited with his impatience and
perplexity. In front of the venta, a low white cottage, with a
wooden balcony overspread with vines, there was a still closer
press, and loud vehement voices, as of disputants, were heard,
while the various men-at-arms crowded in so closely to see the
fray, if such it were, as to be almost regardless of the horse,
which Eustace was pressing forward upon them. He looked over
their heads to see Leonard, but in vain. He thought of retreat,
but found himself completely entangled in the throng. At that
moment, a cry was heard, "The Provost Marshal!" The crowd
suddenly, he knew not how, seemed to melt away from around him,
in different directions, and he found himself left, on horseback,
in the midst of the little village green, amongst scattered groups
of disreputable-looking yeomen, archers, and grooms, who were
making what speed they could to depart, as from the other side
the Provost, the archers of the guard, and Sir John Chandos
entered upon the scene.

"Ha! What is all this? Whom have we here?" exclaimed the old
Baron. "Sir Eustace Lynwood! By my life, a fair commencement