"He is my old playfellow," said Eustace, still dissatisfied.

"More shame for him," said Sir Richard; "waste not another thought on
so cross-grained a slip, who, as I have already feared, might prove a
stumbling-block to you, so young in command as you are. Let him get
sick of his chosen associates, and no better hap can befall him. And
for yourself, what shall you do with this sick Squire?"

"What can I do, save to give the best attendance I may?"

"Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it. 'Tis no more than you ought.
And yet--" He surveyed the young Knight's slender form and slightly
moulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heat
of the night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shaded
his dark blue thoughtful eyes. "Is your health good, young man?"

"As good as that of other men," said Eustace.

"Men!" said Sir Richard; "boys, you mean! But be a man, since you
will, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty. I
had rather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons."

Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounter
with Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.

"I will," said Sir Richard; "and don't take old Chandos's uncourtliness
too much to heart, young Eustace. He means you no ill. Do your duty,
and he will own it in time."