Knight in unfastening his armour, "none shall lay a hand near Sir
Eustace but myself on this first night of his return; thanks be to
St. Dunstan that he has come!" Eustace stood patiently for several
minutes while the old man fumbled with his armour, and presently
came the exclamation, "A plague on these new-fangled clasps which
a man cannot undo for his life! 'Twas this low corselet that was
the death of good Sir Reginald. I always said that no good would
come of these fashions!"

In process of time, Eustace was disencumbered of his heavy armour;
but when he stood before him in his plain dress of chamois leather,
old Ralph shook his head, disappointed that he had not attained the
height or the breadth of the stalwart figures of his father and
brother, but was still slight and delicate looking. The golden
spurs and the sword of Du Guesclin, however, rejoiced the old man's
heart, and touching them almost reverentially, he placed the large
arm-chair at the head of the table, and began eagerly to invite him
to eat.

Eustace was too sorrowful and too anxious to be inclined for food,
and long before his followers had finished their meal, he turned
from the table, and asked for an account of what had befallen in
his absence; for there was at that time no more idea of privacy in
conversation than such as was afforded by the comparative seclusion
of the party round the hearth, consisting of the Knight, his arm
around his little nephew, who was leaning fondly against him; of
Father Cyril, of Gaston, and old Ralph, in his wonted nook, his
elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, feasting his eyes with
the features of his beloved pupil. In answer to the query, "Who is
the enemy you fear?" there was but one answer, given in different