months.'

As he spoke, he stood leaning on Richard's arm, and behind them
stood Lady, still as a horse of bronze.

'I will but drop the portcullis,' said the warder, 'and then I will
carry thee to thy room in my arms. But not a cursed roundhead shall
enter here, I swear.'

'Let us through at once,' said Scudamore, trying the imperative.

'Not if the earl himself gave the order,' persisted the man.

'Ho! ho! what is that you say? Let the gentlemen through,' cried a
voice from somewhere.

The warder opened the wicket immediately, stepped inside, and held
it open while they entered, nor uttered another word. But as soon as
Richard had got Scudamore clear of the threshold, to which he lent
not a helping finger, he stepped quietly out again, closed the
wicket behind him, and taking Lady by the bridle, led her back over
the bridge towards the bowling-green.

Scudamore had just time to whisper to Heywood, 'It is my master, the
earl himself,' when the voice came again.

'What! wounded, Rowland? How is this? And who have you there?'

But that moment Richard heard the sound of his mare's hoofs on the
bridge, and leaving Scudamore to answer for them both, bounded back