“What brought you to Pontefract then, Sir Knight?” said Richard sternly.  “As Buckingham’s messenger you have received due honor; that aside, your name alone commends you.”

“I sought Pontefract,” De Lacy replied, “for the single purpose of tendering my sword to the Duke of Gloucester, hoping in his service to brighten the dimmed lustre of my House.”

Not for an instant did the searching eyes of Richard leave the young Knight’s face.

“Why do you prefer the Boar of Gloucester to the Stafford Knot?  Buckingham is most puissant.”

“A De Lacy, my lord,” answered Aymer proudly, “follows none but Plantagenet.”

“Bravely spoken,” said Gloucester, suddenly dropping his stern air, “and worthy of the great name you bear.  I accept your sword.  Nay, kneel not, sir; Richard Plantagenet deems himself most fortunate to have you at his side.”

At that moment the arras was drawn aside and a young and slender woman entered.  Her gown was black, unrelieved by any color, save the girdle of gold; her face was almost flawless in its symmetry; her complexion was of a wondrous whiteness; and her eyes, of the deepest blue, soft and melting, and shaded by lashes long and heavy, were of the sort that bespeak the utmost confidence and know no guile.  She hesitated as she saw De Lacy and was about to withdraw when the Duke glanced around.

“Nay, sweetheart,” said he, rising and going toward her; “do not retire. . . .  Sir Aymer de Lacy, I present you to the Duchess of Gloucester.”

De Lacy advanced and sinking upon one knee touched his lips to the hand she extended to him.

“Surely, Sir Knight,” she said, in a voice whose sweetness struck even his Southern-bred ear, “a De Lacy should ever be welcome in the halls of Pontefract.”

“Your words, most gracious lady,” answered Aymer, “are almost those used by my lord, the Duke, and to a wanderer’s heart they are very grateful.”

“You are an errant, then; a Sir Guy or Sir Lancelot,” said the Duchess.

“Nay.  Only a poor and simple Knight whose highest honor is that he may henceforth follow the banner of your great husband.”

“Then must hauberk sit easy as velvet doublet or I know not my lord,” and she smiled at Richard.

“Do not,” said he, “give to Sir Aymer the notion that he has nothing but hard blows before him—­although, indeed, he rode hither on scarce a peaceful mission, since he bears from Stafford and the Nobility the tender of the Protectorship and the insistence that I proceed to London without delay.”

As he spoke the face of the Duchess suddenly became grave, and stepping swiftly to his side she put her hand upon his arm.

“You will not go, Richard?” she begged.

“Why, sweetheart, what ails you?  Why should a journey to London and a possible exchange of blows alarm you?”