About an hour before the return of the young Earl of Ashby from his ride towards Leicester, his cousin Richard had presented himself in his ante-chamber, expecting to find him within. He was no favourite of the servants of the house, and a feeling of doubt and distrust towards him had become general amongst them. A cold look from the armourers, and a saucy reply from a page--importing that the Earl was absent, and that no one could tell when he would come back--was all the satisfaction which Richard de Ashby could obtain; and, returning into the court, he paced slowly across towards the gate where he had left his horses.

Sir William Geary passed him just at that moment, but did not stop, merely saying, with his cold, supercilious look, "Ha, Dickon! thou art in the way to make a great man of thyself, it seems!"

"Stay, Geary, stay!" cried Sir Richard, not very well pleased either with his tone or his look.

But Sir William walked on, replying, "I can\'t at present, Dickon. For once in my life, I am busy."

"They all look cold upon me," muttered Richard de Ashby, as he walked slowly on; "can anything have been discovered?" His heart sunk at the thought, and the idea of flying crossed his mind for a moment. But he was, as we have shown, not without a dogged sort of courage, and he murmured, "No, I will die at the stake sooner. I must find out, however, what has taken place, that I may be prepared."

He somewhat quickened his pace, and had already put his foot in the stirrup, to mount his horse, when he heard a voice calling him by name, and turning round with a sudden start, he beheld Guy de Margan coming after him with rapid steps.

"I saw you from my window," said the courtier, hastening up, "and have much matter for your ear. But let us go down by the back way into the town, and let your horses follow."

In a moment, Richard de Ashby had banished from his countenance the look of anxiety and thought which it had just borne, not choosing that one, who was already somewhat more in his confidence than he liked, should see those traces of painful care, which might, perhaps, lead him, joined with the knowledge he already possessed, to a suspicion of those darker deeds which had not been communicated to him.

"Well, Guy!" he said, as they walked on, "how flies the crow now? I find my noble cousin, the Earl, has gone out to take an afternoon ride--not the way, methinks, that men usually spend the last few hours before a mortal encounter. But he does it for bravado; and, if he do not mind, his life and his renown will end together in to-morrow\'s field."

"Perhaps \'twere better they did," answered Guy de Margan, shortly; and then--replying to a look of affected wonder which Richard de Ashby turned upon him, he continued, "I know not your plans or secrets, Dickon; but I fear you will find your cousin Alured less easy to deal with than even Hugh de Monthermer. He doubts the truth of the charge he has brought!"

"Then he should not have brought it!" said Richard de Ashby. "What have I to do with that?"

"Nothing, perhaps," replied Guy de Margan, "but he loves not any of those whose reports induced him to make it. I found that, myself, while I was sitting with him last night. He was strangely uncivil to me; but you are foremost on the list, Dickon!"

"Pooh!" cried the other. "Let him but conquer in to-morrow\'s lists, and the pride of having done so will make him love us all dearly again. I know Alured well, De Margan, and there is no harm done, if that be all!"

"But it is not all!" said Guy de Margan. "While I was sitting with him, an old woman--a withered old woman, the servants told me after--came up to call him to your house, bearing a message, as if from you."

"\'Twas false! I was far away--Did he go?" exclaimed Richard de Ashby, now moved indeed.

"That did he immediately," answered his companion. "I walked down with him, and saw him in."

"Why, in the name of hell, did you not stop him?" cried Richard de Ashby. "Old woman! I have no old woman there!"

"Perhaps he went to see the young one you have there," said Guy de Margan, in a careless tone.

"Curse her! if she have--" exclaimed Richard de Ashby; and then suddenly stopped himself, without finishing his sentence.

"Yes!" proceeded Guy de Margan, with the same affected indifference of tone; "yes, he did go down, and went in, and stayed for more than an hour, for I was at the King\'s banquet, and saw him come back; and I spoke with his henchman, Peter, afterwards, who told me that he was mightily affected all that night, and brought with him, from your house, a paper, which he sealed carefully up. Look to it, Dickon--look to it!"

They had now come to a flight of steps which led them down over one of the rocky descents which were then somewhat more steep than they are now in the good town of Nottingham, and Richard de Ashby, pausing at the top, ordered the horses to go round, while he with Guy de Margan took the shorter way. He said nothing till he reached the bottom; but there, between two houses, neither of which had any windows on that side, he stopped suddenly, and grasping his companion\'s arm, regarded him face to face with a bent brow and searching eye.

"What is it you mean, Guy de Margan?" he asked. "You either know or suspect something more than you say."

"I know nothing," replied Guy de Margan, "and I wish to know nothing, my good friend. So tell me nothing. I am the least curious man in all the world. What I suspect is another affair. But now listen to me. The death of Hugh de Monthermer, sweet gentleman though he be, would not be unpleasant to me; the death of the Earl, though you would have to wear mourning for your Earldom, would not, I have reason to believe, be very inconvenient or unpleasant to you. Now mark me, Dickon; if these two men meet to-morrow, your cousin Alured, doubting the justice of his cause, and shaken by foolish scruples, will fall before the lance of Hugh de Monthermer as sure as I live. Every one of the court sees it, and knows it. That would suit your purpose well, you think? But you might be mistaken even there. Nothing but dire necessity will drive Monthermer to take the Earl\'s life. The Prince is to be judge of the field, and he will drop his warder on the very slightest excuse. Thus you may be frustrated, and both you and I see our hopes marred in a minute.--But there is something more to be said: I do not choose that your purpose should be served, and not my own."

"Why, Guy de Margan," exclaimed his companion, in a bitter tone; "you do not think that I am tenderly anxious for Monthermer\'s life?"

"No, nor I for Alured de Ashby\'s," answered de Margan; "but either both shall die or both shall live, Richard de Ashby. Your cousin\'s mind is now in that state, that but three words from me, turning his suspicions in another channel, will make him retract his charge, and offer amends to him he has calumniated.--Ay, and worse may come of it than that. Now I will speak these words, Richard de Ashby, in plain terms--I will prevent this conflict, unless you assure me that both shall fall."

"But how can I do that?" demanded Richard de Ashby, gazing upon him with evident alarm. "How is it possible for me to insure an event which is in the hand of fate alone?"

"In the hand of fate!" cried Guy de Margan, with a scoff. "To hear thee speak, one would think that thou art as innocent as Noe\'s dove. Art thou not thy cousin\'s godfather in the list to-morrow?"

"Ay, so he said," replied Richard de Ashby.

"Then instruct him how to slay his adversary," rejoined Guy de Margan. "Tell him not to aim at shield or helmet, but at any spot; his shoulder--his arm--his throat--his hip, where he can see the bare hauberk."

"Alured knows better," said Richard. "He will drive straight upon him with his lance; and then the toughest wood--the firmest seat--the steadiest hand--the keenest eye, will give the victory."

"Nay, but tell him," answered Guy de Margan, in a lower tone, "that you know what is passing in his mind, the doubts, the hesitation, and that the conflict on foot is that wherein alone he can hope to win the day. Ask him if he ever saw Hugh de Monthermer unhorsed by a straight-forward stroke of a lance whoever was his opponent? But show him that, by striking him at the side, and turning him in the saddle, he may be brought to the ground without a doubt."

"But still what is this to me?" asked Richard, impatiently; "the one or the other must win the day."

"No--no!" cried Guy de Margan. "I will show you a means by which, if you can ensure that Alured de Ashby\'s lance dips but its point in Hugh de Monthermer\'s blood, it shall carry with it as certain a death as if it went through and through his heart; a scratch--a simple scratch--will do it.--When I was in the land of the old Romans--now filled with priests and sluggards, who have nought on earth to do but to sit and debauch the peasant girls, and hatch means of ridding themselves of enemies--a good honest man, who took care that none should be long his foe, and was possessed of many excellent secrets, gave me, for weighty considerations, a powder of so balmy a quality, that either dropped into a cup or rubbed on a fresh wound, though the quantity be not bigger than will lie on a pin\'s-head, it will cure the most miserable man of all his sorrows, or within half an hour will take out the pain of the most terrible injury--for ever!"

"I understand--I understand," said Richard de Ashby. "Give me the powder; would I had had it long ago. But how can one fix it to the lance\'s point, so that in the shock of combat it is not brushed off?"

"Mix it with some gentle unguent," answered Guy de Margan; "\'twill have the same effect."

"I will, I will," replied his companion; "then with a thick glove I will feel the lance\'s point, to make sure that all is right, like a good cautious godfather in arms, first carefully trying the wood upon my knee, with every other seeming caution which the experienced in such matters use. No fear but Alured, one way or other, will draw his blood. Oh yes! and both shall go on the same road.--Half an hour, say you?--Will he have strength to end the combat?

"Fully," replied Guy de Margan; "for within two minutes of his death he will seem as strong as ever. I tried it on a hound--just scratched his hanging lip, then took him to the field, and on he went after the game, eager and strong and loud tongued; but in full cry down dropped he in a moment, quivering and panting, and after beating the air for some two minutes with his struggling paws, lay dead."

"Give it me--give it me!" cried Richard de Ashby, and then burst into a fit of laughter, as if it were the merriest joke that ever had been told.

Guy de Margan put his hand into the small embroidered pouch he wore under his arm, and took forth an ivory box, not bigger than a large piece of money.

"What, is this all?" exclaimed Richard de Ashby, taking the little case. "Is this enough?"

"To slay more men than fell at Evesham," replied Guy de Margan; "but be careful how you mix it. Remember, the slightest scratch upon your own hand sends you to the place appointed for you, if but a grain of that finds entrance."

"I will take care--I will take care," said Richard de Ashby; "and now look upon the deed as done. Ere this time to-morrow, you will have had your revenge--and I shall be Ear............