he do so wait until we learn whether there is not

some one who can at least guess at his name and quality. Should he remain there till night, he has had work enough to keep him warm."

"Your grace," said Waldemar Fitzurse, "will do less than due honour to the victor, if you compel him to wait till we tell your highness that which we cannot know; at least I can form no guess—unless he be one of the good lances who accompanied King Richard, and who are now straggling homeward from the Holy Land."

"It may be the Earl of Salisbury," said Bracy; "he is about the same pitch."

"Sir Thomas de Multon, the knight of Gilsland rather," said Fitzurse; "Salisbury is bigger in the bones." A whisper arose among the train, but by whom first suggested could not be ascertained. "It might be the King—it might be Richard Cœur-de-Lion himself."

"Over God's forbode!" said Prince John, in voluntarily turning at the same time as pale as death, and shrinking as if blighted by a flash of lightning; "Waldemar!—Bracy! brave knights