demanded to speak with Sir Oliver de Clisson, and to have safe-conduct to and from the open space at the foot of the slope. This being granted, the drawbridge was lowered, and the portcullis raised. Ferragus entered, and went straight to his own stall; and Gaston d'Aubricour came forth in complete armour, and was conducted by the pursuivant to the leader of the troop. Sir Oliver de Clisson, as he sat on horseback with the visor of his helmet raised, had little or nothing of the appearance of the courteous Knight of the period. His features were not, perhaps, originally as harsh and ill-formed as those of his compeer, Bertrand du Guesclin, but there was a want of the frank open expression and courteous demeanour which so well suited the high chivalrous temper of the great Constable of France. They were dark and stern, and the loss of an eye, which had been put out by an arrow, rendered him still more hard-favoured. He was, in fact, a man soured by early injuries-his father had been treacherously put to death by King John of France, when Duke of Normandy, and his brother had been murdered by an Englishman-his native Brittany was torn by dissensions and divisions-and his youth had been passed in bloodshed and violence. He had now attained the deserved fame of being the second Knight in France, honourable and loyal as regarded his King, but harsh, rigid, cruel, of an unlovable temper, which made him in after years a mark for plots and conspiracies; and the vindictive temper of the Celtic race leading him to avenge the death of his brother upon every Englishman who fell into his hands.
'So, Sir Squire!' exclaimed he, in his harsh voice, 'what excuse do you come to make for slaying my messenger ere he had time to deliver his charge?'
'I own him as no messenger,' returned Gaston. 'He was a renegade traitor from our own Castle, seeking his accomplice in villainy!'
'Well, speak on,' said Oliver, to whom the death of a man-at-arms was a matter of slight importance. 'Art thou come to deliver up the Castle to its rightful lord?'
'No, Messire Oliver,' replied Gaston. 'I come to bring the reply of the Castellane, Sir Eustace Lynwood, that he will hold out the Castle to the last extremity against all and each of your attacks.'
'Sir Eustace Lynwood? What means this, Master Squire? Yonder knave declared he was dead!'
'Hear me, Sir Oliver de Clisson,' said Gaston. 'Sir Eustace Lynwood hath a pair of mortal foes at the Prince's court, who prevailed on a part of the garrison to yield him into your hands. In my absence, they in part succeeded. By the negligence of a drunken groom they were enabled to fall upon him in his sleep, and, as they deemed, had murdered him. I, returning with the rest of the garrison, was enabled to rescue him, and deliver the Castle, where he now lies-alive, indeed, but desperately wounded. Now, I call upon you, Sir Oliver, to judge, whether it be the part of a true and honourable Knight to become partner of such miscreants, and to take advantage of so foul a web of treachery?'
'This may be a fine tale for the ears of younger knights-errant, Sir Squire,' was the reply of Clisson. 'For my part though I am no lover of treason, I may not let the King's service be stayed by scruples. For yourself, Sir Squire, I make you a fair offer. You are, by your tongue and countenance, a Gascon-a liegeman born of King Charles of France. To you, and to every other man of French birth, I offer to enter his service, or to depart whither it may please you, with arms and baggage, so you will place the Castle in our hands-and leave us to work our will of the island dogs it contains!'
'Thanks, Sir Oliver, for such a boon as I would not vouchsafe to stoop to pick up, were it thrown at my feet!'
'Well and good, Sir Squire,' said Clisson, rather pleased at the bold reply. 'We understand each other. Fare thee well.'
And Gaston walked back to the Castle, muttering to himself, 'Had it been but the will of the Saints to have sent Du Guesclin hither, then would Sir Eustace have been as safe and free as in Lynwood Keep itself! But what matters it? If he dies of his wounds, what good would my life do me, save to avenge him-and from that he has debarred me. So, grim Oliver, do thy worst!-Ha!' as he entered the Castle-'down portcullis-up drawbridge! Archers, bend your bows! Martin, stones for the mangonel!'
Nor was the assault long delayed. Clisson's men only waited to secure their horses and prepare their ladders, and the attack was made on every side.
It was well and manfully resisted. Bravely did the little garrison struggle with the numbers that poured against them on every side, and the day wore away in the desperate conflict.
Sir Eustace heard the loud cries of 'Montjoie St. Denis! Clisson!' on the one side, and the 'St. George for Merry England! A Lynwood!' with which his own party replied; he heard the thundering of heavy stones, the rush of combatants, the cries of victory or defeat. Sometimes his whole being seemed in the fight; he clenched his teeth, he shouted his war-cry, tried to raise himself and lift his powerless arm; then returned again to the consciousness of his condition, clasped either the rosary or the crucifix, and turned his soul to fervent prayer; then, again, the strange wild cries without confounded themselves into one maddening noise on his feverish ear, or, in the confusion of his weakened faculties, he would, as it were, believe himself to be his brother dying on the field of Navaretta, and scarce be able to rouse himself to a feeling of his own identity.
So passed the day-and twilight was fast deepening into night, when the cries, a short time since more furious than ever, and nearer and more exulting on the part of the French, at length subsided, and finally died away; the trampling steps of the men-at-arms could be heard in the hall below, and Gaston himself came up with hasty step, undid his helmet, and, wiping his brow, threw himself on the ground with his back against the chest, saying, 'Well, we have done our devoir, at any rate! Poor Brigliador! I am glad he has a kind master in Ingram!'
'Have they won the court?' asked Eustace. 'I thought I heard their shouts within it.'
'Ay! Even so. How could we guard such an extent of wall with barely five and twenty men? Old Silverlocks and Jaques de l'Eure are slain Martin badly wounded, and we all forced back into the inner court, after doing all it was in a man to do.'
'I heard your voice, bold and cheerful as ever, above the tumult,' said Eustace. 'But the inner court is fit for a long defence-that staircase parapet, where so few can attack at once.'
'Ay,' said Gaston, 'it was that and the darkness that stopped them. There I can detain them long enough to give the chance of the succours, so those knaves below do not fail in spirit-and they know well enough what chance they have from yon grim-visaged Breton! But as to those succours, I no more expect them than I do to see the Prince at their head! A hundred to one that he never hears of our need, or, if he should, that Pembroke and Clarenham do not delay the troops till too late.'
'And there will be the loss of the most important castle, and the most faithful and kindest heart!' said Eustace. 'But go, Gaston- food and rest you must need after this long day's fight-and the defences must be looked to, and the men cheered!'
'Yes,' said Gaston, slowly rising, and bending over the Knight; 'but is there nought I can do for you, Sir Eustace?'
'Nought, save to replenish my cup of water. It is well for me that the enemy have not cut us off from the Castle well.'
Gaston's supper did not occupy him long. He was soon again in Eustace's room, talking over his plan of defence for the next day; but with little, if any, hope that it would be other than his last struggle. At last, wearied out with the exertions of that day and the preceding, he listened to Eustace's persuasions, and, removing the more cumbrous portions of his armour, threw himself on his bed, and, in a moment, his regular breathings announced that he was sound asleep.
It was in the pale early light of dawn that he awoke, and, starting up while still half asleep, exclaimed, 'Sir Eustace, are you there? I should have relieved guard long since!' Then, as he recalled his situation, 'I had forgot! How is it with you, Sir Eustace? Have you slept?'
'No,' said Eustace. 'I have not lost an hour of this last night I shall ever see. It will soon be over now-the sun is already reddening the sky; and so, Gaston, ends our long true-hearted affection. Little did I think it would bring thee to thy death in the prime of they strength and manhood!' and he looked mournfully on the lofty stature and vigorous form of the Squire, as he stood over him.
'For that, Sir Eustace, there is little cause to grieve. I have been a wanderer, friendless and homeless, throughout my life; and save for yourself, and, perhaps, poor little Arthur's kind heart, where is one who would cast a second thought on me, beyond, perhaps, saying, 'He was a brave and faithful Squire!' But little, little did I think, when I saw your spurs so nobly won, that this was to be the end of it-that you were to die, defamed and reviled, in an obscure den, and by the foul treachery of-'
'Speak not of that, Gaston,' said Eustace. 'I have dwelt on it in the long hours of the night, and I have
