"Tidings most strange, my redoubted lord,"[10] replied Richard of Woodville; "for while the Count speaks cheerfully of having removed all cause of difference between myself and a noble gentleman, Sir John Grey, on whom my best hopes depend, letters from that knight himself are filled with reproaches undeserved by me, and refuse all explanation or argument." --------------------- [Footnote 10: This term was greatly affected at the period we speak of, not only by kings, but by all powerful nobles.] --------------------- "That is strange, indeed," said the Count; "what are the dates? One may have been written earlier than the other." "The dates are the same," answered Richard of Woodville, "and the letters of Sir John Grey, coming by the same messenger as those of the Count, might easily have been stopped, had the explanation been given after they were written. It is a dark and misty life we lead in this world; and still, when we think all is clear and bright, as I did when I returned from Lille to Ghent, some thick vapour spreads over the whole, concealing it from our eyes, like the cloud now rolling round the brow of the castle on that high rocky steep." "We shall have rain," remarked the Lord of St. Paul, "and when it does begin, it will prove a torrent. Here, old Carloman," he continued, turning to one of his men-at-arms, "what does that cloud mean? and where can we best wait for the noble prince, the Count of Charolois, who is to meet us at the Mill Bridge?" "The cloud means a heavy storm, my lord," replied the old man, riding forward. "Do you not see how the earth gapes for it? But it will not be able to swallow all that will come down, I think. We have not had a drop of rain these two months, and very little dew, so that everything is as parched as pulse. Then, as to waiting for the prince, the meadows by the river would be the best place, if it were not for that cloud." "Oh, we mind not a little rain," answered the Count of St. Paul; "'twill but make the armourers' fingers ache to take off the rust to-night." "Ay, 'tis not the rain I am thinking of," said the old man; "but the meadows are no safe resting-place, when there are storms above there. The water gathers in the gulleys, and comes down into the Sormonne, till the old fool can hold no more, and then the whole valley is covered." "Oh, but if that be the case, we can easily gallop up higher," replied the Count. "There is no shame in running away from a torrent, old Carloman. 'Tis not like turning one's back on the foe." "Faith that is a foe that gallops quicker than you can," answered the man-at-arms. "The meadow is so narrow, and the bank so high, that you cannot cut across; so you had better stop above, in what we call the Rock Castle, where you can see the country below, and the Mill Bridge and all, without getting in the way of the water. The old Sormonne is a lion, I can tell you, when he is angry; and nothing makes him so fierce as a storm in the hills."