For answer he suddenly plucked a small dagger from a concealed sheath and, twisting around, struck full and hard at the old soldier's face, which was unprotected by the steel cap. Raynor sprang back and avoided the blow, but in so doing he released his hold, and the rogue dashed instantly for cover. No one was in his way and his escape seemed certain, for the heavily armed men of De Lacy would have no chance in a foot race with one lightly clad. With two bounds he had reached the line of trees and was almost secure when, like a flash, Giles Dauvrey drew his heavy dagger and hurled it after him. The point struck full in the centre of the neck and sank deep into flesh and bone. With a gurgling cry he plunged forward and lay still--dead before his body touched the turf. "By St. Peter! a neat throw, Sir Squire," said Raynor, as he jerked out the weapon and handed it to Dauvrey. "I mind never to have seen a better." "Toss the other carrion by the roadside," said De Lacy; "we tarry here no longer." VII A FAVOR LOST When De Lacy, armed for the road, sought his host the following morning to say farewell, he found him in an easy chair near the fireplace in the hall, with his wounded leg resting on a stool, and the answer to Gloucester's letter in his hand. The old Knight made as though to arise, but the younger quickly placed his hand upon his shoulder and held him firm in his seat. "Not so, Sir John," he insisted. "Do you remain quiet; I know the way to the courtyard." "It grieves me sore that you cannot stay with me longer," said De Bury, allowing himself to be persuaded. "Yet I hope that we shall soon meet again. Craigston Castle is ever ready to receive you." "And it shall have the chance, I assure you, when I am again in these parts--though our next meeting is likely to be in London; His Grace will scarce soon return to the North." "Mayhap," replied Sir John; "but for the present, my wound and my duties keep me here. And, to speak truly, I am not unwilling; when you have reached my age, Sir Aymer, you will care little for the empty splendor of the Court--and that reminds me: you may meet there my niece, the Countess of Clare, and if you do--verily, you have met her," as De Lacy smiled, "and have been stricken like the rest. Beware, my son, your corselet is no protection against the shafts of a woman's eyes." "In truth, I know it," De Lacy laughed. "I have met the Countess and . . . it is needless to say more. Yet it was at Pontefract and not at Windsor that I saw her. She is with the Duchess of Gloucester."