But no enemy gainsaid us on the road; and at two o’ the clock we rode across the drawbridge of our good friend and neighbor, the Lady of Mannerley. She bade us welcome in the courtly manner to which she was bred, and ushered us to the great hall. Geoffrey was reclining in a great chair before the fire, and rose to greet us with most joyous face. His wound was healing fast, as we had known from the messengers who had passed almost daily to and fro; but the young Lord of Carleton was still pale with the bloodletting, and could leave his chair no longer than the courtesy of a host demanded. As he shook hands with my father, the Lord of Mountjoy, his words of heartfelt welcome and the smile on his winsome face made amends for the weakness of his clasp; and I was filled with joy to see that my father warmed to him at once and for his sake willingly forgot the deeds of the old Gray Wolf, who had been Lord of Carleton. When Geoffrey was again seated and we had found places on the benches around him, the Lady of Mannerley brought to us some most dainty cakes and cups of hot mulled wine, serving us with her own hands, as is the custom when guests of quality are welcomed. There ensued an hour of goodly talk, Geoffrey of Carleton plying my father with questions of that of which he loves best to speak,—the wars for the Holy Sepulcher’s recovery—and Cedric and I listening or putting in our words as occasion offered. Geoffrey heard from me the tale of our archer festival and of old Marvin’s and Cedric’s wondrous prowess with the cross-bow. Then by degrees we came to the story of the day whereon Cedric and I and poor old William came upon the outlaw band in Blackpool that sought to kill his two retainers and make him prisoner; and we lived over again in joy the battle at the forest’s edge and the bloody and desperate chase that followed. When that tale had been fully told by us three youths, speaking sometimes in turn and sometimes, at the most perilous passages, crying out all together what had chanced, Geoffrey turned to me to say: “But, Sir Richard,—in the forest where I first saw thee and Cedric at the fire,—that was a most sweet ballad you did sing. Can you not raise it again? I have a great mind to hear it.”