"Humph!" said the earl shortly, "so thou hast been in league with the subjects of the King of France, hast thou? That remindeth me: was it not thou who masqueraded as Sir John Chartris in his combat of honour with our worthy Sir Gervaise de Maupas? Dost remember that, Sir Walter?" he said, turning to Sir Walter Manny. "Thou wert one of the marshals that day. Nicely wert thou tricked by this fledgling here." Sir Walter frowned and growled an inarticulate reply. Edgar turned pale. Things seemed to be going awry. He glanced at Beatrice, but she seemed merely amused. Angered at her indifference, he turned resolutely to the earl: "I am not ashamed," he said, with a touch of haughtiness. "What I did seemed for the best, and who can do more?" "We must see about that," responded the earl, quite unmoved. "Dismount, Sir Squire." Mechanically Edgar obeyed. Disgrace and humiliation were hard indeed to bear, but firmly he held up his head and faced the earl. He would not flinch, he vowed, before his countrymen any more than he had flinched before his enemies in the Castle of Ruthènes. The earl’s face had flushed and his eyes sparkled. "Bow thy head," he cried peremptorily, and his sword flashed from its sheath. Rapidly but gently it fell upon Edgar’s shoulder. "Sir Edgar Wintour, we are proud of thee. Knightly hast thou borne thyself in field and castle, and the knight’s spurs are thine indeed." There was a loud murmur of assent from the knights and nobles crowding about, and as it ceased, the earl went on: "Mount now and come with us a furlong or two, for time presses and I would ask thee if thou hast seen aught of our enemies. Then thou canst resume thy journey. But when and wherever thou wilt, we shall welcome thee to our banners." Again there was a murmur of cordial agreement, and, with his head in a whirl, Edgar mounted and rode by the earl’s side, answering his eager questions as best he could. Then he rejoined his companions, and, halting a few paces from the path of the army, watched them move forward upon their march of conquest. The sight was an inspiriting one, for the force seemed to strike the highest note of both hardihood and chivalry, and Edgar, as he watched, longed to take his place within its ranks. Presently the last files of the army had passed by, the waving banners had receded into the distance, and the Wolsingham party, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness, had nothing left them but to resume their march towards Bordeaux. For a long time the party was a silent one. Edgar was thinking over the changes which must ensue now that he was a gold-spurred knight. For one thing, he could no longer remain in Sir John’s service. His late master could now scarce afford to support a knight, even if he desired to do so. Thus his connection with Wolsingham would seem to be at an end. The thought was hardly a pleasant one.