Reginald made no reply: he was deep in mental researches after the probable cause of the Baron’s unaccustomed eulogium upon a race so universally vilified. Finding himself unable to solve the mystery, he waited in silence for some further clue. The old man looked as if to see whether his words had made any impression upon the prejudices of his hearer; and, not being able to ascertain the fact, proceeded: “There is Leofwyn of Kennet Hold,” said he, “his better never drew bow: his grandfather stood before Harold when De Rocroi had him down. He hath riches and retainers, such as never had King of England. Ill befall the man that thinks scorn of Leofwyn of Kennet Hold.” “He is our near neighbour,” said Reginald. “I have heard that he hath a braver horse than is my black steed Launcelot, and hounds whose equals the world cannot show. He hath a daughter, too, if fame speak rightly, a lady of a most noble presence; and he hath a falcon----” Here he was interrupted by the old Baron, who, as if weary of the circumlocution by which he had been endeavouring to bring about his object, observed dryly: “It is to that lady, Reginald, I would see thee wedded.” Reginald fixed himself upright upon the table on which he had been extended, and, opening wide his large languid eyes, gazed upon his father with a mute expression of astonishment. The latter, though a little daunted by the silence with which his proposition had been received, proceeded to explain the causes and consequences of his design. It is needless to accompany him through his detail, which, to say truth, was somewhat prolix. It is sufficient to state that the lands of the Saxon looked tempting in the eyes of the Norman lord; and that, in times of such danger and difficulty, it seemed prudent to conciliate the friendship of those who were powerful in their immediate vicinity, and especially those who were attached to the Saxon succession. Now the Baron, while he detailed his hopes, and his fears, and his designs, fancied that he had made in this scheme a notable hit of policy, and from time to time looked up to the listener’s face for the approbation to which he thought himself entitled. Reginald, however, perceived that his castle-building would meet with obstacles which the architect had never contemplated; and began to be of opinion that a friendly alliance between Norman and Saxon sounded very like an amicable treaty between hound and hare, or a peaceable union between fire and water. To these thoughts he was unwilling to give utterance: a dispute, and upon such a subject, was a thing to which he had an insuperable reluctance: he therefore quietly acquiesced in his father’s reasoning, and, after stipulating that in this matter no trouble should fall upon himself, composed himself in a quiet slumber, while the Baron was recounting the particulars of his ten years’ courtship of Marie, the beautiful heiress of Roger de Vesnoy, the last lord of Battiswold.