"What news of the great Spanish fleet?" he inquired eagerly. "I heard only a moment ago a great shouting, and wondered if it could be news of the fight." "The Spanish are defeated," I answered, "and even now are in full flight, our men after them." "God be praised!" exclaimed the rough old fellow, as he lifted up his hands in joy. "Many a one of them will see the bottom ere morning, or I am mistaken, for there is such a storm brewing to-night as London has not seen for many a year." "But go into yonder room, Sir," he said, pointing to the door in front of me. "Sir Henry is in there." "Come, comrades!" he cried to the two sailors who stood behind me. "Come with me, and we will celebrate this victory in a flagon of good wine, and you shall tell me of the battle," and he hobbled off with them. I turned the knob and entered the low room. There, seated at a table, was Sir Henry, whom I knew well, for I had served with him during my brief campaign in Ireland, and with him, a glass in his hand, his dull, watery eyes fixed upon me, sat my brother Richard. CHAPTER XII MY LADY I knew him the moment that I put my eyes upon his face, though I had not seen him in years. He was still the same as when I had seen him last--dull, watery, pale blue eyes, little and stupid like those of a pig; his lean face mottled by hard drinking; his peaked beard shot with gray. Ah! he was the same; a little older, that was all. He knew me, too, despite the change in me, for even as I looked at him, a gleam of recognition came into his eyes, and he arose to his feet. "So thou hast met thy deserts? Years ago when we were boys together, I prophesied that the gallows would be thy end. Thou didst laugh at me then, but it has come to pass even as I said," and he stood grinning at me. "Peace, fool!" I answered, "or I will crack that empty pate of thine with a chair," and I made as though to seize one. He dropped back into his seat in an instant, his face pale, for he was ever a coward. "Sir Henry," he stammered, "I am thy guest, wouldst thou see me murdered before thine eyes?" and he cowered away from me. "Tut, Sir Richard," rejoined the bluff old warrior. "What dost thou fear? Thou art as safe as though thou wert at Richmond Castle. But this cannot be Sir Thomas Winchester?" And he turned to me in astonishment. "The same, Sir Henry," I answered. "Hadst thou been through but half what I have, thy hair would be as gray as mine." "Sit thee down, and tell us about it," the good knight said, as he pushed a chair toward me. "Another time, Sir Henry," I answered. "I am faint and weak from my wounds, and weary from the long voyage; some other time I will tell thee with pleasure. But one of the men had a note for thee, if I mistake not. He has been in such a hurry to swig down thy good wine, that he even forgot his errand."