The one on foot and the two on horseback entered the fortress which had hitherto proved impregnable, and traversed its streets until they came to “The Crown” inn. Oxford was no longer the home of learning for any art save that of war. A few students still strolled its thoroughfares, but the military man was everywhere. The colleges had been turned into barracks and arsenals; the King himself lived in Christ Church, over the towers of which floated the royal standard, now almost the only red spot in all England. As the party came to a halt the officer turned to Armstrong. “A propitious meeting,” he said, “here comes the Lord Great Chamberlain himself.” Armstrong noted the approach of a man with a countenance so remarkable that it might have been taken as typical of war. From brow to chin was drawn a long red scar, while another ran transversely across the forehead just over the eyes, so that there flamed from his face an angry cross that gave a most sinister expression to a visage which, lacking these time-healed wounds, would have been handsome. The Chamberlain stopped abruptly in his advance, his gaze riveted upon the girl, and there came into his eyes a look of such malignity that Armstrong instantly turned his glance upon his travelling companion. The girl’s cheeks had gone deathly white, and she swayed blindly in her saddle, perilously near to falling. The young man sprang from his horse and caught her just in time. Bitterly he blamed himself for this unexpected collapse, cursing his persistence on the road, when he had plainly seen that some strong emotion tormented her. This mental perturbation, combined with the physical strain she had undergone during their long journey, fully accounted for the prostration of the moment at the end. “My poor lass,” he said regretfully, “I am to blame. I am a thoughtless, selfish hound to have so sorely troubled you with my insistence.” “It is not that,” she whispered faintly, leaning heavily on him with the pathetic helplessness of a tired child, a dependence which sent a thrill of pity and love for her tingling to his finger-ends. “Take me in; take me in quickly. I am ill.” Now the Lord Great Chamberlain, all smiles and courtesy, stepped forward and said with authority to the innkeeper: “The chief rooms in the house for the lady. Turn out whoever occupies them, whatever their quality.” The landlord called his wife, and Frances was given into her care. The officer introduced the traveller to the high official: “My Lord Chamberlain, this gentleman says he has come from the Scottish nobles with a message for his Majesty. Sir, Monsieur de Courcy, Lord Great Chamberlain to the King.” Frenchman and Scot bowed to each other, the grace of the gesture being almost entirely in favour of the former, despite his marred face.