“I did but jest, Walter,” Geoffrey said laughing; “but as you will not sell it, and you cannot wear it, you had best give it me to put aside in my strong coffer until you get of knightly rank.” “Lady Vernon said,” the lad replied, “that she hoped one day it might again belong to a knight; and if I live,” he added firmly, “it shall.” “Oh! she has been putting these ideas into your head; nice notions truly for a London apprentice! I shall be laying a complaint before the lord mayor against Dame Vernon, for unsettling the mind of my apprentice, and setting him above his work. And the little lady, what said she? Did she give you her colours and bid you wear them at a tourney?” Walter coloured hotly. “Ah! I have touched you,” laughed the armourer; “come now, out with the truth. My lad,” he added more gravely, “there is no shame in it; you know that I have always encouraged your wishes to be a soldier, and have done my best to render you as good a one as any who draws sword 'neath the king's banner, and assuredly I would not have taken all these pains with you did I think that you were always to wear an iron cap and trail a pike. I too, lad, hope some day to see you a valiant knight, and have reasons that you wot not of, for my belief that it will be so. No man rises to rank and fame any the less quickly because he thinks that bright eyes will grow brighter at his success.” “But, Geoffrey, you are talking surely at random. The Lady Edith Vernon is but a child; a very beautiful child,” he added reverently, “and such that when she grows up, the bravest knight in England might be proud to win. What folly for me, the son of a city bowyer, and as yet but an apprentice, to raise mine eyes so high!” “The higher one looks the higher one goes,” the armourer said sententiously. “You aspire some day to become a knight, you may well aspire also to win the hand of Mistress Edith Vernon. She is five years younger than yourself, and you will be twenty-two when she is seventeen. You have time to make your way yet, and I tell you, though why it matters not, that I would rather you set your heart on winning Mistress Edith Vernon than any other heiress of broad lands in merry England. You have saved her life, and so have made the first step and a long one. Be ever brave, gentle, and honourable, and, I tell you, you need not despair; and now, lad, we have already lost too much time in talking; let us to our work.” That evening Walter recalled to Geoffrey his promise to tell him the causes which had involved England in so long and bloody a war with France. “It is a tangled skein,” Geoffrey said, “and you must follow me carefully. First, with a piece of chalk I will draw upon the wall the pedigree of the royal line of France from Phillip downwards, and then you will see how it is that our King Edward and Phillip of Valois came to be rival claimants to the throne of France.