"Nay, he’s a knight, sure enough; look at his gold spurs, and the collar round his neck--why, ’tis the ’suns’ of York. He’d best be well befriended if he wears that; who can he be?" said Tom o’ Kingston, eyeing the martial figure, firm seat, and knightly bearing of the new-comer, who, in spite of his somewhat old armour, which had been furbished up as brightly as possible, but which long use and many rough campaigns had soiled with rust and dints beyond all the labour of a diligent esquire to eradicate, looked every inch a tough man-at-arms. "’Tis a powerful vicious-looking beast he rides, too; but where can he have come from? I never saw him go into the tent. The only man as I see go in was that mountebank sort of chap in that old hood," said Humphrey. "Well, ’tis a parlous strange matter! We shall see something though," answered Tom o’ Kingston. One of the sailor-looking men accompanied him, carrying another strong spear. The other man had gone into the crowd again, and soon returned leading a girl by the hand; and, elbowing his way to the front, he secured a good position for his young companion and himself close to the lists, and not far from the Judges’ gallery. "Why, Lord Captain," said Yolande, "there’s the little damsel with the large eyes we met at Appuldurcombe Priory." Lord Woodville looked in the direction indicated, and was immediately moved in the same unaccountable way he had been at the time when he first saw her. "The same eyes, the very same eyes and brow," he murmured. The "Rusty Knight," as the crowd called him, cantered to the end of the lists, saluted his companions, to whom he was apparently quite unknown, and also bowed gravely to the Captain of the Wight. He was entirely encased in armour, and the heavy tilting helmet hid his head and face completely. Sir Alain de Kervignac was just preparing to tilt with young Oglander when the "Rusty Knight" entered the lists. He saluted the new comer, and offered him his place, which "he of the rusty armour" declined. "Don’t be rough on weakly Johnny," called out some of the crowd, as they saw the Breton prepare to charge him, but their kindly remonstrances were of little use, beyond serving to unnerve the youth they were intended to aid. His spear feebly struck the shield of his antagonist, while at the same time he received that of the Sire de Kervignac on his helmet, and was unseated immediately. It was now Ralph’s turn, and as he rode out to take up his place, the interest of the crowd was very great. "’Tis only ’rusty irons’ you’ve got to tackle, Master Lisle." "Hit him where they’ve been a-scouring the whelks off of him," called out another; "the iron’s sure to be thin there. You’ll soon skewer him." "Silence, you caitiffs!" called out the Master of the Lists, "or I’ll have you whipped. Sergeant, smite one of those scurvy knaves over the costard." This produced tranquillity for a short time, and the increasing excitement helped to keep the crowd quiet.