As they cantered over the marshy land, followed by a few varlets on foot, whose business it was to carry fresh birds on a wooden framework suspended round their necks by straps, Ralph kept close behind the Captain. When they reached the top of the rising ground where they had last seen the graceful figure of Mistress Yolande, a strange sight met their eyes. The Breton knight’s horse was sunk over its fetlocks in a quagmire, and its rider was in an almost kneeling position on its back, with the evident desire of getting as far away from the treacherous slime as possible. "I told him not to go," said Yolande, laughing at the sad plight of the poor gentleman. The attendant varlets were directed to assist the knight out of his difficulties, while Yolande rode off with the Lord Woodville and Ralph, who was delighted at the change. As they rode rapidly across the lower ground towards Godshill, the page told with eager joy to his cousin how the Abbot of Quarr had promised to equip him gallantly, and he entered into all the details of the horse he would buy, the armour, and the device he would wear upon his shield. "You must have a lady’s favour, Ralph. Is there anyone you would like?" asked Yolande, smiling at him. Ralph coloured up, and he answered shyly,-- "Cousin Yolande, will you give me yours?" "Well, now, I _am_ highly favoured. And you really would not rather have that of Mistress Bremskete, or the fair Mistress Susan Gander?" But Ralph was not good at raillery, he was far too much in earnest to enter into a joke, and Yolande saw the shafts of her wit would only fall flat or be misunderstood. "But, cousin Ralph, I have promised my favour elsewhere." Ralph looked at her with bitter disappointment. "’Tis true ’tis as well to have two strings to one’s bow, and why you did not say so I don’t know, for I might never have thought of it myself, and so you might have lost a very good chance. Well, what do you say; shall I give you one as well?" "But, Yolande, may a lady have two knights in the same tourney?" "Why, marry, yea! At least I see no reason why not. One can have them everywhere else. Let us ask the Captain." Lord Woodville had been riding on lost in abstraction. They had left Godshill on their right. They were now skirting the high hills, the outlying spurs of Week Down. Hearing his name mentioned, the Captain of the Wight turned round; as he did so, he caught sight of a figure, and instantly his face became as pale as death, and then flushed up with angry fire. The quick eyes of Yolande did not fail to detect the change. Her eyes glanced in the direction of Lord Woodville. She saw a man in a common dress standing by the side of an old thorn bush. "’Tis only a hind belonging to the Priory of Appuldurcombe. I marvel what hath come to the Captain," she murmured.