He asked for his sister--he knew his little brother had died in the Netherlands--and he heard that she had been in the Priory of St. Helen’s, and was now in the household of my Lady of Hungerford, who had promised to find a good match for her. There was but one son of the union with the knight of Threlkeld, and him Hal had never seen; nor was he at home, being a page in the household of the Earl of Westmoreland, according to the prevailing fashion of the castles of the great feudal nobles becoming schools of arms, courtesy and learning for the young gentlemen around. Indeed, Lady Clifford surveyed her eldest son with a sigh that such breeding was denied him, as she observed one or two little deficiencies in what would be called his table manners--not very important, but revealing that he had grown up in the byre instead of the castle, where there was a very strict and punctilious code, which figured in catechisms for the young. She longed to keep him, and train him for his station, but in the first place, Sir Lancelot still held that it could not safely be permitted, since he had little confidence in the adherence of the House of Nevil to the Red Rose; and moreover Hal himself utterly refused to remain concealed in Cumberland instead of carrying his service to the King he loved. In fact, when he heard the proposal of leaving him in the north, he stood up, and, with far more energy than had been expected from him, said, ‘Go I must, to my lawful King’s banner, and my father’s cause. To King Harry I carry my homage and whatever my hand can do!’ Such an expression of energy lighted his hitherto dreamy eyes, that all beholders turned their glances on his face with a look of wonder. Sir Lancelot again objected that he would be rushing to his ruin. ‘Be it so,’ replied Hal. ‘It is my duty.’ ‘The time seems to me to be come,’ added Musgrave, ‘that my young lord should put himself forward, though it may be only in a losing cause. Not so much for the sake of success, as to make himself a man and a noble.’ ‘But what can he do?’ persisted Threlkeld; ‘he has none of the training of a knight. How can you tilt in plate armour, you who have never bestridden a charger? These are not the days of Du Guesclin, when a lad came in from the byre and bore down all foes before him.’ The objection was of force, for the defensive armour of the fifteenth century had reached a pitch of cumbrousness that required long practice for a man to be capable of moving under it. ‘So please you, sir,’ said Hal, ‘I am not wholly unskilled. The good Sir Giles and Simon Bunce have taught me enough to strike a blow with a good will for a good cause.’ ‘With horse and arms as befits him,’ began Musgrave. ‘I know not that a horse is here that could be depended on,’ began Threlkeld. ‘Armour too requires to be fitted and proved.’