He rydes untoe ye Dragon's Gate, And blowes a ryngynge calle: A gallant Knyghte in armoure bryghte, 'Twere sadde toe see him falle. Deare Sayntes of Mercy steele hys harte, And nerve hys arme withalle! II. Noe glove bears he uponne hys creste, And lettynge droppe hys visor's barres, I sawe hys starke soule lookynge forthe, Toe meete ye whysperes of ye starres. True Knyghte of God, whose arme is stronge, Whose harte is pure, whose lance is longe. III. Lette wyn, lette lose, belyke 'tis true, Ye issue of ye daye will bee, Notte toe ye dreamers; butte toe those Who stayke their alle on victorie. Notte to ye skiffes uponne ye streames, Butte ye stronge shippes uponne ye sea. _Vanity Fair, 12th October, 1893_. THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI. CHAPTER I. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. "I do not drink with a thief!" D'Entrangues spoke in clear, distinct tones, that rose above the hum of voices, and every one caught the words. In an instant the room was still. The laughter on all faces died away, leaving them grave; and twenty pairs of curious eyes, and twenty curious faces were turned towards us. It was so sudden, so unexpected, this jarring discord in our harmony, that it fell as if a bolt from a mangonel, or a shot from one of Messer Novarro's new guns, had dropped in amongst us. Even that, I take it, would have caused less surprise, although for the present there was a truce in the land. Prospero Colonna turned half round in his seat and looked at me. Our host and commander, old Ives d'Alegres, who was pouring himself out a glass of white vernaccia, held the decanter in mid-air, an expression of blank amazement in his blue eyes. Even the Englishman, Hawkwood, who sat next to me, was startled out of his habitual calm. Every eye was on us, on me where I sat dazed, and on D'Entrangues, who was leaning back slightly, a forced smile on his face, the fingers of one hand playing with the empty glass before him, whilst with the other he slowly twisted his long red moustache. I was completely taken aback. Only that afternoon I parted from D'Entrangues, apparently on the best of terms. We had played together, and he had won my crowns. It is true he was not paid in full at the time; but he knew the word of a Savelli. On leaving, Madame D'Entrangues asked me to join her hawking party for the morrow, and he urged the invitation. I accepted, and backed my new peregrine against D'Entrangues' old hawk Bibbo for ten crowns, the best of three flights, and the wager was taken. Never indeed had I known him so cordial. I did not like the man, but for his wife's sake was friendly to him.