Thus accoutred, but as yet without helmet, sword, or spurs, our young friend was led to the castle chapel, between two (so-called) godfathers—two sons of the Earl of Hereford—in solemn procession, amidst the plaudits of the crowd. There the Earl of Leicester awaited him, and Hubert’s heart beat wildly with joy and excitement, as he saw him in all his panoply, awaiting the ward whom he had received ten years earlier as a little boy from the hands of his father, then setting out for his eventful crusade. The bishop was at the altar. The High Mass was then said; and after the service the young knight, advancing to the sanctuary, received from the good earl, whom he loved so dearly, as the flower of English chivalry, the accolade or knightly embrace. The Bishop of Hereford belted on the young knight’s own sword, which he took from the altar, and the spurs were fastened on by the Lady Alicia, wife of Lord Walter of Hereford, and dame of the castle. Hubert then took the oath to be faithful to God, to the king, and to the ladies, after which he was enjoined to war down the proud and all who did wickedly, to spare the humble, to redress all wrongs within his power, to succour the miserable, to avenge the oppressed, to help the poor and fatherless unto their right, to do this and that; in short, to do all that a good Christian warrior ought to do. Then he was led forth from the church, amidst the cheers and acclamations of all the population of the district, with whom the action which hastened his knighthood had won him popularity. Alms to the poor, largesse to the harpers and minstrels: all had to be given; and the reader may guess whose liberality supplied the gifts. Then—the banquet was spread in the castle hall. Chapter 13: How Martin Gained His Desire. While one of the two friends was thus hewing his way to knighthood by deeds of “dering do,” the other was no less steadily persevering in the path which led to the object of his desire. The less ambitious object, as the world would say. He was ever indefatigable in his work of love amidst the poor and sick, and gained the approbation of his superiors most thoroughly, although in the stern coldness which they thought an essential part of true discipline, they were scant of their encomiums. Men ought to work, they said, simply from a sense of duty to God, and earthly praise was the “dead fly which makes the apothecary’s ointment to stink.” So they allowed their younger brethren to toil on without any such mundane reward, only they cheered them by their brotherly love, shown in a hundred different ways.