“We are, perhaps, all three going the same road,” said the minstrel, “and I trust it may be so. Wherever I now see a knight cased in armour, I cannot but suppose that he is travelling, or means to travel, into the Holy Land,” “Alas! it is not so with me,” answered Sir Otto blushing; “earnestly as I would wish to go thither. A solemn vow which I have made drives me onwards evermore towards the west, notwithstanding the ardent longings of my soul towards the warm suns of the oriental climes.” “It grieves me heartily to hear this,” said the minstrel; “it would have been so pleasant to travel in your society. But as the matter now stands, you are in the right. A vow made is a sacred pledge which must be redeemed; and that knight would indeed be unworthy of his rank, who could forget this duty even for the sake of journeying into Palestine. For the present, however, will you not sing again?” “I know not,” answered Sir Otto; “but, in truth, were I to sing, both words and notes would be mournful; for what you have just now said of the Holy Land has made too deep an impression on my heart;--much rather would I hear music from you.” “Nay,” said the stranger, “I know not aught of which I can chaunt but those eastern climes, of which the very name has already made you sad. However, if you are willing to listen, I am prepared.” Thereupon he commenced a long and beautiful ballad, of which every stanza was fashioned in praise of the crusaders, and, above all, of King Richard Cœur de Lion. Otto’s cheeks glowed, and he would have gladly left every other pursuit in this world, in order to go with the wonderful minstrel after the banners of King Richard to the east. He was just about to inquire whether the stranger knew if Sir Folko de Montfaucon were also among the crusaders; for if every separate contest between the champions of this age might be deferred, and they could all join together in this enterprise against the Saracens, it would assuredly prove the most glorious and successful war that had ever been known in the world. But ere he had time to propose that question, there came a troop of armed men from the thickets, who spoke very respectfully with the minstrel; whereupon he ordered them again to put the bridle on his white horse, and immediately afterwards, with a courteous salutation, rode away. One of his attendants lingered, however, and Sir Otto had time to ask him what was the name and rank of his master. “He is,” said the squire, “the renowned Master Blondel, the best minstrel in all England, and the bosom-friend of King Richard; on which account he is to accompany our army to Palestine. We are ordered by the king to attend him, that he may not be attacked and suffer injury, when, as now, he leaves the straight road, in order to make excursions hither and thither, as minstrels and poets are wont to do.” Thereupon he mounted his horse, and rode gaily on to overtake his comrades, whose voices were heard from afar, joining the minstrel in