"By the gods, you'll not go!" roared the grizzled knight in a transport of infuriated rage, whereupon he made a sudden leap at Sir Richard, catching him with a bearlike hug around the middle and dragging him to the floor of the hall. "Give me that paper," he whispered in the young knight's ear. "Give it to me, Sir Dick!" "What meaneth this?" shouted a stern voice from above that rang to the vaulted dome of the chamber. "Separate me those brawlers, guards!" In the wink of an eye a cloud of the Douglas retainers had swooped down and torn the fiercely struggling men apart. There followed a momentary lull during which the two stood glaring into each other's eyes. "Which of thee hath an errand with Douglas, and what, pray, may it be?" resumed the voice from the gallery. Ranging along the balcony behind him, Sir Richard's eyes fell upon a burly, broad-shouldered man standing with arms folded on the threshold of an open door. "I am bearer of a message from King Henry, my lord," answered Sir Richard. "And who is thy combative friend?" queried Douglas. "Why this row within my very hall, sir knight?" "'Twas but a slight misunderstanding, my lord," Sir Richard instantly replied. "May I now bring to thee the paper?" "Aye, that may you. But who is thy friend? Thou hast not answered me." "My companion and squire, Lord Douglas. I bespeak for him thy pardon. Though he meaneth right well, he is ever thoughtless and rude." "So it would seem. Bring me King Henry's message. Keep me yonder belligerent in leash, my men," Douglas added, pointing toward de Claverlok, who was still tossing the guards about in a vain endeavor to free himself from their smothering grasp. Sir Richard strode past the struggling, heaving mass of humanity, and then, on up the stairway. Upon reaching the landing he turned to his right to where Lord Douglas stood within the door leading off the jutting balcony. The young knight paused for a moment to glance downward above the railing toward de Claverlok. The grizzled warrior had evidently signified his intention of remaining quiescent, for the guards had loosened their hold of him and he was standing mutely against one of the columns that shot from floor to ceiling at regular intervals around the entire length and breadth of the hall. His arms were folded, and he was gazing straight up into the face of his young friend. The beribboned courtiers and brightly dressed women were standing at a discreet distance, gaping at him. It reminded Sir Richard of an eagle that had dropped its pinions in the midst of a swarm of brilliant-winged, fluttering moths. He noted as well the expression of sad reproach with which the veteran was regarding him. If ever sincerity was stamped in the features of man it was surely displayed in the rugged countenance of de Claverlok, and from that instant the young knight divined his erstwhile companion to be as stanch and true as the steel of the Damascus blade at his side.