It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clatteringout through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old Londontown, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St.
Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretchedthe straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the greathouses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; onthe other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it wasthen called), and the rolling country, where great stonewindmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft Aprilbreeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the WhiteHall, and Westminster.
It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. Inthat dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, hewould have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he joggedalong with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at openshops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng ofmerchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; attownsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddykennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that hehad lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not careto tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters,through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct forMackworth House, near the Savoy Palace.
It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patronregarded one another when they met for the first time after thathalf-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Mylesit seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar faceand figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth,perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months shouldhave wrought so great a change in the young man. The ruggedexposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passedhad roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion andbronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun couldhave done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavierand more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam ofa scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least adetermined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So thetwo stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the firstto break the silence.
"My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back toEngland; behold, here am I.""When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl.
"I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered theyoung man.
The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou artmarvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought itpossible."Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord,in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may makea lad a man before his time.""From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures havebefallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times inthe Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France."A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl satmusingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerfulyoung figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure inmotionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewyhands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, aroundthe scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and theplates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces,the bright sunlight from the window behind.
