Before the day had quite gone down, a knight, richly armed, and mounted
upon an ambling hackney, rode slowly into the village. His attendants
were a lady, apparently young and beautiful, who rode by his side upon a
dappled palfrey; his squire, who carried his helmet and lance, and led
his battle-horse, a noble steed, richly caparisoned. A page and four
yeomen, bearing bows and quivers, short swords, and targets of a span
breadth, completed his equipage, which, though small, denoted him to be a
man of high rank.
He stopped and addressed several of the inhabitants whom curiosity had
withdrawn from their labour to gaze at him; but at the sound of his
voice, and still more on perceiving the St. George's Cross in the caps of
his followers, they fled, with a loud cry that the Southrons were
returned. The knight endeavoured to expostulate with the fugitives, who
were chiefly aged men, women, and children; but their dread of the
English name accelerated their flight, and in a few minutes, excepting
the knight and his attendants, the place was deserted by all. He paced
through the village to seek a shelter for the night, and despairing to
find one either in the inaccessible tower or the plundered huts of the
peasantry, he directed his course to the left hand, where he spied a
small, decent habitation, apparently the abode of a man considerably
above the common rank.
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