On the afternoon following the wreck of the Good Hope, the buttery, the

kitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of

the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to Sir

Daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue,

partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received

by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time.

The snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the

air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter.

Wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the

straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal. To

the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the

eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a

festive season.

Two monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming

themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed. A mixed crowd

surrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these the

elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged

so many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily

increased in number.

The younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised Dick

Shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself

away. He listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by

the grave expression of his countenance, he made but little account of

his companion's pleasantries.

The Black Arrow