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 ry of the period. "Our chaplain attempted to teach me to write," he said, "but all my letters were formed like spear-heads, and sword-blades, and so the old shaveling gave up the task."

"Give it me," said the Templar. "We have that of the priestly character, that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valour."

"Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then," said De Bracy; "what says the scroll?"

"It is a formal letter of defiance," answered the Templar; "but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the most extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the draw-bridge of a baronial castle."

"Jest!" said Front-de-Bœuf, "I would gladly know who dares jest with me in such a matter!—Read it, Sir Brian."

The Templar accordingly read as follows:—

"I, Wamba the son of Witless, Jester to a noble and free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon.—And I, Gurth the son of Beowolf, the swine-herd—"