"Take not my words ill, my temper is up to-day.

Thank the saints! here is the hall at last.

Why! whose horse has passed the gates before us ?" Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in the new-fallen snow.
"Sir Christopher Harflete's grey mare," he said.

"I know the shoeing and the round shape of the hoof.

Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely." "Whom I have forbidden to him," grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from the saddle.
"Forbid him not," answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse.