His degradation was completed when, at a tournament, where he had mingled with the crowd, the Prince sent for him to shoot at the butt, and display his skill among the soldiery, instead of with the knights in the tilting ring.

Felix shot, indeed, but shut his eyes that the arrow might go wide, and was jeered at as a failure even in that ignoble competition.

Only by an iron self-control did he refrain that day from planting one of the despised shafts in the Prince's eye.
But when Oliver joked him about his failure, Felix asked him to hang up his breastplate at two hundred yards.

He did so, and in an instant a shaft was sent through it.

After that Oliver held his peace, and in his heart began to think that the bow was a dangerous weapon.
"So you are late again this morning," said Oliver, leaning against the recess of the window, and placing his arms on it.