"
The archer raised his hand in salute, and hastened forward. In
the meantime Sir Oliver had followed his brother knight, and the
two paced the poop together, Sir Nigel in his plum-colored velvet
suit with flat cap of the same, adorned in front with the Lady
Loring's glove and girt round with a curling ostrich feather.
The lusty knight, on the other hand, was clad in the very latest
mode, with cote-hardie, doublet, pourpoint, court-pie, and paltock
of olive-green, picked out with pink and jagged at the edges. A
red chaperon or cap, with long hanging cornette, sat daintily on
the back of his black-curled head, while his gold-hued shoes were
twisted up _a la poulaine_, as though the toes were shooting forth
a tendril which might hope in time to entwine itself around his
massive leg.
"Once more, Sir Oliver," said Sir Nigel, looking shorewards with
sparkling eyes, "do we find ourselves at the gate of honor, the
door which hath so often led us to all that is knightly and
worthy. There flies the prince's banner, and it would be well
that we haste ashore and pay our obeisance to him.
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