Spread out in a long line over the face of the country, the English army occupied a number of villages, keeping a good watch lest the enemy, large bodies of whom had been apparent during the morning, should take them by surprise and overwhelm them by numbers. Small parties of the freshest men were lodged in tents between the different villages, so that a constant communication might be kept up, and support be ready for any point attacked; and, throughout the whole host, reigned that stern and resolute spirit, the peculiar characteristic of the English soldiery, and which has assured them the victory in so many fields, against more impetuous, but less determined, adversaries. Yet none, however resolute and brave in Henry's army, could help feeling that a great and perilous day was before them, when it was known, that at least a hundred and twenty-five thousand men, comprising the most renowned chivalry of Europe, were collected to oppose a force of less than twenty-five thousand, worn with a long and difficult march, and weakened by sickness and want of provisions.

Nevertheless, during the whole night of Thursday, the 24th of October, from hamlet and village, from priory and castle, from tent and field, wherever the English were quartered, rose up wild bursts of martial music floating on the air to the French camp, as, round the innumerable watch-fires which lighted the whole sky with their lurid glare, sat the myriads the enemy in their wide extended position at Roussauville and Agincourt.

In one of the small villages near the head-quarters of the King, was stationed Sir John Grey, who now having recovered all the great possessions of his family, appeared in the field at the head of a large body of men, whose services under his banner procured for him, at an after period, as the reader is probably aware, the earldom of Tankerville. The house which he inhabited during that night, was the dwelling of a farmer; and in one of the small rooms thereof sat Richard of Woodville, at about eleven o'clock at night, conversing with Mary's father, with a somewhat gloomy and anxious air.

"I have seen it myself, Richard," said Sir John Grey; "the superscription is clear and distinct--'To Sir Thomas Grey, Knight,'--and not one word is mentioned therein of anything like ransom."

"Then it has been falsified!" cried Richard of Woodville; "for my letter was to you. Why should I write to Sir Thomas Grey, a man I know nought of? I never saw him--hardly ever heard of him. Even now I am scarcely aware of who he was, or what he did."

"He was an arch villain, Richard," replied the knight. "The only one, of all the three, who took the gold of France. Cambridge and Scroop has other views, which they nobly hid within their own bosoms, lest they should injure others; but this man was a traitor indeed, and he, ere his death, gave this letter, it seems, into the King's own hands, as that which began his communication with the enemy. He even laid his death at your door, for having written to him by the French suborner.--But here is Sir Henry Dacre.--What is it you seek, good knight? You seem eager about something."

"There are people without requiring to speak with you, Sir John," answered Woodville's friend. "They have got a man in their hands, who, they say, is a knave, sent to you by one you know."

"I want no knaves," replied Sir John Grey; "but I will see who it is;" and he went out.

"Now, what speed, my friend?" continued Dacre, grasping Woodville's hand; "what says Sir John?"

"That it must not be," said Richard of Woodville. "That his duty to the King would not suffer it, even were I his son."

"Then we must try other means," answered Dacre hastily. "You shall fight to-morrow, Woodville. God forbid that you should lose a field like this. You shall take my armour, and I will ride in a different suit. Only be ready, at a moment's notice," he added; "for as soon as Sir John is in the field, I will bear you off from the men he leaves on guard."

Woodville smiled gladly; for certain of his own honour and of his own conduct, he scrupled not to take advantage of any means to free himself from the restraint under which he was held. He had no opportunity, however, of communicating farther with his friend; for the next moment Sir John Grey returned, followed by several men-at-arms and archers, with a slight, but long-armed man in their hands, habited in a suit of demi-armour, such as was worn by the inferior soldiery, but with a vizored casque, which concealed his face.

"Take off his bacinet," said Sir John Grey; and the helmet being removed, displayed to the eyes of Richard of Woodville the countenance of his former servant Dyram. The man gazed sullenly upon the ground; and Sir John Grey, after eyeing him for a moment, seated himself by Woodville, saying, "I have seen this man before, methinks."

"And so have I, too often," rejoined the young knight; "he was once a servant of mine, and shamefully betrayed his trust. Keep him safe, Sir John, I beseech you; for on him may greatly depend my exculpation with the King."

The man turned round suddenly towards him, and exclaimed, "Ay, and so it does. On me, and me alone, depends your exculpation. Your fate is in my hands."

"Less than you think, perchance, knave!" answered Sir John Grey; "for I hold here strange lights to clear up some dark mysteries. Yet speak, if you be so inclined; you may merit mercy by a frank avowal."

"Send these men hence," said Dyram, looking to the soldiers; "I will say nought before them."

"Go, Edmond," replied the elder knight, speaking to the chief of those who had brought the prisoner in; "yet, first tell me where you found him, and how?"

"Guided by Jim of Retford," said the soldier, "we caught him about a mile on this side of a place called Acheux, I think, some twenty miles hence or more. We found that letter upon him, noble sir, and that," he continued, laying down on the table two pieces of paper. "We might not have searched him, indeed, but he tried to eat that last one. You may see the marks of his teeth in it; and Jim of Retford forced his mouth open with his anelace to take it out. He says 'tis treason; but I know not, for I am no clerk."

Sir John Grey held the paper to the light and read. "Treason it certainly is," he said, when he had done. "One fourth of the booty secured to Edward Dyram, if the scheme succeeds!--Ay, who are these?--Isambert of Agincourt, Robinet de Bournonville, and S. R.? Who may he be, fellow?"

But Dyram was silent; and Sir Harry Dacre cried eagerly, "Let me see it, sir; let me see it!--Ay, I know it well.--Woodville your suspicions are true."

"Go, Edmond, and guard the passage," said Sir John Grey; "I will call when you are wanted.--Now, sir, will you speak?"

"Ay," answered Dyram, as he saw the man depart, and the door close; "I will, sir knight. First, I will speak to you, Richard of Woodville, and will tell you that I have the power to sweep away every cloud that has fallen upon you, or to make them darker still.--I know all: you need tell me nothing;--how you refused to serve your own monarch, they say; how you wrote to aid in bribing Sir Thomas Grey; how you have followed the English camp like a raven smelling the carrion of war--all, all--I know all!"

"Then clear up all!" answered Woodville; "and you shall have pardon."

"Pardon!" cried Dyram, with a mocking laugh; and then suddenly turning to Sir Harry Dacre, he went on. "Next, to you I will speak, sir doleful knight, and tell you, that from your fair fame, too, I can clear away the stain that hangs upon it--black and indelible as you think it. I can take out the mark of Cain, and give you back to peace and happiness."

Sir Harry Dacre gazed upon him for a moment in stern silence, and then replied, "I doubt it."

"Doubt not," replied Ned Dyram. "I can do it, I will; but upon my own conditions."

"What may they be?" asked Sir John Grey. "If they be reasonable, such information as you may proffer may be worth its price. But, remember, before you speak, that your neck is in a halter, and that this paper conveys you to the provost, and the provost to the next tree, if your demands be insolent."

"I am not sure of that," replied Ned Dyram, boldly. "Sir John Grey is not King in the camp. What say you, Sir Richard of Woodville, will you grant my conditions, provided that I save you from your peril, and give you the means of proving your innocence within an hour?"

"I must hear them first, knave," replied the young knight; "I will bind myself to nothing, till they are spoken."

"Oh, they are easily said," answered Ned Dyram. "First, I will have twenty miles free space between me and the camp--So much for security. Then I will have your knightly word, that a fair maiden whom you know, named Ella Brune, shall be mine."

"Where is she?" demanded Richard of Woodville. "I know not where she is; I have not seen her for months, nay years."

"Oh, she is not far off when Richard of Woodville is here," said the man, with a sneer. "I know all about it;--ay, Sir John Grey, the smooth-faced clerk, the corrupter of the men of Montl'herry. Can you not produce her?"

"Perhaps I can ere long," replied Sir John Grey. "But what if I do?"

"Why, then," answered Dyram, in the same saucy tone, "before I speak a word, I will have her promise to be mine. She will soon give it, when she knows that on it hangs Richard of Woodville's life. She has taught me herself, how to wring her hard heart."

"She shall give no such promise for me," replied Woodville, sternly. "I tell thee, pitiful scoundrel, that I would rather, with my bosom free of aught like guilt, lay my head upon the block, than force a grateful and high-hearted girl to wed herself to such a vile slave as thou art. If your insinuations should be true, and she has done for me all that you say, full well and generously has she repaid the little I ever did to serve her. She shall do no more, and least of all make her own misery to save my life."

"Then die, sir knight," rejoined Ned Dyram; "for you will find, with all your wit, you cannot struggle through the toils in which you are caught."

"It may be so," said Sir John Grey; "but by my life, bold villain, you shall die too."

"Perhaps so," answered Dyram, with sneering indifference; "but I can die in silence like a wolf."

"As you have lived," added Richard of Woodville; "so be it."

"Stay," said Sir Harry Dacre; "are these the only conditions you have to propose? Will nought else serve your purpose as well? Gold as much as you will."

"Nought, nought," replied Dyram. "You know the terms, and can take or reject them as you think fit. If you like them well, sir knight, and would have your innocence of the crime laid to you proved beyond all doubt--if you would save your friend too, you have nought to do but seek out this fair maiden. She is not far, I am right sure--and if you but bring her in your hand to me, I will condescend to accept her as my wife, and set you free of all calumny. You struck me once, Richard of Woodville. You cannot expect that I should forget that bitter jest, without a bitter atonement."

"Send him away, Sir John, I do beseech you," cried Woodville, warmly. "My temper will not long hold out; and I shall strike him again."

"Ho, without there!" cried Sir John Grey. "Take this man away, Edmond, and put gyves upon him. Have him watched night and day; for I now know who he is; and a more dangerous knave there does not live. He will escape if Satan's own cunning can effect it."

"Well, you know the terms," said Ned Dyram, turning his head as two of the soldiers drew him away by the arms. "Think better of it, noble knights. Ha, ha, ha! What a story to tell, that the fair fame of Sir Harry Dacre, and the life of Sir Richard of Woodville, both mighty men of war, should depend upon one word of poor Ned Dyram!" and with this scoff he was led away.

Dacre paused in silence, leaning his brow thoughtfully upon his hand; and Richard of Woodville for several moments conversed with Sir John Grey in a low tone.

"Ay, you may well think it strange, Richard," said the elder knight aloud, "that I, who at one time was taught to fancy this girl your paramour, should suddenly place such trust in her, as to let her follow her will in all things, and put means at her disposal to effect whatever she thought fit. But do you see that ring?" and he pointed to a circle of gold set with a large sapphire on his finger; "it is a record, Richard, of a quality, which in her race, though it be a humble one, is hereditary. I mean gratitude. I once rescued from injury the wife of a good soldier, named Brune, the son of one of Northumberland's minstrels. 'Twas but a trifling service which any knight would have rendered to a woman in distress; but that good man, her husband, in gratitude for this simple act, sacrificed his own life to save mine. It was on Shrewsbury field twelve long years ago; and when I left him with the enemy on every side, I gave him that ring, in the hope that he might still escape; but he was already sorely wounded in defending me; and ere he died he sent it as a last gift to his daughter. When I saw it by mere accident, and heard that daughter tell her feelings towards you, I recognised the spirit of her race; and had it cost me half the lands I had just recovered, she should not have wanted means to carry out her plan for serving you. What now?" he continued, turning to one of his attendants, who entered.

"The King, sir knight, desires your presence instantly, to consult with Sir Thomas of Erpingham for the ordering of tomorrow's battle."

"I come," replied Sir John Grey; and then turning to Richard of Woodville, he added, "This is fortunate; perchance what I have to tell him this night, may make him somewhat soften the strictness of his orders." Thus speaking, he withdrew, leaving Richard of Woodville alone with Sir Harry Dacre.