rushes, the tapestry arranged in comely folds.

When all this was done the trumpets from the battlements announced
that the royal army was descending from the heights above. It was a
glorious sight that the gazer looked upon from the battlements:

On lance, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part.

The boast of chivalry! The pomp of power! The woods fairly
glistened with lances and spears reflecting the rays of the setting
sun. The green of the foliage was relieved by banners of every hue,
in bright contrast against the darker verdure, the tramp of war
horses, the thunder of armed heels, the buzz of a myriad voices.
And now the royal guard descends the gentle slope which rises just
above the castle to the north, and approaches the drawbridge.

Outside they halt. Drogo kneels in front of the gateway, the keys
of his castle in his hand.

The guard opens, and the king dismounts from his horse, somewhat
stiffly, as if weary with riding, and receives the keys from the
extended hand with a sweet smile and a few kind words.

Let us gaze on the features of that king of old; gray haired,
prematurely gray; the eyebrows unlike in their curvature, giving a
quaint expression to the face, a mild and good-tempered face, but
somewhat deficient in character, forming the strongest contrast to
that tall commanding figure on his right hand, with the stern and
manly features, the greatest of the Edwards--a born king of men.