will find these woods filled with armed men waiting to surprise the
riders we saw from above. Surely, I will die with you, sir; but we need
not die like rats in a corn-bin. Let us ride up a little way again, and
then skirt the woods and take the road where it joins the river, down
in the valley."

"And warn those men of Florence that they are riding into an ambush,"
added Gilbert, turning his horse.

So they rode up the hill; and scarcely were they out of sight of the
spring when a very old woman and a ragged little boy crept out of the
bushes, with knives, and began to rob the dead man of his rusty mail
and his poor clothes.

Gilbert reached the road a long stone's-throw beyond the last chestnut
shoots, and galloped forward to meet the advancing knights and men-at-
arms. He drew rein suddenly, a dozen lengths before them, and threw up
his open right hand. They were riding leisurely, but all in mail, some
having surcoats with devices embroidered thereon, and most of them with
their heads uncovered, their steel caps and hoods of mail hanging at
their saddle-bows.

"Sirs," cried Gilbert, in a loud, clear voice, "you ride to an ambush!
The chestnut woods are full of the men of Pistoja."

A knight who rode in front, and was the leader, came close to Gilbert.
He was a man not young, with a dark, smooth face, as finely cut as a
relief carved upon a shell, and his hair was short and iron-grey.

Gilbert told him what had happened in the woods, and the elderly knight