Chapter XXII

Then rode one ruffian from the rest, clay-flecked
From spur to plume with hurry; seized my rein,
And--"What art _thou_," demanded, "who hast checked
Our way and challenged?"--Then, with some disdain,
Isolda, "Sir, my kinsman did expect
Your captain here. What honor may remain
To me I pledge for him. Hold off thy hands!
He but attends me to the Moated Manse."