St. Bride’s cross stood a little way back from Shoreby, on the skirts of Tunstall Forest.  Two roads met: one, from Holywood across the forest; one, that road from Risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a Lancastrian army fleeing in disorder.  Here the two joined issue, and went on together down the hill to Shoreby; and a little back from the point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the ancient and weather-beaten cross.  
Here, then, about seven in the morning, Dick arrived.  It was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoarfrost, and the day began to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange.
 
Dick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides.  He had not long to wait.  Down the road from Holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid charger.  Twenty yards behind him followed a clump of lances; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to advance alone.
 
His visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and dignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms.  And it was with some confusion of manner that Dick arose from the cross and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner.
 
“I thank you, my lord, for your exactitude,” he said, louting very low.  “Will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?”
 
“Are ye here alone, young man?” inquired the other.
 
“I was not so simple,” answered Dick; “and, to be plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on their weapons.”
 
“Y’ ’ave done wisely,” said the lord.  “It pleaseth me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a salvage Saracen lunatic than any Christian warrior.  But it becomes not me to complain that had the undermost.”
 
“Ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell,” returned Dick; “but had the waves not holpen me, it was I that should have had the worst.  Ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger marks, which I still carry.  And in fine, my lord, methinks I had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that little blind-man’s mellay on the beach.”
 
“Y’ are shrewd enough to make light of it, I see,” returned the stranger.
 
“Nay, my lord, not shrewd,” replied Dick, “in that I shoot at no advantage to myself.  But when, by the light of this new day, I see how stout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the darkness, and the surf—and how easily the battle had gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic as myself—think it not strange, my lord, if I feel confounded with my victory.”
 
“Ye speak well,” said the stranger.  “Your name?”
 
“My name, an’t like you, is Shelton,” answered Dick.
 
............