But of his appearance on the field we must elsewhere speak.

He now led his men through the mountain defiles mechanically, as if buried in meditation, and that meditation not of the most pleasing nature.

His vizor was closed, but short clustering curls, of a raven blackness, escaped beneath the helmet, and almost concealed the white linen and finely embroidered collar which lay over his gorget, and was secured in front by a ruby clasp; a thick plume of black feathers floated from his helmet, rivalling in color the mane of his gallant charger, which pawed the ground, and held his head aloft as if proud of the charge he bore.

A shield was slung round the warrior's neck, and its device and motto seemed in melancholy accordance with the rest of his attire.

On a field argent lay the branch of a tree proper, blasted and jagged, with the words "_Ni nom ni paren, je suis seul_," rudely engraved in Norman French beneath; his helmet bore no crest, nor did his war-cry on the field, "Amiot for the Bruce and freedom," offer any clue to the curious as to his history, for that there was some history attached to him all chose to believe, though the age was too full of excitement to allow much of wonderment or curiosity to be expended upon him.