in which fell between the
gusts would wash out the footprints of their horses.

They mounted silently, and with the four men--for by now all the
rest had gone--rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road
ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which
self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this
place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of
them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.

"Halt!" whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. "I hear
men moving."

They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was
a faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes
in the darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was
answered. One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and
struck it savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh,
it took the bit between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there
arose a great clamour from the marl-pit in front of them--a noise of
shoutings, of sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of
a dying man.

"An ambush!" exclaimed Christopher.

"Can we get round?" asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.

"Nay," he answered, "the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark!
they charge us. Back to the Towers--there is no other way."

So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many
horses galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the
bridge--the women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.

"Up with the bridge!" cried Christopher, and they leapt from their
saddles and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot's
horsemen pressed it down.

Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the
trembling bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be
met by Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow
place were as good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the
darkness, and, as it chanced, two of the Abbot's people fell, whereon a
deep voice cried--

"Come back and wait for light."

When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher
and his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that
it would not stir.

"Some traitor has fouled the chains," he said in the quiet voice of