the castle, and they flocked to their battlements to
behold the pennon of Eustace de Blois, familiar to them on many a
hard-fought field of old.

Immediately there was bustling and saddling, and a troop of horse
issued over the drawbridge to greet the coming guest. Foremost
amongst them was the grim stepfather, and by his side rode Etienne.

Imagine their surprise when they recognised Wilfred in the train of
their visitor; we can hardly paint fitly the scornful looks of
Etienne, or the grimness of the stepfather.

But there was etiquette to be consulted--a most important element
in the days of chivalry--and no question was asked until all the
customary salutations had been made.

"I see my son Wilfred has been the first to welcome thee; may I ask
where he met thee on the road?" asked Hugo, of Eustace.

"Many a long mile from here; I will tell thee more anon."

"Did he return of his own free will?" thought the baron, but
politeness forced him to wait his guest's own time for the dialogue
which he felt awaited him.

Meanwhile Etienne had regaled Wilfred with a succession of scornful
glances, which, strange to say, did not affect the latter
much--deeper emotions had swallowed up the minor ones, and he could
disdain the imputation of cowardice, although he could not but feel
that his attempted flight would be ascribed by every one to fear of
the combat, which had been offered to, and accepted by him, and
from which he could not otherwise have saved himself.

They dismounted within the courtyard, and Hugo made a certain
communication to the seneschal. The latter came up to Wilfred as he
stood listlessly in the crowd, the object of many a scornful
glance.

"The baron, your father, bids you to follow me."

The old retainer led the way up a staircase. On the third floor
there was a chamber with a small loophole to serve as window,
through which nothing larger than a cat could pass. There was
furniture--a rough table and chair, a rude bed, and mattress of
straw.

"You are to remain here until my lord comes to release you."

The prisoner entered the chamber, and threw himself wearily on the
bed, the door slammed with a heavy sound behind him, the steps of
the gaoler (was he any better?) died away in the distance, and all
was still, save a faint murmur from the courtyard below, or from
the great hall, where the banquet was even now served.

Hours passed away, and a light step was heard approaching--it was
certain